_______ \ \ ______ _ __ / | \_/ __ \ \/ \/ / / | \ ___/\ / \____|__ /\___ >\/\_/ \/ \/ __________.__ .___ \______ \ | ____ ____ __| _/ | | _/ | / _ \ / _ \ / __ | | | \ |_( <_> | <_> ) /_/ | |______ /____/\____/ \____/\____ | \/ \/ __ __ __ .__ .__ / \ / \_______ ____ _______/ |_| | |__| ____ ____ \ \/\/ /\_ __ \_/ __ \ / ___/\ __\ | | |/ \ / ___\ \ / | | \/\ ___/ \___ \ | | | |_| | | \/ /_/ > \__/\ / |__| \___ >____ > |__| |____/__|___| /\___ / \/ \/ \/ \//_____/ _|_|_|_| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_| _| _|_|_|_| _|_| _|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| "No one need thinks that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and must be red and bloody." -- Martin Luther In this edition of Flashpoint! _______ \ \ ______ _ __ / | \_/ __ \ \/ \/ / / | \ ___/\ / \____|__ /\___ >\/\_/ \/ \/ __________.__ .___ \______ \ | ____ ____ __| _/ | | _/ | / _ \ / _ \ / __ | | | \ |_( <_> | <_> ) /_/ | |______ /____/\____/ \____/\____ | \/ \/ __ __ __ .__ .__ / \ / \_______ ____ _______/ |_| | |__| ____ ____ \ \/\/ /\_ __ \_/ __ \ / ___/\ __\ | | |/ \ / ___\ \ / | | \/\ ___/ \___ \ | | | |_| | | \/ /_/ > \__/\ / |__| \___ >____ > |__| |____/__|___| /\___ / \/ \/ \/ \//_____/ _|_|_|_| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_| _| _|_|_|_| _|_| _|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| "No one need thinks that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and must be red and bloody." -- Martin Luther In this edition of Flashpoint! _______ \ \ ______ _ __ / | \_/ __ \ \/ \/ / / | \ ___/\ / \____|__ /\___ >\/\_/ \/ \/ __________.__ .___ \______ \ | ____ ____ __| _/ | | _/ | / _ \ / _ \ / __ | | | \ |_( <_> | <_> ) /_/ | |______ /____/\____/ \____/\____ | \/ \/ __ __ __ .__ .__ / \ / \_______ ____ _______/ |_| | |__| ____ ____ \ \/\/ /\_ __ \_/ __ \ / ___/\ __\ | | |/ \ / ___\ \ / | | \/\ ___/ \___ \ | | | |_| | | \/ /_/ > \__/\ / |__| \___ >____ > |__| |____/__|___| /\___ / \/ \/ \/ \//_____/ _|_|_|_| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_| _| _|_|_|_| _|_| _|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _|_|_|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_|_| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _| _|_| _| _| _|_| _|_|_| _| _| _| "No one need thinks that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and must be red and bloody." -- Martin Luther In this edition of Flashpoint! *** Xavier N. Vain v. Malvado Juarez ~ Xavier N. Vain *** "The Rat King" Christopher Maxwell v. "White Tiger" Mark Gray ~ "The Rat King" Christopher Maxwell ~ "White Tiger" Mark Gray *** Ten Man Over-The-Top-Rope Battle Royal: *** NO DISQUALIFICATION, BRING YOUR OWN WEAPONS! (See Below) *** Winner Gets A Shot At the Northeastern Title At Nuclear Winter! ~ Oeste Neblinoso, Jr. ~ "The Wolf" Lark Fenriz ~ Texas Jack ~ "The Extreme Jesus" Matt Harris ~ DeathRow ~ Mark Chaos ~ "Deadpool" Ian Christoph ~ North Fairview ~ "Superstar" Shawn Bryson * NBW Northeastern Champion * ================ XAVIER N. VAIN ================ [Fade in to a shot of Xavier N. Vain, leaning back in a beautiful leather chair, his feet up on a massive desk. He has a smirk on his face as he polishes the ICON Heavyweight Championship. The angle of the shot makes it very clear that the ONLY name on the title reads XAVIER N. VAIN. Vain wipes it lightly with a white cloth, and then tosses the hankerchief over his shoulder. A slight sound is heard, and a servant of some sort rushes up and picks up Vain's trash.] [Vain pauses, admiring his own reflection in the gold of the title. Then, still not turning to the camera, he speaks.] Vain: Do you have any idea how much someone will pay to have a champion thoroughbred stud? Millions of dollars change hands, in the hope that the progeny of some horse will end up being as successful as the father was. Breeders will trade their right arms for the SPUNK of a horse that one the Kentucky Derby once. [Vain looks right at the camera. Smirk.] Vain: And do you know why? It isn't for the name. It isn't for looks. It is because it works. There is something to it; something in the blood of a championship stallion that can be passed on to future generations. And, lest we forget! This does not merely apply to horses. It also applies to dogs, of course. And, last but not least, people. [Vain chuckles lightly.] Vain: You see, I am, figuratively speaking, the offspring of champions. My blood is the blood of champions. Perhaps not in the wrestling ring, but certainly in my other spheres of interest. You see, my family has ALWAYS succeeded. My family has ALWAYS been want society should aspire to be. Tasteful. Erudite. Classy. Wealthy. Indeed, I am the very epitome of American royalty. [The smirk slowly fades.] Vain: But my first opponent in New Blood Wrestling has no such heritage. There are no leaves on his family tree that he can look back on and draw inspiration from. Rather, he comes from a long, distinguished line of failures, flunkeys, and unfortunates. Oh, he may take PRIDE in his lineage. He may admire the, oh, the TENACITY of his forefathers. Their sheer WILL. [Vain slowly shakes his head.] Vain: Strange how the underprivilegd latch on to the personal qualities that, in reality, make very little difference. But I digress. The case in point is, if the blood is bad, so is the offspring. And I'm afraid, Mr. Juarez, that you seem to be predestined for mediocrity, just as your father and his father before him. You see, Mr. Juarez, you come from some very... bad... blood. [The smirk slides across his face again.] Vain: But I understand how you have high hopes. You look to America, and see the opulence. The success. The Horatio Algers. And you think, "That could be me, as well! I can turn things around, and make a name for myself and my family!" [Vain removes his feet from the desk and leans into the camera, and his countenance becomes ice cold..] Vain: That is quite admirable. To maintain hope in today's world... Naive, but admirable. But I am afraid, Mr. Juarez, that