Handler’s Name: Rob Michaud

[The scene opens in what appears to be a dingy, musty-looking basement. Lying on a folding cot turned bench-press bench is the tough-as-nails man known as "The Screw" Mike Phillips. He wears a white, sweat-saturated muscle shirt and a pair of jeans. He grunts as he completes a final repetition, then lets the bar rest down in the hommade hook. He sits up, and flexes his upper body as he faces the camera.. He then reaches over to the "table" beside him, which is reall a stack of weathered old newspapers, and picks up a cigarette and a lighter. He puts the cigarette in his mouth, then pops the top of the lighter open with a motion that he's quite obviously just repeated for the ten-thousanth time or more, lights the cancer stick, then snaps the lighter closed again, re-placing it on the makeshift table. He inhales on the cigarette, causing its end to glow and burn quick, then he exhales the smoke through his nose in two steady streams. He looks at the camera, and without removing the cigatette from his mouth, he speaks.]

Phillips - I see you finally decided to show up. Good. 'Cause I have something to say to all those new fish out there who've been rumored to've been hired by the Gibbs in the past few weeks.

[He takes another longish drag off the cigarette.]

Phillips - You guys go around all big and tough, stickin' people from behind, when they ain't lookin'. Bunch o' lowlife cowards is all that these new fish are. You got guys like "Big One", who turns on the guy who does him a favor; freaks o' nature like that stiltman who prett-near offed D'Live, Albert and Parker; chicken[BLEEP!]s like those two goons that tried to show they were though by ganging up on that re[BLEEP!] Nemisis when he was already ganged up on; and then there's nutcases like that freakshow Grotesk, who looks like he fell out o' the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.

[His greying brow furrows even more than it already was. He takes another drag, this one longer than the last. A bit of ash falls off the tip of the cigarette, but he pays it no mind.]

Phillips - Guys like these, they come into the fed a dime a dozen, and with what I'm bein' told, there's even more than these whippersnappers that I've seen. But the thing is, I've been here a while, and I've seen fish like all of you and better come and go as predicataly as the sun risin'. Some get broken, others can't handle the heat. One thing I've found out is that bein' in the P dubya' has been a lot like doin' time: it's tough, and it seems like it'll never be over. But you little boys don't know jac[BLEEP!] about tough. Tough isn't jumpin' dudes from behind or slowin' [BLEEP!] up. Tough is havin' t' deal with the fact that if you can't keep up, that the next guy'll ice you as soon as look at you. Well as far as I'm concerned, this is for all the new fish out there: I'm that next guy. An' if any of you young punks think that you're man enough to take on somebody who's REALLY done his time, then just step right up so I can give you a taste of what life in the slammer, and the PW, is REALLY like.

[Phillips takes on last, long drag of the cigarette, then tosses what little is left of the thing to the floor. The scene fades, then cuts.]