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** Phoenix Valley Wrestling Presents  **
**            SHOWCASE                **
**            11.30.11                **
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-> William Craven
-> The Berserkers
-> Supreme Wright & Chance Holiday
-> The Biz
-> Spectre
-> Chris Hartt
-> Max and Sal
-> Adrian Freeman
-> Johnny Detson
-> Sinister & The Berserkers Part 1
-> Christopher Black
-> Matt Tiegs
-> Gold Rush
-> Nevermind
-> Talion
-> Erc Seiger
-> Legacy
-> Derek Weaver
-> Cow and Chicken
-> Heath Dawson
-> Sons of Anarchy
-> The Mercenary
-> Rob Cole
-> Chance Holiday
-> Herscher von Donkerhardt
-> Livestock and The Gutch
-> Uncle Frank
-> Marcus Manson
-> Supreme Wright
-> Sinister & The Berserkers Part 2
-> AsH, Senor Cloak Dos, & Perry Fontana
-> Gibson Hayes




****************************************
****************************************
William Craven
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in.  Extreme close-up; William Craven's bloodied and blackened
face, wounds obscuring his tattoed green skin.  The surgically altered
man-beast's eyes are abstracted as he mutters fervently to himself.]

WC: All the steps taken towards a goal must be the right ones to take
if the end result is successful, yes?  But how can this be correct?
And if it happened once it can happen again, of course, of course ...
is she okay?  Does it matter?

[Bill licks his sharpened chops with his split tongue.]

WC: Why was she there?  I didn't want her there.  Did Cole?  Did she
think she could sway victory his way?  Did he want her to?  Who's the
villain?  The triggerman or the one using a woman as a shield?  What
price victory if--GETAWAY!!!

[Bill thrashes and rises to his feet as the camera view widens to show
the concrete hallway in which he resides, caked and smeared with
blood.  The white-painted cinderblock wall is smeared in what can only
be described as a "blood angel"; the result of Bill rocking back and
forth in his rambling, half-conscious state and an irregular pool of
blood from Bill's many wounds has accumulated around his position.
Scattering back, medical personnel look alarmed as they give the
jakked-up lunatic some breathing room.]

WC: You don't want to be here.  Heh, aheh, you don't care about me,
what happens to me.  No one does.  Why ... why bother?

[One man steps forward, making himself the de-facto leader of the
medical mob.]

EMT1: We do, we do mister Craven.  There's reason to believe that you
have a pretty severe concussion and your blood loss ... I don't think
most people have as much blood as you've lost.  You need stitches,
possibly hundreds of them.

WC: HAH!  Yes, doctor boneyard, of course you speak the truth.

[Falling backwards against the wall, Bill enlarges the blood angel.]

WC: If things are so bad then why not put me under?  Hrm?  A quick
needle to the gills and I become very pliable, yes?

EMT1: Mister Craven, I don't think you should even have so much as a
localized anesthetic in your current condition.  Please just settle
down so we can stitch--

WC: STITCHES!?  I am stitches you mewling little cretin!  Stitches and
catgut and scars and sutures.  To war I went a whole man ... leaving a
piece of me in each and every nation as I went.  What was left they
called a veteran ... coming home no one recognized me.  What parts of
you touch me, I eat...

[Eyes going wide, the EMT, who had been reaching out to touch Craven's
shoulder pulls back.  Looking at his compatriots as Bill lets his head
dip down, mumbling incoherently to himself, he motions for them all to
keep their distance.]

EMT1: We're not going to be able to do anything until he passes out.

EMT2: Are you kidding?  If he passes out he could go into a coma.

EMT1: Yeah, well, I don't think it's worth getting injured or killed.

[Suddenly a great commotion arises as many members of the roster
stream by, running for the ringside area.  Bleary-eyed, Bill blinks
several times and lurches out from the wall.]

WC: What's happening!?

[Creating a path, the ring of medical personnel widens as members of
the security force surge after the wrestlers, a relatively small
contingent remaining backstage as two very official individuals, one
younger, one older, direct traffic.]

DW: Christ, can't we have one event where those bastards don't make
trouble?

MW: Ah ... dad...?

[Pointing behind his father, Matthew Willingham indicates Craven.
With a start, PVW owner, Dex Willingham sees what's left of the green
beast and, for once, someone looks on Craven with fear not for
themselves but for him.]

DW: Jesus, man!  Craven what--why aren't you people patching him up?

EMT1: We were trying, sir, but he won't let us touch him.

DW: Hrm ... wish I could say I was surprised.

WC: Please ... what's happening?  I want to know.

DW: Happening?  Those jokers in HOPE are laying waste to yet another
of Gibson Hayes' challengers.  There's a freaking riot taking shape
and we have just enough security to keep the crowd under control while
they have it out.

WC: Heh, aheh, a chance!  Yes, finally--

[Lurching out from the wall, Bill opens what's left of his ring robe,
withdrawing the shattered remnants of his bloodied bo'ken.]

DW: Whoa, whoa-ho now, boys, take hold of this man.

[Half a dozen security members grab onto Bill and, in spite of his
seeming ferocity before, they easily hold him in place.  Hey, there's
a first for everything.]

WC: No, no!  A chance.  A chance to strike a blow at that pampered
punk.  The crown is within my grasp.  He all but challenged me to come
for him.

DW: Bill, please.

WC: A chance.  You've never given me a chance.

DW: What?  That's not it at all.

[Pleading, his eyes streaming with tears now, Craven looks about as
pitiful as any man ever has.  Dex looks immediately frustrated.]

DW: I ... you are not going out there to fight.  I know the contracts
we have you sign are pretty loose but you look like you could die
where you stand.  Just take it easy and get patched up.  I'm pretty
sure you need a transfusion.

WC: You're protecting him, aren't you?

DW: Protecting ... Gibson Hayes?

MW: Dad, you know he's not all there.  Let's just leave him to these
guys.

DW: You've got it all wrong, Bill.  Now go home.  No, go to the
hospital and I don't want to see you again until you've been cleared
by a physician.  Now, unless you're still scared of this man, people,
please just save his life...

[The Willinghams depart as Craven is restrained by the security force,
his head lolling back alarmingly.  Even so, his eyes lock onto the
owner and talent manager of the PVW as they depart.]

WC: Glory ... it's mine.  You'll not keep it from me.  I'll take it
... and the crown.  Nothing can stop me...  No fear ... no pain ...
not die ... never ...d--

[At that, Craven loses consciousness.  Amid curses the security force
jerkily lower the titanic Craven to the floor as EMTs converge again.
Fade to black.  End.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Berserkers
****************************************
****************************************

Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in
his heart and speaks another.

- Homer, The Iliad

(Fade in ... and we see the two men who captured the decorated ASLL
tag team champions on the Boiling Point preshow ... Wolf and Doom, the
Berserkers standing by.)

Wolf: What a night ... what an outcome and then the party was spoiled
by a few bad apples.  Doom and I arrived to the Cow Palace early that
after noon.  We got the memo that things changed in the ASLL and our
opponents were no longer the Los Corazones.

(Wolf gives a shrug.)

Wolf: It never mattered all that much, who our opponents were going to
be anyways.  So come show time we did what we always have done.  We
put on our leather jackets ...  We stepped out from the back and we
sent our opponents to the gates of hades.

(Wolf holds up three fingers ..)

Wolf Three seconds later.

(He points down to his waist where the ASLL tag team title sits.)

Wolf: We became ASLL tag team champions.  Let me start off by saying
it's an absolute honor to wear these tradition rich championship
belts.  The Los Corazones wore them with honor and traveled the globe
defending them.  We welcome any and all challengers ... be it in the
PVW or the ASLL or down in Hades itself!  In the end, it's about
becoming the best tag team in the world and wearing these places us in
that discussion.

Then the unthinkable happened ...

(Doom cuts in with some intensity.)

Doom: HOPE do you think this is a joke?  Do you think that this
industry is your play ground to do and act however you feel?  You four
lack discipline and honor and have decided to throw it all away for a
few moments in the sun.  The only problem is you pissed off a lot of
people in doing so.

(Doom snarls towards the camera.)

Doom: Come, Shockwave it's time to get a little revenge the only way
we know how ...  Sinister and the Berserkers have stood side by side
in the past and you can bet your ass we are going to do it again.  It
doesn't matter what member walks down the aisle as long as they carry
the HOPE banner they just bought a first class ticket to Hades.

(Wolf nods in agreement.)

Doom: AsH, we wish you a fast recovery ... a war is a brewing.  Battle
lines are drawn every night.  And, this Shockwave you will find the
Berserkers on the first line charging head first with a battle SCREAM
like you have never heard before.

(A wicked smile forms across Doom's face.)

Wolf: And when the night is all said and done ... the first battle has
finished.  The Chi-Town Connection, will raise their hands high in the
air as Big Daddy Sin and the Zerks will have won the first battle of
many for the rest of -

PVW.

(And with out any other words the two beast of men turn and walk off
the camera as the message has been sent ...

Berserker style.)

****************************************
****************************************
Supreme Wright & Chance Holiday
****************************************
****************************************

[Backstage at the Cow Palace, post-Turning Point II. Standing before
us, is a conflicted-looking Supreme Wright. The "Mega Prospect" has
cleaned up after his match and is dressed in a dark, navy blue
cardigan, a white dress shirt and black necktie, along with gray
slacks. Over his shoulder, he carries his duffel bag, ready to leave
the arena. Behind him, with the door still slightly ajar...we see his
dressing room.

Which has been completely wrecked.

As Supreme spots the camera, he quickly slams the door shut behind him
and turns his head away, looking slightly embarrassed. Without any
prompting, he begins talking, trying to distract everyone away from
what they just saw.]

SW: Lot of crazy things went down tonight. A lot of crazy things...

[He trails off, trying to buy himself some time as he thinks of
something else to say...while moving away from the door.]

SW: But that ain't exactly what's on my mind right now. I know HOPE is
the big topic for everybody, but I'm sure everyone else has an opinion
on that. All *I've* been able to think about...was what happened in my
match.

[A sigh.]

SW: From what people been telling me, it was one hell of a
spectacle...the sort of match that'll get a rocket strapped to your
ass and blast you straight up to the main event.

[Supreme makes a sad sort of chuckle, almost as if he doesn't believe
any of the words that just came out of his mouth. His grip noticeably
tightens on the strap as he gives an unenthused reply.]

SW: Yeah...it was a good performance. The result wasn't what I'd have
liked it to have been...

...but I can live with it.

[The miserable look on his face says otherwise.]

SW: Adrian-...

[Supreme catches himself and closes his eyes, silently cursing at
himself for letting himself slip like that.]

SW: MR. FREEMAN...

[He looks straight ahead as his eyes refocus and he steels his
expression, staring hard into the far off distance, almost as if he's
suppressing the urge to explode. Control. Control. Control.]

SW: ...was every bit the challenge I thought he was gonna' be; But
this settled nothing. I want a rematch.

[Supreme relaxes a little, nodding to himself as he loosens his grip
on the straps slightly.]

SW: I-

[The focus of the camera pulls back, revealing a man standing in the
doorway of Supreme's trashed locker room. Earlier, we saw him in a PVW
uniform. But now, Chance Holiday is back to his more usual attire.
Stark black, head to toe. Long, black hair hangs over half of his
face. He stands at an odd angle. There's something just... wrong about
his posture. When he speaks, his voice is low, and one must strain to
hear it.]

CH: Looking for a rematch, are you?

[Suddenly, Wright's eyes narrow and his expression turns to one of
rage.]

SW: _Chance._

[Not "Mr. Holiday" but "Chance". He says the name with genuine
feeling: That of absolute disgust. Holiday moves closer to Wright,
getting, in fact, too close to him, invading his personal space.
Holiday's head is canted to the side, and he regards Wright with a
blank expression.]

CH: I watched you tonight, Mr. Wright.

[Is he mocking Supreme? Hard to tell, with Chance's weird, affect-less
voice.]

CH: And for awhile, I thought you might have forgotten the lessons of
The Game. You remember our Game, don't you? You remember how its
played?

[A look of revulsion passes on Supreme's face as he remembers their
past battles all too well.]

SW: I couldn't forget if I tried.

CH: Of course not.  How could you?  But it was triumph for you, wasn't
it? You defeated me. But you had to give me what I wanted to do it,
didn't you? You had to indulge. And tonight? Tonight, well, there's a
reason you want a rematch, isn't there? Because you're not satisfied.

And you won't be satisfied, until you revisit the lessons I've already
taught you.

[Supreme contemplates Holiday's words for a moment, before chuckling.]

SW: Maybe...maybe not.

[His answer seems to pique Holiday's interest.]

SW: But if I lose control again, it ain't gonna' be because of you. I
know what you're trying to do here...and it gonna' work any more. Not
on me, anyway. After all, what's the point of playing your damn
game...

[Supreme meets Holiday's empty gaze with a fierce focus. A dangerous
sort of grin forms on Supreme's face as he lets the mask slip
slightly.]

SW: ...against someone that already won?

[Supreme's ferocity puts Holiday back on his heels.  But slowly, the
enigmatic Shadow Stalker begins to grin.]

CH:  Because there's still a piece you fail to understand,
Supreme.  You see, no matter who wins, I win.

[Wright begins to reply, but Holiday lifts a hand, stopping him.]

CH:  Someday, you will be world champion.  Someday, Supreme, you'll
achieve your goal.  You will prove yourself the best.  I can see it.
But...

[Holiday begins to move in a slow circle around Supreme.]

CH:  To get there, you'll have to do what you did to defeat me.  You
will have to look inside yourself, and unleash what we both know is
within.  You have to uncage the beast again, Wright.  You have to show
the world the monster that's inside of you.  The monster I showed you.

And that was what the game was all about.

[Holiday has completed his circle, and stands in front of Wright once
more.]

CH:  I hope, when that day comes, you have the grace to thank me.
Because you see, your drive, your determination, -I- gave you those
things.  You had the beast within, but I showed you how to channel it.
And now, you're exactly what I want you to be.  Determined, driven,
and capable of great violence.  Indeed, you've become something
better, and more frightening than even I hoped.

So, remember who you owe everything to.

[Supreme scoffs.]

SW: I don't owe you a damn thing. Thank you? You should be grateful I
don't strangle you where you stand. Lord knows it'd probably save
everyone else in PVW a whole lot of heartache if I did.

[There's a slight pause as Supreme restrains himself from playing
right into Holiday's hands again.]

SW: But a sick bastard like you would probably enjoy that...and the
last thing I wanna' do is to give you the satisfaction of knowing you
got me again. Play puppetmaster with someone else...

...'cause I'm done playing your damn games.

[Holiday has bowed his head  during Supreme's soliloquy, but now he
throws his head back, hair, for once, no longer in his face.]

CH:  You should strangle me.  Because that's who you are.  The beast.
The monster.  The man who's first reaction is swift and blinding
violence.  You'll remember that one day.

But you're right, Supreme.  I've already played the game with you.  We
have already danced the dance.  And now? Now its time for another to
play. We are done...

[A light chuckle.]

CH:  I'm done with you.

Farewell, Supreme. And good luck with all you do.  And when the time
comes? Do the smart thing, and unleash the monster. Show the world the
truth about who Supreme Wright is.

[His piece said, the Shadow Stalker slinks away, leaving Supreme
Wright to contemplate the strange man's words.]

****************************************
****************************************
The Biz
****************************************
****************************************

[We fade up on the interior of a large hotel room. Videotapes & DVDs
are strewn along the floor in front of a big screen television. The
sound of running water stops and the camera turns to see "The Biz"
Mike Bisignano stepping out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on a
white towel. He tosses the towel behind him and walks over to the TV
area; taking a seat in a nearby chair.]

Biz: In a few short days, I've got a match with 'The Misery Machine'
Marcus Manson. A man who has a bit of shared history with yours truly.
Of course he's taken many shots to the head and probably doesn't
remember much of it so if you don't mind, Marcus, allow me to refresh
your memory.

[The Biz grabs a video tape from the pile and inserts it into the VCR
connected to the TV. A hit of play and we see an image of Marcus
Manson sitting front row at a wrestling event.]

Biz: August 22nd 2008 ... the night you made your first appearance on
a PVW broadcast. You sat front and center and watched me fight The
Tucson Kid. Now I may have lost that night but that's quite alright
because it wasn't The Biz who got his shoulders pinned to the mat...
oh no no... _THAT_ was The Dragon Kid.

[The Biz shudders]

Biz: It pains me to recall memories of that god awful persona.

[He pauses as he collects himself]

Biz: Now Marcus, that just so happened to be the last night I worked
for PVW until earlier this year so I do apologize that I was never
around to witness your illustrious undefeated streak. I'm sure it was
entertaining to one and all.

[He smirks]

Biz: And it's a bigger shame that when I _did_ return to PVW, it
happened to be the night that the streak was broken at the hands of
Willam Craven because I was rooting for you to take the big man down;
I really was.

So there you are with nothing to stand on anymore other than your
moniker. And what do you do? You play enforcer for Johnny Detson and
embarrass Caleb Foley?

[The Biz yawns]

Biz: Been there... done that.

Then you teamed up with Nevermind to face Chris Hartt & Larry Gionet.
Terrific win but you have to give most of the credit to Larry Gionet
on that one. Same goes for Spectre, Sammy Knight, and The Mercenary.

As a matter of fact, after watching back all of your matches from this
year, I gotta think that the majority of them involved someone getting
themselves involved in your business.

And sometimes you benefited from it and sometimes you didn't. But the
thing that caught my attention the most is that you don't care about
wins or losses and that is the intriguing part of this match between
you and I.

[The Biz gets up from his chair and walks around the room as he
continues to speak]

Biz: For you see, Marcus, I've tangled with the biggest and best in
this business. And I've see many a win and many a loss but in the end,
my greatest victories were always when I left the other man
incapacitated.

It's easy to pin a man for a three count or make him tap out from a
submission hold but you know just as much as I do that watching your
opponent scramble around on the mat in a pool of his own blood and
bodily fluids because his arms or legs won't work for him anymore is
far more satisfying. Or maybe you're more of a mental competitor.
That's all well and good too because I've left guys bigger than you
questioning their own self-worth time and time again.

