_______ \ \ ______ _ __ / | \_/ __ \ \/ \/ / / | \ ___/\ / \____|__ /\___ >\/\_/ \/ \/ __________.__ .___ \______ \ | ____ ____ __| _/ | | _/ | / _ \ / _ \ / __ | | | \ |_( <_> | <_> ) /_/ | |______ /____/\____/ \____/\____ | \/ \/ __ __ __ .__ .__ / \ / \_______ ____ _______/ |_| | |__| ____ ____ \ \/\/ /\_ __ \_/ __ \ / ___/\ __\ | | |/ \ / ___\ \ / | | \/\ ___/ \___ \ | | | |_| | | \/ /_/ > \__/\ / |__| \___ >____ > |__| |____/__|___| /\___ / \/ \/ \/ \//_____/ _|_|_|_| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_| _| _|_|_|_| _|_| _|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| "No one need thinks that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and must be red and bloody." -- Martin Luther On this edition of Flashpoint! *** "The Perfect Gentleman" Edgar Caspian v. "Black Thunder" Conan Kabashi ~ "Black Thunder" Conan Kabashi *** Kosei Baisuu v. Kyokudo Ishiguri ~ Justin Ryerson ~ Kyokudo Ishiguri *** Winter Fresh v. "The Wolf" Lark Fenriz ~ "The Wolf" Lark Fenriz *** Randomly Assigned Tag Team Match! *** Chris Walker & Gabriel DaePoche v. North Fairview & Marc-Andre Laprise ~ North Fairview *** Main Event! Non-Title Match! *** "Ultraviolence" Gabriel Thorn v. "White Tiger" Mark Gray ~ "Ultraviolence" Gabriel Thorn * NBW Heavyweight Champion ~ "White Tiger" Mark Gray *** Character Development: ~ Jedah ~ DeathRow ~ LordZero ~ "Intrepid" Ryan Howard ~ "The Extreme Jesus" Matt Harris =============================== "BLACK THUNDER" CONAN KABASHI =============================== [ Cue a shot of Mount Everest. Dark clouds rumble in the background as Conan Kabashi speaks ] They say the first step is the hardest. My first step in NBW as I prepare to climb the mountain of dangerous talent is 'Perfect Gentleman' Edgar Caspian. And what would you know, I'm his first step too. Who is it going to be harder for Ed? You...or me? Make no mistake about it Ed, I don't intend to be a 'Perfect Gentlemen' and let you pass without a fuss. I'm not going to hold the door open for to go past and ascend the ranks of NBW. And I don't expect you'll do the same. Edster, I'm going to be the very toughest step I can be for you to climb. And by the lord, if you try to cheat, if you try to bend or break the rules, I'm going to be that much tougher because not only will I stop your climb, but I'll break your feet into a million pieces so you'll never be able to climb again. I don't say these words lightly. I say them because I mean them. I say them because I battle with honour. I say them because for too long I've seen the rulbreakers prevail. I say them because it is my every intention to step on you, and then the next man, and then the next, and then the next and so on until there are no more steps left to climb...and then all that people will see when they look up, all that people will hear when they listen is... ..BLACK THUNDER. [ FADE ] ================ JUSTIN RYERSON ================ [It's as if we're in a remake of one of those old chinese martial art flicks. not the classy Bruce Lee ones but the no name ones that were dubbed into english and play at 3 in the morning. The film roll is grainy at best, the colour is a little off and the sound has been dubbed over. What we see is Kosei Baisuu dressed in a dulled green samuarai suit and mask with a samurai sword in his hand. He moves the sword around with ease as he grunts and groans. He then draws his sword into a punching bag that causes a slit and allows sand to leak out of the bag. He continues as he begins to speak in _REALLY_ distinguishly horrible japanese, Francis Muldoon's (Kosei's translator) voice dubs over the production.] FM: HI!!!... I AM KOSEI BAISUU... CURRENTLY I AM USING MY SWORD TO PREPARE MYSELF FOR THE BATTLE AT HAND. I AM CUTTING THIS PUNCHING BAG TO PREPARE MYSELF PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY FOR MY FELLOW COUNTRYMAN!! HAHA.. LOOK HOW I CUT THE BAG LIKE A FISH! [drops the sword and begins kicking the punching bag that has been half way deflated because of the slit.] FM: Kyokudo ISHIGURI... PREPARE FOR YOUR DEATH FOR YOU CAN NOT BEAT ME... THIS BLOODLUST, I WILL MAKE MY AMERICAN DEBUT AND WHEN I DO... I WILL DEFEAT YOU.. HA-HA! [and freeze. The television shot freezes as "pause" flashes over the right hand corner of the screen. We zoom in to show Justin Ryerson watching the video with Doctor Galliant. Galliant puts the television controller on the table that sits in front of him and then turns to Justin.] Dr. Galliant: So Justin.. after watching that, does that help you remember anything at all? JR:[momentarily pause] No. Dr Galliant: Kosei Baisuu. He's debuting this week on Bloodlust Justin, the only problem is he's fought here before. It's you Justin, Kosei Baisuu is you. JR: Dr. Galliant, I understand that my head in tinkered with, that I don't think right and that sometimes I get confused of who I am and what I am doing. I understand that Scott Chase lives in me, that Justin Ryerson and Scott Chase are one of the same. However Doc, as I watched what seems to be some crappy re-make of some asian martial arts flick, I can guarantee that, Kosei Baisuu and Justin Ryerson are not the same person. Dr Galliant: Kosei Baisuu. Interesting name, don't you think? Justin Ryerson: Sounds pretty common to me.. but I don't have a bachelor's in common asian names or anything. Dr. Galliant: It's translated to be "Split Personality." Face it Justin, if you want to believe it or not, Kosei Baisuu is you and that part of you is preparing for a match up this week on Bloodlust. While, YOU", Justin, recover from such a blood war, from such a physical battle with Deathrow... Kosei Baisuu is preparing himself for a match against Kyokudo Ishiguri. Your body... your mind is preparing for different battles with different mentalities. Justin, basically.. you're walking on eggshells that are breaking by the second. Justin Ryerson: That's not me. Dr. Galliant: Did you watch Bloodlust last week? Justin Ryerson: No. Why? Dr. Galliant: What were you doing Justin? Justin Ryerson: What do you mean..? Dr. Galliant: Well, why didn't you watch it? Justin Ryerson: I must have nodded off. Dr. Galliant: You didn't nod off Justin... you came out as Kosei Baisuu, I spoke to you, I spoke to Muldoon.. I looked in your eyes Justin and you just weren't home. This business is no good for you, it's bringing out these personalities, these "characters" that NEW BLOOD WRESTLING IS EXPLOITING. Justin Ryerson: Listen Doc.. Adam.. This is my life, I can't give this up. It's what I am, this air is what I breathe, without it.. I'm practically dead. Life without this world isn't life to me Doctor Galliant, it's not worth living. I'd appreciate you leave the motion of me leaving this business out of conversation when speaking to me. I'm not Kosei Baisuu, I'm Justin Ryerson and there is _PROOF_ that I'm Scott Chase-- _THAT'S FINE_... I'll return to the ring when I'm ready and able.