XTC #1

Scene opens up after the big press conference to announce the re-opening of one of the greatest wrestling promotions in history the PWA. Inside the building different past, and present PWA superstars are seen mingling with the media, talking about the comeback. To the left of all the media and the superstars stands one of the greatest interviewers of all-time, Lean Bean Miller. Lean Bean is wearing a grey suit with a light blue tie. He is looking into the camera...

LBM-"Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to be joined by one of the most controversial stars to ever grace a wrestling ring. Multiple title holder, one of the best athletes today, and a alumni of the first PWA. He is none other than The One and Only....XTC."

As Lean Bean Miller says this, on camera walks XTC. Silk teal shirt covers his torso tucked into navy blue jeans, finished with a pair of black Ralph Lauren boots. His long brown hair pulled tight into a ponytail, his trademark navy and chrome Oakleys covering his eyes, along with his ear to ear grin. XTC shakes hands with Lean Bean Miller, the two haven't seen each other in ages.

LBM-"XTC, thank you for giving me this time to get your thoughts on a couple of things. First and foremost, your history with Chamelion as been well documented, the two of you are not friends by any means of the word, but yet when he re-opened the illustrious PWA you were one of the first people signed. How did this come about?"

XTC-"LEAN BEAN MILLERRRRRRRRRRR...HOW IN THE HELL ARE YOU MAN?"

LBM-"Well..I'm goo..."

XTC-"That's great man, really it is. But down to business, it feels damn good to be back home in PWA. Like you said though, Chamelion, XTC not friends, right. Why am I here than? It's prety simple to tell ya the truth Lean. While Chamelion and I have never really liked each other, no matter where we were, be it the PWA, HiC, W4F, or Blowme Wrestling Federation. The thing that Mark Sommers can't deny, nor can anyone else on the face of this Earth is my talent. Chamelion knew when he was putting together the band of misfits, and glory-hogs of the old PWA, that there needed to be some alumni who had not yet reached thier potential. Look at some of the old names he has dug up from retirement, I hope they don't break a hip in the ring. Brymstone, his wife Psycho Sandra, his brother Razzior, Ethan Von Eisen, The Morans. Out of all those people who can still really go once we get past their "names" what's really left? Other than The Morans who can get in there and wrestle with the best of them? Chamelion may not like me, but business comes before personal preference, and he knows the future of PWA and wrestling ingeneral is X T C. Last time Chamelion and I faced each other, I took him to his limit. No one has ever taken Chamelion to his limit as much as I have, no one in the history of wrestling, has taken the "legends" of wrestling to their limit like me. While I was a rookie, I was taking these men to their limit. If they want to turn a blind eye to it, than let them but no one can deny the truth."

LBM-"It seems that you are pretty fired up for your new start in PWA, but lets backtrack a moment if we could. What exactly happened with Blazenwing Wrestling Federation."

XTC-"Oh, you mean Blowme Washedup Fuckers?"

LBM-"...Uh...I guess that's the one."

XTC-"It's real simple what happen there. Mister David Blazenfucker only gives people that do under the table politics the pushes they deserve. And by under the table I mean, under his desk if ya get my drift."

LBM-"Are you saying that David Blazenwing"

XTC-"Blazenfucker"

LBM-"What"

XTC-"His name is Blazenfucker."

LBM-"Ummm...Right."

XTC-"Say it Lean..."

LBM-"Are you saying that David Blazen...fuck...er....is gay?"

XTC-"Whoa Whoa Lean...don't put words in my mouth.You said he was gay not me."

LBM-"But you said.."

XTC-"What's next on the questions Lean?"

LBM-"It seems as if your first match here in the new and improved PWA is against a veteran of the sport, and also alumni of the first PWA, he is none other than Ethan Von Eisen. How do you feel you can measure up to such a great competitor, a person who probably as just as much experience in the ring as you do?"

XTC-"It's real simple Lean, it comes down to time. Ethan's time has come and gone to rule over this sport, not it's time for the new generation of wrestlers to step up and take claim to the throne. I have never asked for a hand out, I have never asked to be given anything, all I have ever wanted was a chance to prove myself inside that ring. This comeback tour, this second coming of PWA is just what I need to get myself infront of the pack. Ethan has been around awhile, good wrestler and if this was Ethan in his prime, this might be a better match. Let's face it, most of the people in PWA excluding Alex Wilkie, Protean and myself are a little older than they should be to be at the top of this sport. As I see it, this is the perfect chance for me to get ahead of the pact, and have my first match back in PWA be a successful one."

LBM-"XTC, you have been wrestling for over ten years now, a veteran in everyone's eyes and in tremendous shape. All the buzz about you failing lately, and not being about to hack it, never winning a World Title. Is there such a thing as a curse, and if so do you have one?"

The look on XTC's face changes drastically, no more smile, he just looks at Lean Bean Miller.

XTC-"Curse? Who are you kidding? To be honest,n that ten years, I have only had TWO shots at the World Title. One time I took Chamelion to his limit, and the other I had personal issues I was dealing with. I am zero and two in world title matches, sure not a great track record by any stretch of the imagination. Let's not jump the gun and start talking about a curse that there is no prove of. Some people never see a World Title, than others like Alex Wilkie will never hold a World Title, but to say that I will never hold one? That's just pure non-sense. My road to the title starts this week on Rampage, and will go until I succesfully gain PWA's World TItle, and become the cornerstone of the new and improved PWA. Do you know why that is, Lean?"

LBM-"Why is that?"

XTC-"Because nobody gets higher than....X...T....C..."