So how about you and I step inside the ring in Portland and leave it
all out there for the world to see? And don't worry about outside
interference on my part.. heck, I have no friends in this company and
even if I did, I'd much rather this be about two men duking it out
till one man can't take no more.

I'll be waiting.

[Fade out]

****************************************
****************************************
Spectre
****************************************
****************************************

"We have always said that hope lead to ruin.  Never did any of you
consider that our words were prophetic..."

[The shot cuts from black to a shot of The Spectre.  The goth madman
sits in a metal folding chair in the same filthy cinderblock room
where we've seen him time and again.  It's single source of light: a
bare lightbulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling.  His blue eyes
shine out from under the dark dreadlocks, made the more stark by his
pale skin.  They drill into the camera's lens as he leans forward,
placing his elbows on his knees.]

"As we sat in the locker room after providing the Fallen Knight with
his Rebirth, we witnessed lemming after lemming charge out to the
ring: fire in their eyes and murder in their hearts as one after
another attempted to rescue little AsH from his predicament at the
hands of the dastardly HOPE.  Little Hayes and his minions, gathered
like a heard in the middle of their cage, fending off all comers and
laughing at their coup.

We sat, we watched, and we waited.

Yet the ending we expected did not come.

No savior rose from the ranks to force battle upon HOPE.  No one
stepped forward to intone 'Abashed the Devil stood and felt how awful
goodness is' as they unleashed their righteous fury upon HOPE, driving
them from the ring and away from their prey.

We waited...but none came."

[Spectre leaned back, shaking his head with the slightest hint of a
smile playing at his features.]

"At first this amused us greatly.  We saw those who the fans held as
heroes laid low in failure.  We saw them bested, outmaneuvered and
made to look foolish, and we smiled.

But it left us feeling...hollow.

Their failure wasn't the result of anyone in HOPE achieving a greater
understanding of the Beast that resided within them.  It wasn't due to
them unleashing their fury, peeling back their lips and wallowing in
the ultraviolence that they so desperately craved...

It was a set up.

A carnival trick.

Instead of acting like the predators that they claimed to be, HOPE
huddled together in a tight herd, as if they were the prey.  Hunted,
not hunters.

The more we dwelt upon the thought, the more it irritated us: a mental
canker, refusing to be soothed...yet we did not stand.

We did not seek to interject our presence into the proceedings."

[Spectre rose smoothly to his feet and began to pace.]

"You see, unlike many, we understand who and what we are...and, just
as importantly...what we are not.

We are not a hero.  We are no one's savior.

That is not our role to fill...and the Beast within us does not crave
adulation in that fashion...but this...herd...will not be permitted to
continue to hold the accolades that they do.

Not if we need to stalk them ourselves, striking where they are
weakest and culling them, one by one, until they only know two things:

Pain...

And to fear the dark."

[cut to black]

****************************************
****************************************
Chris Hartt
****************************************
****************************************

[A beautiful day at the riverside of Willamette River in Portland,
Oregon.  Right near the docks at the edge of the river, spanned by
Hawthorne Bridge, stands The Paladin Chris Hartt. Dressed for the cold
weather, Hartt bears a stern look as the camera catches up to him.]

Boiling Point has come and gone. I managed to defeat Nevermind, just
like I said I would.  He almost cost me the match by trying to throw
it, but I managed to prevent that.

I walked away with the win, but the damage he did is longer lasting.
His greatest offense is what he did to my outlook. My point of view's
been changed forever.  I don't know if I'll ever get past it.  Maybe I
shouldn't. I don't know.

But once I started hearing how Gibson Hayes ran his mouth that there
was nobody in the back who could stand up to him because he and his
HOPE buddies took everyone down, I just had to show him how wrong he
was.

Maybe they all missed the fact that I weathered their attack and
walked away intact.  Maybe they didn't care.  No matter. What does
matter is that I'm here, in their face and not going away.

Gibs and I have history.  He and I fought over the Rising Phoenix
Heritage Title. Yeah, it's the American Championship, now. Whatever.
It was my title and I loved every second carrying it.

Still, the tournament was one of the toughest bouts I'd ever faced at
the time. My knee was almost completely shot and I went through three
separate matches to get to the end. After holding onto the title for
eight months, I faced Gibs and he brought it hard, because it was all
on the line that night.  But, I just didn't have enough to win, then.

Now, things are escalated, aren't they, Gibs? You're the PVW World
Heavyweight Champ, so that means everything you do must be justified.
Taking all your frustrations out on the entire roster is just a part
of business, right?  Wrong.  You're carrying the reason anyone cares
about you right now.  That title is a significant honor.  It's a
symbol of being the best in this company.  Seeing you carry it while
you and your little pack of dogs run roughshod over everyone just
makes me furious.

That title may mean you're the best wrestler this company has, but it
doesn't make you a good man.  You blow that notion out of the water
with every word you utter, every action you take. You're a walking
dichotomy to this business and a disgrace to anyone who enjoys this
program.

This may not be a title match. It doesn't have to be, honestly.  I'll
work my way to that title in my own time. But this coming Heatwave,
you and I will go at it one more time. You won't get any easy match
out of me.  You'll get the best I have to offer. I'm not coming for
your title, yet, but I am coming to show you how wrong you are. Wrong
in how you behave; wrong in how you think; wrong in how you treat
everyone else in the world.

I'm going to make sure you realize the mess you and your pals have
caused. You call yourselves HOPE, but the best possible hope for PVW
is getting rid of you as champ as quick as possible. There's always
repercussions, Gibs.  You're going to face it. You're going to suffer
from it.  And you're going to regret causing it.  Being champion isn't
a free pass to knowingly hurt people. It's not a badge that gives you
the right to abuse anyone you choose openly. You're a symbol of the
best in this company.  If you won't act like it, I'll make sure you
understand exactly why you should.

Every action we take, everything we do, is either a victory or defeat
in the struggle to become what we want to be.

****************************************
****************************************
Max and Sal
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade to... a black background, with a grand piano dominating the
screen.  A lighted Candelabra is on top of the piano.  Seated at the
piano, facing the camera, dressed in a tuxedo, is the Masked Maniac.
Maniac starts playing the piano, and then begins singing.]

Masked Manic:

#Max and Sal sat one night
Max played Madden under the light
Sal's eyes were all ablaze
As Maxim tried to shun his gaze#

#He knew that look. He knew the score.
It seemed more manic than before.
Max cringed in fear and dread
As Sal pulled him near and said... #

[From the left, Max Weinrib sits down on the bench next to the Masked
Maniac.  Only Max is dressed in a Sheikh's outfit, with a black wig
and sunglasses, to look like Salih Mubarak.  "Sal" starts the next
verse:]

"Sal":
# Let's do it! Le'ts do it,
I've had a really good idea.
We'll join up
Pee-Vee-Dub
And start wrestling again
I've sent a tell
To Brian Bell
Our tag team will be hailed in the ming mong mantra.
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight.#

Masked Maniac:
#But he said...#

[From the left, now Sal Mubarak sits down, next to Max.  Only Sal is
dressed in a bald wig with a Soul patch drawn on his chin. ]

"Max":
# We can't do it. We can't do it.
The fed is biased by our young age
For God's Sakes
Look at the Roster
They still have the Prophets of Rage
We won't get hired
Or we'll be fired
We'll be stuck in Phoenix with contracts expired
We can't do it. We can't do it tonight. #

Masked Maniac:
# So Sal explained... #

"Sal":
#Let's do it! Let's do it,
Go to Phoenix as a brand new team
Forget Trenton
They want us in
To the top we'll rise like cream
Let's take a chance
And let's not prance
We're damn good wrestlers even if we can't dance
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight. #

Masked Maniac:
# So Max exclaimed... #

"Max":
#We can't do it. We can't do it.
We're destined to lose to fate
The car broke down
Made us frown
Our first match we're so late
Our chances poor
We'll get no more
Except to lose to a Keening or four    (Cut to the Masked Maniac, who
gives a wink directly to the camera)
We can't do it. We can't do it tonight.#

Masked Maniac:
# But Sal shouted... #

"Sal":
#Let's do it! Let's do it,
We're good enough to make it easy
As tired tramps
We beat the champs
Our first match on TV
The card's packed
Our record's stacked
We earn some wins and we're on the right track
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight!#

Masked Maniac:
# Yet Max Howled... #

"Max":
#We can't do it. We can't do it!
The champs aren't me and you
Great Scott
We lost our shot
At RFTA 2
It's not neat
They all cheat
Now we're feuding with the team called HEAT?!
We can't do it. We can't do it tonight.#

Masked Maniac:
# So Sal bellowed... #

"Sal":
#Let's do it! Let's do it,
The HIT tournament's underway
A clever disguise
Will win the prize
Outwitting them makes our day
Arvelle's sad?
Well, too bad!
Couldn't happen to a slicker pair of cads
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight.#

Masked Maniac:
# And Max Countered... #

"Max":
#We can't do it. We can't do it!
The trophy's shattered on my skull
It hurts
And what's worst
Is our rematch ended in merde-bull
It's so lame
These guys named
Maxime and FranciscoGabrielMaximillienIsadoreOsorioMag  (Masked Maniac
and "Sal" smack "Max" on the back of the head)
We can't do it. We can't do it tonight.#

Masked Maniac:
# So Sal Shrieked... #

"Sal":
#Let's do it! Let's do it,
We're owed our shot at the belts.
We've paid dues
If you need clues
Take a look and see our welts!
The men from HOPE
They can't cope
With a tag team that aren't a pair of dopes!
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight.#


Masked Maniac:
# And Max Proclaimed... #

"Max":
#Oh, let's do it!. Let's do it.
So they clobbered us with some chairs
The blood lost
Was a big cost
Like we went to war with polar bears
Our mad rage
In a cage
Livestock and Gutch can't pay the wage
Let's do it. Let's do it tonight!#

Masked Maniac:
#Guess what?!#

[Cut back to the piano, now with a gleeful Max and Sal, holding up the
PVW Tag Team Titles, dressed back as themselves next to Masked Maniac]

Max/Sal/MM:

#We did it!  We DID it!
We showed those evil lawyers what for
We stayed bold
And won gold
Now we're looking ready for more!
To our fans
We raise our hands
We couldn't have done all of this without you
We did it.  We did it....TONIIIIIGHT~!!!#

****************************************
****************************************
Adrian Freeman
****************************************
****************************************

[We find ourselves in a hotel room.  It's a pretty nice one too -- no
penthouse, but pretty classy.  Its inhabitant is clearly one Adrian
Freeman, who is lying on the couch staring at his laptop computer.
(It's a Mac, in case you were wondering.)  Whatever Freeman is looking
at, it seems to have put him in a sour mood.]

AF: Listen to this.  "Both men, have been rewarded in their efforts as
they step inside the ring with highly touted PVW veterans."  And then
they say I'm going to face... Danny Daniels.

[Freeman looks as if he has just ingested an entire lemon.]

AF: First off, Supreme Wright is in no way my equal.  We should not
even be put in the same sentence together.  I toyed with him at
Boiling Point, tried to make the match exciting, and I lost track of
time.  But anyone who watches that match knows that I was firmly in
control.  In any other combat sport, I would have walked away with the
unanimous decision.  But somehow I let it get across that some wet-
behind-the-ears hoss is an even match for me.  It's okay.  I've
learned my lesson.  In the future, I won't play with my food.

[He looks back to the screen again and gets even more upset.  He gets
up and starts pacing, talking quickly and angrily.]

AF: Okay, let's get a few things straight.  I've earned the right to a
little respect.  I've held titles.  Hell, I _ran_ Texas before I got
injured.  And somehow, me facing Danny Daniels is a step up?  Daniels,
a lifelong ham and egger who has stumbled into a few wins recently and
is somehow a "highly touted veteran"?  A guy who's so limited in terms
of actual wrestling skills he does the same move 100 times in a row?
And this is my reward?

Daniels, it looks like I'm going to have to use this match to
demonstrate some things.  To gain some respect.  Don't worry, I'll let
you do your clown routine, let you come out with your trumpeteers and
your mascots and whatever other accessories you've decided to bring
with you today.  I'll let you give the fans what they came for.  But
then it's all business, and you're going to understand the difference
between a real wrestler and an entertainer.

Usually this is the point where I say it's nothing personal, but you
know what?  It kind of is.  I don't like you.  It's people like you
that make this sport into a joke.  And now you're running around
calling yourself the PVW President?  Bad move.

You see, I've always kind of had a problem with authority.

[Freeman smirks, and you have expect him to put on a pair of shades.
But instead he just slams his computer shut and walks out of the room.
The camera fades to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Johnny Detson
****************************************
****************************************

(We open to a camera shot.  A camera shot of a door, or rather what's
left of a door.  The glass window of the door has been shattered,
whatever was written on there has forever been lost, less the various
scattered letters that remain on the broken shards still clinging to
its original home.  The door pushes open hitting something on its
way.)


**THUD**


(The scene expands into what can only be assumed as the executive
office of President... Former President and CEO Johnny Detson.  The
office is a scene of complete destruction.  Papers scattered across
the floor, a chair overturned, a broken lamp down on its side, and
various other objects in disarray.  The only thing that apparently is
still in its proper place is a dimly light desk lamp providing the
only light in the room.)


**THUD**


(The soft, distinguishable sound of glass being crushed under
someone's feet can be heard as the shot moves slowly around the room.
In the far corner, we see a bookcase dropped face down on the floor.
Books lay everywhere, some crushed by the weight of the case, others
scattered across the floor.  The shot pans up to show the window, its
blinds cockeyed and bent, the night sky offering little light.)


**THUD**


(The shot moves over to the far wall where nails rest in the wall
where one might hang pictures.  Indeed looking down shows broken
frames and plaques.  One picture shows Johnny Detson shaking hands
with Jimmy Carter, yet another shows Johnny Detson shaking hands with
George W. Bush.  A plaque rests on the floor, torn from the wall as
well.  The plaque, its wood corner chipped, and its metal plated
inscription scratched reads:  "Executive of the Mid-Year, Johnny
Detson.")


**THUD**


(The shot now moves to the once pristine mahogany desk, now disheveled
and destroyed.  A broken half of a name plate sits in the middle of
the desk.  The splintered name plate only has half of its original
wording; the top portion says "DETSON" and the bottom half reads "nd
CEO."  The other half of the name plate is not there.  Papers reading
"FROM THE DESK OF JOHNNY DETSON, PRESIDENT AND CEO" are thrown across
the desk; some crumpled, some ripped, others just hanging off the
desk.)


**THUD**


(The noise is louder now.  The camera looks to the other corner of the
room.  Another bookcase, this one still intact and in its original
place rests near the corner.  However the odd thing about this book
case is the pair of legs sticking out from the other side of it.)


**THUD**


(The camera moves around to the other side of the bookcase, and there
slumped against the wall is Johnny Detson.  Detson is still wearing
his wrestling tights and his one remaining wrestling boot.   A sneaker
and an air cast are where his other boot belongs.   There he sits,
back against the wall, eyes never blinking just staring off into
space... wide eyed, shocked, sweaty, and unkempt he sits; the only
movement coming from the slight tilt of his head forward before
throwing it back against the wall.)


**THUD**


(Detson doesn't move, distraught and devastated, he just sits there...
staring... for what seems like an eternity.  The shot moves in close,
so that the only thing we see is his face.  The only movement is the
heaving of his face as he breathes.  Then suddenly he blinks...
once... twice... three times.  The camera moves back as Detson turns
his head to the left and then to the right.  He then quickly jerks his
head back and forth perhaps to snap himself back to reality, perhaps
to keep him awake from his concussion symptoms.  Gingerly, slowly he
raises his hands and rubs his forehead and then slowly down his face.
He looks around the room again, and then up to the floor, the weight
of his shoulders collapse and soon he's just looking down at the
floor.)


(One giant, elongated sigh later he picks his shoulders back up.  He
closes his eyes and sighs again.  Then with a grimace and pain etched
on his face he begins to pick himself back up.  Back pressed up hard
against the wall, supporting him as he stands he tries to slide his
feet back against the wall to stand himself up.  Slowly he gets to an
upright position and with another sigh he opens his eyes.)


(But there remains... nothing... nothing that he wants to see.  He
does it anyway though.  He looks to the left and then to the right
taking the whole sight in.  Once done he begins the slow process of
walking to the door.  The pain displayed across his face with every
small step he takes.  He reached the door and grabs the handle for
support, almost doubling over in pain.  He tries to keep going, tries
to make it out the door, but something stops him.  Something catches
his eye at the last moment before he can leave.)


(He cocks his head sideways and looks down; just staring at whatever
it is that's caught his eye.  A small laugh or a grimace in pain
escapes his body as he continues to stare.  Finally his shoulders lift
up and down again with another sigh as he slowly bends down towards
his distraction.  As he grabs it and slowly begins to pick it up...)


(The scene fades to black.)

****************************************
****************************************
Sinister & The Berserkers Part 1
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene fades in and immediately seen by the viewer is a large sign
reading "Stanley & Seafort's Steak, Chop & Fish House" where there are
numerous patrons entering while others speak amongst themselves about
various topics. Everyone seen, children and adults alike, are dressed
in very warm clothing and either have umbrellas or rain coats on as
the rain this particular evening is steady. The PVW cameraman makes
his way amongst the throng and into the restaurant itself where more
voluminous conversation is heard, as are the various noises associated
with any busy restaurant. Servers, hostesses and patrons alike dart
about engaged in various points of business.