[pause] I heard Deathrow's comments and although I didn't watch Bloodlust a friend of mine sure did make me hear what he had to say. You think I should leave this profession? He almost killed me at High Stakes, the mistake he made was _ALMOST_... I will be back Doctor Galliant-- I will be back. [fade to black.] ================== KYOKUDO ISHIGURI ================== "Kosei Baisuu?" "What do you mean? I have a handicap match?" [Zoom in. Kyokudo Ishiguri in a towel. Zoom out. Aw, better. Kyo has obviously just stepped out of the running sauna we see behind him. Sweat drips from his body and his hair is soaked to his scalp. For 400lbs, he is actually quite a physical specimen. Of course, at 400lbs you gotta have the man titties! (shameless Ameet suck up plug). Kyo is facing left, his left hand holding a small mobile phone to his ear.] "Yea, I know it means multiple personalities in Japanese, I SPEAK JAPANESE! What I want to know Murray, is who do I wrestle? Really. Justin Ryeson? Kosei is Justin. AND Pretty in Pink Scott Chase? No, guess I missed that episode of NBW, WHEN I WAS RECOVERING IN THE HOSPITAL!" [Kyo strolls forward and out of vision, so we pan around behind him. He is now staring into a large mirror, checking the recently sewn together bottom lip.] "What about Deadpool? Is he scheduled? No? So I guess I can expect something 'special' from him huh...OUCH...damn, still tender. No, I'll wrestle Mister Personality, I promised my Godfather I would do whatever he asked when I joined. Dallas? Yea, he asked to talk to me in Washington. Said he'd come around the locker room." [Kyo stands back and flexes his right arm, forming a nice sized bishop that forces a smile on his savaged lips and a nod of approval from his head.] "So Murray...Ian Christoph...any news about his status after last weeks match? Hmm. Well, what does the promo/marketing department plan for the two of us next? HELL NO I'm not done with him! Yea I know we about killed each other last time, I'm the one with the scars Murray! Well, just get it done. Don't make me go to Dallas and ask for another match, because then what use would you be to me Murray? All right, see you in Washington DC" [Kyokudo Ishiguri, the Doctor of Disaster, the Hardcore Legend of Japan, the Godzilla of NBW, drops the phone and does a double chest pump flex as he grimaces into the mirror.] "How you like them tomatoes!" ======================== "THE WOLF" LARK FENRIZ ======================== THE SUPERIOR BEING NOW STANDS KNOWN TO THE WORLD Setbacks are bound to happen!.. PART ONE OF ONE -- "Tempting Words" [A roaring fire always pleases the demons. Its warmth reminds them of their home--Hell. Lark is no different, as he sits by this roaring fire. However, we have not as of yet actually seen Lark. His identity is only made known through the mantle, where his acclaimed KAWF Global championship rests. The fire, through, it what really catches are eyes. But even then it is not really the fire, but rather it's fuel. From the brief scraps, you realize the fuel is the Holy Bible. Soon as this revelation sets in, the camera spins around to find Lark. The search is brief--he's right there, sitting in his black leather Victorian chair. A box rests next to him.] [It reads "ST. JOHN'S BAPIST CHURCH" on the side,] LARK FENRIZ: We continue to exchange harsh words, Mr. Christoph. I do what I believe was right, and you hate me for it. Everything I am, everything I do rips you upside to the point where you would like nothing better than to slaughter me right now. Upset that I too burned something precious. Upset that I too have a cult following. Upset that I am a creature of the night not from your land. Everything about me you hate. And it is that hate that will blind you. [Lark is dressed as he always seems to be, except today the black wife beater has been replaced by a fishnet shirt, Lark's pale skin showing through the tiny holes. Most of his tattoos can be made out as well. There is a demonic grin on Lark's face. He's getting enjoyment to of something.] [He tosses another bible in the fire.] LARK FENRIZ: I am Ragnarok my friend. I am Fenriz. I am the destroyer of your land! But why? Why am I the destroyer? Why do I have such an important role? Because I was born here in America! That is why you cannot stand my damned country for we are the end of yours! Perhaps you could strike revenge upon my skin. But then you would have to ask yourself a simple question, Mr. Christoph. [Another bible burns.] LARK FENRIZ: If I am Fenriz, does that make you Vidar? For if you are, you might become something of a problem to my reign upon the New Blood. Yes, in time, you will be dealt with. Not now, though. [Another bible burns.] LARK FENRIZ: You are not to worry me yet. [Fade Away.] PART ONE OF TWO - "An Explanation is Needed" [Our two most favorite men in the world are sitting across from each other in Lark's dining room. The room, like the rest of the mansion we've been lucky enough to see, has a distinct gothic vibe. The walls, curtains, and carpet are all black. The table, and the China cabinet off to the left both carved very ornately from oak. Inside the china cabinet sits not fancy dishes, or meaningless keepsakes, but weapons. Swords, knives, gauntlets, helmets, even a breastplate--all of them can be found in mint condition in this very China cabinet. Despite the glorious collection, our eyes are diverted from the decorations to the men sitting at the table. Varg, the evil midget, has his nose buried in the local paper. Only the tips of his fingers can be seen around the giant mass of dead wood, the rest of him hidden