Protean #1

Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Jacob sits alone beneath the shade of one of the many maple trees that grow in the rear garden of the Seldon house. His coarse black hair has grown longer since we last saw him and now, as he bows his head, it falls down over his eyes, casting a shadow over his pale features. Months without the need nor the inclination to shave have left the beginnings of a beard to form about his face.

His usual tight black tee-shirt bares an old school "Pioneer Wrestling Association" logo and bleeds down into a pair of freshly pressed Levis and classic white and blue Converses. A thin smile forms on his bottom lip as he turns his dark brown eyes up to look into the camera lens.

This almost didn't happen.

He leans back slightly against the trunk of the tree and brushes his hair away from his eyes.

Oh, not this doomed-to-fail PWA reunion, that was bound to happen one day; the viewing public has an almost unlimited appetite for the bastardization of former glory in the name of the almighty dollar. I mean my involvement in it, or to be more accurate, my return to the sport in any way, shape or form. You see, my departure from the squared circle, with the exception of two ill-fated weeks in CWA, was - to be perfectly candid - an indication of my disgust with the direction in which the sport of professional wrestling is going these days.

The entire so-called "talent pool" is divided up into either aging veterans who are too desperate for one last go-around that they can't see how far beyond them the sport has progressed, or impetuous young rookies who all forget that the egotism of the men they idolize was earned through years of hard-work and determination. And the only thing which the two sides have in common, is that they will all be responsible for the further degradation and eventual death of this profession as we know it. This house of cards masquerading as a bastion of wrought-iron is but one AOWFer come-back or one stolen Shawn Twilight line away from collapsing into the dirt.

And yet here I am. Hoping against hope that it is not too late to lead by example, as my friends and I have always done. Trying to believe that there is still a reason to fight. More than anything, though, preparing to burn out before I fade away into insignificance. 'Cause this is my end, just as it was his years ago. My last run before I retire to the dream I have built for myself here with the woman I love. I'm not going to be thirty and still trying to keep up with the next generation of talent; I'm going out at the very top of my generation, with the spotlight shining down upon me.

Reaching into his back pocket he produces a packet of Malboro Lights and a lighter. He slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it up, drawing heavily on it before sending a cloud of smoke up into the branches above him. Ten months of relaxation can do a lot for a man, but there are some problems that only nicotine can solve.

Jamie, thirty-four matches, and only the losses have any significance? No wonder you want a challenge. You need to prove that your progression over the last year has been vertical rather than horizontal. If you can't do that, you're just a kid who excels at being king of the scrub midcard and talks a game big enough for the main event.

You ask them if mediocrity really feels like that much of an accomplishment, but I could ask you the same question. Does it, Jamie? Do two pointless titles from a promotion I've barely even heard of and string of victories over names many of us would be hard pressed to put to faces really help you sleep at night? Will a tag title shared with a washed-up steroid abuser put you on the figurative "map"? How many more lines do you need to steal from the men you'll never be before you can finally feel like you've reached the top?

I invited you into Self-Inflicted Drama because I thought you would help lay the foundations for a new era of SiD dominance of the sport, but now it becomes painfully clear that all you're going to do is lay them for yet another dark age of Charm imitation and boring ego-trip monologues. And I can't and won't let that happen. I'm going to bring out your A-Game, even if I have to break you in the process.

Night of Armageddon 6. Me versus you. No third or fourth man to add doubt and room for later denial on your part. Your chance to prove that you are the man you say you are; your chance to prove that you are the new song for the new generation, rather than the swan song for the generation of which you were never a part.

Your chance to be "the most pivotal athlete this sport has ever seen" as you put it.

From somewhere in the distance there is the sound of car pulling up; no doubt Lisa returning from one of her extended shopping sprees in town. This can mean only one thing - Strawberry Quacks and Pepsi for dinner again.

If Chamelion really had no intention of being involved in the on-air business of running this promotion, why did it only take one reference to him running the show to bring him scurrying out of the shadows with a handi-cam already in place? It's not like his involvement wasn't already plastered all over the smart-mark internet sites and newsletters anyway. If the fans were too obtuse to pick up on any of that, they were hardly going to do so from twelve seconds of promotional material. And besides, how many people actually watch Alex Wilkie promos unless they have to these days? Hell, until Sommers mentioned it, I hadn't even bothered myself.

Don't be taken in by Mark's false candor, it was always his intention to be involved with this promotion in a very public, on-air fashion. He was just waiting for the right opening to present itself, that was all. There was no way a man so in love with himself as our illustrious president was going to pass up an opportunity to pose for the cameras and show off the power afforded to him by his new position. He did the exact same thing in BWF and no doubt in several promotions prior to that one as well.

In the coming months you'll see him appear on camera many, many times. Probably every time someone makes a comment, no matter how passing or insignificant, in his direction. In fact, there's little doubt in my mind that he'll be wrestling matches here as well. Perhaps infrequently at first, whenever there's some special tag match that needs a fifth man or someone calls him out at a pay per view. Then, as time goes by, he'll find a reason to compete on a regular basis - a feud with some scrub upper midcarder or something along those lines - and before you know it, you'll forget that he was just another pencil pushing executive altogether.

It's not that I actually care, it's just that he feels compelled to lie to us about it that bothers me.

He shrugs and sucks down more poisonous fumes.

So I understand that this week the powers that be have decided to pit me against somebody by the name of King Agony. Now, I always thought that was that 70s pop band who did "21st Century Schizoid Man", but Calista reliably informs me that that was actually King Crimson. And that pretty much brings to a close any possible material I might have regarding my opponent. It's not that I doubt he's a talented individual, it's just that when you reach my age, you tend to be of the opinion that if your opponent is worth researching you'll have heard his name dropped before.