the American dream is dead. It has been bought, downsized, and sold by an unsympathetic economy and a cold, indifferent, power structure. In this case, personified by me. You see, Mr. Juarez, I am here to help turn your idyllic dreams of fame and success into a waking nightmare. You will be crushed, Juarez. And it will be first by myself, and then by every other opponent you face. You can't overcome your past. As Marx said, "the traditions of the dead generations weight like a nightmare on the minds of the living." Well, I am not Marxist, Juarez. [Vain's eyes narrow.] Vain: But I am your nightmare. Salut, gentlemen. ==================================== "THE RAT KING" CHRISTOPHER MAXWELL ==================================== [SCENE: A dimly lit room. In the center, sits "The Rat King" Christopher Maxwell, slouched over in a wooden chair. His hair hangs down over his face as he strokes one of his "children" on his lap. Through this, we see a large smile begin to form as Maxwell looks into the rats eyes. He is happy. But why? He is never happy. This is the first time we've seen a smile on his face. Maxwell speaks in his demonic voice.] MAXWELL: So finally Stone has decided to leave, huh? I knew it was just a matter of time before he would run again. [Maxwell laughs manically, that's more of the man we know.] MAXWELL: So where does this leave me? Without a purpose in NBW? Oh no, I wouldn't let you all off that easy. You see, as I poured grated cheese onto the foot of Stone Harris and watched my children tear into him, I realized something. I _like_ watching people suffer! I came to NBW to rid the world of Stone Harris, that has been done. But now, why stop? [Maxwell sets his pet down on the ground and it quickly scurries away.] MAXWELL: Exactly. I will continue my reign in NBW for as long as I see fit. I am the dominant power in the above world and soon _everyone_ will find that out first hand. Starting with "White Tiger" Mark Gray. [Maxwell flips his hair back revealing his rough face.] MAXWELL: Mark, do you know who I am? How dare you come down to ringside while I'm in the ring stomping the life out of some poor soul. Now I'm in your head. You think LordZero is tough, just wait until match time little boy. I will show no mercy on you, I will do whatever it takes, and no matter who gets the win, in the end, _I_ WILL COME OUT ON TOP! WINNING THE MATCH MEANS NOTHING! WINNING THE FIGHT MEANS ALL! [Maxwell leaps up, grabs the wooden chair and throws it against the wall.] ** CRASH ** [The chairs shatters into pieces upon impact.] MAXWELL: I AM NOT TO BE MESSED WITH! LOOK AT ME! DO I LOOK SANE TO YOU?!! DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE IF I SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE IN PRISON?! I WILL DO _ANYTHING_!! [Maxwell falls down into a sitting position, out of breath.] MAXWELL: Ah...uh...ahh.... [He regains his breath and continues.] MAXWELL: I can't say I like anyone, but I do like one man's attitude. That man is LordZero. His style can be compared to mine. He doesn't care about when the bell rings, he continues the fight. I like that a lot. Mark Gray is trying to stop this. Mark Gray is trying to stop Zero. But Mark Gray cannot stop, _me_. This is the harsh reality. I don't plan to have a long rivalry with Gray, I plan to make it quick and painless and then hand him over to LordZero to dispose of him. But Zero, don't get me wrong, the only friends I have...are these rats! So while I may like your style, do not get in my way! [Maxwell stands up and begins to walk away, as he doesn't he mumbles something.] MAXWELL: It's time for the almighty tiger...to be taken down...by a pack of rats! Hahahahahaha! [Fade out.] ========================= "WHITE TIGER" MARK GRAY ========================= [Fade into a vast expanse of snow. Pan to three figures on top of a hill. Two are small kids, preschool age, both on a sled. The last figure is 'The White Tiger' himself. Clad in a Dolphins Starter jacket and blue jeans, Gray pushes the kids down the hill. He then turns to the camera with a small grin.] MG: No, they aren't mine. [Beat.] MG: They're actually my cousin's munchkins, and since I'm up here in Pennsylvania, I figured I'd stop in. They miss their Uncle Mark. [The small grin slowly fades as Mark continues to talk.] MG: Ya' see Maxwell, this is why you'll never win. Why you'll never destroy the world, take it over, whatever the hell ya' wanna' do, pal. Because, at the end of the day, the most important thing is simple...blood. The blood of your family, your friends, your love. People will die for that, Christopher. You may not realize it, but they will and have for thousands of years. Some ass who thinks he's a 'Rat King' won't change things for a damn minute, simple as that. [Slight pause as Mark looks down the hill as the kids finish their ride.] MG: So, Chris, come at me. Underestimate. Think me as just another a victim that you can run over and destroy. 'Cause I'm not, Maxwell. The reason I saved Kyo is the same reason why I'm gonna' beat you. It's this, someone has to fight. Someone has to stand up to the bullies and the despots buddy, and I'm it. Sure, you outweight me by a hundred pounds and have five inches on me. Big f[BLEEP]in' deal. Look at what happened to your confidant, 'Zero there. He though he took me out. I came back, and kicked his ass. I'm ready for you, 'Rat King.' After all, every King falls. [Small smile at that as Gray continues.] MG: Speaking of royalty, how did you like that flying elbow to your heart, 'Zero? Did you have throw things around once you realized I took you out? I'm sure you're thinkin' that you're gonna' destroy me next time we meet. To you, I have one thing to say to you... [Beat.] MG: ...bring it. I've fought monsters before, 'Zero. Ya' think you can take me beyond the Edges of Sanity? Try it, because I won't stay down pal. I'll get right back up and take your best shot. OVer and over again. Because I have too. For my family, for my friends, for the fans, 'Zero. Things I'm