away. Lark is busy playing with his food--a nice slab of steak, so raw blood still pours with each poke from Lark's fork. Dressed in a simple plain black cloth, and black Dickies, Lark has failed to go to the extravagant extremes of attire that we have grown used over these past two weeks. Looking at the light outside, one could fathom it is about six o'clock, early in the day for Lark. Perhaps that is why he lacks his jewelry.] LARK FENRIZ: Some people have this idea in their foolish minds that I, Lark Fenriz, am angry about what happened on last Bloodlust! That somehow I could honestly be irate about being beaten, and pinned by my arch nemesis! > How foolish they are, Varg! I trained Oeste to be better than me! I trained Oeste to be able to defeat me! He finally did. He finally did what I have been trying to do all along--create an unstoppable monster! VARG THE _EVIL_ MIDGET: Quite a creation too. No one can stop him now, I'm sure of it! LARK FENRIZ: Yes, I know... Thorn's days are truly numbered now. So what if I am not the man to defeat Thorn, ending his run at the top. As long as he is out of power, I am pleased. Besides, if Oeste is successful, there will be nothing to stop me from attaining the post ion of power. VARG THE _EVIL_ MIDGET: What a man creates a man can also destroy! So let us wish Oeste the best of luck! For his glory brings glory to us as well... They've found another, master! LARK FENRIZ: Do not worry, my child, they can search all they want but the secrets will remain up here! What gets me more than anything is this: if I am supposed to be so angry, so irate with everything that is going on... why feed me Winter Fresh? VARG THE _EVIL_ MIDGET: Want to see what he is made out of, I guess... LARK FENRIZ: Still, if they are looking to test the waters with Mr. Fresh, why choose a man so possessed, so angry he is liable to actually kill a man?!?! It is like pouring gasoline on the fire--something you just should not do if you had any intelligence at all. I just feel like my efforts to better the existence of New Blood Wrestling are going to waste! [Varg folds the paper up rather quickly, crumbling most of it, and tosses it towards Lark. The paper lands right on Lark's steak, which causes Lark to shoot one of the meanest stares _EVER_ in Varg'sdirection. Varg seems more pale white than ever before.] VARG THE _EVIL_ MIDGET: I think you have more things to worry about than just wrestling. Read that headline. [Lark glances down at the paper. At first, he frowns, but a smile quickly returns to his face.] LARK FENRIZ: Do not worry, my son, this is nothing to be concerned about. Simple profiles and threads cannot catch a man. I am better and smarter than the sheep. Have I not taught you that? VARG THE _EVIL_ MIDGET: Yes, you have master,,, but what if-- LARK FENRIZ: There are no what if's! A man in my position cannot dare to make mistakes! But if you insist, we will make alterations to our methods. [Varg hops up onto the table. His little three foot body waddles over to Lark's plate. He takes a knee, as Lark pets his midget's bald head.] LARK FENRIZ: There, there... Nothing to fear. Put your trust into me, and all will end well. I promise you. [Lark picks up his midget, and walks away from the table, the rest of the steak clinging to a fork in his right hand. he takes bites as he goes, but soon the duo are off camera. Soon the camera angle turns so that we can read parts of the newspaper, and there in big bold black letters is the headline "RECENT RASH OF KILLINGS DONE BY ONE MAN POLICE THINK." As questions swirl in the minds of many, the camera fades away.] PART TWO OF TWO -- "Didn't Catch it the First Time?" [The back of a old black and white television glows in front of us. The set even comes complete with bunny ears wrapped in foil--Lark doesn't watch much television. Today is different though. Today there is a deed worthy of watching in the news. As the camera spins around towards the front, we get a quick snapshot of Lark. He is busy sipping on a glass of wine, with a demonic smile on his face. But he isn't the person to direct our attention too-yet.] [What you should be looking at is the television screen, and the news broadcaster reporting. Down at the bottom of the screen in a fancy blue and white graphic, the words "MURDERS LINKED?" can be read. On top of that revelations, the pretty boy news reporter seems to be standing outside the local precinct. Clutching his microphone, and after a few seconds delay...] LOCAL REPORTER: Today, police announced to the public at a press conference that they believe they have found a link to the rash of murders over this past weekend. So far, the body count is estimated to be eight, but the police fear there could be more that they haven't located yet. One five out of these eight bodies the same type of hair has been detected, a hair found only in a pair of Dickie's black slacks. They are still trying to determine the identity of two of the eight. The police also announced that the eight people are completely unrelated and each one of them was killed in a different fashion. Fear now haunts Washington, D.C. residents once again have come under the attack of a serial killer. I am Rob Robertson reporting, Channel Six news... [With that, the camera whips around rather quickly to Lark. Lark isn't wearing a shirt or pants, just his black silk boxers. The wine glass in his hand is completely empty, and the smile has doubled in size. He licks his lips.] LARK FENRIZ: Ah, I feel so much better... No more anger for me! And they thought I would blow a gasket! AH! [The camera fades away.] ================ NORTH FAIRVIEW ================ [The Smirk.] V: See this? [North Fairview. The newly arrived NBW athlete-slash-billionaire-slash-playboy raises up a small sheet of paper.] NF: NBW fans, listen up. This is a little something some of the NBW people sent over a few weeks back, right after I first graced their promotion with my arrival. They called it called an "introductory kit into the NBW." [He succeeds in stifling a laugh.] NF: Attached with it is a personal message from one of the directors, giving me tips on how to get you all riled up. Get myself more boos and jeers and all the other idiotic things you people do. "Mention derogatory