It's Sunday afternoon at 4:30 p.m.
Sweetwater Daylight Time. A Cadillac with tinted windows pulls
up outside the gleaming FISH FUND PARK Arena. Fans have lined
the gates outside, but the stage entrance itself is far enough back
to be away from prying eyes. Most of them, at least.
He's delayed this inevitable return as much as long as
possible. Most of the CSWA crew has been in town for more than
two days, but he just flew in this afternoon. As the jet began
its descent, the Arena was easy to see. The only thing of any
consequence in Sweetwater, he supposed.
He's tried to time this just
right. It's before the 'preview' show starts, so the camera's
aren't shooting the 'fake' arrivals. Most talent arrived a
couple of hours ago. Knowing Merritt, he'll face a fine for
being late. It's better than facing a camera crew. At
this point, it might be more than he can take.
Having stopped the car, the driver
quickly exits and heads to the trunk to get the passenger's
bag. It gives him even more time to reflect. FISH FUND
has never been good to him. Even before the tragic events
after FISH FUND XII, there was the ill-fated match against
GUNS. And at FISH FUND X, there was the IRONMAN, and the...
ill-fated match against GUNS. FISH FUND IX, he was attacked by
Zack Sirus just before the Final Four of the Unified World
Tournament, making him unable to compete and defend his title.
And on...and on...and on... Needless to say, this event has
never been his favorite.
The driver pulls the bag out of the
trunk and walks to open the passenger's door. Sunglasses
firmly in place, he steps out of the car and accepts the bag from
the driver. Tossing the bag over his shoulder, he walks
towards the stage door, approximately 100 feet away. It's
possible the longest short walk of his career. It's almost the
same distance from the ramp to the ring. But he has never been
so gripped by emotion on his way down to the ring. He's never
felt the wave of nausea, the grip of... fear.
A sign on one side of the door
advises that all persons and bags are subject to search. A
plaque on the other side points attention to a discolored set of
bricks, apparently part of the original arena wall. A score
mark has colored part of one of the bricks black. The bag
falls from his shoulder, and he almost doubles over as it comes
back. The smell of smoke, the flashing lights of sirens, the
sounds of wailing sirens and screaming people. The weight of
twisted metal and stone fragments. Teri Melton's screams for
Timmy. Buckley's yell for help.
The door opens as he stops a few
steps away. What do you know? It's a CSWA camera
crew. The young producer approaches him, while the cameraman
stays back, inside the door.
PRODUCER: Mr. Hornet, could you
go back to the car and walk back toward us? We'd like to get a
piece for the preview...
HORNET: Not now...
PRODUCER: But this is
important... we just need... HEY!
Hornet palms the producer's head and
shoves him into the wall on the other side of the door. The
man hits the wall and slumps to the ground holding his head.
Hornet stops momentarily with both hands on the doorframe, then
CAMERAMAN: Welcome back,
HORNET: Thanks, Bob.
CAMERAMAN: It's been a long
time since we've all been here.
HORNET: Yeah, yeah it has.
CAMERAMAN: Good luck, tonight.
HORNET: Thanks, Bob. You
(Hornet starts to walk away.)
HORNET: (not looking
back) Yeah, Bob?
CAMERAMAN: It's gonna be
HORNET: Thanks Bob.
He wishes he could believe
that. As Hornet continues walking, he's assailed by CSWA
staffers and a road agent. He's finally pointed towards a
dressing room a couple of halls over. He slams the door behind
him and sits down hard in a white plastic chair. Sweat trails
down one side of his forehead from his hairline as he stares into
Gonna be alright? At least it can't be worst than last time,
He begins to laugh. The noise
echoes off the clean, new drywall.
(Backstage. The arena door opens, as the camera
slowly pans in on the individuals entering from the bottom up. The first figure,
was a man, wearing comfortable Black & White "air Walk" tennis
shoes... Blue Jeans... and a sleeveless, partially ripped in the front,
"ĎTill I Collapse" t-shirt, with his photo on the front. As the
camera zooms in on his face, the crowd reacts with an enormous ovation.
...itís Sean "Triple X" Stevens... and the short, thin, blonde to
his left, in the "Team Extreme" long sleeve shirt, skirt, and
fishnets... is Ivy McGinnis - better known as Poison Ivy - his girlfriend. They
both enter the arena, stopping momentarily as Ivy looks down at the little piece
of paper handed to her by the guard at the entrance.)
POISON IVY: I think the dressing room is (motions
with her right hand in the opposite direction) around the corner on this floor.
But, Iím gonna go see if I can find Rudy, you coming with?
STEVENS: Nah... And, Iíd appreciate it if you
werenít going either. I wasnít just talking for my health back there in the
car, Ivy. I really, REALLY have a sneaky suspicion that more (bleep) bound to
go down tonight than we know. Last thing I need is Dan Ryan or some GXW thug
putting there hands on you.
POISON IVY (Frowning): Sean... How many times do I
have to tell you to focus on your match? Iíll be fine.
(Stevens shook his head.)
STEVENS: I know youíre tough. All Iím saying
is... Ryan has made his intentions clear. He knows youíre my only weakness.
He also knows what Iím capable of, and that unless he finds my weakness and
exploits it... He has no chance. That man is desperate, and desperate men do
desperate things. You should know that...
(Ivy throws her hands in the air, in submission.
She is clearly beginning to show signs of anger.)
POISON IVY: Fine Sean! You wanna protect me like
some eight year old, fine! You wanna lock me in the dressing room so I can rot
like some seventy- five year old Hermit? All because you donít believe me when
I say I can handle myself? Fine! Letís go master!!