Maybe next week they'll put me up against somebody of weight, but more than likely I'll get somebody like Erik Draven, whose absolutely appalling attempts to speak formal English offend my classical education like nothing else could... except possibly the fact that he expects us to believe the actors he hired to get "mutilated" in his promo were the genuine article. Somebody better call the NYPD and tell them that we have a name and address for their latest unsolved homicide. I'd do it myself, but I'm too busy attempting to locate my 10th grade English teacher so he can give Erik a lesson in the proper use of words like 'contrary.'

His smile becomes just a little more crooked.

Oh, by the way, Sandra? You're about as funny as malignant bowel cancer, please stop trying.

A shake of the head to bring us to an end.

See You Space Cowboy.

Fade.

Sandra Response

The scene opens in a dark room. Everything is dark. The walls are painted black, the window has black curtains, and there is a black light that makes various white object glow. Sandra is sitting in the corner of the room, wearing a pair of Black jeans, a black t-shirt with a skull, and a black bandanna. She sighs and strums at the guitar on her lap. Suddently, she looks at the camera and sighs.

"Oh, woe is me... I'm so... sad. I'm so sad, I have to write a monologue of Shakespearian proportians to get one thought accross."

Sandra nods. There is a sad song playing in the background, sounding much like Evanescence. She pulls out a pile of papers that have words scribbled accross them.

"This is my goth poetry. I will now read you an exerpt. Achem...

Roses are red,
violets are blue,
you have the subtelty of an unwashed ass."

As soon as the vocals start up Sandra stands up, and bashes her guitar against the radio on her floor. She turns on the light and puts her hands on her hips.

"Alright, Protean. Lets get some things straight. I don't know you, and you know about as much as whatever Hot Topic has on sale. So you can take your dark backgrounds and shove them up Brandon Lee worshipping ass."

She waves a hand accross her neck, and the camera turns off

Sandra #1

Sandra stood in front of a tall older man, hands on her hips. She was wearing a black pair of bike shorts and a sports bra, listening as he lectured her.

"...too slow, I'm gettin' ya. Ya gotte hit 'em fast and hit 'em hard! Guys like this Moran guy ain't no pushovers."

Sandra nodded, and looked down. "...think he still has that handlebar mustache?"

"What does that have to do with anything??"

"I dunno, I was just wondering!"

Her trainer shook his head. "Look, Sandra... just focus. I don't get paid nearly enough to train with someone who loses her first fight."

"Lose? Me?" Sandra grinned. "Come oooooon... when was the last time I lost?"

Her trainer gave her a long hard stare.

"...don't answer that. What'r we gonna work on next."

"I guess we'll have to work on your grappling," he said, scratching the back of his head. "You should probably work on that piledriver--"

"You mean this one?!"

Sandra lunged foreward and grabbed her trainer. "Hey hey hey!!" He yelled as she turned him upsidedown, struggling, and dropped him into a piledriver.

Sandra let him fall on to the mat, falling backwards on to the rope as she laughed. "Oh, man! You shoulda seen your face, Pete! ... Pete?" She walked over to her trainer, who lay unconscious and unmoving. "...Peeeeeete?"

Sandra's eyes darted around. She slowly crept out of the ring, and made a dash for the door.

Several seconds later, she ran back into the ring, and faced the camera.

"That's right, Sirus! I got your ass!"

She ran back out immediately after.

Sirus #1

On TV we see the late night talk show start up. A large man (but he wears his weight well) dressed up as, you guessed it, a cowboy walks our from behind the curtain. Flanked on each side are two gorgeous women wearing an outfit that makes the Playboy Bunnies look like they're wearing muumuus. They lead him to the center of the stage. After getting a kiss on each cheek by them the women turn around and walk away. Amazing how well they can move like that wearing high heels. After all of the wolf calls settle down we fix on Cowboy Wally. A big purple cowboy hat, has to be at least 15 gallons, a handkerchief wrapped around his neck, a dark green vest over a light green long sleeve shirt. A cowboy buckle is holding up his pants and yes, he's wearing cowboy boots. Wally seems to have picked a good name. A cigar in his left hand is dripping ash over the stage.

Cowboy Wally “Well folks, tonight we have a great show for you. Later in the show, we have an animal trainer who has a real live McGuffin. Skeeve who will entertain us with a few magic tricks and Lady Sally who will .. uhh .. have tricks of her own.”

Cowboy Wally walks over and plops himself down behind his desk.

CW “To start off the show we have .. uh … have [He grabs a piece of paper off of the desk and reads from it.] I’m proud to present Sirus Moran and ‘Al’!

What? NO! Didn’t these guys retire already?”

As Cowboy Wally hangs his head, and with that big hat of his he basically disappears behind it, Sirus and ‘Al’ come walking out from behind the curtains waving to everyone. He walks by the desk and offers a hand to Cowboy Wally who ignores him then takes a seat. He carefully places ‘Al’ in the seat next to him and tells him to behave.

CW “So, uh Sirus, how have you been?”

Sirus “Great, just great. Valerie and I have a son now. He’s 3 and a half months old.”

CW “They let you procreate? Amazing. So, what’s the little fellas name?”

Sirus “You can’t fool me. You just wanted to know if I remembered or not. Good try Wally, but you’ll have to try harder than that.”

The audience laughs along with Sirus.

CW “Right. It says here in my sheets that you’re back in the PWA. How did that happen?”

Sirus “I’m back in the PWA?”

CW “Evidently. Don’t you have a secretary or something? Maybe a black berry or a note pad? You really need someone to look after you.”

Sirus turns to look at ‘Al’.