stuff about New Jersey, Philly, and all the other places we tour around in." "Try insulting NBW crowd favorites like Matt Harris, while giving praise to people like Chris Walker and Lark Fenriz." "If all else fails, just call them morons." [North slowly shakes his head. We get a glimpse of the rather large balcony beside him. The walls are littered with a few paintings. Antique statues and other pieces of paraphernalia surround the large, lavish chair upon which he is sitting. Through the window, what appears to be North's backyard can be seen...which looks more like a ranch.] NF: Seriously... do I _look_ like I need any help? Besides, this just isn't my style. North Fairview, despite what several gossip columnists may say, is a self-made man. But then again, who can blame them for wondering? I suppose it isn't to find people who are as young and as successful as I am. A millionaire at 17. A World Champion at 22. A Prince all his life. But still-- I don't want you all to hate me because of the bastard that "they" want me to be. [He leans back.] I want you all to hate me for the bastard that I _am_. Make no mistake about it, I'm definitely not here to make friends. I can BUY as many friends as I want. I'm not here to make enemies either. Got plenty enough of _those_ as well. And I'm certainly not wasting my time here to make a name for myself. Trust me, NBW isn't the place to do that. I'm not ehre to make a name-- -- I'm here to _break_ a name. [His tone lowers slightly.] Texas. Jack. Danson. Last week, on Bloodsport-- [An off-camera assistant coreects him. "BloodLUST."] NF: -- whatever -- I cost ol' Jackie boy his little chance at the number one contendership. But to be honest, I've barely begun. That was nothing, that wasn't It. That was just the set-up. I can't have Tex running around, his attention divided between yours truly and whoever your champion is, can I? Nope, absolutely not. Because when It happens? When I show everyone just who the better man really is? I don't want there to be any excuses. I want everyone to know, Jack. Especially _you_. [North takes another look at the "introductory kit."] NF: Oh yeah, by the way, this thing also had scouting profiles on all the "talent" you have in NBW, including, I suppose, the three other men who will be in the ring with me on the next Bloodshot. ["Blood--" A sharp look from North silences the assistant.] NF: I've been told that one of the men opposing me will be the reigning Northeastern champion, someone who's already proved that he's betterr than Texas Jack. Sir, it will be an honor facing you. Although to be honest, being better than Tex isn't really something to wet your panties over. And two french dudes having problems with some english dude. [SHRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIPPPP!!! North tears the "kit" apart.] NF: Whatever. Well, since I've been booked, I MIGHT AS WELL show everyone just how good I am. For the hell of it, you know? For kicks. For a few laughs. But I'll be honest here-- I really won't care. I'll just be waiting around, looking for the big ol' nasty Jack Danson to come around and... let me see, what did he say? "Overdose on hurting me." _I_ am your favorite drug, Jack? [North casually tosses the torn bits of paper into the trash.] Same here, bitch. Same here. =============================== "ULTRAVIOLENCE" GABRIEL THORN =============================== [We catch a glimpse of stringy black hair. It dangles wet, drips cascading off the chest below. The hair is matted down, the effects of the hard rain that is continually pouring down upon it, providing it's dampness with life. Upon closer inspection ... we see the tatoos ... we see the scars ... we see, through the scant openings in the locks, the hallow eye socks ... and we realize what we are witnessing is something horrible. Something out of a nightmare. Something rotten to the core. Through the sheets of rain that plummet down like lightening, we see the Devil Incarnate. Complete lack of expression on his face. A single streetlight lights his frame. His upper body bare ... he has on a pair of jeans and black boots. The NBW Title securely around his waist. He looks up at the rain momentarily before looking down and speaking.] THORN: Someday ... [Thorn pauses, collecting his words before continuing. He reaches up with his thorn-laden right arm and swipes his black wet hair out of his face. Revealing Evil Reborn.] Someday ... I hope it rains so hard ... and for so long ... that it wipes the _stench_ off this place. [Tiny explosions of rain drops bounce off the top of his head, refracting the light into their remainder, creating a small form of light around his face.] The doctors have found it _fitting_ to clear me early. To clear my damaged body and allow me to return to the ring. To return to "action" as they say. Something that after High Stakes people couldn't fathom. Couldn't _understand_. After all that I've been through in my rather short career, my motives ... my _purpose_ are still questioned. I can't tell you how many people have asked me why I go through the hell I go through. What makes it worth it. How I can get up in the morning. Look myself in the mirror. [Thorn looks down at his waist, his left hand touching the surface of the NBW Heavyweight Title, smearing the rain.] And it's rather simple. Some people are _born_ to write symponies, or novels, or to teach. Some men are just _destined_ to walk on the moon, or sift through the ocean's for lost treasures. Some people are meant to live a life of ruin, to wander the streets scouring for food through trashbins, grown men afraid to come near you. It's _fate_. It's _destiny_. Some men are born to be champions. [Thorn points to himself.] And some men are born to fall before them. For instance...Mark Gray. [A crooked smile forms on Thorn's scar ridden face.] Welcome to NBW, kid. Welcome to _my_ world. Welcome to the house that _Ultraviolence_ built. And if you question that...just check the writing on the walls. Check the ink it's written in. Check it's _color_. Cause I've paved my path to where I am in the blood of others. And as I tread carefully on the ruined careers I've left behind, I never forget to look ahead. To see the people gunningfor me. To see the _potential_ that remains untapped. And as far as I'm concerned will _ALWAYS_ remain that way. [Thorn clenches his fists closed, his slender frame tensing as he moves closer towards the camera, stopping a few feet away, so only his rain smattered face is visible throw the downpour.] Cause your just a f*cking example. Don't be flattered by the opportunity. Don't put too much time into preparation. And _CERTAINLY_ don't plan on making anybig statement. Because the statement has _already_ been decided by yours truly. I'm going to show the one man who's blemished my otherwise _flawless_ record just what's in store for you. A misery you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. And when my right hand clamps tight around your head, and you can feel the pressure turning your skull into dust, remember that I am about to not just crush your skull. No...you're part of something _far_ greater. I am also sending the first, and only warning that you get from me, to Oeste Neblinoso. [Teeth clenched, Thorn snarls the last lines.] So take solace in the _fact_ that you are about to help a man realize the mistakes he's making. Even if it requires you to make a few of your own first. Even if it requires me crushing your fragile skull into the mat. [Fade to black.] ========================= "WHITE TIGER" MARK GRAY ========================= [Fade into the Lincoln Memorial. Standing beside the Memorial is NBW newcomer, 'The White Tiger' Mark Gray. Gray is wearing a black coat and jeans as he sets his babyface toward the camera.] MG: Another fed, another monster to slay. [Slight beat as Gray continues.] MG: Wherevah' I go, it seems I run into the dregs of the world. The assholes, the SOB's who believe they're better than everyone else. Men who would rather get a spot through by blood and backstage attacks rather than skill. Fine by me, let 'em. I've become a great monster slayer over the years, so Thorn, I'm ready for you. [Gray walks closer to the Memorial, on the stairs. He sits down for a moment, before continuing.] MG: Ya' see, back in the Carolina's Gabe, I ran into a sadistic creep just like yourself. Thought he was better than himself, was from a 'better stock', all those fun lines horribly insecure bastards feed themself all the time. Right, Thorn? [Small grin from Gray as he continues.] MG: Ya' see pal, in the war I got myself in down South, the psycho tried to go after my family, my pride, and my title. He got my title for a time, had my Dad ready to kill 'em and almost destroyed my fiance's mental health. But everytime he knocked me down, I got back up, Gabe. Every time he made me bleed, I wiped the blood off and hit him back _harder_. My father tought me never to stop fightin' for what ya' believe is right. I intend to keep on doin' that Thorn, so I am ready for you, non-title match or not. [Gray stands up, walking up to the actual Memorial itself. He looks at it for a second, then continues.] MG: Never actually been to DC before. Gotta' do the tourist stuff. [Another small grin as Gray continues...] MG: Thorn, I think you're a hell of a wrestler and supremly talented. Ya' wouldn't be the NBW champ otherwise. But remember this, I am not afraid, Gabriel. Crown me like ya' did the 'Extreme Jesus', I'll resurrect myself and conme right back for you. Bring your 'Ultraviolence' pal, I'll bring my training. My desire, my pride. Because, believe me Gabe, this Tiger bites. [Fade to black on Gray turning his back and answering a cell phone.] ======= JEDAH ======= [SCENE: An Abandoned Graveyard. The headstones surrounding this desolate piece of countryside have been tortured by the elements and by time, leaving a vast majority of these forgotten grave-markers illegible. Of the few that remain clear to read, there is no year marked past the early 1910s. On the highest hill, however, there is a site that appears to have been watched over on a regular basis. The black steel gates shine a dull reflection, almost as if they were just placed. The grass inside is greener than in any park or meadow. The tombstones look to be freshly made, as if their owners had just passed into the next world. We comes closer, and we are greeted by a familiar, yet foreboding, figure... the raven-haired Shadow Queen, Andariel. Dressed in a full length black dress and vail, this marks the first time that she shows no skin and none of her scintillating curvature.] Andariel: You have been expected. Come in, and stay two steps behind me. If you don't, you may end up making your first, only, and last mistake in your otherwise flawless career, hmm? [The last words from her hidden mouth are saturated with scarcasm as she turns and walks away from the cameraman. As we follow, we see what Andariel spoke of... two large monuments stand out from the remaining stones. Two limestone carvings of a hooded woman, the figure we have come to know as The High Dark Mistress. In front, prone on one knee, muttering what seems to be a prayer or an incantation, and dressed in a black suit made of pure satin is Jedah. While ignoring us, he continues with his ritual. Andariel looks back to the camera.] Andariel: The Master comes here at least twice a month... moreso when he is distressed. He feels that when he is in the company of those once very close to him, the pain is eased and the way is seen that more clearer. [It's then that the Cameraman makes a stupid, STUPID mistake.] Cameraman: So... what? He sees dead people? [Andariel smacks the cameraman HARD, as the camera falls to the ground and we actually see the body of the cameraman fall in front of it. Andariel's anger, however, is much more real. The biggest surprise is that Jedah remains unphased and continues his vigil.] Andariel: How DARE you mock us! {in a growling tone} On your feet, and pick up your camera. [The Cameraman, obviously terrified now of Andariel, does as she says. Rather quickly, too.] Andariel: Now gaze upon the headstones, and realize who you would make fools of. [With a shaky hand, he does such. With a quick zoom of the lens, we see two names. "Lucia Kara Talikite" and "Damien Saar Talikite"...] Jedah: My wife and my son... [The cameraman turns with a start, and Jedah is standing beside him. The massive man looms over our tech, glaring down at him with his Blood-red