The cameraman proceeds with navigating the various people and we soon
see a very familiar man sitting at a booth positioned near the rear of
the restaurant. The cameraman approaches the man known as Sinister and
we see sitting on the table in front of him a large glass of water and
another one containing cranberry juice, which is half full. He appears
rather contemplative as his large arms rest atop the table and he
watches the hustle and bustle of humanity in the restaurant. He
notices the cameraman and motions for him to sit across the table. As
the cameraman does so we see Sinister wearing a red-and-white
turtleneck sweater, black slacks and a pair of black waterproof boots.
He nods once respectfully to the cameraman once positioned]

Sin: Good evening and thank you for joining me, I appreciate it.
Please pardon my mood but as you have seen first-hand, quite a bit
perturbs me in terms of PVW business. [He takes a deep breath, sits
back against the wall of the booth and rests his arms in his lap] The
recent events involving the modified faction of HOPE, along with what
they have done to my friend Ash, has been eating away at my core ever
since everything went down at Boiling Point Two.

[He looks to his right, momentarily lost in thought, as his eyes
suggest a mental replay of the events he witnessed at the most recent
pay-per-view. He blinks twice and returns his focus]

Sin: Bottom line is...I let Ash down. [Another deep breath accompanied
by a few shakes of his head] When I have needed help, Ash has been
there, along with various other good people who are on the same page
with me. What HOPE did to Ash...[jaw clenches] is inexcusable...and
unforgettable. [Unclenches his jaw and cracks his knuckles loudly]
Locking Ash in that cage, keeping others out while they punished
Ash...[shakes his head a few times] was nothing short_of_ cowardly!

[Some of the nearby conversation in the restaurant lowers in volume as
some patrons dart nervous looks in Sinister's direction. He notices
this, puts his hands up slightly in an apologetic gesture and smiles.
The patrons noticeably relax and return to their conversations]

Sin: I forgot where I was for a moment, forgive me. I will maintain a
level tone of conversation during the remainder of this footage.
Besides, it won't be long now before my esteemed guests arrive. Until
then, I will delve a bit into what I believe will transpire. Soon
there will be a very brutal battle between The Berserkers and myself
when we stand across the ring from Derek Weaver, Uncle Frank and
Herscher Von Donkerhardt. It's no secret that making it out of this
unscathed is neither reality, nor an option. Too much is riding on the
line during this battle because it's not just another six-man tag
match.

[He lifts the cranberry juice to his mouth, takes a few gulps, sets it
down and steeples his fingers on the table top]

Sin: As the PVW has witnessed, Todd Johnstone has pieced together this
collection of talent, including Gibson Hayes, to execute his master
plan and hold every piece of championship material in the league. Each
man in his own right is skilled, capable and to various extents,
dangerous. However, [he extends his right index finger], there are
others in this federation who are also quite skilled, capable and
dangerous. [Lowers his finger] Honestly it's a matter of opinion when
considering the capabilities of various wrestlers, but my belief is
this. If they're in the PVW, then they can handle business one way or
the other. Now while it's true not everyone in this league is willing,
or able, to push the limits like Rob Cole or William Craven, each man
is capable of pushing themselves into partaking in actions they
normally wouldn't.

[A hint of a smile crosses his face as he opts to take a few gulps of
water this time. Setting the large glass down, he rubs his hands
together, cracks his neck loudly and continues]

Sin: Thus far the PVW hasn't really seen me push my limits to be
honest because up to this point, it wasn't necessary. True, various
lines have been crossed during my time here but I was able to handle
most of those situations without overextending myself. There are some
points of business that have been left undone and those will be
addressed as time wears on. Currently, however, the actions selected
and carried out by HOPE have decided some of my actions as well. I am
thankful that my esteemed guests...

[He pauses and turns his attention to a rise of conversation and noise
to his right. The cameraman quickly lifts the camera and turns it
towards the disturbance. We see the thickly-built forms of Doom and
Wolf, the ASLL Tag Team Champions, making their way through the throng
of patrons, taking the time to say hello to various people who
recognize them, particularly children. As usual, they are wearing a
black leather jacket and jeans. The face-painted superstars are happy
to see Sinister. Likewise, Sinister's demeanor has softened a bit and
he stands to greet both men]

Sin: I'll be damned, speak of the devils. [Chuckling, he slaps hands
with Doom, pulls him into a one-armed hug, then does the same with
Wolf] Your timing is impeccable fella's. Please [he gestures to the
booth] have a seat. [As the tag champs sit, Sinister motions to the
cameraman to sit on the side of the table where he sits. The cameraman
does so and sets up the camera at an angle where all three men can be
seen. Sinister sits and nods his head slowly] Allow me to offer my
congratulations once again for winning the ASLL Tag Team Titles my
brotha's.

Doom: It's great to see you Big D.

Wolf: Boiling Point ... What a night it was for the three of us. A
little ASLL tag team gold, along with you smacking that mosquito, Biz
and teaching that smug SOB a lesson.

Sin: I dig it brotha's.  Please, [he gestures towards the menus on the
table] order whatever you'd like, it's my dollar. Consider it a part
of the congratulations from me.

Doom: I never pass up a free beer.

Wolf: Now, wait a second Doom.

Sin: Don't even trip, it's my pleasure.

[A young, very attractive waitress approaches the table]

Waitress: Good evening, gentlemen are you ready to order or do you
need more time?

Sin: Since these two young men just arrived, they could probably go
for some drinks to get started. I'll wait to order some food so we can
all order at once, but may I have another cranberry juice please?
Waitress: Of course Mr Sinister, I'll bring that right to you.

[She smiles warmly and glides away while all three men appreciate
her...grace]

Sin: I always have enjoyed a nice...view.

Doom: That's one fine ---

[His partner cuts him off]

Wolf: Lady!  This isn't Japan man ... We have to keep it PG13 over
here!

Sin: [Clears his throat] All right, I didn't bring you here to admire
the eye candy though that's a great thing, don't get me wrong. The
both of you know what this meeting is about so I'll just get right to
it. [Doom and Wolf get comfortable and listen intently] This situation
with Weaver, Uncle Frank and Donkerhardt is going to be fast, ugly,
and intense. I'm not worried about what you two are able to handle
because I've seen enough, in person and through research. What
concerns me are the actions of the bastards who we'll be battling. So,
in light of that, I have something here for the both of you. [Doom and
Wolf look quizzically at Sinister as the big man motions towards a
host standing at his station, typing furiously on a computer. The
young man notices Sinister's motion, reaches under the desktop, pulls
out two manila envelopes and walks them over to Sinister. He takes
them from the host, nods respectfully to him, and slips him a fifty
dollar bill]

Sin: Thank you for keeping these safe.

Host: [Obviously excitedly shocked by the $50] Thank you Mr. Sinister
sir!

Sin: You're very welcome. [The young man hurries back to his station]
Fella's, [he slides a manila envelope to each man simultaneously] I've
had this footage of each man pieced together by the PVW video crew. I
trust both of you know each man but I like to consider this as
extra credit homework.

[TO BE CONTINUED INTO PART TWO ...]

****************************************
****************************************
Christopher Black
****************************************
****************************************

[Fade in on the interior of what appears to be an empty gym. But,
after a few moments, noises can be heard, unintelligible yet rhythmic.
Almost hesitating, the camera pans the room, trying to find where the
sounds are coming from. Getting a bead on the source, the camera
cautiously turns a corner.

Down in the far end of the room is the cause. A gutteral, hoarse cry
of fury escapes him with each wild punch he throws at the punching
bag. His chest, bare for a change, is drenched with sweat and heaving
with exertion. The knuckles of his shaking, clenched fists are raw and
bloody, but such wounds are uncaring or unregistering with him as
throws yet another stiff jab. The camera now zooms in to catch an odd
disparity. Red welts peppered along his lanky chest and bruises along
his forearms. Even considering what went down at Boiling Point, these
are fresh.

Suddenly, the camera is jerked back, coming face to face with one
somber Jacob Rose. The large Londoner immediately puts a finger to his
lips in warning to stay silent.]

JR: The price for privacy is a steep one, but worth the cost at times.
[Quieter] It isn't safe to be here right now.

[Jacob continues to drag the camera back and away. He shoots a worried
look back towards the corner. The near-bestial howls of rage from
Christopher Black haven't let up for a moment as the punching bag
continues to be victimized.]

JR: The worse thing you can do with a wounded animal is let it live.
Any sense of control or self-preservation is lost. Pain is a plague
that has to be spread. And anyone will become its next target.

[Jacob flinches, dread etching deeper into his face. The well-dressed
Londoner already looks exhausted.]

JR: It isn't safe to be here right now. It isn't safe for _anyone_
anymore...

[He shakes his head sadly as we fade to black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Matt Tiegs
****************************************
****************************************

(Video forward by the MACW)

WM:	Wes McRiely, back here with MACW action, but first, we're told
our own "Missouri Tiger" Matt Tiegs has requested some time.

JB:	Who cares about him?  He went down to Phoenix.

WM:	While Matt did go to Phoenix Valley Wrestling, he did so with
the blessing of his family, his fans, and his friends....which by last
check, you weren't one of those, Jess.

("What You Believe In" by Dreamtide begins to blare over the house
system, and the fans at first don' t recognize the music, but see the
Missouri Tigers logo on the video-tron and go loud with the uber-fan-
favorite pop.  Tiegs emerges from the back, dressed to the nines with
a really sharp suit, dress slacks, and it wouldn't be Matt Tiegs if he
wasn't wearing a black/gold Missouri Tigers tie.)

RS:	Ladies and gentlemen, here is the newest wrestler for Phoenix
Valley Wrestling, and one of our favorites, here is "THE MISSOURI
TIGER" MATT TIEGS!!!!!

(Crowd pops huge for Tiegs, who steps through the second and top rope
gingerly, as he's sporting the business suit tonight.)

WM:	Some new ring music for Tiegs, as from what we've heard, Matt
took a few weeks browsing around different music on YouTube, searching
for the right song.

JB:	It still sucks.

(Ring announcer Roger Stevens hands his microphone to Tiegs and steps
out of the ring.  Tiegs places the mic to his face, but the crowd is
still giving him an ovation.  Tiegs smiles and motions to the crowd to
quiet down.)

MT:	Thank you for that from the bottom of my heart.  I may be in
Phoenix Valley Wrestling, but I'll be back from time-to-time.  Also,
let me add that we are filming this for PVW, so please be respectful.

(An alternating "TIGER!  PVW!  TIGER!  PVW!" chant starts.  Tiegs
smiles again.)

MT:	Now, if you watched that great event that was Boiling Point II
that the PVW put on, you saw your "Missouri Tiger" Matt Tiegs make his
first PVW appearance right before the Pre-Game Show's Main Event.
(POP!)  However, if you stuck around and watched an amazing show, you
saw what happened at the end, and that I, myself, got involved in the
brawl.  To that end, I stand before you tonight with the PVW camera
crews in tow.

(Tiegs nods in the ring, as the fans wonder what their fan fave has to
say.)

MT:	HOPE.  Gibson Hayes.  Frank Knight.  Hersher von Donkerhardt.
Derek Weaver.  Todd Johnstone.  (Tiegs suddenly laughs.)  I guess my
explanation of the definition of hope falls on the ears of HOPE's
hypocritical and overzealous quartet of fallacies and shortcut
artists.  Allow me to drop another definition on you, courtesy of the
fine folks at dictionary.com:

War (noun):
1.  a conflict carried on by force of arms, as between nations or
between parties within a nation; warfare, as by land, sea, or air.
2.  a state or period of armed hostility or active military
operations: The two nations were at war with each other.
3.  a contest carried on by force of arms, as in a series of battles
or campaigns: the War of 1812.
4.  active hostility or contention; conflict; contest: a war of words.

MT:	Tonight, while the PVW itself may not be declaring war on
HOPE, this fighting "Missouri Tiger" certainly is declaring war on the
group known as HOPE.  Your group as a whole disgusts me with your
attitudes, your actions, and pretty much every damn thing about you
screams pieces of filth.  Sure, having a shot to complete some
unfinished business with Frank Knight was part of the reason I signed
up with PVW...but, the actions taken after the main event of Boiling
Point II have made my mind up.  The collective actions of HOPE as a
whole have made me livid with anger that such disrespect was shown
towards not only a competitor who gave it his all to claim and attempt
to win what all of us on the roster aspire to be, but for said group
to take over certain aspects of things to prove a point by trying to
massacre that competitor just to prove a point that your group is
"bad-ass mother[BLEEP] NUMBER ONE!"

(At this point, Tiegs' face is turning red, and he even loosens up the
Missouri Tigers tie, to where it's just hanging off his neck.  It's
quite obvious the trademark Tiegs family temper is boiling.)

MT:	Now, I'm going to have some people telling me, like that non-
announcer Fred Hoyle or his cross-dressing twin, Matt Anderson, "I
just got here, you can't be making waves like that."  I have been in
and around wrestling rings all over the world all thirty-nine years of
my life, spending the majority of the last sixteen of 'em IN THIS VERY
RING!  And if you just think that one man can't put up the fight of
his life to defend his promotion in the face of peril.....think again.
Sure, I'm the newcomer on the roster.  I'm at the bottom of the
rankings ladder looking up at most of HOPE and their titles.  I
shouldn't be making "waves" this soon, but if you think I'm just going
to sit on my thumbs while my brothers-in-arms are getting bloodied and
stretchered while HOPE makes another "statement".....THINK AGAIN!

(Tiegs just yanks the Tiger tie off and tosses it to a corner, and
does the same with his suit jacket.)

MT:	Now, I could be like every other contender, wrestler, and non-
contender such as Masked Maniac, and flat-out DEMAND Gibson Hayes give
me a match so I can rip his head off...  (Tiegs pauses, and suddenly
takes a deep breath, composing himself.)  However, being the newcomer,
I KNOW that I'm not going to get that chance.  I realize that, and
Gibson does too....unless he wants to prove another HOPE point by
taking the cowards 4-on-1 way out.  I realize tonight that I'm
planting the biggest bullseye on my back that HOPE will probably toss
out there, but at the VERY LEAST....I am DECLARING TO TAKE THE
FIGHT.....THE WAR...TO HOPE!  Honestly....PVW, I may be new
here....but at least I HAVE the heart, determination, fire, passion,
and respect for this business to TAKE THE WAR TO HOPE!  It doesn't
matter what the front office says, the guys in the back say,
hell....even my OWN family says or tells me.  I may be signing my own
death wish here, but the fans who know me, the wrestlers who know me,
even my family and friends who know me personally....they know that
this was/is inevitable.  My grandfather gave his body and blood to
this business all those years ago.  My father to this day continues to
give his body and blood to this business by owning and running a
wrestling promotion and school after nearly twenty-five years
wrestling inside this ring.  I continue that fighting Tiegs tradition.
I've given my body and blood in the past, and I will continue to do so
today, tomorrow, and for the future yet to be.  I will not give up the
fight, I will not surrender, and I will.....lead....win....the war
against HOPE.

(Tiegs, heated and all, stands next to the ring ropes, leaning on them
with a hard, heated stare at the fixed camera.)

MT:	Tonight, I am the FIRST to declare WAR on HOPE.  Sure, I am
the new guy in PVW....but if no one else on the PVW roster wants to
join arms with this battle-tested, battle-hardened ring wars
veteran... ....I certainly know where I can damn well find some guys,
and even gals, who will be more than happy to fight side-by-side with
this fighting "Missouri Tiger!"  HOPE....prepare for war!

(Tiegs drops the mic in the ring, and mouths, "The war begins....NOW!"
at the camera, before picking up the tie and suit coat in the far
corner.  Tiegs rolls under the ropes and out of the ring, as "What You
Believe In" by Dreamtide begins to blare loudly, as the fans pop for
their local favorite.)

****************************************
****************************************
Gold Rush
****************************************
****************************************

[We fade up to rather shaky footage that looks like it's from one of
those handheld pocket YouTube camcorders they sell at Wal-Mart and
Best Buy. A radio somewhere in the room can be heard playing "Cowboy"
by Kid Rock. After getting a sweeping view of the hotel room the
pocket-cam turns to show an attractive blonde haired, blue eyed man
lying in a bed under the covers, his arm around a goregeous blonde
woman.]

Man: In honor of the mind-blowing experience the both of us just had,
I need to record this moment for posterity.

Woman: You do whatever you want, baby, as long as you do what you just
did again and again and again.

Man: Oh, you can count on it! They call me The Last Cowboy, but after
a ride like that, I think I found the Last Cowgirl!

[The woman giggles and snuggles into Beau, who winks at the camera.]

Beau: I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Candi.

[Beau's eyes go wide, and the woman's eyes open wide as well.]

Woman: What did you call me?

Beau: Oh shi-

[We abruptly cut to another room. This video looks like it is from a
more professional camera, and when the PVW banner is seen hanging on
the wall of the hotel's conference room, it's obvious why. Standing in
front of the camera but away from the PVW banner are two figures. One
is recognizable to PVW fans as Johnathan Regnigh. Regnigh is dressed
in a white button down shirt with a red tie and black khakis. The
woman with him is his wife, Victoria. A leggy brunette, Victoria is
tall, in her high heels she is almost as tall as her 6'5" husband. She
wears an off the shoulder red dress with a slit up the side.]

Regnigh: He's late.

Victoria: He's got 5 minutes.

[Regnigh gives his wife a look.]

Victoria: Yeah, he's gonna be late.

[Regnigh shakes his head.]

Regnigh: Did I make the wrong choice?

[Victoria sighs, and starts futzing with her husband's tie.]

Victoria: No. Absolutely not. No one else who has come through your
school has been as promising as Beau has. And he has been amazing with
the kids. If you have to do this he's the right choice. I just wish he
was a little more...

Regnigh: Low key?

[Victoria chuckles.]

Victoria: If he were low key he wouldn't be Beau.

[A producer comes over to the pair and taps his watch a few times
before walking away without saying a word.]

Victoria: Ass.

Regnigh: Vicky!

Victoria: I don't like that guy. I don't like any of these guys. Or
any of the girls. You know how I feel about these wrestling types.

[Regnigh opens his mouth but Victoria cuts him off.]

Victoria: BUT I know how you feel about all of this and I will put up
with it. For you. Because I love you.

[Victoria gives her husband a kiss.]

Victoria: Go find your tag team partner.

[The scene cuts to a hallway somewhere else in the hotel. The camera
is following Regnigh as he walks, presumably, to his partner's hotel
room. There's a loud crash when Regnigh is about halfway down the hall
and then comes the shouting.]