Sirus “Well, what do you have to say for your self? ……. You expect me to believe that? A dog ate it? …….. A big dog? Come on ‘Al’ ……. The truth now. …… You celebrated over the news? … champagne? … .models? …. A Little Tykes racing car bed ….. A funnel? … And you just forgot. Ok, that I believe. [Turns to look back at Cowboy Wally]. Ok, it’s all cleared up.”

CW “For some of us.”

Sirus “So, does it say there who I’m fighting?”

CW “Yes it does. By the sounds if it she’s right up your alley. Psycho Sandra.”

Sirus “She’s not up my alley. I don’t even think we live in the same city. Let me see that.”

Sirus grabs for Cowboy Wally’s notes and the two of them struggle for a bit with Wally winning out in the end.”

CW “MINE! Now, do you have something to say about Sandra?”

Sirus “Well, it’s nice to be back and surrounded by familiar faces. Sandra was a big part of the PWA before and I’m glad she’s here and ground zero. I wonder if she still does that dancing game thing. I could never get the hang of it. You know those arcade games where you have to do dance steps?”

CW “No.”

Sirus “Great! Yeah, I tried those a few times but I’d either always cramp up or wind up kicking the person next to me. Those things should really have warnings. I could never get the hang of it, but she could stay on that thing for hours on just a dollar. Really helps her out with staying power in the ring. Although, I will say that sometimes she gets a bit too focused with it and almost even forgets she has a match coming up … Everyone needs a hobby.”

CW “Oh? What’s yours? No wait, forget I asked.”

Sirus “Done and done. I think it’s fitting that my first match back is against a friend of the Sommers family. I wonder if Raizzor has picked up the steaks already. I’m bringing the perogies and ‘Al’ here has the salmon he caught last week. I’m sure Sandra is invited.”

CW “She can bring the … uhh .. no, I can’t even think of anything clever to say. You know Sirus, you really take all the energy out of me.”

Sirus “Your welcome.”

CW “We have a surprise for you before you leave.”

Sirus “I don’t have to leave yet.”

CW “Yes you do. You really do. Anyway, we have someone special for you here tonight. So don’t worry, we know Sandra’s threat was hollow, because we have you ass right here!”

Cowboy Wally waves over to the curtained area and one of the beauties from before walks out with a donkey being lead by a rope.

Sirus “That’s not my ass.”

CW “No, I know, but you see when she ---“

Sirus “My ass is older than that and has more hair.”

CW “More hair.”

Sirus “Yes, it has more hair and it’s grayer. It also looks a little fallen.”

CW “I give up. Coming on after these messages we will finally have proof that McGuffins really do exist!”

Sirus [Lookig at ‘Al’] “You want to stay around for that? …. You’ve already seen one? Ok, let’s go then.”

Sirus gets up, grabs ‘Al’ and heads off stage.

CW “Oh thank god. I thought those two guys would never leave. They really get on my fu----“

Commercial break.

Chamelion Addition

Fade in to a familiar setting. Familiar if you knew the PWA, anyway. It's the long hallway on the top floor of the PWA home office, and at the end of that long hallway is a set of large double doors. On the left door, it reads 'PWA President" and on the other door it reads "Mark Sommers"

We move forward and the doors swing open, into a rather luxurious office setting. Standing with his back to us, facing out the windows, Mark Sommers stares out into the evening sky. He ignores our presence for the moment, before turning his head slightly to eye us.

"Greetings."

He sighs then, before turning and pulling out the large leather chair from the desk and plopping into it.

"Sandra is gonna KILL me."

He pauses before explaining.

"I didnt tell anyone that I was behind the re-opening of the PWA because I had no intention of being on screen... involved... and planned for Mack Moran to do all the on air administrative duties."

Another pause, and he gets a somewhat tentative look on his face.

"Sandra, dear...wasn't my fault you got Sirus for your first match... that was umm, yeah, go talk to Mack.. yeah."

Licking his lips, Mark moves on.

"But, when Alex Wilkie aired his promo against Draven, he let it out of the bag who it was that brought him here. I should have had everyone sign NDA's! Damn."

Shrugging.

"Hind sight is always 20/20, as a friend of mine once said. So, I guess I'll stop by Rampage Friday night and share some cool announcements with the whole PWA, about the future of the PWA and Genesis. As well as offer my extreme congratulations to the premier members of the new Pioneer Wrestling Association. Just, ya know, people... this time; leave me out of your little wars, okay?"

With that, Mark offers a slight bow of the head, and we fade to black

Sandra Follow-up

The scene opens to the same familliar hallway. Except this time, someone's walking down the hall. Walking, perhaps she isn't walking. She might be stomping. It can't be told which she's doing, because while her boots seem to be making quite a bit of noise, Sandra's face is expressionless.

"Excuse me ma'am," said a security guard outside of an office. "You need security clearence to...."

Sandra gave him a long hard stare.

"...oh! It's YOU Mrs. Sommers!"

Sandra smiled sweetly. "You can call me Sandra. Is Chamelion in?"

The guard nodded. "Yes ma'am, he is."

"Good."

Sandra walked into his office. As the camera prepairs to follow her, she looks back at it and grabs the lense.

"Hey hey hey... no offense, but this is personal."

Sandra shut the door. Inside, a muffled conversation can be heard, followed by shouting, glass breaking, and a loud series of crashes.

Sandra #2

Inside of a living room, clothes and lingerie hand from the couch and litter the floor like a Victoria’s Secret blew up. Sandra is on her knees, on the floor, throwing clothes from boxes as she searches frantically. When she finally gets to the bottom of the box, she lets out a triumphant “Ah HA!” and pulls out what looks like a pair of tan colored bike shorts, except with back pockets. Sandra searches a little more, and pulls out two little inserts that resemble chicken breasts made of silicone.