eyes. The cameraman's hand gets even shakier.] Jedah: I speak my troubles to them, and I feel at ease. That which needs to be done seems capable of doing. And now, I believe I know what must be done. [Jedah walks away from the cameraman and makes his way past the black steel gates. As he exits, he starts unbuttoning his satin shirt.] Jedah: Winter Fresh has continued to appear where he is not desired or wanted, and his interference may have cost me the chance to claim dominance within this realm. His continuing existance annoys me, and by The Mistress, I will remedy this. Those who know me well enough will say that I never hold a grudge with a righteous man, be it in faith of in himself. I, myself, am considered to be self-righteous. How can I hold one man accountable for being such when I am seen as one myself? But not you, Winter Fresh. As self-righteous as you may be, as much as a nuisance you are, you I cannot help but wish to destroy you. To make you a stain on this planet, only to wash you off its face. [Jedah removes the shirt from his body, and folds it neatly. Andariel drapes a normal shirt over Jedah's shoulder as she takes the satin one from him, placing it in a steel suitcase. Jedah then begins to remove his pants, unclasping the buttons along the side of one of the pant legs.] Jedah: And what do you get for your meddling? A match against one of the more hated, albeit respected, men in this company. And his comment about me notwithstanding, I feel you have no right to stand in the same ring as Lark Fenriz. A man who resorted to devious tactics to defeat a man of honor being rewarded with a battle of this caliber, whilst I remain tucked away from sight? This is not how I am to be treated. My strength and my will was the one HEARD that night. Those four men were NOTHING compared to me, and you cheated me once again, Winter Fresh. You forced me from that ring, away from a outcome that could have favored me. And yet you are favored before me? [Jedah jerks the pants away from him, a few buttons are knocked loose. Underneith are a pair of leather trunks, straining against his thighs. Andariel hands him a new pair of pants and what appears to be a racing suit as she collects the satin pants and the buttons on the ground. He then slips the new clothes over his body, and looks at the racing suit in his hand.] Jedah: This all ends soon, Winter Fresh. Your posturing, your strutting, and your undeserved rewards. You will seem to be at the height of your life, everything goes your way... and then you will see that I have been there, pulling the strings, manipulating the puppets, and making you dance like a fool. But until then, Winter Fresh, you will have to live your life in wonder. When you walk to your car, you will have to wonder if I will be waiting there for you. When you turn a corner, you will have to wonder if I am around it. When you open your dressing room door, you will have to wonder if I am already inside. [Jedah slips the racing suit on. Seems similar to something worn in motorcycle racing. Obviously, this has been custom-made to suit Jedah's seven foot frame. As he zips it up, he begins walking towards a jet-black Kawasaki motorcycle.] Jedah: Fact of this matter, Winter Fresh... is that you may not believe me. You hear what I say, and you laugh. You consider yourself untouchable, especially by a man like me. All I ask from you is to wait, Winter Fresh. Just wait for me. Within time... I'll beat the belief into your skull. I will shatter your body and crush your spirit. I will make you a believer, Winter Fresh, and then I will make you beg... for Total... Salvation. [Jedah straddles the motorbike and starts the motor. Within a few moments, he speeds off in the direction of his home. Andariel, who has been following the entire time, glares at the cameraman one final time.] Andariel: And when The Master is done with you, Winter Fresh, I will delight in picking of the pieces... and throwing them into the fiery lake of a volcano. [A black car pulls up, and Andariel walks towards it. As the door opens, she looks back to the cameraman. She pulls her vail off, revealing her face, as well as the evil smile beneith. She tosses it to the ground and gets in. As the door closes, the car zooms away. End of Scene.] ========== DEATHROW ========== [We fade into the inside of the Kingston Penitentiary, more notable the cell of the biggest convict in the facility, DeathRow. The big man stands in the 6x9 cell, his massive, tattooed sleeved arms crossed over his barrelled chest with each hands holding an elbow. A black bandana covers his head with only the back of his black stringy hair hanging out the back. '48' hour stubble covers his leather face except for the thick, neatly trimmed handlebar moustache that ends just under his chin. His cold, brown eye stare seems to barrel through the camera though a slight smirk is on his face. He shakes his head and rubs a knuckle across his upper lip.] DeathRow: Justin, Justin, Justin [sighs] When are you gonna learn cherry? When are you gonna get it through your head that when it comes to me [smiles] your better off to run as fast as you can in the other direction. How many times Justin. How many times must I beat you like the worthless dog you are before you finally figure out that you will never _EVER_ defeat me. [DeathRow chuckles but stays in the same stance. He shakes his head again.] DeathRow: I showed the world at high Stakes that you were nothing but _HYPE_. I showed everyone that everything you throw at me, everything you try and tried, I still got up, shook it off and beat you. There is no denying that Ryerson. You can claim you only wished to make me a bleeding mess. you can tell anybody who listens that you got your point across at High Stakes. [smiles] But we both know better don't we Ryerson. Underneath all the excuses you know that I proved a very important thing. You and I both know that I proved to the World what your daddy and I said all along [chuckles] You were born to fail. That's right Ryerson, once again you failed. you promised your fans that you would prove you were more then hype, you failed. You said you were gonna defeat me [smiles] guess what [nods] that's right you failed again. But most importantly when it came