Beau: CATHY! [BANG!] CONNIE! [CRASH!]

[Beau suddenly appears back peddaling out of his hotel room. He is
naked. Except for his white cowboy hat, which he has in his hands. The
woman's head peeks out of the hotel room's doorway, and she looks
furious.]

Woman: My name is CARRIE!

Beau: CARRIE! That's right! I knew that!

[SLAM!]

Beau: Well... shit.

[Beau scratches his head and looks down the hall at Regnigh, whose
hands are now on his waist. Beau's eyes go wide again and his cowboy
hat promptly takes place of the pixelated blur that was filling the
screen.]

Beau: So, uh. How's it hangin'?

[Beau pauses for a beat.]

Beau: Ooh, bad choice of words.

[Regnigh sighs and walks up to his partner, putting his arm around
him.]

Beau: Dude, I gotta say I'm not really comfortable with your proximity
considering all i'm wearing is a cowboy hat and a smile.

[Beau absolutely BEAMS a million watt smile at Regnigh. Regnigh shakes
his head and turns Beau around, shoving him down the hallway.
Depending upon your point of view, it can be either a good or bad
thing that the censors decided not to pixelate Beau's bare ass.]

Regnigh: Let's go get you something to wear. You know we're late for
the press conference now, right?

Beau: OH, right! The press conference. Damn... sorry dude. But, hey,
you saw my distraction, right?

Regnigh: Would you get moving?

Beau: Sure, sure. Is there a continental breakfast or something?
Getting screamed at sure makes you work up an appetite.

Regnigh: Are you sure it was the screaming and not the dodging of
furniture?

Beau: Come to think of it, it might've just been all the se--

[Regnigh quickly interrupts, pointing down the hallway.]

Regnigh: CLOTHES! NOW!

[As the two round the corner at the opposite end of the hall, we
fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Nevermind
****************************************
****************************************

[The scene opens on a vacant lot, strewn with rocks and bits of trash.
The lot is filled with dirty and desperate looking people in shabby,
hand me down clothing.  A few grubby looking children run back and
forth across the lot, but the entire scene appears to be one of
bustling activity as the normally listless adults appear to be busy at
some task.   Seated in a faded and torn sofa in the middle of the lot
is a hulking figure of a man flanked on either side by a shabby
looking woman:   a lanky blonde with an over-sized hooded sweatshirt
and sweatpants, and a chubby younger woman in a too tight turquoise t-
shirt and black leggings with a black rat's nest of hair.  The man
between them is dressed in a black shirt and home-made kilt.  A faded
flannel is tied around his waist, and on his feet are the remains of a
pair of heavy black combat boots, mostly held together by thick strips
of silver duct tape.  A long, scraggly black beard hangs from his jaw,
and his greasy black hair falls forwards in bangs that obscure his
eyes.  On his head, he wears a crown made of rusty pieces of tin cans
and other metal and chunks of colored glass.  Nevermind looks up at
the camera with a disinterested look on his face and speaks in a
gravelly voice.]

So Boiling Point is over and done.   All I've been hearing is how the
entire landscape of PVW has supposedly changed, but from where I sit,
it's still all the same old crap.  Some of the names may have changed,
but nothing's really any different.  Take this Matt Tiegs guy for
instance.  I finally thought I was finished dealing with Hartt, but
now I have to face a guy that may as well be his twin.

Tiegs, you may have some of the less gifted people around here
convinced that you want to "save" PVW from the evil that threatens to
tear it asunder out of the goodness of your Missouri Tiger's heart,
but I know better.  Just like I knew better with the Paladin.  You
see, everyone here does what they think will get them ahead.  Some
guys think that ganging up, giving themselves a snazzy name and
jumping the other idiots from behind gives them the advantage.  Or if
not an advantage, it at least gets the sheep talking about them.
And then there's guys like you, who want the exact same thing as the
other guys, but your own ego won't allow you to take the "easy" way.
You don't give a crap about what's right or wrong.  At least guys like
Johnstone and Hayes are honest.  They admit they don't care what
happens to anyone else, so long as they get what they want.  But you,
Chris Hartt, Cloak Dos and Sinister you all want the exact same things
as they do.  You're just so concerned with how other people perceive
you, that you take the so called "high road."  You don't do it because
you're morally superior.  You do it because your own egos are so
fragile, and you're so desperate to make people like you, that you're
obsessed with doing what you think they want you to do.

I don't care what people think about me.  I don't need to take the
high ground.  I don't need to be concerned about what the "fans" will
think about me if I beat you within an inch of your pathetic life,
Tiegs.   All of this means nothing to me.  You mean nothing to me,
just like you mean nothing to all the morons who cheer you on.   If I
was to end your PVW career before it even started, within a week or
two, they'd forget you ever existed.   So you see, all these people
you're so desperate to impress, if you went away, they'd just find
someone else to cheer for.  Some other deluded jack ass who thinks
they matter.

You don't matter, Tiegs.

[A homeless man walks into the scene.  Nevermind looks up at him and
he speaks.]

Man:  We got all the stuff you wanted.  You said you wanted to come
check it out when we were done.

[Nevermind stares blankly at the man for a few moments, before he
sheepishly walks away.]

Tiegs, I'm putting an end to your PVW career before it starts.  Go
find some other idiots somewhere else to convince you're a good guy.
I've got more important things to do than show you just how
meaningless you truly are.

[Nevermind stands, forcing the women next to him to move aside.  The
blonde never changes expression, while the girl with black hair looks
up at him wordlessly.  Nevermind begins to walk away but pauses for a
moment and looks directly into the camera.]
As for Hope?  Hope doesn't exist.

[The King of Nothing walks off, leaving the camera to focus on the two
women on the discarded couch.  The younger thick girl nervously gets
to her feet and walks off in pursuit of Nevermind, while the blonde
merely stays on the couch as the scene fades to black...]

****************************************
****************************************
Talion
****************************************
****************************************

"I'm a 'trial by fire' kind of guy."

[From the darkness steps the masked figure known simply as Talion. His
dark mask blending in with his black surroundings as the white
outlines around his mouth, eyes and nose are the only visible aspects
above the white, button-down shirt he is wearing with his dark pants.]

"I always have been, really. I suppose this is something that the PVW
will come to learn about me. I don't take the easy way out. I don't
duck the tough challenges. I live up to my word."

[A pregnant pause to let his words sink in.]

"I hold myself to a high standard. I have trained for years and kept
my body in supreme shape for opportunities like this. I expect nothing
but the best out of myself, and I also expect others to be their best
as well at all times."

[He dips his head.]

"That is always where I fail."

[His moment is over as he raises his head back to speak.]

"It turns out that people do not like having standards placed on them.
It has resulted in my mistakes throughout my career that have taken
their toll. For those mistakes, I am doomed to walk a period of time
under this shroud of darkness, cursed with the name that literally
means 'punishment fitting the crime.'"

[He crosses his arms in front of his chest.]

"It doesn't mean I have changed when it comes to standards and
expectations. It is quite the contrary. That is why I was happy to be
facing Livestock on Shockwave."

[The darkness is not going away around his figure even as he seems to
move around the area he stands in. It is quite strange, really.]

"I like challenges and what could be better than taking on one half of
the recent World Tag Team Champions in my debut match. I want the fans
to see the skill and come to know me as a man who appreciates them
coming to the arena, and for that I wanted a tough debut. Livestock
offers me just that. He is the kind of man that is not easily put
down. It is a risk facing him, especially coming off losing the tag
titles at Boiling Point."

[He stops moving and stares down the camera.]

"Have you ever faced an animal that has been wounded and backed into a
corner?"

[Silence.]

"It is invigorating. It is dangerous. It has all the drama required to
be worth watching. The man facing the beast must be prepared to die in
order to possibly survive the animal's attack. He must also know the
animal in order to understand their tendencies."

"And I do know you Livestock."

[Back to pacing a little.]

"I know how tough you are. I have watched you win matches with the
Gutch. I have watched you beat down man inside the ring. I know what
you are capable of and I know that right now you want nothing more
than to bounce back from Boiling Point and emphatically prove you
haven't lost a step."

"You are just the challenge I was looking for."

"I want to prove that I am here to give my all every night. I want the
fans to rise up and cheer the moment they see the mask because they
know they are about to get some real excitement. I want the guys in
the back to respect me as a man and a wrestler..."

[Another pause.]

"...but all of that must be earned."

[The pacing stops and he stares at the camera again.]

"And you are the down payment, Livestock. You are the first
installment of what I hope to be a long career of success in PVW. I
look forward to facing you inside the ring."

"May the best man win."

[The area goes dark as Talion turns to walk out of the lit area.]

****************************************
****************************************
Erc Seiger
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera opens on a state-of-the-art gym.

You've seen the type. It's the kind of gym that one might see in a
Division I-A NCAA football powerhouse's facilities; brightly lit,
mirrors hanging from nearly every flat surface, and activity at all
hours of the day. In this case, a large variety of young men and women
are hitting the free weights, running on treadmills, and pedalling
furiously on bikes.

In particular, the camera focuses on one young man, with short black
hair, wearing a drenched red tank top and black gym shorts. He's
sitting on a bench, broad back leaning against the rear support in a
declining position, staring up at the ceiling. Sweat drips off his
large arms as he settles in, each hand gripping a 100 pound dumbbell,
held perpendicular to his shoulder.

After a few seconds, the man takes a deep breath...

...and shoves the dumbbels into the air, exploding out of his rest
position, twisting them slightly so that, at the top of the
repetition, they're parallel to his shoulders. Slowly, he brings the
dumbbells down, back to their starting positions.

As he readies himself for another repetition, a voice lightly seasoned
with a Texan twang speaks from off-camera]

DL: Just watching him lift makes my muscles sore.

[The camera pans over, away from the young man, to instead show a
slightly older woman sitting on another bench. Her bright red hair is
pulled back into a ponytail, and while her skin is free of the sheen
of sweat, her skin is still flushed. Not quite the color of her hair,
but close.

Dallas Lawson, manager of PVW rookie "Der Kreuzritter" Erich Seiger,
looks away from where her new charge is working, taking a swig of
water from a bottle before speaking]

DL: It's been a while since I've had to do one of these. Single-camera
style promotions for an upcoming match. Getting them started was the
part I always hated the most. I never minded the talking portion, but
that first line...sometimes, you come off sounding like an awkward
idiot, or a stand-up comic who just launches into his act without
interacting with the audience first. So, let's see if we can shake the
proverbial dust off...

[The redhead pauses for a few seconds, her eyes looking off-camera for
a moment]

DL: My grandfather had a way with words. He loved metaphors and
analogies. Very colorful guy when it came to words and language. He
worked for the Bureau of Mines out in New Mexico, and during the 30's
and 40's, there would always be an influx of migrant miners, due to
the Depression or the war. New guys who didn't know anything about
mining beyond the fact that it paid really well. My grandfather, when
he told stories about those days, would sometimes show me pictures as
well. He'd always point out the new guys, their first day on the job,
and tell me, "this poor guy, he got thrown right into the briar patch
that very first day!"

Briar patch. That was his way of saying "trial by fire." Take the new
guy, give him the basic rundown, and then just send him in the mine
and see if he works out. Sometimes, it didn't, and the guy would hand
his hat over and be gone the next day. Sometimes, it worked out, and
you had a new employee who'd stick around for a while.

Briar patch. A mess of thorns, vines, and blackberries that, if you
fell in, would poke you, stick you, and constrict you like quicksand.
The harder you fought, the harder you'd get stuck, until someone came
along and helped you out. Well, someone in the PVW front office must
have been impressed by Erich's showing against the Masked Maniac at
Boiling Point, because the Spectre and Christopher Black are one HELL
of a briar patch to get tossed into for your first televised match.

[Dallas shakes her head, a small smile on her face]

DL: Erich looked good on the pre-show.  He dominated the Masked Maniac
from start to finish, showing he's adjusting to the American style of
professional wrestling quite nicely.  So, when we get that phone call
from the front office Monday morning, I'm thinking that Erich will get
a match on Shockwave, up against another newcomer to Phoenix Valley
Wrestling, or maybe a match against a veteran who's been on a bit of a
losing streak.  Instead, the executive says, and I'm paraphrasing of
course, "Hey, we were impressed with Seiger's match, so we're going to
put him on Heatwave in a tag team match with two of the biggest,
baddest wrestlers in PVW, Spectre and Christopher Black!"

[Another swig of watter, before Dallas continues talking]

DL: Now, no offense is intended towards Heath Lawson.  I'm not
familiar with him, and since this is his Heatwave debut, there isn't
exactly a lot of footage out there to study.  I'm not going to sit
here and blow smoke about how we're going to be as a tag team, since
this is the first time Erich and Lawson have teamed up...along with
this being the first time anyone's seen Lawson in PVW.  So, the
chemistry and teamwork between my charge and Heath Lawson is going to
be questioned.  On the other hand, the two gentlemen, and in the case
of Christopher Black, I use that word VERY loosely, aren't exactly
going to be friendly and neighborly either.

On one hand, to go right back to that phrase, you have Wrestling's
Devil, the Grim Reaper of Violence, the pale skinned grappler,
Spectre.  Anyone who's followed Phoenix Valley Wrestling for any
length of time knows exactly why they get a feeling of ill ease when
his name is mentioned.  Size doesn't matter to him.  Five foot, six
foot, seven foot...two point one three meters...he knows how to bring
someone down to size and stretch them until they're silly putty.  Not
only that, but the guy's been through a barbed wire hell, and walked
out the other side like none of the discomfort and agony even bothered
him. Going up against him, the question has to be, "what can be done
to make this guy feel pain?"

And on the other hand, there's a guy who doesn't have a heart.  Black,
there's really nothing more that needs to be said about your actions
over the past couple of months.  Everyone's talked and talked and
takled about what you've done and what you said...when really, what
they should be talking about is the match you had at Boiling Point
with Senor Cloak Dos. Everyone else is.  Newsletters, dirtsheets, the
Internet, all talking about how Dos/Black is probably the Match of the
Year for PVW, if not all of professional wrestling.  Past your
complete and utter lack of common decency is a technical wrestler
who's second to none in PVW.

Individually, the Spectre and Christopher Black are formidable.  Put
them together...

[Dallas lets that thought hang in the air for a moment, the clanging
of free weights the only sound]

DL: Like I said before, that's one hell of a briar patch.  Erich and
Heath Lawson are unknown quanities.  Everyone around the world knows
about Spectre and Black.  Stepping into the ring with them is akin to
preparing for war.  Beating them, however...

[Another smile crossed Dallas' face, this one a little wider, but a
little more devious]

DL: Professional wrestling is all about one thing.  Talk all you want
about being the baddest, the best, the most hardcore, the guy with the
most titles, the highest rankings on some online poll...everything
comes down to one very simple fact.  Professional wrestling is all
about making the most of the opportunities that are given to you.
That's what this match is to Erich and myself.  An opportunity to show
the PVW just what he can do when he's in the ring against two of the
very best this federation has to offer.

Erich's stronger than anyone here in PVW.  He's bigger than anyone
here in PVW.  He's been trained by two of the best wrestlers the world
has ever seen.  And, to be a little modest, he's got one of the best
managers this business has today.  You could sit here and talk all you
want about Erichs' "upside potential," about how "good he could be..."

...or, you could throw him into the ring against Christopher Black and
the Spectre, and see just how good he truly is.  And that's exactly
what's going to happen.  Erich Seiger's not a lamb for the slaughter.
He's a tank.  And no matter how hard the Spectre twists his body, no
matter how precise the attacks of Christopher Black are, in the end,
he, along with Heat Lawson, will roll right over those two, and put
the entire PVW on notice.

Briar patch. A mess of thorns, vines, and blackberries that, if you
fell in, would poke you, stick you, and constrict you like quicksand.
The harder you fought, the harder you'd get stuck, until someone came
along and helped you out.

[As Lawson has her say, the 7-foot frame of Erich Seiger looms over
her, stepping into the shot to stand beside his sitting manager.  His
face is red, short hair matted with sweat...and as he speaks into the
camera, his eyes focus on the lens, speaking not only to whoever's
handling the recording duties, but also to whoever is out there
watching...specifically, the Spectre and Christopher Black]

ES: Oder, zerreissen Sie sich Ihren Weg durch das Unkraut, und treten
auf der anderen Seite triumphieren.

[Fade]

****************************************
****************************************
Legacy
****************************************
****************************************

[Open to a training room.  There's weight equipment around the edges
of the room, free weights sitting on shelves on the wall, and a
wrestling ring in the middle of the entire room.  It's a gym.  The
camera pulls and pans around to show off a punching bag and exercise
equipment.  In front of the ring is a mat, the same thing used for
padding around the ringside area at shows.

In the ring, we see Tommy Von Braun with another man.  The men are
locked up in a collar-and-elbow tie up.  Tommy's decked out in a pair
of blue Starter athletic shorts and a blue Starter athletic shirt.
Sterling Von Braun stands on the ring apron.  He's sporting black
Starter athetlic clothing.  Alex Wallace is pacing the side of the
ring closest to the camera.  He's decked out in a pair of black Adidas
workout pants and a white A-shape undershirt.  He's wearing one of his
old American flag baseball caps backwards.  A whistle hangs from his
neck.

The training partner is decked out in a in gray sweatpant style shorts
and a gray A-frame t-shirt.  Tommy Von Braun slaps on a side-headlock
and then quickly takes the man down with a headlock takedown.  After a
few seconds of cranking on the headlock, he releases the hold.  He
stands up and makes the tag to Sterling.  Sterling steps into the ring
as Tommy steps out onto the ring apron.  The training partner is
already to his feet and begins circling the ring with Sterling looking
to lock up.  Wallace puts his whistle in his mouth and lets the
whistle screech.  Sterling and the training partner stop and look at
him.]

AW:  WHAT IS THAT!?  WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING!?

[The training partner backs off as Sterling stands there dumbfounded.
He starts to answer.]