Chamelion walks through the door, loosening his tie and sitting down on the panty-strewn couch. He stares at Sandra, who is still looking through boxes. “Do I even want to know what it is you’re doing?”

“I didn’t hear you come in!” Sandra replied, tossing a purple bra behind her and leaning forward into the box again.

Chamelion slapped his forehead. “Look, if you want to unpack, why don’t you just—“

“I’m not unpacking! I’m looking for something important, and furthermore…” she looked up at Chamelion, her eyes narrowed. “I still can’t believe what you did to me.”

“What I did to you?! I chose to book my wife against the safest, fairest, on the level competitor the PWA has, knowing that she'll be in for a tough, yet fair contest... and this is how you thank me?”

Sandra stood up, a several butterfly thongs in her hand. “Fair? Excuse me, did I hear you say FAIR?? Did you see him on the late show?! The man is a genius! He’s not even letting me know his game plan! He’s got some diabolical, super terrific plan that he’s not telling anyone, and who do you think gets the brunt of that, huh?”

“So what, you’re saying he’s too tough for you?”

Sandra looked at Chamelion with shock. “Tough? Too tough? Exqueeze me? Baking powder? Nobody is too tough for me! But too crafty… too smart… if he’s got something up his sleeve, I’ve got to give him one better.”

Chamelion shook his head, and finally noticed that there was a pair of lace pink panties on his hand. He picked them up, and held them in front of his face. “…so what, underwear is your master plan?”

Sandra grinned, still looking through her boxes. “Lets just say I’m gonna fight ass with ass.”

She held up the tan shorts, and put the chicken-breast-like inserts into the butt part before tossing it to Chamelion. “Sirus said his ass has been falling. Know why? ‘cuz it’s MINE. I OWN it. It’s right THERE.”

“…” Chamelion stared at her blankly. “… This?”
“Yes.”

“This is Sirus’ ass.”

“What’s left of it, yes.”

“Sandra, I think you could use a drink.”

She grinned. “What I could use is a little freaking help from the man I love, Chamo-pants! Now c’mon, gimme some encouragement!”

“I would if you weren’t acting like a lunatic!”

“I defy your lunatic-seeking-logic, Mark!”

“Okay, y’know what? I’m going to go get some dinner. I’ve had a long day, and I could use a break from the insanity. And y’know what else? I’m buying TACOS!”

Sandra gave him a hard glare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“That’s right, and I’m buying them from Chico Rico!” He got up, and stormed out of the room. A second later, he came back and grabbed the pink lace panties. “And I’m taking these with me.”

Sandra folded her arms. “Hmph..”

It was silent in her house, until Sandra’s face lit up with realization.

“…wait a minute….. Mark! Mark come back, honey! Mark!!”

She ran from the room, the velcro from an orange bra sticking to her long hair

Sirus #2

We open up in a place we haven’t been in for a while. It’s basically an open room in a building. It takes up maybe half a floor of a medium building. The floor is a little dirty, the windows a little grimey, the place little bare. What there is however are a few pieces of exercise equipment, some free weights, a punching bag and other odds and ends. There’s also a few gym mats strewn around all over the place. You’d think that there might be a wrestling ring or something, but you’d be wrong.

Among all of this wonderful hi-tech stuff we also find Sirus, Mack et ‘Al’.

Mack “Well, welcome home nephew.”

Sirus “I don’t live here, this is where I work out.”

Mack “I meant the PWA.”

Sirus “This isn’t –“

Mack “—the PWA. I know, I know. Sigh.”

Sirus “It’s great to be back in the PWA isn’t it?”

Mack “You know, for a second there I thought it was.”

Sirus “GREAT!”

Mack “Right. Now that we have nothing settled …. Psycho Sandra.”

Sirus “YES!”

Mack “She’s your next opponent.”

Sirus “YES!”

Mack “Mark booked her against you.”

Sirus “YE ---- who?”

Mack “Chamelion.”

Sirus “Right, right.”

Mack ‘So, Chamelion booked you in your first match back in the PWA against another known PWAer who also happens to be his wife.”

Sirus “YE ---- wife?”

Mack “Could we just, train or somethnig? I’m the commish here and I have other things I could be doing right now. I mean, I’m not here to make sure you’re not going to cheat or anything. Everybody knows about you and your ethics. That’s the one thing I’m proud of about you boy. Just like any of us, even Randall, it’s pretty much what you see is what you get. And in most of us that’s enough. That’s more than I can ask of anybody.”

Sirus “Thanks Uncle, that really –“

Mack “I mean, look at you past. There’s a lot of other male wrestlers out there that would scoff at Sandra. Not only is she a nice lady herself and has a good husband standing beside her, she truly loves what she does. The dedication that she gives to this sport is amazing. A lot of men would think that’s this would be an easy win. Some might even refuse to go into the match in the first place. Not you though nephew, you know that anyone who made it this far deserves to be hear and should be shown at least a little respect.”

Sirus “That’s true uncle, but ---“

Mack “I’m sure that you and that bear of yours have already built up a plan to take her on right? I mean she’s smaller than you and not as strong, but she’s a lot quicker. Sure, she’s scraper though and through, but she’d have to hit you a few times to measure up to one of yours. That is, if you can even hit her.”

Sirus “Well yeah uncle, but she ---“

Mack “Depending on the mood she’s in though, she just might run out to the middle of the ring and meet you head on. That could work to your favor though. If the two of you lock up a lot in the match then you have her beat. One of the traits that runs through us Morans is that we can take a lot of punishment. Actually, for a few of us it’s just that we don’t know when to quit. I’m surprised that boy Tyke hasn’t been broken in half yet. Now, if Sandra decides to do the quick strikes at you, then you need to let her. That’s the only way that she’ll get close enough for you to do anything.”