to gut check time Ryerson. When we both laid underneath the rubble, both a crimson mess, both on the point of slipping away, when it came right down to see who had more heart [DeathRow laughs] Once again Ryerson, you failed. [DeathRow wipes at his moustache once more.] DeathRow: What do I have to prove against you Ryerson? _NOTHING_! In one match I made you a three time loser. In one match I showed everyone that when it came to crunch time you didn't have it in you to continue. I showed everyone that no matter what you choose in life [smirk] you would always be destined to fail. I also proved that even if it were either Justin Ryerson or Scott Chase, I could beat them both. [DeathRow begins to pace, a smile dancing on his lips.] DeathRow: So now with both of those [mockingly] 'personalities' failing, you go out and find a new one. I guess you seem to think that this time prancing around as a Japanese wrestler will take you the top. I guess calling yourself some foolish name and pretending to talk in in a foreign language that this time you just might have what it takes to defeat me. And that's what it all comes down to doesn't it Ryerson. You act as though the loss doesn't bother you [smiles] But deep down it's killing you. The fact I backed up _EVERY_ word that came out of my mouth. The _FACT_ that I showed everyone WHY your father saw you as nothing more then a waste flesh. But above all that Ryerson, I showed everyone that you have no heart. In the trenches you tense up and flee, you look for the quickest way out. You give up hope because you _KNOW_ you are doomed for failure. Well this new alter ego of yours will be just the same Ryerson. you will start off hot but fizzle before to long. I DARE you to get in my face again Ryerson. I dare you to stand face to face with me and man to man, eye to eye tell me you want another shot. But it won't happen will it Ryerson? [chuckles] It won't happen cause of that fear that courses through your veins everytime my name is mentioned. Those butterflies that squeeze your stomach till you feel as though your gonna puke _EVERYTIME_ the name DEATHROW is mentioned. Why Justin? Is that what your askin? Well it's simple cherry. Because you know I now hold your very existence in the palm of my hand. You know I have already proven to you once as a failure. You _KNOW_ that you threw everything at me, even your pillow-biting alter ego and I destroyed you both. In your heart you are finally convinced that whatever you throw at me I will _NOT_ stop till your laying at my feet, a bloody mess begging for your pathetic life. Like I said all along Ryerson, you cannot _DEFEAT_ me. I _REFUSE_ to be beaten by a punk-ass, over-hyped piece of garbage as yourself. That is the difference between yow and I Ryerson, what you say in words I prove with action. [The big convict steps closer to the camera so only his face can be seen.] DeathRow: But I'll tell you what Ryerson. If you get the b@lls to look me in the face and say you want to dance again [smirk] I may just take you up on your offer. But in the mean time little man [smiles] You just comfort yourself with that new little personality of yours. You get the crowds on their feet with the third member of your dysfunctional tribe. Then when you think your ready [chuckles then goes dead serious] you come and see me cherry because I'll be more then happy to put your third creation of yourself in it's rightful place alongside Ryerson and Scott Chase..... [Maniac chuckle followed by a pause and sinister grin] As my _BITCH_! [Deathrow's smile slides of his face to that cold stare once again.] You just let me know when you wanna put on the dress. [FADE] ========== LORDZERO ========== [SCENE: Anywhere, United States. A dilapidated, decrepit old house stands as the centerpiece of what looks to be a "ghost street." Not a soul appears to live anywhere _near_ here... but appearances can be deceiving. A figure is seen walking past a semi-boarded window, and the shot moves closer. Making the way up the rotting staircase, the door opens by itself, as if it knew somebody was there. Inside the house is much like the outside - old, dangerous, and inhabitable ? or is it? Just as a presence of someone is felt, the camera pans around to find a figure completely covered in a black cloak. Stretching out a hand, the cloaked figure begins to speak.] ???: I am LordZero... this is my domain. [LordZero motions for the camera to follow.] LZ: Welcome to the house of horrors, the refuge for lost souls, and the asylum for the insane. I have spent many years here, waiting for the right time to reemerge... the right time to strike a _deathblow_. And now, with promotions opening in my domain... I come back with a bloody vengeance. I come back to wreak havoc on a sport that shunned me. I come back to claim the souls of the innocent. I come back to break bones, to shatter skulls, and to _reclaim_ my place on the throne of darkness. And no matter who I have to destroy, maim, and hospitalize... I will stop at _nothing_ to accomplish it. [The man lets the hood of his cloak down, revealing a mask - half comedy, half tragedy.] LZ: These eyes are home to years of broken promises, shattered dreams, and _horrible_ nightmares. To walk in my shoes would require the strong of heart... and even then it wouldn't be an ironclad guarantee. And in just a few short weeks, you will experience what the Harbinger of Sorrow brings. Live my nightmare. Hear the voices in my head. [LordZero comes to rest in what can be assumed is a living room. A fireplace stands with few bricks left in it, above it a shattered mirror. He walks to what appears to be a chair, where he sits down and stares into the camera.] LZ: The countdown to armageddon has officially begun. Enjoy the silence while it lasts... because New Blood Wrestling is about to take a descent into darkness. Prepare yourselves, NBW, because hell is about to _materialize_. [LordZero begins to laugh evilly... and we fade to black.] ======================== "INTREPID" RYAN HOWARD ======================== [We fade into what can only be the backstage area of the most recent NBW event - - in this case, that which just recently concluded at Hofstra. "Donkey D!ck" Dave Stenton stands in the loading area, a flat expanse