AW:  It's a rhetorical question, Sterling!

[Tommy steps through the ropes and walks over to his partner.  Wallace
points at Tommy.]

AW:  I TOLD you what to do.  You have FIVE SECONDS before you HAVE to
leave the ring.  HOW CAN YOU SCREW UP THE BASICS!?

[Wallace shakes his head.]

AW:  Drop and give me twenty!

[Tommy and Sterling look at one another.  Tommy drops down into a
push-up position and starts doing the push-ups.  Sterling gets a look
this look on his face which reads as, "I'm not doing that."]

AW:  I SAID DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY, STERLING!

[Sterling finally drops to a push-up position and proceeds to start.]

AW:  GOD BLESS!  Do you THINK I like yelling?  How can you screw up
the basics?  FIVE SECONDS!  You have five seconds to double team your
opponent LEGALLY.

[Wallace looks over at the training partner.]

AW:  Hang back a minute, Ryan.

[Ryan nods his head.]

AW:  What is it going to take to get this through your thick skulls?
Do I need to step in there and punch it into the two of you?  You have
to maximize the time you're allowed to double team your opponent.  The
idea is to divide and conquer.  Keep one guy in the ring and don't let
him tag out to his partner.  Dominate, dominate, dominate.

[Wallace shakes his head.]

AW:  When the opponent is able to take more of a beating, then make
use of quick tags.  Keep him off his game by forcing him to switch up
his defensive approach.  Quick tag, quick tag, quick tag to MAXIMIZE
double teaming him.  That way you CAN wear him down.  Cut the ring
off.  Keep the opponent on YOUR side of the ring.  Slow the match down
when facing faster opponents so you don't get worn out.  Pick up the
pace for bigger and slower guys do you tire them out quicker.

[Wallace climbs up onto the ring apron and leans on the top rope.]

AW:  These are fundamental strategies both of you were taught and
know.  You HAVE to switch gears in a tag team match.  It's not just
one opponent with one strategy.  It's a team.  Much like the two of
you, they will have strengths that cover up the weaknesses of their
partner.  First and foremost, double team the opponent as often and as
much as possible.  Rely on each other.  Keep each other fresh by using
tags.

[Tommy gets to his feet as Sterling does two more pushups and then
gets to his feet.  Sterling starts to say something, but gets cut off
again.]

AW:  I told you the rules, Sterling.  Neither you or Tommy gets to
speak on camera until the two of you have won two matches.  Until that
time, I do all the talking.

[Wallace steps off the ring apron and to the floor.]

AW:  Again.

[Sterling and Ryan circle each other and then lockup.  Sterling
quickly applies a side-headlock and then pulls Ryan over to Legacy's
corner.  He reaches out and makes the tag to Tommy.  He pulls Ryan out
away from the corner as Tommy enters the ring.]

AW:  One one-thousand.

[Sterling keeps the side-headlock applied and cranks down on it as
Tommy tries to get his positioning, looking for a place to strike.]

AW:  Two one-thousand.  Three one-thousand.

[Ryan, arms wrapped around Sterling, starts to manuver himself and
keep Sterling between himself and Tommy.]

AW:  Four one-thousand.  Five one-thousand.

[Wallace reaches out and grabs the bottle of water sitting on the ring
apron.  He turns and throws it as hard as he can at the wall.
Sterling lets go of Ryan as the bottle hits the ball and makes a
"thunk" sound.  Sterling and Tommy stand there.  Wallace puts the
whistle in his mouth and blows into the whistle five or six times, his
face getting redder and redder.  Wallace blows the whistle out of his
mouth and removes it from his neck.  He takes the whistle and throws
it against the wall and turns back to face the ring.]

AW:  WHAT IS THE PROBLEM!?  DO YOU THINK THE MIDNIGHT THRILLERS ARE
GOING TO BE THIS SLOPPY!?  _DO YOU_!?

[Wallace climbs back up onto the ring apron.  He points at finger at
Tommy Von Braun.]

TVB:  You're a Von Braun, son.  Your father is Paul Von Braun.  While
he didn't wrestle a whole lot, he'd get in this ring and run circles
around you.  A COLOR COMMENTATOR WOULD WIPE THE FLOOR WITH YOU!  Your
grandaddy?  Scott Von Braun?  He'd eat you alive, boy.  You've got a
legacy to live up to, and don't think for a second the Thrillers don't
realize this.  They're salivating at the thought of being able to lay
claim to beating you.

[Tommy just nods his head.]

AW:  Do I need to call your grandfather?  How about your uncle?  How
about your cousins!?

[Tommy shakes his head.  Sterling breaks out into a smirk.  Wallace
catches the smirk and points a finger at him.]

AW:  What're you laughing about!?  Is something funny?  What's so damn
amusing!?

[Sterling tries in vein to stifle the smirk.  Wallace takes a few
steps, on the ring apron, closer to Sterling.]

AW:  Remember what I said about family casting shadows?  That goes
DOUBLE for YOU!  You think the Midnight Thrillers aren't going to crow
about beating you?  You won't be, "We beat Sterling Von Braun" that
you hear.  They'll talk about how your daddy is a Hall of Famer.  He
was a member of what many consider one of the greatest tag teams.
They'll sit there and crow and crow trying to coax your old man into a
match.  "We beat Andrew Sterling's kid in a match!"  That's all you'll
be referred to as, "Andrew Sterling's kid!"

[Sterling's smirk disappears.]

AW:  Boy, you've got a LONG way to go before you step out of any
shadows.  Believe you me, you haven't seen how hard of a road you have
to travel.  Not only are you a Von Braun, but you're the son of a tag
team wrestler.  A tag team wrestler whose tag team HAPPENS to be in
the Hall of Fame.  I know you don't want to hear comparisons, but it's
going to happen, son.  No matter what you do.  No matter how hard you
try.  People will compare you to him, even more so since you're IN a
tag team.  Wipe that damn smirk off your face, and show me what you've
got, Andrew Sterling's kid!

[Ryan's over in the corner smirking.  Sterling backs up as Wallace
steps off the ring apron.]

AW:  Again!

[Ryan moves forward towards the center of the ring.  Sterling pivots
on a foot and charges him.  Not expecting a charge, Ryan's taken down
with a nasty clothesline.  Tommy finishes stepping out onto the ring
apron.  Sterling continues the assault and grabs Ryan by his head,
bringing him to a vertical base.  He peppers his training partner with
a few right hands.  He grabs a front-facelock and pulls Ryan to the
corner where Tommy is.  Sterling reaches out and makes the tag.  Tommy
quickly enters the ring and hooks on a front-facelock.  The duo
proceed to drop Ryan with a double DDT.  Wallace throws his hands up
in the air.]

AW:  YES!  You're getting it!  HALLELUJAH!

[Legacy stops their assault.  Wallace puts his hands down.]

AW:  For that last screw up, I want a mile run in less than ten
minutes.

[Legacy exits the ring and head off camera to complete the run.
Wallace turns and watches them go.]

AW:  It's going to take some work, but I'll make these two a team yet.

****************************************
****************************************
Derek Weaver
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera opens on a sweating lowball glass of scotch, complete with
three cubes of ice, rotating a glacial pace. A man paces in the
background blurred due to the focal length of the camera. As it pulls
back, Derek Weaver is seen staring at the glass, pacing back and
forth. His hands hand at his sides, relaxed but the veins along his
arms and neck bulge. As he paces further, his jaw clenches and
relaxes, and the room shows signs of being nearly torn apart. Clothes
are strewn about, the mattress is off the frame and standing
vertically against a wall. There are newspapers taped to the windows,
preventing any light to enter the room]

DW: What's the difference? Why not just take the damn thing. Already
poured. Already iced.

[Derek looks away and shakes his head, sweat beads flinging off of the
freshly buzzed hair]

Everything for which you've stood, everything you've preached... you
dashed it away in one swift move.

Interfered in a match between two warriors.

You picked up a chair.

You USED it.

[Derek stops and looks towards a broken mirror. His reflection stares
back at him a dozen times over]

You've spit in the face of everything you tried to show the world from
the beginning. So why not take that step further down the rabbit hole?

[Derek walks to the glass of scotch and kneels in front of it, coming
eye level with the beautiful, refreshing brown liquid]

It could be so unbelievably easy. Pick up the glass, put it down. Pick
up the bottle, put it away. Pick up the habit and fade. Sink back into
what you became at the depths of your sorrow and depression and abject
hopelessness.

You sold your services, and with it your morals. No soul left to sell,
but who's keeping track.

Pick up the glass.

[Derek reaches his hand out and grips the glass. He raises it half an
inch before forcefully putting it back down]

No. I sold my services for a reason. I needed to get back into a
company worth fighting in. I needed to find a stage adequate enough to
truly shine the light. I needed a beacon worth setting ablaze.

And sometimes that means taking a step back... to take two forward.

[Derek finally looks to the camera]

I refuse to think that one minor setback one... SACRIFICE for the
greater good means that I need to crawl back into the bottle and let
the world slip into the ether. My senses are sharp. My abilities are
at their peak. My mind is sharper than the words spewing from the
champion.

I may have been a weapon, but the truth? The REAL truth? I'm a
warrior. I stand toe to toe, man to man and fight to prove I'm the
best. I have no qualms about leaving my opponents used husks. They
know the threat they are getting into when they sign their contracts.
The use of an arm, an eye, even the integrity of a skull are all
things easily lost in even the most routine matches.

But with me? There are no threats. I do not need to threaten to
cripple or maim or even murder my opponents. Such things are trite and
unrealistic. I never planned on taking a life, because it would
prevent me from breathing free air again. Instead, I make warnings. I
have no preconceptions about 'clean' fighting, as long as it's just my
hands and feet.

[Weaver picks up the glass of scotch and stands]

My foot's in the door. I'm not leaving any time soon. I currently
belong to the most destructive group ever formed inside Phoenix
Valley.

[Derek slowly tips and begins pouring out the glass. He stares at the
puddle created on the coffee table]

I'm no one's [BLEEP]ing puppet.

[The camera fades]

****************************************
****************************************
Cow and Chicken
****************************************
****************************************

[Scene opens... to a cow.  Wearing.  A party hat.]

[Sigh.]

[There he stands, in the middle of a field, happily chomping away on
some grass.  Staring at the camera.  Wearing a pink and blue-spotted
party hat.  Completely oblivious to the chaos that's about to become
the next few seconds of his life.]

EPL:  YEE HAW!!!

[From out of nowhere, a masked man runs into the screen, making a wild
jump onto the back of the cow.  This man wears full-length wrestling
pants adorned with drawn-on white feathers, and a lucha mask that
crudely resembles a gutted-out chicken wrapped around his head.  And
boy, is he happy to be riding the cow.  The cow which, apparently, is
not aware of his role in this equation as he kicks his back feet once,
then attempts to ignore this new irritation as it opts for another
bite of grass.]

EPL:  GIDDY UP, MOO COW!  YEE HAW!

[This odd little man drives his heels into the ribs of the cow,
finally getting a reaction from the cow... who takes off in a mad
sprint, for some reason surprising his rider who takes a tumble from
his mount.]

EPL:  Oww...

[A chuckle is heard from off-camera.  Its source walks on screen a
moment later, cutting almost as unusual an appearance as the other
man... his long, black hair is bleached with white spots to resemble
the look of a cow.  He wears dark blue jeans and a white muscle t-
shirt that reads "eet mor chikin".  Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to
introduce you to "Da Cow God"...]

DCGM:  Moo.

[... and his partner, El Pollo Loco.  They are PVW's newest tag team,
Cow and Chicken.]

EPL:  MOO!

[Sigh.  I better be getting a raise now that you guys are in the big
leagues.]

DCGM:  Not likely.

[Then just help the damn Chicken to his feet and stop talking to me.]

EPL:  Moo... that didn't work like I thought it would.

DCGM:  I told you it would not, little one.

["Da Cow God"...]

DCGM:  Moo.

[... helps El Pollo Loco to his feet and brushes him off briefly.]

EPL:  I thought you talked to her before I did this?

DCGM:  She was not impressed with your idea.

[Loco frowns.]

DCGM:  But I do have good news for you, little one.

[The frown is quickly turned upside down, as Loco appears giddy.]

EPL:  ICE CREAM?!?

DCGM:  Not today, young chicken.  But perhaps soon.  You and I, we
will be returning to the ring very soon.

[An "oh my god" expression crosses Loco's face for a minute, before
the moron starts dancing what I'm very loosely describing as a "jig".]

EPL:  YAY!  Can I get my pretty back?

["Da C... er, Moo shakes his head.]

DCGM:  No, little one.  Remember the Phoenix Valley?

[Loco raises a curious eyebrow, then shrugs.]

DCGM:  Where we were invited a few weeks ago?

EPL:  Oh... yeah!

DCGM:  I have signed an agreement with them on a permanent basis.  You
and I are going to fly to Phoenix in a few days.

EPL:  Um... isn't it hot there?

DCGM:  Moreso than here, young chicken.

EPL:  And who are we wrestling again?

[This time Moo frowns.]

DCGM:  Remember the four men we met in the ring that night?

EPL:  Yeah?

DCGM:  Them.

[Loco gasps.]

EPL:  All four of them?  At once?

[Moo nods.]

DCGM:  Well, they will be fighting each other as well.

EPL:  Oh, that's good.

DCGM:  It will be a tough battle, little one.  Gold Rush shall be a
quality opponent, I watched Jonathan Regnigh many years ago and he is
a talented individual.  And his partner is a flyer, much like
yourself, who trained directly under Regnigh.

EPL:  But I'm better.

DCGM:  They claim to be fighters of evil as well.  But we shall see
how they truly act once in the ring.

EPL:  I'm still better.

DCGM:  You will have your chance to prove that, young chicken.  This
is our opportunity at success in a major promotion.  The best teams in
the world call Phoenix Valley home.  Success here will be the most
difficult challenge of our careers.

EPL:  ... Are you trying to say I'm not better than him, Moo?

[Moo chuckles.]

DCGM:  Not at all, little one.

EPL:  And what about those two big guys?

DCGM:  Ah, the Sons of Anarchy.  Those men... they are most definitely
not fighters of evil like us.

EPL:  Then they're the evil?

[Moo nods.]

DCGM:  Yes, little one.  In this match, they are the evil that we
shall be fighting.  They are men who are committed to practicing the
evil which we have worked for many years to overcome.  Conquering them
will be one of our primary goals in our first match.

[Loco clenches a fist enthusiastically.]

EPL:  YES!

DCGM:  Do not be too enthusiastic, young chicken.  This will be a very
tough challenge for us, as these two teams wish to make the same
impression you and I seek to make in our Phoenix Valley debut.  We
need to begin preparing for these four individuals immediately.

EPL:  But...

DCGM:  But?

EPL:  I'm not finished yet.

DCGM:  I do not think we have time for this right now...

[Loco clenches his fists at his sides and stomps into the ground like
a spoiled child.]

EPL:  I'M NOT FINISHED YET!

["Da Cow God"...]

DCGM:  Moo.

[... sighs.]

DCGM:  Then do what you must.

[Loco smiles, then turns until he spots his previous adversary.]

EPL:  YEE HAW!

[And the Chicken breaks off in a mad sprint.  How do you put up with
that kid?]

DCGM:  Because he annoys the voices in my head.

[Jerk.]

DCGM:  Perhaps.

[Moo smiles.  In the background, we see the party-hat-wearing cow take
a few steps into the scene before bucking El Pollo Loco over its head,
as the white "luchador" comes crashing to the turf in front of it with
a thud.]

****************************************
****************************************
Heath Dawson
****************************************
****************************************

[SCENE: Parking lot, early morning. A car door slams shut off camera,
and a vaguely familiar form walks into view, duffel bags over each
shoulder. The shot swings around to view a bus terminal, as the name
"Heath Dawson" flashes at the bottom of the screen. Dawson walks by
the camera, then stops to talk.]

HD: Name's Heath Dawson. Newest PVW signee at large.

[Dawson flashes a weak half smile and wiggles his eyebrows,
impressively.]

HD: Not too long ago, I was under the impression that bein' a
professional wrestler was easy. Gettin' paid to throw fists? Right up
my alley, cuz.

But life has a way of showin' ya what ya need to see, when ya need to
see it. And so a little German fellow beat the s[BLEEP!] outta me, and
his dog molestin' manager gloated about it over me as I was carted
away. And I learned somethin' that day.

I don't _ever_ wanna have that happen again.

[The hulking Dawson sits down, slumping onto a bench.]

HD: Lesson learned.

An' I got my ass chewed out by anyone who called themselves a trainer,
and I got disowned by anyone who claimed to train me.

Out of shape. Out of focus. S[BLEEP!] out of luck. Million dollar
body, ten cent mind. All sizzle, no steak. All flash, no substance.

All the people who were so anxious to pass out the hugs an' spit
handies stopped handin' 'em out. You can't do that to a guy, you can't
take the spit handies away.

Not cold turkey. Not like that.

[Heath shakes his head, distraught.]

HD: So I stopped listenin' to 'em, stopped lookin' for the free
handouts. I'll get my own from now on. I stopped lookin' up personal
trainers, I stopped leaning on other people for help. I'm a grown man,
goddamnit, I don't need someone to tell me how many lat pulldowns to
do on a Tuesday. I don't need to ask for cardio advice.

Japan came callin', I told 'em to shove it up their own ass. Rick
Perle chewed me out, John Preston tore me a new asshole, I just
deleted 'em from my phone.

Everyone wants to jump on the gravy train when they see a new meal
ticket, but they all jump off the first time there's a bump in the
ride. Nothin' but enablers.

Leeches.

PVW signed me in some kind of new talent initiative, new blood drive,
and they're expecting not a thing from me. Another warm body to chew
up some advertising minutes, a paycheck and that's about it. They're
set at the top, they aren't looking for stars, just place sitters.

But like I said, sometimes ya see what ya need, when ya need to see it
most.

[Dawson stands up off the bench, and let's the camera get a good look
at him, a specimen in blue jeans, a cut off Cal Poly state shirt with
a rip down the middle at the neck.]