sure you're twisted little mind cares not about. I do. That's why at end of the day, I'll end up on top, God willing. However, just remember one little thing. Rats may eat small grasshoppers and such, but tigers.... [Another slight pause.] MG: ...tigers are top of the food chain. [Fade to black as the kids come back to the top of the hill, dragging their sled.] ====================== OESTE NEBLINOSO, JR. ====================== OESTE: You know what hurts the most? [You can hear Oeste's voice, but you can't see his face. His back is turned, his mask almost tantalizingly strewn carelessly on the table behind him. Cigarette smoke wafts lazily, out of sight.] OESTE: "If OESTE NEBLINOSO, JR. does not compete, and compete hard, he will be stripped of his shot at the NBW Heavyweight Title at Nuclear Winter!" That's what it says on th' poster. [He slowly shakes his head.] OESTE: "[i.e. if Oeste no-shows Bloodlust like did last month, and if acts like a yellow puta _again_, then we don't want him main eventing the most important night in NBW history.]" English isn't my natural language, but I can sure read between the _lines_. Le's get this thing straight. Gabriel Thorn is a monster. Gabriel Thorn is as advertised, and as long as he carries those extra thirty pounds of gold around his waist, y'all can't tell me different. He's the most dominating, most devastating, most hateful force I've ever stepped into the ring with, and there's no question that he made me think about walking away from all this. But... [He takes a long whiff.] ... Gabriel Thorn isn't in this ten-man battle royal, is he? No, he isn't. And the second any _other_ man in this promotion makes me think twice about stepping in between those ropes? The second any _other_ man makes me give less than everything I have to give? That's the second I stop breathing, mano. Until then, never EVER question the heart of a Mexican. You'll have your main event, Weeks. I can guarantee _that_. See, I want this match in the worst way. A few weeks back, I failed to prove I was a worthy number one contender against people like Jack, Howard, and Fenriz. Now I've got a chance to do it _right_. And yeah, y'all _better_ be worried. [He lifts up his right hand. Attached is an old photograph, depicting a man raising atitle for the fifth time, proudly before a packed LA crowd. The man's name?] OESTE: Oh-Double-Ay. Quite the unlikely duo we make, eh, Adams? On one hand you've got the fella who went to the big dance more times than anyone else, the man who once defined what being the best is all about. The man who had the wrestling world on his feet... before leaving it on his _knees_. The man trying to be the legend he once was. And then, there's me. The unlikeliest number on contender of all, the man with endless potential. The man who gets his first dance at Nuclear Winter. The man trying to be the legend he thinks he can be. Heh. Ya know, Adams, if life was a buddy movie, we'd go to one of ya old stomping grounds, where you'd spend a few weeks pushing and training me while "Eye of the Tiger" blares on in the sound track. We'd toast each other to a job well done on the night before the fight, and then I'd roll into Nuclear Winter the forgiven hero of the masses, dramatically beat Ultraviolence for my first win, and then I'd sit on your shoulders as you parade your new protege in front of the thousands in attendance as confetti drops in from the rafters. [You can't see it, but he smiles.] OESTE: But he truths of the matter are... My life isn't a buddy movie, it's a suspense-thriller. I hated "Karate Kid." Thorn might _kill_ me in a few weeks. And if you go anywhere near my ass, I'll f-----n' break your arm. [He lets the picture roll out of his hands, watching it drift down to the floor.] OESTE: A few weeks ago I said that there was nothing more dangerous than a man with something to prove. I'm putting my mask, my career, my godamn _pride_ on the line because of you, Adams. Now, its you who has something to prove. Pove to these fans that 1996 wasn't a fluke. Prove to the wrestling world that "Offensive" Alex Adams is a name that belongs right up there with the likes of Thunder, Hardin, and Kauffman-- people who've influenced me every step of my career. _Inspire_ me, goddamn it. Inspire me to become something BETTER! [Oeste gets up, grabs his mask, and hastily leaves the room.] ======================== "THE WOLF" LARK FENRIZ ======================== ONCE AGAIN DOMINATION IS PROVEN Upset is a word for the ignorant! PART ONE OF ONE -- "Slaying thy Beast" [He sits upon his metallic throne, the Satanic crosses glimmering in the pale light shooting forth from the camera. The blackness behind Lark gives the impression of an endless room without barriers. Lark just sits there, smiling back at the camera, dressed for success. A leather and fishnet concoction has been created as Lark's shirt, a result of New Blood Wrestling's weekly paychecks. The random designs allowing Lark's pale torso, and tattoos shine through make this already evil man look more evil, if that is in fact possible. He is not wearing pants at all. Instead, the bottom of a black kilt hangs at the top of his combat boots. With his arms on the arm rests, Lark looks as if he is sitting on top of the world right now, happiness coursing through his veins.] LARK FENRIZ: Three hundred fifty pounds into the air, and then brought right back down to the mat with miraculous authority some might say. A true crowning achievement of my stay here in New Blood. Such strength is only held by the mightiest warriors, and, being my modest self , I would have to say I have proven myself to be the mightiest among them all! Perhaps now those who doubted me before are free of their doubt. If not, I am not sure what will! [Lark laughs. The sound rebounds off of something, creating quite a disturbing effect.] LARK FENRIZ: Despite defeating that grotesque excuse for a wrestler, I still find myself not satisfied. Mainly due to the fact that that horrid word, that disgusting, repulsive