(Ivy begins storming down the hall toward the
dressing room. Sean, however, just stands there, hands on hips.)
STEVENS: Ivy wait! ...you know I didnít mean
(She turns around.)
POISON IVY: Then what DID you mean, Sean?
STEVENS: I just donít want you to get hurt.
But, I also donít want to seem overprotective... and... youíre right, okay?
I guess I was thinking along the lines of Ivy McGinnis my girlfriend, and not
Poison Ivy... the Psycho Bitch Manager of Champions.
POISON IVY: Thanks, Sean. And, believe me... I
know how you feel. I will be careful tonight. And, Iím only going to see
Rudy, and maybe Eli if and when he shows up. Then, Iíll be right back there
with you, helping you prepare. Donít you even spend your last couple of hours
worrying about me, okay? Youíve got a United States Title to win.
(Sean extended his arms and they embraced
briefly. After they broke loose... Ivy went in the opposite direction of their
dressing room, as Sean continued straight, looking to his left, at a nameplate
on a door. It read: HORNET.
...and, Sean... he just couldnít help himself.)
RUDY SEITZER: We're back here
with the FISH FUND XIII Preview Show folks. If you haven't
ordered this incredible CSWA spectacular on pay-per-view yet, you've
got less than twenty minutes to call in to your cable or satellite
BILLY BUCKLEY: This is the new
millennium, Rudy. All they have to do is a click a button on
their remote controls, unless they live in Bumpass, Montana, of
RS: I hope most of you were
able to catch the FISH FUND Telethon on NCN earlier. It was a
huge event full of music and celebrities, and it gave us all a
chance to see some of those heartwarming stories that make us
remember what the FISH FUND is all about.
ByB: My favorite was that woman
"Wanda." Did you see what they did to her? I
mean, the woman looked a flat-chested burn victim with a square jaw
and they turned her into something I'd be proud to take home to
RS: I'm sure Mama Buckley's
proud right about now. Not to mention Dad, who'll be calling
the FISH FUND action in just under twenty minutes! Fans, we've
already shown you some of the CSWA superstars arriving, as well as
some celebrities. We're told that there's another limousine
pulling into the parking garage. Let's send it outside.
(CUTTO: The parking garage entrance, in an underground area of
FISH FUND Park. The camera pans around the dock, scattered with cars, as a black stretch-job limo
pulls from outside, and right up to the camera. The driver's side door opens, and it's
SHAMON, wearing all black, zippered 'Bad' video gear, amazingly wet blonde gheri curl, and a chauffeur's cap!
Shamon closes his door and points at it, grabs his belt buckle, spins, then moonwalks to the back of the limo!)
ByB: What is this idiot doing? I'm surprised he even has a license!
The people don't wanna see this!
(Shamon spins again, swivel-kicks at air, and opens up the
passenger's side door. He jumps up and down in place, fanning his face with the gloved hand, and shaking his
nasty gheri curl all over the place, splattering the windshield with
activator juice! Suddenly 'COCKY' CRAIG MILES gets out, and shoves him away! His
back is to the camera, as he exits the limo, followed by 'HOT PROPERTY' EDDIE
MAYFIELD! SHAMON closes the door, as we see the two clearly, wearing jeans,
sunglasses, and GXW TEE-SHIRTS! The crowd watching the scene on the video wall
in the arena
goes nuts with boos as the two talk to each other)
MAYFIELD: Listen, Shamon, you piece of garbage, you keep this limo running, and don't leave this spot
until we TELL YA. You got that?
(Shamon responds with a shrill sound, that sounds like he just called a nest
(Shamon goes to get back in the car, but Mayfield grabs his shoulder, then quickly
pulls his hand back, looking at it in disgust! He wipes his hand on his jeans)
MAYFIELD: Lissen - make sure you put a pillowcase or something over the headrest in
there, alright? This is a rental, you know."
(Miles and Mayfield turn on their heels, and walk into the arena, chumming it up! The crowd boos like crazy!
FADEOUT as Shamon waits for the Pros to leave, and he produces a huge spritz-bottle of curl activator from
his jacket, and starts spraying his hair, sighing in relief!)
RS: You've gotta be kidding me! THEY are the
ByB: These are The Pros we're talking about,
Rudy. They aren't dumb enough to throw in with a third-rate
promotion. Then again, there was all that AAWC stuff...
RS: Well they're obviously ready to make a
getaway. Although, with Shamon at the wheel, who knows what could
happen. I guess we won't know until later exactly what side Miles and
Mayfield are on. Just think, if the GXW has managed to turn Wicked Sight
AND The Professionals to their side... they could end up leaving here with the
Greensboro Title, the Unified Tag Team Titles, and the United States
Championship all in one fell swoop!
ByB: So you're saying you don't think they've gotten
to anybody in the other matches.
RS: Let's hope not!
ByB: Rudy, Rudy, Rudy. Can't you see the
handwriting on the wall?
RS: What are you talking about?
ByB: This whole thing has been a well-orchestrated
attack. Who's to say that Windham, or even Aho, aren't going to do the big
turn on the CSWA here tonight? Or Adler, Stanley or Cruise? Who
knows who they've gotten to. We don't even know how they got in or
why...Merritt's kept his mouth shut about the whole thing!
RS: That's true. Fans, we're going to send you
to a special video package on the "Wicked Sight" Mike Plett/GUNS
grudge match for the Greensboro Heavyweight Championship later tonight.
Remember, you have just FIFTEEN minutes to wait until this huge event is
underway! It's FISH FUND XIII coming up NEXT!