HD: Don't you worry, PVW, I don't expect nothin' outta you. I'll be a
model citizen, I won't cause no problems, I won't bother nobody. But
you should know, that I spent a whole lotta  time workin' on this...

[Dawson holds up his right arm and busts out the SINGLE BICEP FLEX~!]

HD: ...and living off of foods that would make a Tibetan monk say
f[BLEEP!]in' A.

But there's a slight change now. Humble pie's off the menu. Now it's
an appetite for destruction.

Specter, Black, you boys are about as dark as it gets, but believe me
when I tell ya, cuz, that it don't get much darker then thrown out,
cast out and get the f[BLEEP!] out. I won't _ever_ be in that neck of
the woods again.

I won't _ever_ let myself get tricked into believing there's someone
out there doin' right by me, that someone out there has my best
interests in mind.

And if that means I get laid out by two of the biggest, baddest, most
evil sons o' whores in PVW?

Well alright then. I'm grown, I'll take my medicine.

[Dawson shrugs, not too concerned.]

HD: But it also might mean that two of the biggest, baddest, most evil
sons o' whores in PVW might get run over by someone who isn't too
concerned about what PVW _thinks_ they're getting.

What you're getting is Heath Dawson. And the string of broken bodies
that follows him.

Might be just what ya need.

****************************************
****************************************
Sons of Anarchy
****************************************
****************************************

[Camera fades in on a totally trashed rec room.  Overstuffed couch
with ripped cushions, the stuffing spilling out, large coffee table
with a cracked top, a television standing in the corner and surrounded
by beer cans, and a broad collection of chip rappers, cigarette cases,
beer cans and bottles of a mixed variety of alcohol.  The paneled
walls are scarred up, and adorned with posters of the saints of Punk
Rock days gone by: Sid Vicious, Johnny Rotten, Nancy Spungen, The Sex
Pistols as a whole, The Clash, The Ramones...and many, many more.

In the midst of this horrid mess sit two massive (but pasty pale) men.
 The first is a mountain of a man (currently shirtless), leaning back
in a recliner with a beer in one hand.  He's got an anarchy symbol
tattooed on his right arm, and a whole sleeve on his left (though at
the moment the most eye catching is the phrase "Piss Off" scrawled
across his chest.  His right eyebrow is pierced, as is his Septum.

The smaller of the two men is laid out on the couch, his left leg
dangling off the die.  He has short cropped blond hair that just off
of his head in all directions and is wearing a dirty wife beater and a
black biker jacket.

As the camera approaches, he takes his arm off of his eyes and glares,
springing to his feet to stand behind the newly arisen man-mountain
from the recliner.]

Beast: Oy!  We ain't asked anyone ta come down 'ere, have we, mate?

[The smaller of the two men (still easily topping six feet tall and on
the high end of 250 pounds) hops up and down.]

Violence: No...I don't recall us 'aving done so, Beastie.  Whattaya
say we make a nice ol' fashioned example out of these 'ere Yanks...

[With a grin he moves towards the camera crew, only to get Beast's
massive hand in the middle of his chest.]

B: Yanks?  Like the guys what gave us all o' that cash ta come an'
hurt people?

V: ...Yeah.  Think it could be the same folks?

[The two men stop and stare at the camera crew, who are clearly
getting nervous based no the way that the lens is shaking.]

B: Might be.  Wouldn't do to rough up the little nancy-boys 'fore we
get in an' get paid.

V: Oy!  You lot from Arizona?

[The camera nodded in the affirmative.]

V: Good 'nough.  Welcome ta the home o' the Sons o' Anarchy.  Ain't
nothing fancy 'bout us.  What we do, we hurt people.  Tell 'em, Beast!

B: We've been up an' down the UK, across the channel an anyplace else
where Man U shows up.  'Been kicked out o' Germany twice.  Italy three
times...an' the French just surrender when they see us comin'.

Now the we get told the colonials got a bunch o' tough guys parked out
in their sandbox what's gonna offer a fight?

Let's dance.

We'll show up, we'll take the fight to ya, an when ya come to, you can
count your teeth and hope that we're done...

V: 'cause we're living hard, dying young, and leaving you a mess.

B: Cut it.  We're finished here.

[cut to static}

****************************************
****************************************
The Mercenary
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene opens. We're outside of a stately looking funeral home on a
dreary and grey day, when the Mercenary and Jessica Marshall are seen
coming out the front door. They are both dressed in black, with Merc
looking a bit more sorrowful than JFM, as he hangs his head a bit.
She, on the other hand, is smiling as she looks down at the ceramic
urn that she is carrying. The cameraman catches their attention before
they can get to Merc's Hummer, so they stop to say a few words)

JFM: Isn't it just a glorious day? The birds are singing, the sun is
shining...

Merc: You know, you really are a sick woman, aren't you? Here we are
just leaving a funeral home, its going to be raining in a couple
minutes, and you're acting like the cat that ate the canary.

JFM: What can I say? This is the day I've been waiting a very, very
long time for. I can finally say that Alex Epstein's career is
dead...D.E.D .. dead. I thought it was done and over with when I took
his name away from him, but no, he came back. Then when he had his leg
broken, I thought, 'Yes', this time he's gone for good. But I was
wrong again. He had to track me down here in PVW and have you torment
me for months. But, we showed him, didn't we? Not only was he crippled
once again, but it was done by his supposed best friend in this
business. If the physical pain wasn't enough to make him retire, the
emotional scarring should be enough for him to never venture outside
of his house ever again. It just makes me tingly all over.

Merc: Seriously? I know you've had issues with him over the years, but
c'mon... We're talking about ending someone's livelihood here.

JFM: Oh, don't give me that crap. I didn't exactly hear you asking me
to stop what we were doing. You were into this just as much, if not
more, than I was.  Don't tell me you're feeling sorry about the whole
thing?

Merc: Well, maybe there's a bit of buyer's remorse now that it's over
and done with.

JFM: What the hell?!? Are you getting soft of me? Cuz if you are, I
can always find someone else to help me take over the PVW.

Merc: Me? Getting soft? Not a chance. This fed needs a lot of cleaning
up. But I just think that you may have gone just a little too far with
this urn thing. I mean, coming down to a funeral home to buy someone's
unclaimed ashes? That's just gross. I don't think even Uncle Frank
would do something like that.

JFM: Look, I wanted something to signify the death of Epstein's
career. And when I go home, I can just sit and stare at it over the
fireplace whenever I want.

Merc: .... I got nothing to say about that...

JFM: Good. Because I don't pay you to talk. Now, you have a match
coming up right away with some newbie. So I want you to end this
career before it even gets started. Capiche?

Merc: Yeah, whatever... Can we get out of here now?

JFM: Yes we can. It's starting to rain anyways.

(and yes, it is starting to rain as drops are now marking the camera
lens. As the pair makes their way to the Hummer, we fade to snow.)

****************************************
****************************************
Rob Cole
****************************************
****************************************

[Battered, beaten, and far the worse for wear; Rob Cole stands in
front of the PVW banner with fresh bandages wrapped around portions of
his face and head. Some loose hang hangs from between bandages, and we
see his fingers are also taped. Sir Tyler Holbridge is smiling,
dressed to the nines, and ready for the interview. He holds a
microphone in his hand, and turns to regard the camera. Cole rubs at
one bruised eye and shakes his head in disgust.]

STH: Hello, Phoenix Valley and as we walk away from Boiling Point
there were shocks and dramatic turns around each and every bend. The
only former PVW Heavyweight Champion still competing in this sport is
Rob Cole, fresh from his brutal war with William Craven where the two
monsters tore each other apart in a ring that was wrapped in barbed
wire. I'm here to ask the question gripping the entire PVW audience...
is anything resolved between you and William Craven?

RC: As far as I'm concerned? Craven can go rot. It's over. Done. For
better or worse.... I played his sadistic little game and fought
through barbed wire and all sorts of hell. You think for one moment
that I regret anything I've had to do? Any stand I took? My only
regret was in giving in to fear in the first place... was in thinking
that a "monster" was something so terrible, so wicked, so dirty a word
that I forgot why they exist in the first place. My family suffered
for it. I suffered for it. But you know what? Monsters don't just
shred and destroy and devour... they give us something to stand up
for. They give us an obstacle to overcome... and it isn't always the
beast itself. It's the shadow of fear within each and every one of us.
Now? That's over with. I know who I am, I know what I want to do in
this sport, and I have nothing more to prove... whatever he thinks
whatever anyone else thinks, I stood up for my family and I fought.
I'm not afraid of him... but I also can't stand the sight of him.

[Cole licks his lips, face blanching in disgust.]

RC:  He disgusts me and I'm done. At the end of the night I went home
to a family, a life... and Craven went back to repackaged like the
fake thing that he is. He's all green skin and sharp teeth and a
carefully contrived past... but there isn't a now, there isn't a
future, there's just the image and beating me gave him nothing. My
wife is lying in bed... fresh stitches keeping part of her cheek
closed, her head a little jangled up after getting hit with that
boken, and that's not even keeping up with my own laundry list of
injuries. Craven wants to sit on the throne of some sort of freakshow
and be the role model for all the sickness in this sport? He's welcome
to do that... just keep him away from me. The next time I see him in
that ring... I won't try to beat him, I won't even pretend I'm a
wrestler anymore, and this place will NOT survive the controversy. I
hate him ... not as a wrestler, not as a man, but as a vile thing who
has crossed too many lines of human decency. What he did to her...
what he did to my son... look at what that filth-ridden maggot did to
his own family? I'm done with him.

STH: Well; despite his recent involvement, the mysterious stranger...
would you mind if I refer to him as "X"? *Shrug from Cole* the
mysterious stranger seemed perfectly content to sit back and watch the
two of you tear each other apart and not get involved. Do you have any
clue whom "X" might be?

RC: No, Tyler... I don't know who it is. I saw Alex Wallace decided to
play mentor to the Von Braun kids... maybe it's him? I don't have any
clue... I know I don't have a shortage of enemies I've crossed, toes
I've stomped on, and I don't know what this coward has planned for the
future. And I can't just stand here and worry over it, either... My
wife was battered and beaten because that snot rag manipulated Craven
and pushed him after me. That coward cost me an opportunity to win the
Television Title and for me to help a good man in this sport. I could
have put an early end to Chris Black, stopped him before the momentum
got him running and he tried to ruin the memory of that little girl!
Instead? I'm sick of being attacked by mystery men from my past. Not
one of them has the guts to just walk down that aisle with face
exposed. Not one of them has the guts to face me in that ring, to go
toe to toe and hold for hold! They prefer to be distractions... petty
little moments to get all the smarks on the internet talking about who
could possibly be hiding behind the mask. And every last fan... every
last hardcore fan of this sport keeps expecting that masked moron to
grow about a foot and a half, maybe two feet. They keep expecting him
to wield a heavy chain, to chomp on a cigar, and call himself a
"Franchise" player. But the sad sorry news is that I finished my
business with that guy a long time back... and he ain't never lacing
up his boots again. It ain't out of fear... it's because he made his
cash, he made his mark, and he's done.

So that leaves the "guy in the mask" routine a big deal for one simple
reason... it gets people talking, it makes them pay attention, and
then when they see the disappointment they get to watch me break down
another no-name talent who couldn't stand on his own reputation. A
stupid distraction from the "sport" itself, from the title that I lost
and never had a chance to reclaim.  Did you know that I haven't even
been considered for a World title opportunity since I lost the belt?

STH: Are you saying... are you throwing your hat in consideration for
the title contention?

RC: First... I shouldn't have to be throwing my hat. I should always
be considered a threat to that belt. I was in the very first match to
determine the Heavyweight Champion. I helped... no, I absolutely set
the bar for this company. I'm not speaking out of ego or arrogance...
I have sacrificed parts of myself to make this company great. Chase
Williams and I put it on the map when he was crowned the first World
Champion! And I have fought hard for four years to elevate this
company, to earn that title, and raise that belt to the status it now
has. Again, this isn't ego... I know just how many other people have
sacrificed their bodies and so much more in order to elevate this
company; this isn't to diminish any one of them. I can't even diminish
the foul-mouthed cretin who currently wears that title... he's proven
over and over again that he can be an amazing wrestler.

[Cole pauses and takes a breath.]

RC: Honestly... I'm having a hard time thinking of a reason to keep
walking that aisle. This whole thing is starting to feel like a series
of pay checks and aggravations. I'm ... I'm honestly a little weary of
fighting one war after another. Four years? That's a long time... a
really long time. Chase Williams ain't here no more... lot of people
are gone that used to be here, or they took off and came back after a
break. Maybe I should take advantage of the injuries... step back from
this sport... step back from men in "X" masks, step back from the
return of Alex Wallace, and step back from the sudden rise of HOPE...
I'm tired of fighting factions, monsters, and old enemies.

[Cole looks at Tyler for a moment... furrowing his brows.]

RC: And... I'm tired of talking to you. I'm tired of pretending you're
someone I should be standing here with when Dean Hayes is sitting up
in a hospital somewhere... while you stand there and pick at the mans'
career in desperate hope that you replace him. I'm supposed to treat
you with respect and courtesy? No... I don't know you. And with the
direction the PVW has started to move... I don't think I want to know
you. I don't think I want to know anyone in this building or in that
locker room... not anymore.

[Tyler is stunned... and Cole turns to walk off sight from the camera
as Tyler stares after him.]

*black*

****************************************
****************************************
Chance Holiday
****************************************
****************************************

[Its not clear what city we're in, but wherever the city is, its seen
better days. Debris blows down the street like tumbleweeds from an old
western. There's a single street light, its light flickering,
occasionally crackling. It's the middle of the night, and there are
precious few lights in the sky. The camera moves down into an alley,
and there, leaning against a brick wall is a man dressed all in black.
His black hair hangs over half of his face, and as the camera pushes
in closer, upon the dark eyes and pale skin of the man, we see it is
none other than "Shadow Stalker" Chance Holiday. ]

CH: Darkness falls.

[He speaks in a low voice, one has to strain and lean forward to hear
him. There's a flatness to his voice that's eerie. Emotion seldom
creeps into it.]

CH: It has been awhile since I've made my presence known. Some time
since last I played my game. But the time has come, once again to step
into the ring. To challenge all the would-be champions and heroes to
play the game.

And Phoenix, you are the first man in PVW to play the game.

[A hand goes through Holiday's hair, momentarily uncovering his other
eye. However, as his hand slides through the black strands of hair, it
falls back, once more obscuring his features.]

CH: What's puzzling you is the nature of my game. So let me illuminate
some of the points for you. Its very simple, truth be told.

It begins in pain, and ends in truth.

Quite simply, I'm going to hurt you, Phoenix. I'm going to take your
body, and break it. And then, after your body comes your will. You
will suffer, you will scream. You will wish that you'd never heard my
name. But in the end... truth.

You'll see the truth about yourself, Phoenix. And what you will
realize is, quite simply, you're weak. You are not good enough. Not
for PVW, and not for me. You'll fall, because that is the way of
things. You'll learn the truth of your essential weakness through the
suffering I inflict upon you.

You may think my words boastful. You may style yourself some hero. You
may think that you will be the savior of the broken, the beaten and
the damned. You may think to defeat me and stop me before the reign of
terror begins.

Such thoughts are sadly misguided.

You see, you name yourself after a mythological creature. A creature
of fire. A creature that is continually reborn. And perhaps you find
inspiration in stories of rebirth. Perhaps you see something
aspirational in that concept. More the fool you. Because you miss the
important part of the phoenix story...

Every phoenix must perish in flames.

[There's a hint of a grin visible beneath the curtain of black hair.]

CH: You will live up to your name, Phoenix, or at least partially.
There will be no miracle, no rebirth. You will meet your end in the
ring, at my hands. So it has been said, and so it will come to pass.

The end comes for you Phoenix, just it will soon come for all the
other would be heroes. You are the first, but you are far from the
last.

[Fade to Black.]

****************************************
****************************************
Herscher von Donkerhardt
****************************************
****************************************

(Scene: a dark room there is no light except for a spotlight in the
middle of the room. Underneath the spotlight is a chair. From the
shadows emerges the reigning PVW American Champion Herscher von
Donkerhardt. Herscher, with the PVW American Championship belt slung
over his shoulder, takes a seat and begins to speak)

HvD: So here I stand, Herscher von Donkerhardt, still the PVW American
Champion. Most of you don't care that i'm still the champion as much
as you care how I did it. Many of you are asking why. why did I do
what I did to retain my championship belt. The answer, because I had
to.

(Herscher takes the belt and holds it up to the camera for a closer
view)

HvD: I had to do what I did, because I absolutely had to keep this
title. I have suffered too much pain and abuse to keep this title
around my waist. I suffered more abuse keeping it than I did trying to
gian in the the first place. When I won the title. I told myself I
will do whatever it takes to keep the title. When I looked at Fontana
I realized it was time to do just that.

HvD: When I saw Fontana and I saw what he had done in PVW, there was a
shadow of doubt. Sure he was a great wrestler but not as great as me,
I knew it was all but certain that I would defeat him. But still there
was a doubt, there was still a chance he might better me in that ring
and walk out the new PVW Champion. It was a small doubt but a doubt
nonetheless. The doubt was significant enough to realize it was a
doubt that needed to be put to rest. But the question remained what do
I have to do put it to rest?

(HvD puts the title down and looks straight into the camera)

HvD: And then it came to me. Perry Fontana is not a nice person. He
disgusts me, he does not deserve to be in the same ring with me much
less deserve to wear my title belt. But how do you combat someone who
disgusts you so much. By joining forces with someone who disgusts you
even more. So I made a deal, a deal with the devil. I don't know if
there is a devil, but Todd Johnstone is as close to being that than
any other man alive today. This man was everything I hated about this
business. But as much as I despised him, I knew one thing was certain.
The fat man is an asshole but he an asshole who delivers results.
However much I may despise him, he always gets what he wants and has a
proven track record of getting his charges what they want. Todd
Johnstone is nothing if not a winner. I am also a winner, and a winner
does what is necessary to stay a winner. You so called fans, you can
hate me all I want for what I've done, but it is ultimately of no
importance. You are not winners and have no clue what it takes to be
such. You only know how to be losers, you simply accept the fact.
Winners accept nothing but winning to settle for losing is worse than
dying. So if staying a winner means bending a few rules so be it. It
is worth the effort. So what if your an asshole in the eyes of others,
you may be a lot of what they think you are, but ultimately you are
STILL a winner. Goodnight.