word is being used to describe my victory! Upset? UPSET!?! [Lark appears to be... growling at the camera? Anger is truly taking up residence inside his mind!] LARK FENRIZ: How can such a grand spectacle of wrestling ability be called an upset when it is me, Lark Fenriz, performing such a fete? Do these so called fans of New Blood forget everything I have done since the company started? Did they really believe that Mr. Deathrow possessed the talent to pin my shoulders to the mat? [Lark lowers his head; his stare narrows.] LARK FENIRZ: How dare such mortal fools spit forth such garbage! Few men possess such ability, and Mr. Deathrow is surely not one of them! He is a mongrel, a plaything for people like myself. He poses no threat, nor any concern to my status here in New Blood. Sure, you sheep will disagree with such a brutally honest statement, disregarding last week as just some fluke that I could not pull off it off again. [Lark relaxes, sitting back in his chair now. A smile, or as much of a smile as Lark can produce, sits across his face.] LARK FENRIZ: Such lack of faith you sheep have. Trust in me, trust in my abilities, or suffer the consequences. [Another laugh comes from Lark.] LARK FENRIZ: A life doomed to mediocrity. Believe in your filthy scoundrel, and you will surely find out later you have chosen the wrong path! [Fade away.] PART ONE OF TWO -- "A Nine Course Meal" [A roaring crackling fire sits beneath the monstrosity that is The Wolf. His gigantic frame hidden under the depths of his prized black robe. The hood, like always, pulled up, hiding his face from the world. The flames reach up towards the sky but fail to get much past The Wolf's shoulders. They are, though, successful in illuminating the surrounding forest, complete with the watchful eyes of all the night's creatures.] [The Wolf is roasting something on a stick in the fire.] THE WOLF: One giant battle is to be fought between nine men, ten including myself. The prize is some shot at some worthless strap of cowhide, a meager way to inflate one's ego, nothing that appeals to my senses. However, it is not the prize that causes my mouth to drool, but rather the nine other pieces to this puzzle. [The Wolf picks up the sticks, bringing it out of the fire. He peals what seems to be the outer layer away, snorts, and places the stick right back where it was.] [The meal isn't done yet.] THE WOLF: Eight of the ten men in this battle royale have a different agenda than just winning. No, no... Eight of these ten men have bitter enemies being placed right inside the same ring! Some unlucky souls have more than one! It is this simple fact that amazes me because I wonder who will go after who. Will these men go after their bitter rivals, during their best to make sure they fail to achieve glory? Or will they turn their backs on the past, and do their best to achieve glory for themselves? [The Wolf once again reaches for the stick, but this time the meal is in fact complete. He pulls the meat off the stick, and brings the morsel to his mouth. After taking a healthy bite, the realization of what exactly The Wolf is eating sits in.] [A human forearm, complete with the hand attached.] THE WOLF: The other women's plights bare no real direct effect onto myself or what I wish to accomplish. They will take care of their business, and I will take care of mine. Past enemies, current friends, they all can raise their fist into the air, and wish to strike my pale skin--it does not mean they will succeed. [The Wolf takes another bite out of the freshly cooked limb.] THE WOLF: People will pick their favorites, and lay down their chips, but only one man will remain standing in that ring, weapon in hand. [The Wolf snorts once more.] THE WOLF: But then again, I guess it will not be a man left standing, but rather a beast. [The Wolf lets out one of the most evil laughs ever recorded, and plunges straight into his meal, as the camera fades away.] PART TWO OF TWO -- "Oh Where Did the Midget Go?" [Boxes. Many boxes sit outside an oak wood door. Sounds of rummaging can be heard from the inside. The boxes come in many sizes, but only one shape and one color--square and brown. The boxes are piled one on top of each other, reaching the height of three boxes, and then a new pile is started.] [The rummaging has stopped, and Lark Fenriz exits the room, carrying yet another box!] LARK FENRIZ: I truly do wonder where that Varg got off too. For everything I did for that evil, evil midget, I get back in return stuff I cannot possibly use nor want. He was such a little guy, but he created one _HUGE_ mess! [Lark drops the box on the ground, his normally pale face flushed thanks to such hard work. Lark slams the door shut, and walks away from the pile of boxes. He flops down in his favorite chair, and shuts his eyes.] [Relaxation time.] LARK FENRIZ: Such a bastard, Varg, truly was. He never really did _anything_ positive. In fact, I am glad he is gone! Truly, I am. I deserve better than, Varg. He did not taste quite right to me. [Lark nods, as a huge grin comes to his face.] LARK FENRIZ: A midget is a dime a dozen. I can surely get another one to replace Varg's few duties. [Fade Out.] ============ TEXAS JACK ============ The back of some nameless bar in Bon Rio, Texas. The room is poorly lit and smoke filled. In the backround, we hear Johnny Cash's cover of NIN's "Hurt" playing softly.] "The needle tears a hole The old familiar sting Try to kill it all away But I remember everything...." [Texas Jack walks into the frame and sits down at the bar. His face is worn and unshaven. He doesn't look like a pleased man.] TJ: (staring into his drink) Everyone has their vices. Be it booze.......whores....whatever. [Jack takes a long hard drag from his Chesterfield Unfiltered.] TJ: Shit, I have too many to list. Smoking too much. Drinking till I pass out. Breaking a man's face wide open and bathing myself in his blood. I enjoy all of these things. Some times too much... [Another drag.] TJ: But what I don't enjoy, is bastards