Sirus “Right Uncle, but you know I’ve ---“

Mack “Now, we won’t have to worry about anything from the outside. That’s the one of the things that I liked about the old PWA before it went to hell. Most of the times you can count on just being able to have a match and pit two combatants against each other and see what happens. Sometimes I wonder why all the matches aren’t fought inside an enclosed steel cage just to keep the riff raff out.”

Sirus “Brad, Janet, Rocky unh!”

Mack “What?”

Sirus “Nothing Uncle.”

Mack “Have you even heard a word I’ve said?”

Sirus “Something about someone being married to someone. After that I was feeling hungry and I was signing the Oscar Mayer wiener song in my head. Don’t worry, ‘Al’ was taking notes.”

The two of them look down and the camera follows their gaze. ‘Al’ is sitting on the floor and in front of him is .. a note pad and a pen. The camera goes back up to the two Morans.

Mack “Right. Of course he was, what was I thinking?”

Sirus “The song about bologna?’

Mack stares at Sirus with a hard, almost hot look.

Sirus “Ok, that’s it. Drop and give me a hundred sit ups.”

Sirus does, but after the third one he stops and cries out a bit.

Sirus “Ow .. cramp! Ow.”

Mack “After three sit ups? Haven’t you been training and keeping in shape?”

Sirus “Training .. keeping in shape … right, yeah.

No.”

Mack rolls his eyes and walks out of the scene leaving Sirus to read over ‘Al’s notes.

Fade out …

Sandra #3

Sandra sat in her gym, curling with a pair of weights. Her arms were bronzed, and glistened with sweat from the workout. There were a few veigns in her forearms and wrists that looked as if she could seriously benefit from a break. A few moments later, an older man walked towards her with a bandage around his head. He looked at her with distain, chewing on a cigar.

"Did you see that?" He asked.

Sandra shrugged, and continued curling. "See what?"

"Sirus' match promo. Didn't you see it?"

She didn't take her eyes off of her arm. "Yeeeees... yes, I did."

"So where's this plan of yours, huh? Y'know, Mack ain't no idiot. He's gonna have Sirus plan something."

Sandra set down her weights, and looked at him. "Pete, I've got it all figured out. Don't worry!"

"Well, he did say he hasn't been training. Looked kind of out of shape, but you! look at you! In your prime, huh kid?"

The tall buxom bruinette grinned at her trainer and nodded. "Yup. And y'know why?"

"Why?"

"Steroids!"

The cigar fell from Pete's mouth as he choked on his own smoke. "W-what??!"

Sandra nodded. "Mmm hmm! Steroids! If it hadn't been for the bets I made on those baseball games, I never would have been able to afford you!"

"Oh, right.." Pete said, retriving his cigar. "Wait a second, I thought you and the husband had plenty of cash?"

Sandra nodded. "Yeah, but we put most of it towards the PWA. Took all our savings and everything to make this place back into what it is, so I had to find differen't ways to make money so I could train."

Pete looked at Sandra, and cocked his head sideways. "Sandra... he used your shared money?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So... doesn't that make you co-owner? Isn't it law that when a husband owns a business, his wife shares it?"

Sandra looked at her trainer, dumb struck, then looked down at her weights. She picked them up, and handed them to Pete, who bucked under their weight.

"I've decided how I'm gonna win, Pete."

"Hnn..." He grunted, from the weights. "..hows that?"

Sandra walked up to the punching bag, and began unleashing her rights and lefts. "I'm gonna pretend that Sirus is my husband."

A kick from her loft leg sent the bag flying off into one corner.

"...and not in a good way, either!"

Brymstone #1

He stirred from his sleep and tossed the tangled bedding from his large form as he sat up. He was home. No guards. No cellmates. No dripping of water from a leaking faucet. None of that. He was in his castle so to speak. Beside him the wore out and exhausted form of a dark woman curled into herself absently as she was covered with the bedding. He rose and pulled a robe around his form. The room was dark so nothing really could have been seen except for the shadows of movement.

He strode from the room with relative quiet considering his large frame and paced about the house with the robe tied about him. It was early in the morning.. about 6 am a pan to the clock would divulge..and he was still enjoying his first night of freedom in almost six years. He moved towards the room where his sons slept and watched them. It was nice...to be able to see his seed..his own sense of immortality sleeping like this. He remained out of their room and there was nothing to disturb the quiet sound of their sleeping, save for the raise of a canine head to peer at the intruder. After judging him not a threat, the dog resumed its slumber in earnest as he moved down the stairs now to the other parts of the house.

Now he was in a garden. It was fashioned with a strong Japanese influence and it was for lack of a better word.. tranquil. He took in the chill morning air before moving back into the house where an old japanese man bowed his head slightly and offered a small cup of coffee. Black. The way he used to take it.

"Good morning Asuramu-sama." the elder man began. "I trust you slept well?" he asked as the larger man took the offered cup and returned the slight bow. He took a sip of it and nodded to the affirmitive.

"Thank you Gonji. I have missed this." he replied with barely a glance over his shoulder at the much smaller and much older Japanese man.

"You are welcome Asuramu-sama" the old man bowed once more before returning to what he had been doing. Brymstone just nodded his head and continued walking about the fine house he had not seen in years. His reverie was broken however when a younger man, likewise of Japanese descent walked up to him and handed him a notification which he took wordlessly. Reading it, there was a faint curl to his lips. Almost a sneer. Almost.