of concrete from which several halls stem and goods can arrive or be taken, with a small amount of parking as well. Almost immediately do his shoulders jump up, yet not in surprise.. he seems to have been expecting it.] DS: I'm here w-.. [Stenton jumps again, his shoulders wincing up as he leaps forward. A small table, catered with a tray of baked goods and two large, metallic spigots of coffee comes flipping foward, the items clatteringly loudly across the concrete. A moment later, a very irrate looking Ryan Howard crosses the screen, a frown blatantly visible beneath the mess of crimson locks. Dave Stenton steps back into view, glancing off camera, his eyes following "The Most Hated Man in Wrestling."] DS: I'm here with "Intrepid" Ryan Howard, who seems to be quite livid after being _blasted_ with a duffle bag full of bricks by Matt Harris, the "Extreme Jesus." HOWARD: Whoa, whoa, whoa! [Howard comes back into view, literally jumping down Stenton's throat. He angrily jabs a finger in the direction of his face, causing the porn star- turned-reporter to step back cautiously.] HOWARD: Let's get one thing straight, ol' Lurch hit me with a _cheap_ _shot_ that knocked me right outta victory and right into my most recent nightmare. There was nothing skillful about it, though the crowd would have you believe it was the greatest thing ever by the way they cheered. [Howard turns to face the camera, his upper lip curling with a sneer.] HOWARD: Cheers that echoed in my unconsciousness. Cheers so loud, I thought my head would break from the pain. [Howard pauses for a moment, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He seems concussed, and very woosy at that. With a twitch does he shake it off, the ever- present sneer returning at the beck and call of its master.] HOWARD: Lurch, you gangly-ass, gothic mother f*cker.. you made a _big_ mistake tonight. You see, you may be the big fish in this small pond, but I'm the big fish that got kicked out of the ocean for being a threat to its stability. They left me on a beach to die, but being the survivor I am, I found water. Not only did rehabilitate, but I reinvented. I'm a new devil fish the likes of which you've never seen. Gabriel Thorn fought you to protect his title. You want a war? [A bemused look crosses his features.] HOWARD: I'm the enemy that can't be beat. I don't fight for titles, Harris. What I fight for you could neither comprehend, nor shoulder if you were faced to bear the weight of my burden. I carry a curse much larger than anything you've seen in a "Crown of Thorns" match. There is no attrition against me, Harris. I've been through and seen the worst that this business has to offer. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. [Howard pauses for a moment, shaking his head before gesturing figuratively with a wave of his hand.] HOWARD: No, tonight you declared war with a machine bred for it. You think you know pain? You think you know.. _suffering_? [A cold stare eminantes from "The Eighth Deadly Sin."] HOWARD: No, beating you won't be sufficient. _You_ _will_ _suffer_. [With a snarl does Howard slap the microphone away from his face, though its more of a lashing out at Stenton considering it never really was offered to him. With a turn of his heel, he steps off-camera. Fade.] ================================= "THE EXTREME JESUS" MATT HARRIS ================================= [New York, New York. New York Presbyterian Hospital. 4PM.] [The camera fades in on an extreme close up of typed text. Judging by how far the camera is zoomed in, we can tell that whoever is holding up the piece of paper is way too close to the camera, because all we can see is part of a word: "ared"] Voice: Yeah....you see that, people at home? 2nd voice: Actually, it says "ared." Voice: Oh... [The paper moves back slowly, until we can clearly see that it is a doctor's note, complete with an illegible signature at the bottom. The typed text at the top underneath NYPH letter head reads, "I hereby declare my patient, Matthew D. Harris, cleared for active athletic competition, and declare he has no noticeable head trauma that may preclude him from participation in further contact sports."] Voice: How's that? 2nd Voice: Perfect! Voice: OK, let them soak that in. [The camer stays stationary for about 15 more seconds until two hands fold the paper up. The camera then zooms out to show Matt Harris standing in the parking lot of NYPH. He wears an old school New York Giants starter jacket (with hood), and black track pants over his combat boots. He stuffs the document in his front pocket and smiles at the camera.] Matt: And there you have it. Certified medical proof that the great fans of NBW are being screwed over, along with someone who's ring presense is long ovedue: Me. [A huge gust of wind blows Matt;s hood over his head and moves the cmera off center. Matt runs over to be back in the center of the frame.] Matt: Not wind, nor rain, nor the red tape shenanigans of the owners of said wrestling federation will keep me from my appointed rounds. And since it's getting horrendous out here, let me tell you exactly what I plan to do. [Another gust of wind blows the camera up. Matt grabs the lens and refocuses it. He holds it in place and speaks directly into the camera.] Matt: This is ridiculous...kind of like the politics I've been dealing with lately. However, it has come to my attention that if there is one day that I will be able to right the wrongs done against me, it will be on the night of the next Blood Lust. I plan to take my note right up to Jeremy Steele...and I will lift the Matt Harris embargo that has been placed upon the good people who are fans of NBW. [Matt wipes the lens off and smiles.] Matt: My first order of business upon my reinstatement will be to give Ryan Howard all the chance he needs to exact his horrid turbulent revenge on me...honestly, dude...I'm shaking like an epileptic at a rave. I'll just set us up a little match and smack you around on the prelim portion of the show...that sound good? [Matt waits for an answer.] Matt: Great! [Matt lets the camera go.] Matt: And then the good people rejoiced...now I'm getting out of this wind. That's a fact. Deal with it. [Matt pops the lens back on the camera and the audio cuts out.]