who take advantage of other peoples vices. My old man... [Jack stares into the camera with a face full of rage.] TJ: .......................... [He slowly sighs to himself.] TJ: My old man, Dutch Danson Jr. always got off on gambling. Ya know....rolling the dice. Playing the slots. Betting on the Cowboys. Whatever. Never bothered me none. Hell...he built a small fortune from taking chances like that. Dad took a small shippping and receiving firm from a mom and pop organization into a fortune 500 company simply by gambling. But...like all gamblers..he got in over his head. That dumb bastard ended up losing his shirt....and his company. [JD stares into his glass for a few moments, seemily lost in thought.] TJ: North. You took advantage of my father. You stole his lifehood. You stole his only accomplishment in life. Dad was gonna give me Danson Shipping and Receiving after he retired. After the road and the ring had worn me out, I was gonna take over it...... My daughter....(Jack seems a bit choked up)....my sweet little girl.... Through DS & R, I was gonna make sure she never had to worry about money ever again. I would buy her everything in the world she desired.. [Jack covers his face and whipes his eyes clean of tears.] TJ: When you hurt me...you make it personal. When you hurt my family... [Jack smashes the cig on the bar.] TJ: I make it personal. This week, Im gonna do something I should have done 8 months ago. Cripple you, North. End your career. Throw you neck first from the apron into the cement below. [One last, long drag.] To hell with regaining the NE Title in this battle royal. . I'm only intrested in one thing this week.... Your blood, North. [Johnny Cash's warbling voice takes over as we fade to black.] "You could have it all My empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt " [Darkness.] ================================= "THE EXTREME JESUS" MATT HARRIS ================================= [New York, New York. Battery Park. 2PM] [A few inches of snow cover the ground on the bitterly cold New York afternoon. There are hardly any people on the benches or paths of the park, and the few we see are quickly scurrying this way and that, walking dogs or doing some other unavoidable activity, but trying to avoid the subzero wind blasts all the same. The camera continues to pan towards New York Harbor, passing fewer and fewer people until we see no one on the great white expanse. The camera slows up as it reaches a short fence overlooking the water. A solitary figure leans up against it, blowing big plumes of of frosty breath through the chain link. The camera draws closer to the man, dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt, black cargo pants, and heavy boots. The hood is drawn over his head, and his left arm, held over his head, supports him as he leans forward. Another gust of wind blasts off of the water, throwing the hood back off of the man's head to reveal Matt Harris, freezing himself for no good reason other than to have a dramatic opening shot for this interview. He turns towards the camera and forces a smile.] Matt: Everything the critics say is true. Maybe I am slipping a little bit. Maybe I don't have the drive I once had. Maybe I've made a few bad decisions. And the next time I step into an NBW ring, I plan to make a fewmore bad decisions, like not giving a damn about the second tier title of a federation that thinks it's doing me a favor by giving me "one last good run." [Matt spits towards the fence.] Matt: Honestly, when I first came here, it used to be a fun place to work, and I thought the locker room was full of people who would respect me for the things I've done and seen...but that's all wrong. The locker room is full of vultures and jackals, all ready to circle the carcasses of people on the way out of the company. Everyone claws at each other, hearing the rumours of who's going to be cut next, and playing digusting political games to be the one to "send people packing." It's enough to make a man sick. [Matt scowls out into the distance.] Matt: I'm not even an old man, but I still long for the days when I was a few years younger and things seemed so simple. There wasn't a need for constant roster shifts and brainstorming. The feds had their stars day in and day out and the damn places drew. It was that simple. Nowadays, everyone wants things to be bigger and better...unpredictable...more real. [Matt stares into the camera again.] Matt: Well, I gave you all real, didn't I? I took someone trying to make a name for themselves and trying to skirt the system and I made a _very_ _real_ _scenario_ out of it, didn't I? And what was I greeted with? [Matt shrugs.] Matt: Silence, mostly. [Matt smirks.] Matt: I don't want anyone to think that I'm all bitter about it. I don't want anyone to think Matt Harris has changed. No, I will not turn my back on my fans. No, I will not disrespect my craft. No, I will not become as dispicable as the people the fans love to hate. But I will tell you this... [Matt points at the camera.] Matt: I'm not going to stand idly by and watch people waltz around and make a mockery of the sport that I live and breathe. I don't need people thinking they're larger than life when they're not, and I sure as Hell don't need politics taking over what should be governed by athletic ability. Everyone needs to take a long hard look at themselves and realize one thing...right here and now.... [Matt puts his finger down.] Matt: Either you're with me...or you're against me. [Matt pulls his hood back up.] Matt: That's a fact. Deal with it. [He walks off camera as it fades to black.] ========== DEATHROW ========== [Fade In... The confines of the Kingston Pen. Today it looks.. well it looks the same as every other day the big inmate known as DeathRow has seen for the past 10 years. The big man has his left shoulder heavily bandaged as it bulges from underneath his tight 'wife-beater' and light blue prison shirt with the sleeves non- existent. His muscular arms are covered in ink, known better