"Well I'll be damned." he said as he set aside the coffee and the notification. He shook his head and even managed to let a dark chuckle or two slip from his throat. "Who ever is now running the PWA must not care about the health of their curtain jerkers." he added with a bit of disbelief.

It was ludicrious really. To have him, a man who has won every title available to him in singles competition in his first match in six years.. against a curtain jerker. It was almost an insult.. almost. The more he thought on it..the more it made sense. Over half a decade went by and he had not wrestled a single match. The "ring rust" would be horrific. This could still work to his advantage..and he would do all in his power to force it to end in his favor.

"Fine." he began, a grim smile touching his lips. "I'll play their game. Poor Scottie Snow will remember the day he stepped into the ring with me..should the poor man remember anything at all." And with those words, he moved off, leaving the coffee where it sat on the table to start preperations for his first match in almost six long years.

Scotty Snow #1

Fade in to the PWA Dome in St. Louis, MO. Moving inside, we find the arena busy as crews work to set up the ring for Friday's premier event of Rampage in the new PWA.

Panning down to the level of the floor, we move past them towards the backstage area. People can be seen lining wires against the walls, setting up cameras and a buffet table.

We turn down a long hallway, noticing superstar locker rooms and the shower area.

As we're exploring, we begin to hear a faint sound.. a voice.

As it gets louder, we become privy to the words being shouted.

Suddenly from around the corner comes Scotty Snow, who is running at full speed shouting;

'I WON! I WON! I WON! I WON! I WON!'

As he races past the camera, full of joy. Suddenly, he screaches to a halt, and turns with a big smile on his face.

"And on Friday night when I face Brymstone in the ring, I will win again!!!"

With that, he spins on his heels and takes off screaming...

'I WON! I WON! I WON! I WON! I WON!'

Leaving us to shake our heads and fade to black.

Brymstone #2

Alex Wilkie #1

The scene is black with white writing on it.

PWA- Heard of it. Never really been there.

Eric Dryden- Heard of him, never really seen him.

Theres kind of a pattern here, New place, new faces..well sort of. But its all new and PWA is going to have a dose of Grade A coming this Friday.

The scene changes to a bustling street. Cars driving buy and people walking and chattering, not a care in the world. And then a yellow cab pulls up infront of the camera. The door opens and out of the car stands Alex dressed in a nice Black suit with a red undershirt and black long tie. He took off his black rimless sunglasses and placed them in his pocket and looked at the camera for a moment.

Alex- Follow me.

He looked to his right and then looked back and smiled and began walking.

Alex- Okay. So. Heres the earth. The city. Chillin’.

Alex stopped infront of a large theater like arena and pointed to a poster. Genesis 7.

Alex- and this is PWA. Run by Chamelion, the most devious SOB in sports entertainment today, I came to PWA because I was personally asked by Mr Sommers. I must say, Im impressed. They have they’re shit together and they had it together fast.

Alex continued walking.

Alex- now, Friday night Rampage. Eric Draven, never met him before. Don’t really care if he even shows up for Rampage. I’ll send him back to the locker room crying. Why? Because im just that damn good.

The scene fades slowly.

Alex- Whoa whoa whao. Im not done yet, assclown.

The scene fades back to normal.

Alex- Alright. Well supposedly, from what I do know Eric Draven is a retired superstar or something, I don’t know why he retired but lets ask him…

Alex looked around for a few quick seconds and then lifts up his hand with a sock puppet on it.

Alex whispers- Quite professional I know…

Alex begins to speak in a normal voice.

Alex- So! Eric! Why did you retire?

Sock Draven- ¿Por qué? su porque soy gay. Amo el infact del martillo, lo amo día y la noche que es porqué me retiré. Más usted oscila Alex, te quiero y amo su martillo pero me dejo la opinión justa, que el su ir a ganar viernes porque no puedo hacer la mierda demasiado mala yo sabe pero sí, I

Alex- Whoa, Dude, I don’t swing that way.

Alex took the sock of his hand and then tossed it on the ground and then picked some lighter fluid out of his back pocket and doused the sock in it and then light the sock on fire.

Alex- PROTEST THE FIRE

Eric Draven #1

-Introduction-

Time.

The minutes turn to hours, the hours to days, and the days to months. Soon, all you have left is a grave...forget about salvation, heaven, or any sort of afterlife...fact is, you don't deserve it...

Life is not a game. It is a disease. Birth and Death are symptoms. The Dream is the Cure. I am The Dream...and I am Eternal.

-EXT. Dark Alley, New York City Slums, Midnight -

Fade In.

The slums of the city. The drugs ruled these streets, the people that push them mere puppets at the ends of it's string.

We focus in on one particular area. A dark, desolate alleyway cutting between two old buildings. One, a long since abandoned Mill, the other, rundown apartments...still in use, but only by the extremely impoverished.

A beautiful young woman makes her way round a corner and heads down the alley...taking her usual shortcut home, all be it that she'd never taken this route at night before.

She is apparently returning from a night outing at the clubs or bars, judging by her choice of clothing...(a revealing, though only enough to tease, black skirt, and pink strapless top...)

She hurries along...completely unaware of the stranger that has been following, stalking her, for the past few blocks. His buddy appears at the other end of the alley, walking casually, so as not to alarm the girl. The men quickly close in on her, and as the one in front starts to pass her, he reaches out, snatching her arm up in a strong grip. Before she has time to react, the other grabs from behind, placing one arm around her neck, and the other hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.

Thug # 1-Whispering Into Girls Ear 

"Take it easy sweetcheeks...jus' do what we tell ya, and ya may actually limp away from 

this..."

Tears well in her eyes. Fear takes it's toll, setting in.