(Fade to black, End of Scene)

****************************************
****************************************
Livestock and The Gutch
****************************************
****************************************

[Boiling Point is still underway as we fade in on the locker room in
the back where Gutch Bartilucci sits on a (groaning, sagging under his
fat ass) bench, face in his hands.  Still sweaty, the strap of his
singlet dangling (thus showing more pronouncedly his hairy, bulging
rolls of fat) Gutch seems torpid and unaware of his surroundings.]

Livestock: Gutch?

[No reply from the fat man as his partner, Livestock Zappa, calls for
him from some unseen location. This repeats uneventfully several times
until 'Stock emerges from a door in the background. His blond mane
tousled (and product sweated out) the pretty half of L&G's beauty and
beast dynamic looks pretty sad himself.]

Livestock: Jesus, there you are. I thought you were just getting
changed and heading for the concession area.

Gutch: Mmph-num-mmph.

Livestock: Wha--are you eating right now?

[Gutch shakes his head paralytically.]

Livestock: So ... what _are_ you doing?

Gutch: Mmph-anh-mmph.

Livestock: Take your hands off your face Gutch. I can't understand
you...

[No reaction.]

Livestock: C'mon you fat--release--

[A slight struggle ensues as Livestock pulls at Gutch's hands. Mostly
limp, Gutch releases and falls backwards halfway off the bench and
collapsing one of the lockers with his titanic head.]

Gutch: Ow...

Livestock: Yyyeah ... that was ... interesting. C'mon big guy, what
would Rosa think if she saw you like this?

Gutch: She's watchin' right now. Kids too.

[Note: Gutch's head is still halfway inside a collapsed locker.]

Livestock: Gutch, you're the patriarch of the Bartilucci clan, man.
Hell, isn't Julio training to be a wrestler? What kind of example is
this for him?

Gutch: Dunno ... bad one?

Livestock: What is your problem? So we lost a match! So what!?
Everybody does. We've got a ridiculously good win/loss record, man. We
had those damned titles for like two years.

Gutch: Okay ... so what did Todd have to say?

Livestock: Ah, well...

[Uncrumpling a piece of paper he had tucked into the waistband of his
tights Livestock heaves a heavy sigh.]

Gutch: Oh. Crumpled all to hell. Good sign.

Livestock: We could analyze the legalese all we want here Gutch but
the phrasing of the contract is pretty clear; we lose, Todd kicks us
to the curb.

Gutch: What!?

[Sitting bolt upright, Gutch catches his ear on the damaged locker,
cutting it. It drips slightly as he purses his lips.]

Gutch: Ow... Wait a minute, one match!?

Livestock: It doesn't specify how many matches or losses. I'm guessing
the idea is that the plan was to can us as soon as we lost the tag
titles.

Gutch: Son of a... Wait a second, you just pulled out the contract.
What did Todd _say_?

[Beat. Shifty look from Mr. blond-and-pretty.]

Livestock: Look ... keep calm. I couldn't get at Todd. He had security
galore outside his door.

Gutch: Heh. Rhymes.

Livestock: Yeah, yeah so anyway we're dumped. He had some random
security guy hand me a copy of our contract with that clause circled.
It's like we were always afraid of with Zeke except ... well, with
Zeke we were wrong.

Gutch: I'm sorry 'Stock...

Livestock: Well, don't be. It's PVW's zeitgeist, it isn't us.

Gutch: What ... PVW's haunted? You sure?

Livestock: Zeitgeist, spirit of the times, it's not literal--
SERIOUSLY!? Schtick right now?

[Gutch falls silent and goes crestfallen again. Breathing irregularly,
Livestock fights back his own anger.]

Livestock: No matter what, Gutch, we are still the number one team in
PVW. Hell, wrestling in general. We're former team of the year and
we've been tag champs more times than and longer than any other team.

Gutch: You have, not me.  I've been champ with you twice but, *BLEEP*,
you had it with Ohno Ow, total of three times...

Livestock: No, man, we!  No other team has been the champs twice.  Two
years, half the history of the PVW, we've been at the top.  What
happened to the positive fat man I came up with in college, law school
and finally this crazy business we're in?  Jesus, Gutch, remember how
our women reacted when we stopped practicing law full-time?

Gutch: Heh, yeah.  Rosa went nuke-you-lar and threatened to take the
kids to her mom's.  Jenny dumped you for that other guy, what's his
name?

[Livestock purses his lips, glaring at his partner through angry
slits.]

Gutch: Ah, heh, what?  Really?  Like ten years later you're still
sensitive about those days?

Livestock: Yeah, I'll get over that when you're over this.

[Scoffing, Gutch seems to finally come alive a little bit, palming his
knees and leaning forward while shaking his head.]

Gutch: Ah, 'Stock, you don't get it do ya?  I'm 40, gonna be 41 in
less than 2 months.

Livestock: Believe me, I'm aware; or have you forgotten your
motorcycle accident already?

Gutch: No I haven't, and that's my point; I broke a femur, man.  I
went down that hill and everything turned hazy.  Couldn't walk for
what?  3 months?

Livestock: And now you can!

Gutch: I'm a big ol' truck with a bent rim.  New tire don't make much
difference.

Livestock: More like a bulldozer, or a tank--

Gutch: --with no tread.  I'm 40, move like I'm 50, and you're 38
movin' like you're 25.  I'm holdin' you back.

Livestock: Are you kidding?  You're stronger than you've ever been!

Gutch: And slower.

Livestock: Will you just cut this out?  You're making me nervous.
Hell, I'm the one who took the fall in the match!  I got pinned, not
you!

Gutch: Yeah, but I couldn't make the save.  Couldn't ... find the
energy.

Livestock: You're out of your mind, man, it sounds like you want to--

Gutch: I'm diabetic.

[Beat.  Livestock's eyes go huge and he claps a hand over his mouth
before running his hand up over his forehead and through his luxurious
hair.]

Livestock: What ... the ... *BLEEP*?

Gutch: Yeah.  Yeah, it's like you always said, man.  I ate and ate and
it finally came up and bit me.  Doc says it's why I've been feelin' so
down too.

Livestock: Right.  Low energy, low confidence.

Gutch: Yeah...

Livestock: How serious is this, Gutch?  Are you really thinking about
quitting wrestling?

[The fat man grimaces.]

Gutch: I dunno.  I mean, y'know, it's just stage one.  Doc says I can
probably control it if I drop like fifty pounds; that I'd be at about
20 percent body fat at that point.  Maybe it'd go away, but he don't
know.

Livestock: Damn it.  Just ... damn it.

Gutch: Yeah.  Who knew that, after takin' out PAIN, it'd be some 150-
pound weakling doctor puttin' me on the bench?  I mean, y'know, if
that happens...

Livestock: Just don't give up, Gutch, not yet...  All things
considered, if we gotta go out, I at least wanna see those jackanapes
in HOPE gone first.

Gutch: Damned right, brother.  They don't get paid unless--

Livestock: So not the time for the catchphrase.

Gutch: Oh, uh, yeah, 'course not.  So, what team you think Gibson got
to replace us?

[Cut.]

****************************************
****************************************
Uncle Frank
****************************************
****************************************

[Frank's back!  No, really.  We literally open up with a shot of Frank
Knight, or Uncle Frank as he is better known, sitting at a workbench
with his back towards the camera.  The only light in the room is from
a single adjustable spotlight mounted on the desk itself and focused
on something placed in front of Frank on the desk.  A closer look
reveals that it must be the PVW Television Championship belt, judging
by the ends of the leather straps visible on either side of Frank.
The metal plates are, however, obscured by Uncle Frank himself being
in the way.  It also appears that he is doing something to the belt,
though what that might be is hard to say.  Also spread out across the
desk are tools of various kinds.  Duct tape, a hammer, several
screwdrivers, a bottle of metal polish, a box of band aids and a roll
of bandages and even a chainsaw among other things.]

FK:  Not to worry, not to worry.  Uncle Frank will fix it.  Uncle
Frank will take care of it.

[He pauses, focusing on what he's doing for a moment and then starts
speaking again.]

FK:  Cruel!  So very cruel.  Nasty.  Vicious.  CRIMINAL!  To attack an
innocent like that!  To harm someone who never did you any harm!  To
ruin their future!

[Getting agitated now as he continues to work.]

FK:  Marcus is a menace!  A blight on society!  A threat to all good
and decent individuals!  The antithesis of A Bright Future and A
Better Tomorrow!

[Pause.]

FK:  Yes you are, Marcus.  You are.  Don't dare to deny it!  Your
Uncle Frank will listen to no lies or explanations!  What you did was
unconscionable!  Uncalled for!  Unforgivable!

[Another pause.]

FK:  How would _you_ like it if someone took a sheet of sandpaper to
_your_ face?  Wouldn't like it very much at all, Uncle Frank imagines.
Not at all.  And Uncle Frank knows you were not alone in your evil
deeds.

[A sinister chuckle.]

FK:  Oh no.  Villains and base criminals such as yourself never travel
alone.  Never work on their own, do they Matthew?   Of course not.
Matthew.  Tiegs.  Matt Tiegs.  He was in on it.  His cryptic warning
about Manson before the match proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt!
He said he would wish Uncle Frank good luck, but knowing what Uncle
Frank was up against it wouldn't help.

[Pause.]

FK:  You knew, Matthew.  You knew what your accomplice, Marcus, was
going to do and no lies will change that.

[And suddenly Frank's voice is all cheerful again.]

FK:  But that's okay.  It's okay because there is HOPE in the world.
There are people Uncle Frank can trust!  People like Todd and Mr.
Gibson Hayes and Herscher and Derek!  There is HOPE, and there is your
Uncle Frank!

[A snicker.]

FK:  Come Shockwave HOPE will shine brightly.  Oh yes.  HOPE will
defeat the evils of Marcus' and Matthew's Minions!  The Berserkers.
Sinister.  Such violent and vicious names.  Such evil, evil men under
the influence of Matthew and Marcus.  They too are guilty!  Guilty by
association!  Guilty by nature!  Guilty!  Guilty!  GUILTY!

[Pause as he calms down from the sudden fit of anger.]

FK:  And the guilty must be punished!  The guilty must be made an
example of!  The guilty must be removed if A Bright Future and A
Better Tomorrow is going to be a reality!

[And another pause.]

FK:  Evil all around.  HOPE besieged by malicious forces!  It's okay.
It'll all be okay.

[He nods to himself.]

FK:  Your Uncle Frank will make everything okay.  Your Uncle Frank
will take care of it.  Your Uncle Frank will take care of them _all_!
All of Matthew and Marcus' evil conspirators!

[And the voice drops to a whisper.]

FK:  Trust your Uncle Frank.

[And we fade out, Frank still with his back to us and still obscuring
most of the belt.]

****************************************
****************************************
Marcus Manson
****************************************
****************************************

[The camera fades up to show Marcus Manson lifting weights in a gym.
The PVW banner hangs on the wall. Manson finishes his last rep, and
sits up, grabbing a nearby towel and wiping sweat from his forehead.]

MM: "Boiling Point has come and gone and Frank Knight is still the
Television Champion.

All thanks to Todd Johnstone, and a ruined TV title belt.

You've hit me twice with that belt, now, Frankie. I hope you enjoyed
completing your set, because it will not happen again.

And I'm not gonna stamp my feet and piss and moan around PVW's offices
until I get my way. I'm going to what I would have done to Rick Marley
when he caused my only other Championship opportunity to end in
disqualification, if he hadn't let your pal Gibson Hayes have his way
with him.

I'm gonna take it out of your hide.

[Manson runs a hand through his hair.]

I thought that maybe after stepping in the ring with you at Boiling
Point that I might've come out with a little bit of respect for you,
but that's not the case.

Because there's a fundamental difference between you and I, Frank. I
don't get myself disqualified to save belts.

I've sinned over the years, and people have called me out on it, and
I've admitted it. But I have NEVER intentionally gotten myself
disqualified to save a Championship.

[Manson waves a dsimissive hand]

Despite what you, or Spectre, or Sammy Knight or Little Jimmy may
think of me, I have too much respect for Championships to do that.

[Manson pauses, rising from the weight bench and walking over to a
cooler, pulling out a bottle of water.]

I must admit, I'm curious what you've been doing the days since
Boiling Point. Have you been thinking how lucky you are to still be
called PVW's World Television Champion?
Have you been reliving the Three count the referee made, and then
realizing your foot was on the ropes because your manager put it
there?

Or have you been sitting in the corner, clutching your ruined trophy,
crying over a trinket that means nothing?

I think its more likely the former.

I HOPE you're not crying over spilt milk, Frankie.

I HOPE you are absolutely _FUMING_.

I HOPE you are as insanely angry as I was when O'Reilly showed me your
foot was on the rope.

I HOPE that each time you look at that belt, you get angrier and
angrier about the condition it is in and that you decide there is no
choice but to come after me and make me pay.

[Manson looks straight into the camera and smirks.]

Marcus has been a bad boy, "Uncle Frank." [Air quotes] He needs to
pay.

You better show him what happens to rude little boys, Frank, because
he's not about to stop either.

[Manson shakes his head, chuckling, and takes a sip from his water.]

In other words, Frankie, If you think this is over, you're more
dillusional than I originally thought. I am not going to let what is
rightfully mine be taken away from me because of the actions of a
stooge, and a belt shot from a coward.

I am going to be PVW's World Television Champion before this is all
said and done.

Mike Bisignano is in an unfortunate spot, because he's going to be a
hell of an outlet for some of the anger I've built up since Boiling
Point. But keep an eye out Frankie, cus you never know when I might
show up looking for you.

[Fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Supreme Wright
****************************************
****************************************

[We fade into a shot of Supreme Wright, seated behind a grand, antique
oak desk. On the walls, are various framed photos of a younger
Wright...from amateur wrestling competitions...graduating from
college...and so forth. Wright is wearing a pink dress shirt, a grey
vest, and a skinny black tie. Curiously, Wright is clutching a black,
leather briefcase close to his chest.]

SW: I haven't heard a single thing 'bout a rematch with Mr. Freeman
since I left the Cow Palace, but that's not what's important right
now.
I learned a long time ago, you need to worry about the opponents you
have and not the opponents you don't got. And the opponent PVW got
lined up for me...is The Mercenary.

[A slight grin.]

SW: I approve.

[He nods.]

SW: I pride myself on knowing my opponents inside and out...but here's
a man that's wrestled all over the world for years and we still don't
know anything about him.  No one knows his name, his age, or anything
about his past, except for the things he *wants* people to know. And
what everyone knows is that he doesn't care about a single damn thing
but cold, hard cash.

[Supreme counts off his fingers.]

SW: Loyalty, morals, friendship, honor...all that gets thrown out the
window as soon as someone flashes a fat stack of dead presidents at
him.

[He shakes his head.]

SW: Some people might find that kinda' disgusting, but we all have our
addictions and we all have  secrets to keep. Heck, I kinda' have the
same problem...but my addiction ain't money.

[He flashes a smile...actually, it's more like he's baring his teeth.]

SW: It's wrestling.

[Supreme's voice gets slightly more animated as the excitement of
talking about his greatest passion gradually overtakes him.]

SW: 24 hours a day, 365 days a year...find me a ring and find me an
opponent and I'll be there! Friend, foe, man, woman, child, animal,
vegetable...it doesn't matter! You put'em inside a ring with me, and
I'll whup'em all just the same!

[His eyes briefly grow wide as he lets loose of his restraint for a
moment, but he quickly composes himself.]

SW: And I'm sure someone out there finds _that_ disgusting.

[A chuckle.]

SW: But what's this got to do with The Mercenary?

[He taps his fingers on the suitcase, before staring right into the
camera.]

SW: _Everything._

[He sets the case on top of his desk and leans forward, resting his
arms and elbows atop it.]

SW: Because every time I step into a wrestling ring, I'm lookin' for
that challenge...I'm lookin' for that opponent that's capable of
pushing me to my limits and beyond, 'cause I _know_ that's the only
way I'll be better; the only way I'll become stronger; and the only
way I'll get closer to being the greatest in the world. And for a
moment...

...I thought I saw it in The Mercenary.

[His expression loses all animation it had just a moment before,
becoming completely serious.]

SW: So I'm wondering...how much is it gonna' take, Mercenary?

How much money do I have to give you to come after me inside the ring
like ya' did to Alex Epstein?

How much money am I gonna' have to put on my own head to face that
demon I saw at Boiling Point breaking his best friend beyond repair?

[He reaches into his pocket and then flips a coin onto the desk.]

SW: This much?

[He then reaches behind his back...and pulls out his wallet, holding
it
up for the camera, before also tossing it down on the desk.]

SW: This much?

[Supreme then reaches over to the latches on the briefcase and snaps
them open...revealing the case to be filled with nothing but stacks of
cash. A self-satisfied smirk forms on his face as asks the question
once more.]

SW: THIS much?

[Just as quickly as he opened it, he slams the briefcase shut.]

SW: Or maybe...it's just a price too high for me to pay.

[A slight look of anger forms on Wright's face as he shakes his head.]

SW: And that's the reason why I can't help but feel a bit
disappointed...a little frustrated going into this match. No
disrespect
meant, 'cause I know you'll still come at me like a caged animal...but
you ain't gonna' give me the fight I'm looking for.

[He shakes his head slowly.]

SW: You won't go all-out unless someone cuts you a big enough
check...and I already know my pockets ain't as deep as Marshall's. No
matter what, in the end, this is all just business for you. And I
realize that's the difference 'tween you and me, Mercenary. When it
comes right down to it, you'll only do terrible, horrendous things to
an opponent for money...