as 'tattoo sleeved'. A tight black tuke covers most of his long, black stringy hair while dark blue mechanic pants and faded brown boots finish off the look. He squints as another inmate dabs a needle just under his right eye, fresh blood runs down his cheek but it doesn't seem to faze the man with the stern leather face. The inmate who is doing the 'needle work' backs away with a satisfied smile. Deathrow grabs a towel and wipes the mix of black ink and blood away to reveal a single tear drop. DeathRow looks at the new piece of art in a piece of broken mirror, nods his head then stares at the camera.] DeathRow: Another life crushed at the hands of yours truly. Another little cherry thinking he could step up and take what I've earned [smiles] only to find out that when you decide to f**k with the 'man', you find out quite quickly that you should of stuck to the farm leagues cause the majors were just to much for your punk-ass to handle. The Warden [mockingly] threatened to add another 20 years to my sentence... [laughs] What the hell's the difference? I'm in here till the day I die anyway so add on as much as you want cause in the end it really doesn't f**kin matter to me. [DeathRow rubs his hands together.] But what does matter to me is you Lark. See [rubs his stubbly chin] I really had no beef with you bro. I told you that a week back. My only concern was Ryerson and showing the World just how much of a pansy that kid truly was. I beat him at that Stairway To Heaven Match [shrugs] But still little prick wanted to get in my face. I called him out only to get rebuffed. I challenged that coward to come out man to man, face to face and we would settle the score once and _FOR_ _ALL_. [spreads arms] But what happened? _NOTHING_. Instead Ryerson ducked me. He got a taste of what I could do to his overrated punk ass and he decided to go after another crazy sumbitch.. you Lark. So why the hate cherry? This was supposed to be just a match. It was supposed to be a chance for one of us to climb another step up the ladder [chuckles then goes serious] But then you had to go and make it all personal. It seems you had a different agenda on your mind then what I did Lark. I was content in the fact that I was gonna go out there and kick you a new a$$hole, pin your shoulders to the mat and be one step closer to some kind of title. You? [shakes head] You wanted a war didn't you Lark? But my question is Lark, what kind of war exactly is this? Who hates Ryerson more? [chuckles] That's me, no _question_. When Ryerson came out we actually worked as a _team_ Lark. There was no better feeling then that of feeling the little cherries shoulders pop out of their sockets. Seeing him cry in pain as his arms hung like useless pieces of beef [chuckles] filled my heart with content. [spits] But then you had to make it personal between you and me Lark. You had to go the low road. It's pretty funny that you need the feeling of victory. It's a damn joke how you went about doing it to. That is why I have no respect for you any longer Lark. Like Ryerson, your a punk a$$ cherry who I can guarantee will be getting what is coming to him from yours truly sooner then he thinks. I never wanted a war with you Lark, your not important to me. But just like the cherry inside these walls who thought he could jerk me around and win a war against me [smiles] your gonna find out that wanting a war with me is the biggest mistake you have _EVER_ made in your career. [Deathrow wipes the drip of blood that is welling up around the outline of his tattoo. He looks at it then licks it from his finger tip.] DeathRow: What you fail to realize Lark is I don't care what you may have done in the past. I could care less of who you have beaten, less of what titles you have won and even less of the people who kiss your ass saying how 'crazy' you are. The simple truth is Lark, you have _NO_ _IDEA_ what crazy truly is [pause, smile] but your going to. I'm gonna make it very clear to you that messing with me, trying to humiliate me was the stupidest thing you ever could of thought up. I told everyone from the day I set foot in NBW. You wanna fight me [shrugs] no problem. But just like in here [points at the screen] you try to take my dignity or my respect and I'll dig the hole and bury your career myself. Your teetering on that line Lark. You wanna see how far you can push it without losing your life then I suggest you may want to back off the antics cause I'm starting to pick a plot for your ass as we speak. You walk around with your little midget, dress up in your black house coat and preach whatever it is you wanna cause in the end, it don't faze me. At the 10 man over the top battle royal I'll be in one mode Lark, _winning_. You wanna make it a personal issue to try and seek me out, I promise you 'Wolf' you will wish you never even heard my name let alone get in my face. That Northeastern title [smirks] I want it. That piece of gold will look damn good around this waist and the fact is Lark, your nothing more then a side order of fries to me [chuckles] I'll inhale you if I want. Get the picture? [smiles] Good. You do whatever it is you have to do to survive and I'll do what I always do and that's kick people's asses. If it's you I meet at the end [shrugs] then so be it. But no matter which way it goes the outcome will be the same. My arm will be raised in victory and I'll be heading to Nuclear Winter to put that Northeastern title around my waist. [Leans forward, whispering.] Don't make this personal Lark cause I can guarantee you bro.... [pause] You won't like the outcome. [chuckles] You can bet your _LIFE_ on it. [FADE] ============ MARK CHAOS ============ [We fade in on a simple shot, namely that of Mark Chaos pacing back and forth in front of a white background, as he carries a duffel bag on his right shoulder. Chaos is dressed in a sleeveless black t-shirt and black running pants, and drops the duffel bag with a loud clang right before he speaks.] MC: Here we are again, another week, and another