Thug # 2-Groping Her With His Free Hand

"You took da wrong way home tonight, lady...now your ass is coming home wid us for some fun 

an' games...you'd like dat huh, bitch?"

The second thug forces the girl to nod her head in agreement.

Thug # 1-Licks The Side of Her Face

"Yeah...I knew she'd be easy...slut! Walk bitch!"

The two force the girl to turn around...only, as they themselves turn, they run smack into a menacing figure...one much larger than their own.

Draven. XIII. His black trench coat swaying back gently in the midnight breeze, his head lowered slightly with strands of long black hair obscuring the sides of his face...which, from what we can see of it, remains expressionless.

The men take a few steps back, startled at first. One lets go of the girls arm and pulls a butterfly knife from his pocket, doing some fancy twirling and flipping with it as he does.

Thug # 2-Waving Knife Around

"Best be leaving now, boy. You may've already seen too much."

Draven pays his knife and his warnings no heed at all, and simply remains standing, unmoving. The man makes a jab with his blade. Draven steps to one side, and grabs the mans arm, and yanks him in, forcing his hand up towards his face.

XIII-Forcing Blade Closer To Thug's Face

"Contrary, my friend. It is you, who have seen too much."

The man struggles with all the strength he can muster, but Draven easily over powers the poor fool and stabs his own knife into his eye.  

XIII

"Pathetic."

He tosses the man into one of the side walls...the man's face collides with the brick with a loud 'CRACK!'. XIII stands there for a brief moment, gazing over the now lifeless body of Thug number one, before slowly turning his head to face the second attacker...whom, unfortunately, has abandoned his cure for 'The Blues' and fled for his life. So XIII only faces the shaken and disturbed woman, who stands there, paralyzed with fear, before him.

XIII

"And cowardice..."

She regains enough composure to speak.

Girl

"Umm thanks...you...you saved me...I don't kn---"

He turns to face the girl.

XIII

"Don't be too presumptious...they merely had something I wanted."

Girl

"Like what?"

He cocks his head to one side, as if amused.

XIII

"You."

Her eyes grow wide with fear once more. She braces in anticipation of XIII attacking her. He does nothing...only stands there, expressionless.

XIII

"You should run..."

Nearly frightened out of her mind, as well as in a state of slight shock that her savior had become her attacker (or so it appears that way), she turns to run away, but stumbles and falls to the ground, her legs over racked with fear and not functioning up to par.

Frantically, she begins to crawl, looking back to her apparent attacker only to find that XIII has turned and is calmly walking away in the other direction. She sets her confusion aside, and, not taking any chances, quickly makes it to her feet and proceeds to run, fast as she can, to her home a few blocks from the alley. 

-Scene Transition-Fade Into- 

-EXT. Top of Old Warehouse, NYC, Midnight- 

He stood there, motionless, the light from the city casting an eerie glow around him. His head lowered slightly, he begins to speak, his tone calm and collected.

XIII

"My suspicions confirmed. However obvious the truth in itself seems to be, after all, 

appearances can be very deceiving...but this truth confirmed, coming first from the mouth

of the rat, and then from the cat. Makes no difference to this hellhound, for in time 

they'll all be looking up to me from the flat of their backs."

He moves, his back still turned to us, slowly making his way to the building's edge...a mere wall that barely reaches the height of ones knees separating him from the forty or so foot drop to the asphalt below.

XIII

"Tell me something, Alex...how does it feel?"

"How does it feel to be the pawn in all of this...to be played like a puppet...like a sheep 

led to slaughter? To know that the Sommers are using you like a cheap whore...it's what 

that whole bunch is all about. They never face the Dragon head-on...they send worthless 

shells of flesh such as yourself to wear it down...barrage it...then they attack when they 

believe it to be at it's weakest. You're nothing more than a tool of their Cowardice, and 

I want to know...how does it feel?"

-Camera Pan/Transition-Frontal View, Waist Level-

His hair waves about slightly in the nighttime breeze as he continues to look down, expressionless, to the alleyway below.

XIII 

"You seem to think yourself to be a comedian of sorts, resorting to jokes and childish 

antics in a poorly made attempt to insult me."

"I'm not amused...afterall, laughter is man's natural way of suppressing fear...and you 

should be very afraid of what you 'know nothing about'." 
 

"Fear me, and fear your fate at Rampage. Come Friday, the jokes on you." 

-Camera Pan/Transition-Backview, Worms Eye Level-

He turns away from the edge, facing us for the first time. He flips his hair away from his face with one hand and looks down at us. His ghostly white face accentuates the fiery hint of rage that glows in his eyes.

XIII

"For shame, Mark...pitting me against innocence that has nothing to do with our war...and 

yes, it is your war as well, for once I am sought after, one can never escape the wrath 

that is sure to ensue. You and your brother know of this well, for you both have felt it 

firsthand...but lets not allow anyone to be neglected the truth here. It was your brother 

who started all of this...it was he who screwed me over at Battledome, and it was he whom 

brought the matches and gasoline to the ring on that fateful night when the dead walked 

again." 

"Has not the Unmerciful one shown mercy all this time? Have I not warned every single soul 

foolish enough to stand in my way to step aside, or be crushed? Your brother knew his 

actions would have their consequence, yet he acted anyway...and for that, I have brought him 

suffering beyond his normal limitations. I've awakened the ghosts that haunts his wife's 

forgotten memories. I divided him against himself, and then topped it off by setting him 

ablaze in front of millions. The Legend of Raizzor is nothing more than a fable...of myth 

of Michael's own deviation. I am the Dream that is reality...I am eternal, and in time, 

Mark...Michael, we shall end this once and for all." 

"At the Beginning, there shall be the End."

Fade Out.