[He slightly bows his head, as he smiles a twisted sort of smile.]

SW: ...but I'll gladly do it for free.

[Fade out.]

****************************************
****************************************
Sinister & The Berserkers Part 2
****************************************
****************************************

[While Doom and Wolf take the envelopes and inspect their contents,
Sinister finishes off the cranberry juice and sets the glass down. The
attractive young waitress comes over with a new glass of cranberry
juice, takes the empty glass and sets the newly filled one down. She
also places The Berserker's drinks on the table with a warm smile]

Sin: Thank you.

Waitress: You're welcome. [She notices Doom and Wolf sheepishly
smiling and inspecting her] Are you gentlemen ready to order?

Doom: Steak ... rare.

Wolf: Same for me.

Waitress: Two rare steaks...why am I not surprised?

Sin: [Sighs and rolls his eyes then chuckles slightly] May I please
have the baked salmon with vegetables, mashed potatoes with gravy, and
rye bread?

Waitress: Excellent choice Mr. Sinister, I'll get that order for you
as fast as possible.

Sin: Please take your time we'll be here for a while.
Waitress: I hope so. [She winks at all three men]

Sin: All right now, you're going to distract me and trust me, these
two young men are already distracted by you. [The waitress and each
man laughs] You may distract me all you want after I finish speaking
with these two. Besides, I'm looking forward to having that salmon.

[He smiles warmly as she departs and he turns his attention back to
The Berserkers]

Sin: Gentlemen, business first. [Doom and Wolf immediately focus on
Sinister] There are a few aspects of this match I want to point out.
First, [holds up his left index finger] we've already had one match as
a team and that'll work in our favor because we'll have a bit more
cohesion than they will, but not much. Still, any advantage is an
advantage. Second, [holds up both his index and middle together] you
two have a distinct advantage since you're a successful and
devastating tag team. And three, [extends his third finger to join the
first two] we're going to be on the same page and show them what the
Chi-Town Trifecta of Terror is all about.

[He lowers his left hand and all three men nod and smile while
knocking fists with one another. He then takes a few gulps of
cranberry juice]

Wolf: Sin, while winning the ASLL tag team titles was quite an honor,
the night ended on a sour note.  I think I speak for all three of us
when I say that we can't allow what went down to _EVER_ happen again.
HOPE brought chaos and used a good friend of all of ours as a message.
Well, that "message" was heard loud and clear.  You are looking at the
general right there...the man who is respected by every guy in the PVW
locker room. And Doom and I?

[Wolf smiles]

Wolf: It took us less than three months to shake up the PVW tag team
division.  We took out the garbage and we now wear international gold.
Meanwhile, you three jackals locked Ash up in a cage and proceeded to
beat him down. You didn't calculate for one thing. What was going to
happen when that cage raised?

Doom: What?  I will tell you _what_!  There were going to be a locker
room full of pissed off superstars just waiting to get their crack.
And look who received the first shot?

[Panned shot of the three men sitting at the table]

Doom: Big Daddy Sin ... and the BOOM!

Sin: That's what I'm talkin' about. In order for us to be on the same
page we're going to have to formulate plans of attack and defense for
each man, working collectively on utilizing our strengths and exposing
their weaknesses. There's always a chance that Johnstone will have an
unexpected element of surprise in store for us, but we're just going
to have to deal with that.

Wolf: Cowards never fight fair. However, we have the numbers on our
side now.  There are only four of them and a little change if you want
to count Johnstone.

[The three men laugh]

Wolf: And there is a locker room of men who want to bring a world of
hurt down on HOPE.  Everyone, saw that locker room flood out to stop
the great injustice as Boiling Point ended.

The jury may sit at home ... but the execution sits right here!

Sin: You're damn right about that. For this entire battle, we have to
stay focused gentlemen. Don't fall for any of the antics that HOPE is
going to pull during this match. They'll take cheap shots when they
can to entice us into the ring so the ref gets distracted and they can
do more damage while the ref isn't looking. They're going to yell
insults, spit on us, make obscene gestures...whatever. Ignore all of
it and stay disciplined. I know that'll be hard as hell because you'll
be thinking of what they did to Ash, and I'll be doing the same, but
keeping our collective cool is going to give us the best chance.

Doom: HOPE, sits there with over confidence, blinded by gold, while we
take things very seriously.  We all stand on the same page with the
same goal in mind: PUNISHMENT for HOPE!

Sin: Both of you raise excellent points and I'm glad we're all in
agreement here. Divided we fall in this match and that's just the
truth of the matter. Donkerhardt is all business, and don't be fooled
by Uncle Frank. He's mentally unstable, no doubt about it, but he's
more aware of what's going on that most give him credit for. He's a
tough bastard too, so don't sell him short. As for Weaver, I'm still
acquiring some information about him since he's new to me, but
honestly, he's another opponent in a line of many so I'm not going to
invest too much time into that analysis.

Doom: Uncle Frank ... HVD ... Weaver ... They all bleed the same.

[Those words make both Sin and Wolf laugh]

Sin: Lastly, we're going to need to maintain the mindset that they are
going to try and end our careers. Keeping that perspective will bring
out what needs to be brought for this battle brotha's, and don't think
otherwise. HOPE is trying to send a message to the rest of the league
by using us as an example. Let's make sure that we are the ones to
send a very resounding message that not only do we have each other's
backs, but the Chi-Town War Hounds are not to be crossed.

Wolf: I think what my partner is trying to say is ... that when this
three headed Chi-Town monster heads down that aisle it doesn't matter
who stands in our way.  We have a plan and that plan is to stand
together and delivered justice the only way we know how.

[The very attractive waitress leads another attractive young waitress
over with the food order. Both young ladies place the respective
orders in front of each man and they eye the food, and the young
ladies, with anxiousness]

Sin: Wow, this looks great! Thank you, ladies.

Doom: All this blood ... reminds me of what HOPE is going to look like
when we are finished with them.

Wolf: How can you look at the food when she is still standing here?

Sin: All right, all right, enough you two. [Shakes his head and laughs
briefly. He then lifts his glass of cranberry juice] A toast to the
ASLL Tag champs and to Chi-Town.

[Doom and Wolf both grab their respective drinks and hold them up to
Sinister's glass]

All three: To Chi-Town.

[Picture fades as the three men clink their glasses and down their
respective drinks]

****************************************
****************************************
AsH, Senor Cloak Dos, & Perry Fontana
****************************************
****************************************

[AsH is sitting on a couch in the hospital, looking very much the
bruised tomato. Both eyes are swollen and a long line of stitches over
his forehead is covered by quickset bandages. His eyes are black, his
nose looks swollen, and bruises along his jawline look almost like
tiger stripes. His t-shirt is rumpled and his jeans are replaced by a
pair of pajama bottoms.]

Fontana: Ain't _you_ looking good, cousin!

AsH: Yup, just about ready to shoot that commercial for proactiv!
Though I think this zit, you know, the one between all the stitches?
Yeah, I think it'll require a little cover-up.

[Fontana snorts, but the levity is short lived.  Looking down at AsH,
he frowns and purses his lips.  Not that the King of Armbars in great
shape either.  For one thing, his arm is trapped in a sling.  Clearly,
he's not just another visitor in these premises.]

AsH: ... What can I do for you?

Fontana:  Just getting an MRI for the shoulder, see how severe the
rotator cuff tear is.

AsH:  Hmm...

Fontana: Quoi? Speak up, cousin.

AsH: You got locked in your own Amputation? Right? I mean, I can't
hold a thought too clearly right now, but it would seem to me that's
what happened. If I'm right it means only one thing.

Fontana: What's that?

AsH: You're losing it, Pear-Pear.

[In a different context, there's a definite sense that Fontana would
slap AsH into an armbar right there... but in the here and now, it
sounds like a term of endearment. Il Eterno grumbles.]

Fontana: Beh. Shoulder's from the Amputation. The sore knee's from
something else, and the bruised ego...

AsH: Just wait. A long enough career you can be like me. Baker's dozen
of concussions in a single year and the diminished capacity to match.

[AsH seems meditative, perhaps contemplating what lead to his current
predicament.]

AsH: How's the little Deathless One?

[A smile immediately flashes across the Deathless One's face.]

Fontana: Adam's great.

AsH: And the wife? Did you finally apologize to her?

Fontana: Ouais.

AsH: Without sneering?

Fontana: Oh yeah.

AsH: She take you back?

[Fontana takes in a deep breath, and his eyes dart towards the
wall...]

AsH: Hey. Sorry to bring it up, man... You know, the meds and the
...brain damage...

Fontana: It's alright. I get to visit every few weeks, now, and...

[Before he can say another word, a rustling sound brings every one's
attention turns to the man who just entered the room, a small muscular
Mexican man dressed in a white button up shirt with a print of the
Nativity on it, a brown belt, very old looking gray slacks, a brown
jacket and black dress shoes that look pretty nicked up and worn down.
He also wears a black luchadore mask with cherry colored eye visors
that prevent us from seeing his eyes and cherry colored "SCII" on the
forehead. Of course, it is Senor Cloak Dos, and in his arms is a bunch
of SCD themed merchandise!]

SCD: Senor AsH! How are you ami-

[Dos stops when he sees Fontana there as well.]

SCD: Senor Fontana!

[The luchadore looks at Fontana's face then looks at AsH's face,
trying to read the situation.]

SCD: Is there trouble?

AsH: No, no... he's friendlier than you might think, Cloak.

SCD, [turning to Fontana]: You are an amigo?

Fontana: Not exactly, no.

AsH: He is. Just don't get your hands too close to his mouth. Or your
unidirectional limbs near his hands.

Fontana: Remind me why people tried to _save_ you from that cage
again?

AsH: Believe me, Cloak, he's friendlier than he thinks he is.

Fontana: I just owe the meatball a favour, that's all.

[There's a sense that, under normal circumstances, AsH would take
offense to being called a "meatball." But this time... it comes across
as a term of endearment.]

SCD: Please, excuse my interrupting of your conversation, but Senor
AsH I had to come see you!

[The luchadore hustles forward to AsH and then drops a bunch of SCD
dolls and masks and shirts.]

AsH: Gee, thanks, Dos. I know the Doc was just telling me about rest,
Vicodin, lots of fluids and lucha libre merchandise. So I guess I
should be right as rain in no time.

SCD: Oh... Lo siento, amigo, I wish I could offer something else, but
I just do not make enough money to give presents that are not things I
get for free.

AsH: Well, uh... I appreciate the sentiment. But I only got the one
kid and as big a fan as he is of yours, I think he may have a few too
many to adequately play with.

SCD: Ah...

[He glances at Fontana then picks up one of the dolls.]

SCD: Senor Fontana, would you like one for your hijo?

[When the action figure is thrust into his hands, Fontana seems
perplexed.]

Fontana: Well... he's only a few months old, so thanks but... erm...

[The King of Armbars narrows his eyes and attempts to gauge how
completely crushing the luchadore's disappointment would be... but the
young Mexican's eyes are completely hidden.]

Fontana: So... ouais. I'll just hang on to it until he's old enough.

AsH: Kid, what's with the loot? There's no reason to bring this kinda
stuff to a GUY in the hospital. Unless I was getting my balls taken
off... [quickly looks worried and looks in his pants] Nope, still
there.

SCD: Because you are mi amigo numero uno, Senor AsH, and I... lowly,
worthless worm that I am, I have let you down yet again! The HOPE had
you in such a bad situation and even when I made it inside the cage I
still was unable to save you from your grave predicament!

AsH: Grave? I've had worse. You shoulda seen me after I told the wife
her favorite pants made her look "Hippy."

SCD: You hang on the edge of a knife and it is all my fault, amigo!
Can you ever forgive me and accept my friendship again?

[AsH smiles and winces, reaching up to hold his nose.]

AsH: Yeah, Dos. I think I can find it in the deepest cockles of my
heart to forgive you for having no way to make it into a steel cage,
surrounded by some of the toughest, meanest bastards in the company. I
can probably even forgive you for avenging your friend and making
yourself tired earlier in the night.

...maybe...

[AsH smiles again, damn the pain, and looks up at Dos, nodding. Cloak
nods his head as well, but apparently has not heard a word AsH has
said.]

SCD: I am so sorry. I do not blame you for never forgiving me for
being such a bad amigo...

[AsH rolls his eyes and looks over at Fontana who shrugs his
shoulders.]

SCD: But Senor AsH, while I can not change what has befallen you and
my failure to prevent it... I can seek justice for you! HOPE can not
put my best friend in such a horrible state, clinging to life,
battling for survival, and not face the consequences! I shall pursue
justice for you, amigo, and hopefully amend my failures in that cage
that will haunt me all my days!

[The luchadore strikes a dramatic superhero pose and pumps a fist.]

SCD: I will not let you down this time, amigo! Leave it all up to me!

[Dos nods to AsH then to Fontana and then walks out of the room,
determination and fire in his steps.]

Fontana: Sounds like the little guy's gonna make things right.

AsH: You better believe he is, Perry. [He nods.] Kid's the best.

[And... fade.]

****************************************
****************************************
Gibson Hayes
****************************************
****************************************

[Standing outside of a stretched black Lincoln Towncar is Evelyn
Prosser. Gibson Hayes's silent "head of security" is dressed in his
Saint Etienne kit and a Spurs scarf (not San Antonio). The shot
changes to an over the shoulder view to show Gibson Hayes exiting a
small Gulfstream. Hayes is clad in a navy blue pea coat and almost
assuredly in his dark blue suit with red tie and white dress shirt.
Slung over Gibby's shoulder is an olive green duffle bag. Prosser
opens the car door for Hayes and Gibson acknowledges Prosser's
presence by shoving the duffle bag into Prosser's chest. A gruff voice
barks as the door opens.]

Vox: I hate the [TV EDIT] desert!

[Hayes gets settled inside car, not looking towards Todd Johnstone.
Hayes lets loose a tired sigh.]

GH: I would have rathered stayed here and recouperated more than
finish up a few things on the road.

[Johnstone is chomping on a large cigar and looks none too sympathetic
to Gibson's plight.]

TJ: Shut your yap, Gibson. You don't got time to bitch about rest and
recouperation! You have a giant bullseye on your back - larger than
ever; yet you waste the energy complaining about being in the position
every man in the industry would kill their cud chewing bovinasaurus
mothers to be in. Not Dallas, not Toronto but Phoenix - the league
that's setting the standard. You are the god damned World Champion, so
act like one.

[This mini-rant gets a bemused huff out of Gibby.]

GH: Is this one of the same pep talks you'd give Tyrone after he went
out on a drinking binge?

TJ: Kid, don't try to play like you've got the cool of Ty. He may have
been a flighty, crowd loving son of a bitch but he was also pretty
damned unflappable. You? You still gotta ways to go before you can
wave your [TV EDIT] like him and actually mean it.

[Gibson pinches the bridge of his nose.]

GH: Forget it; I'm already leagues ahead where it counts - winning.
That's all that matters to me and anyone else. So... do you have any
intel?

TJ: Does the Pope sequester child molestors?

[Gibson shakes his head.]

GH: Drop the act and let's get down to business.

[Johnstone's old, drying lips part in a smile as he drops a manilla
envelope onto Gibson's lap.]

TJ: There's everything you need to know about Derek Weaver. I had
heard of him before but saw him in action in that festering hellhole
in Indiana. He's almost amoral and, honestly, I could appreciate him
for being a son of a bitch if he actually could rid himself of that
whole overdone sense of wanting to face the best. That stupid [TV
EDIT] is going to hold him back. However, he's in and it took a pretty
penny to get him to come on board - let alone help us wreck up the
joint on Boiling Point.

GH: What's the price tag?

TJ: Best not to dwell on that now but trust me, I have it covered. You
know Frank and Herscher but... *drops two more dossiers onto Gibson's
lap* I figured I'd give you even more information.

GH: You were holding out on me.

[Johnstone delivers a spit filled "FEH".]

TJ: Of course I held out on you! Kid, you're on a need to know basis
and now you need to know. I've been prepping everything and working my
clogged arteries overtime to set this [TV EDIT] up. You may have 9
lives and see things more like how I do but I can't let you in on
everything.

GH: Whatever. As long as I keep my belt and as long as you're useful
we continue on. I figure everyone else is the same way in this little
gentleman's club you have going. This is all to keep the gold in your
grasp and under my control. Speaking of my title...

TJ: _OUR_ title.

GH: _MY_ title, did you manage to find out who the championship
committee is throwing at me this time? I'd like to be able to send
some flowers to their grieving family, you know, for my later run at
political office.

[Johnstone drops a thick folder on Gibson. Hayes begins to leaf
through the documents, half paying attention until he comes across an
8x10 glossy.]

TJ: And...

GH: ...what's the plan?

TJ: He's backed into a corner and very dangerous. You have everything
to lose. We have to go after him like he's an escaped animal because,
frankly, that's what he is and that kind of beast is downright
dangerous.

[Gibson mulls over Johnstone's words.]

GH: ...can't we buy him off?

TJ: Gibby, you don't think I've tried that? What sort of manager do
you take me for?

GH: Try it again.

TJ: Oh for [TV EDIT] slippery [TV EDIT] drippings... fine, fine! In
the meantime, you gotta meet the rest of the gang. We gotta show a
unified front. That little stunt at Boiling Point, while great for
making a statement, has put us in everyone's crosshairs. You don't
cause that much collateral damage without brusing a few egos and get
the 'tards champing at the bit.

GH: Already on it. I have a meeting with Herscher scheduled for later
as well as getting some time with Frank. I have an idea about how to
take care of his situation.

TJ: Careful Gibson... Frank's a loaded gun.

GH: He's already pointed at Manson and I think there's another target
we can have nearby to take up any stray bullets. As far as Weaver
goes...

TJ: I'll set that up. I don't want you talking to him just yet. Let
him stew and be miserable. That's what he's good at... well that and
breaking bones but in an "honorable" way. Feh, what a bunch of insipid
[TV EDIT]. Anyhow, get some goddamned rest and get ready - we got some
throats to step on.

[Hayes stares at the window.]

GH: It's good to be back...