Bloodlust is right upon us. This week I actually have a match... unfortunately, it's a battle royal. [Mark Chaos sighs.] MC: Let me explain... I _hate_ battle royals. Back in the day, I was in a federation based out of New Jersey. I was in one of those f[BLEEP!]in' things, there were explosives all in the ring, some asshat dropped _itching powder_ from the ceiling, and I dislocated my shoulder and broke my ass. I also lost. Hey, it was the nineties. Everyone was high on something and creating stupid matches and doing stupid sh[BLEEP!] back then. It was a part of the sport, so f[BLEEP!] off if you're not nostalgic. [Chaos shrugs.] MC: Anyway, ever since then I figured that battle royals don't mean a damned thing. Anybody can get tossed over a top rope, or blown up by a land mine, breaking your shoulder and your ass in the process for that matter. [Pause.] MC: I walked away, mind you. Some people didn't like that. [Grin.] MC: Anyway, battle royals... they suck. They don't mean a damn thing... that is, they _didn't_ mean a damn thing to me until now. See people, this particular battle royal is officially my return to all that is Chaos. Weezy Weeky gave me the OK to do my thing, and at Blood Lust, you're all going to find out that nobody does it better. Sure, anyone can hit someone with a chair, but can they _breakdance_ afterwards? _Hell no_. That's right, I'm old school. I'm perfectly capable of hitting all of you guys with a chair and having fun at the same time. I'm not an angry man... I'm just violent as all f[BLEEP!], proud of my violent beliefs, and completely willing to share them with all of you via a beer bottle to the side of your skull. Lots of you are gonna need MRIs, TNTs, backeotomies when this one is over... hell, one of you is gonna need a trigonometry. Don't ask me what that is, because I sure as f[BLEEP!] won't tell you. [Chaos chuckles.] MC: This is what it's all about, folks. Good times and thoughts of busting heads. Look at this f[BLEEP!]in' grin on my face- I'm so happy I could sh[BLEEP!] my pants and not be bothered by the smell one bit! There's gonna be violence! A Northeastern Title shot on the line! And... [Jennifer Reeves walks into the shot wearing a baby tee that reads "BEST FLESH EVER" on the front and hotpants.] MC: There's going to be a hottie at ringside providing more plunder for yours truly! JR: Sounds like a winning combination to me! MC: You bet your ass it does. See you at Blood Lust, folks... and make sure an ambulance is on standby. One of you "lucky" nine will need it. [And with that, we fade to black.] ========================== "DEADPOOL" IAN CHRISTOPH ========================== [An old Keep, perhaps once a great fortress of some King.. came to view. A slow consideration of the mixture of alabaster stone and marble that now lay in ruins. The cobbled walkway taken in stride, a low view held sweeping across for a few moments before coming to a pair of jet black boots. Leather straps and silver buckles adorning the sides as the camera scrolled up. Black and red leather pants.. a fishnet shirt bound it what looked to be a mixture of chain mail and spiked leather covefed a lean, but well muscled chest. His face, covered now by an expressionless porcelain mask, long black hair whiped from it.. a cold Norse breeze sent bumps across his flesh. Ian Christoph stood, his shoulder back.. his black eyes forward as his thickly norse voice poured from the faceless mask.] Ian: Nuirrsliem.. the last refuge of my great ancestory! It was here.. that my people made thier last stand against the Christians.. fought to the very end, to the very man.. till, we where no more! It, and this place.. inspres me. It brings me a sense of honor to stand among the rocks that once were bathed in the Blood of my People Enemies.. [Another view of that courtyard was given, the Nordic runes and symbols now seemed to stand out here. Iron crosses, symbols of pagan protection. One could almost imagibe the war that had been waged here. A war that was ended by numbers, and not by combat skills.] Ian: In the end.. our Warriors, the last of the Warrior races where defeated.. but, not by faith, or by skill. It was a game of numbers. They lost, because they did not keep coming.. they where salughtered, one of my Blood, to ten of the Foreigners.. yet, they kept comming.. [Ian's head droped, his hand clenched as he tossed his head back up to peer into the camera again.. his mask torn from his face, strap mask hugging his cooly handsome features as he spoke again] Ian: This week, I will strive to gain a new honor for myself.. and for my Lineage. For this week, a night of violence has come to the NBW. Violence in mass.. a chance to maim, and brutalize many of the NBW's top talent all in one evening... [A twisted smile peeled across the lips of the Mad Norse Middleweight, black eyes glittering coldly as he took a pause.] The ways on my People shall now be visited upon those who call themselves the modern day warriors.. the weak, shall be purged from the strong. An anything goes Battle Royal.. it will be like the days of old. A mass melee.. a combat in which no man who enters will leave the same way.. scared, bodily.. mentally.. yes. [Deadpool nodded, obvious excitment in his deep voice.. a perverse way.] This week.. the NBW changes. And with that change.. shall come a new begining.. ================ NORTH FAIRVIEW ================ [The Smirk. North Fairview is dlicately seated at the head of a long, luxurious conference table, where ten men in suits-- presumably his subordinates-- flank him on either side. North lifts up a piece of paper...] NORTH FAIRVIEW: Wanna hear a joke? [... which is apparently the teaser for the upcoming BloodLust.] NF: "This is yet another opportunity, outside of a singles match, for Fairview and TEXAS JACK to get their hands on each other!" [He pauses, to let it sink in.] NF: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NINE "YES-MEN": BWAHAHAHAHA!!! ONE APPARENT "NO-MAN":... what's so funny? [Sheer silence permeates the room. The no-man realizes the grave error he just committed.] THE APPARENT NO-MAN: I mean, BWAHAHAHA!!! NF: Good recovery. [North eyes him while gibing him a thumbs up.] NF: Not good enough. [He twists his hand, giving the man a thumbs-down instead.] NF: You're fired, Winston... Watson... whatever the hell your name is. Git. [He turns towards the camera, as the other nine suits watch "No-Man" pack up his briefcase and run out of the room while crying like a whiney bitch. Meanwhile, North is looking right at YOU.] NF: Hey dweebshit-- do _you_ know what's so funny? Of course not. Common sense is so damn hard to find these days. Especially among you protes. What's funny, is that NBW seems like its still trying its best to sell this little card of theirs on the basis of you fans seeing another thrilling chapter in the exciting story of North Fairview and Jack Danson's year-long rivalry. The problem with that rationale, of course, is the fact that there _is_ no Fairview and Danson rivalry-- at least, not anymore. Storytime's _over_, at least for one Texas Jack. [He smiles.] NF: I made sure of that on the last BloodLust. I told you, Jack. I told you it was time to get a little serious in my dealing with you. I don't hear you laughing now, HUH??! I bought your damn company, your father's little dream, and now have the power to do with it what I will. Imagine that. So, unless you want to jeopardize the old man's psychological well-being, I suggest you accept what everyone else knows: I _OWN_ you, Jack. I came. I saw. I owned. And from now until Nuclear Winter, its all about enjoying the spoils, _baby_! OWNAGE!!! [The nine left are unsure about what to do. North looks slightly insane!] NF: Now, listen to me closely Tex. I'm going to make this very explicit, Jack, because only the _weak_ make use of subtlety... At the upcoming battle royal, if you don't make sure that I, North Fairview, the Smirk that Walks Like a Man, the Bastard Prince, the Danson Killer, am the last man standing in that ring? Then I'm going to personally make sure your father's dream goes up in flames. And as for the rest of you? [He pauses, as if looking for the right words.] NF: You can all kiss my tattooed ass! OWNAGE!!! [North, wearing a maniacal look of triumph, storms out of the onference room, leaving nine very confused yes-men.] ========================== "SUPERSTAR" SHAWN BRYSON ========================== [The screen fades in to the familiar local of Riley's Pub, the favorite hangout of the new Northeastern champion Shawn Bryson. There seems to be quite a celebration going on as there are many people drinking and laughing and a band is playing in the background. On the right side of the screen is the bar, and in an unusual sight John the bartender is seated at a stool drinking a beer, and behind the bar is a shirtless Shawn Bryson. Bryson is pouring a draft beer and laughing with a pretty young blond at the bar. As he hands her her drink Bryson looks up and sees Dave Stenton walk on screen. Bryson throws his hands in the air and yells out.] BRYSON: STENTON!! WO'S GOIN' ON MATE!?!? [Stenton looks at Bryson with a slight smirk.] STENTON: Just came by to see how you're celebrating your title win. [Bryson's speech is a little slower than usual and there is the slightest hint of a slur in his voice.] BRYSON: 'Ow else would I be celebratin' ya fookin' silly bastard? I'm drinkin' up a fookin' storm! STENTON: And bartending? BRYSON: Fookin' right!! John's 'avin' the bloody night off!! [Looks at his bartender friend] You ready fer another one yet? JOHN: Serve it up champ! [Bryson smiles and laughs] BRYSON: Comin' right up!! [Bryson reaches into a fridge and pulls out a bottle of beer. He twists off the cap and slides the bottle down the bar to John.] STENTON: So Shawn, are you ready for the battle royal? [Bryson ignores him and grabs a few bottles from behind the bar and starts pouring shots.] STENTON: Shawn? [Bryson puts a shot glass on the bar filled with a clear liquid in it. Bryson has one in his hand.] STENTON: What is it? BRYSON: Vodka. Go on then! Cheers mate! [Stenton raises his glass and then he and Bryson down their shots.] BRYSON: Ah, that's some good shite that is! STENTON: Thanks Shawn... Now back to my question. The battle royal? [Bryson looks at him with an odd _expression.] BRYSON: Battle Royal? 'Ho fookin' gives a bloody shite 'bout that battel royal righ' now? I'm celebratin' mate! I'll worry 'bout that in the mornin' This is fookin' party time this is! [Bryson walks around to the end of the bar and out into the open. Stenton is taken aback and then starts laughing. Bryson appears to be naked, except for the Northeastern Title belt hung loosely around his waist that is covering his groin area.] STENTON: Shawn? Where are your pants? Or at least your shorts? [Bryson looks down, then around the room, and then back at Stenton.] BRYSON: Fookin' beats me mate! MANDY? Where the fook are me trousers? [Bryson looks around again and just shrugs.] STENTON: What happens if the belt falls off? BRYSON: Me twig an' berries'll be 'angin' out I s'ppose... No matter, nothin' to be ashamed of on me end. STENTON: Well, if you don't want to talk about the battle royal, what about the match with Chris Walker where you won the title? [Bryson grabs a beer of of the bar and takes a drink.] BRYSON: Wot is there to say? I said I'd beat 'is arse, and I went to Delaware and beat 'is arse! I grabbed 'is arm, I locked 'im in the most painful submission 'old in wrestlin', and 'e screamed and tapped like I said 'e would! [Bryson looks over to the bar where John has returned to his post and hands a bottle of beer to Bryson, who passes it to Stenton.] BRYSON: That's enough business talk fer the night mate... Come on over 'ere and I'll introduce you to a couple of nice birds... 'Ey, you be'ind the camera... Grab yerself a pint and enjoy yerself mate. C'mon Stenton. [Bryson turns and walks away from the camera. One of the girls slaps his bare ass as he makes hi way into the crowd and the camera fades.]