A wary-looking Remy Garden stands just outside of a very specific locker room, arms crossed as he leans against the opposite wall. As the cameras zoom in, we can see the physical receipts of Aiden Vanity’s attack on Remy at Revolution.
Remy narrows his eyes as the door that reads “AIDEN VANITY” across a sparkly, bejeweled Etsy fixture, opens.
But it isn’t Aiden that steps out of the locker room. It’s a different kind of “A” hole altogether.
We lock in as Ashley Leboucher at first looks surprised, but then pauses and brings his hand to his chin in curiosity.
Ashley Leboucher: Oh my dear Remy… you gave me a start. Hopefully your… wounds are healing nicely? If not, I could always *kiss* them to make them better.
Remy bristles almost immediately, but tries to keep calm. His words are specific and deliberate.
Remy Garden: Ashley, you have no place here. Aiden may be a boar and braggart, but he does not deserve this.
Ashley laughs, tittering like a chirping bird.
Ashley Leboucher: Deserve what, exactly, Remington? Victory? Dominance over this… SHOOT Project?
Remy sneers and pushes himself off the wall, inching closer to Ashley.
Remy Garden: You know what the fuck I mean. I thought I made myself clear in N’awlins. I ain’t comin’ back and I ain’t wanna see you neither.
Ashley fakes a wounded gasp, clutching his chest as he looks away dramatically. But as he slowly turns his head back towards Remy, a smile creeps over his face, his thin and bony face looking almost skeletal in the fluorescent lighting of the arena’s hallways.
Ashley Leboucher: Oh yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Remington. But I don’t accept.
Remy looks confused and cautious.
Remy Garden: The fuck do you mean you dont accept?
Ashley closes the distance.
Ashley Leboucher: I want to see you. All of you. Just like I used to… and if I need to make you unconscious to make that happen wel-
*CRACK*
We hardly see it happen, but before we can register the sound we know Remy has slapped Ashley across the face. A red welt begins to immediately rise on the young lord’s face as several specks of blood begin to fall from his lips onto his ivory white suit.
Ashley looks down and lets out a dry laugh, grabbing a handkerchief. We can see stains on it – the stains left by Remy’s blood when Aiden attacked him at Revolution – as he dabs his split lip.
Ashley Leboucher: Tsk tsk, Remington. First at Thanksgiving and now this? That’s going to cost you.
Remy sneers.
Remy Garden: Add it to my tab. But you and me? That’s you and me. Aiden pays his own way.
Ashley sighs and shakes his head.
Ashley Leboucher: Oh Remy… you’re so lucky you have such a pretty face.
Remy’s eyes narrow, confused, but then we see Aiden Vanity, out of the shadows, lay an axe handle smash on “The Savage One,” sending him reeling towards the ground.
Aiden stands over Remy, pulling out a comb from his back pocket and fixes it in the process.
Aiden Vanity: “What’s the matter, Remy? Cat got your tongue or did I knock it down your throat?”
Aiden then turns his attention to Ashley. He takes a step forward toward him, invading his space.
Aiden Vanity: You know, Ashley I brought you in as a judge because I knew you and Remy had some sort of history going on. But then you had the nerve to waltz in my locker room when I’m not around. Who the hell do you think you are?
Remy, writhing on the ground, chokes out just two words.
Remy Garden: Aiden. Don’t.
Aiden lands a swift kick to Remy’s midsection, a woosh of air leaving his body as he clutches himself in pain. Aiden simply steps over Remy and gets closer to an unphased Ashley Leboucher, who looks at the scene with tepid amusement.
Aiden Vanity: I asked you a question, Ashley.
Ashley sighs, almost disappointed, and holds up his hands.
Ashley Leboucher: Now, now I know you’re fit to be tied – in more ways than one – but I yield, good sir. I should have known better than to let myself into another man’s… abode.
Aiden’s face is a mix of pride, confusion, and then frustration.
Aiden Vanity: Well you ABODE to be getting on your way then. And you can take your baggage with you.
Aiden gestures down to the still reeling Remy. Ashley’s eyes wander to the injured Remy and then back to Aiden as he locks eyes with the Chiseled Charmed One before letting out a breath like the sound of air escaping a tire, or, more appropriately, the hiss of a viper.
Ashley Leboucher: Oh now, now, Mr. Vanity, don’t be so crude. We are men of taste, men of class … not like Remington here.
Aiden hesitates, crossing his arms and seemingly willing to listen.
Ashley Lebocher. You did me a right favor by healing Remy like a good little pet; so let us not part on such … acrimonious terms. How about this? You and your… company here, you fight for “titles” correct? Those gaudy garters made of leather and brass?
Aiden: Yeah, we fight for titles. You wouldn’t get it because you’re too busy talking and trying to crawl into Remy’s bed.
He lets the words hang, feeding off the tension.
Aiden: That’s the difference between us. You’re chasing lust while I’m chasing greatness. That continues when I beat Remy tonight.
Ashley smirks.
Ashley Leboucher: You say tomay-to and I say tomah-to. Do I have that right?
Aiden looks unamused.
Ashley Leboucher: You may not lust after flesh, but your lust for your precious title is as transparent as the skin on a baby shrimp straight out the Bayou. So, maybe we can both get what we lust for? I am a… man of means, Mr. Vanity. And if centuries of high literature have taught us anything, it is that no single man can achieve greatness without … a sponsor.
Aiden: Do I look like the type of guy who needs sponsors from crusty people such as yourself? I called you in for one job. No need to overstay your welcome when you are no longer needed.
Ashley’s face turns like curdled milk – but only briefly – before he flashes a smile and offers some signature southern hospitality.
Ashley Leboucher: Fair enough, Monsieur Vanity. All I ask, humbly, is that when you do beat Remy tonight…
Ashley’s eyes flash with fire.
Ashley Leboucher: You make his humiliation permanent.
Aiden flexes his muscles, looks at Remy who is still on the ground and smirks at Ashley.
Aiden: You think I need your little fire to light me up? Bro, Remy sealed his fate the second he crossed me. You’re begging the better man to clean up this mess and I will. I’m going to beat him in front of everyone who ever thought he mattered and when I’m done, he won’t have anything left to crawl back to. Not pride, not purpose. Not even you.
He straightens up, a cold smile expressed on his face.
Aiden: So yeah he’ll get permanent humiliation but remember it’ll because I feel like delivering it. I think we are done here. I’ve got a reputation to ruin.
He spins around on his heel and walks away from the scene as Ashley looks down at the recovering Remy Garden.
Ashley Leboucher: It is only a matter of time, Remington, before you return to where you belong… no matter what you do or where you go, I’ll be there until you finally decide to see reason.
A wounded Remy tries to stand but Ashley places a hand on his shoulder.
Ashley Leboucher: Your fate is inevitable, mi amor. Best if you just… lie back and accept it.
Ashley stands up and adjusts his suit before turning and walking toward the arena exit as a recovering Remy Garden watches.
Jason Johnson: The night is loud, it’s raucous, this crowd is out of control as the LAST EVER PPV from the SHOOT Project’s Las Vegas Epicenter has hit your airwaves!
Eryk Masters: It’s kinda crazy to think that this is the last one, how are you feeling?
Jason Johnson: I’m a little nostalgic, I’m not gonna lie. There’s a lot of history in this building, a lot of battles have been fought here. Some crazy blood feuds, some major stars… it’s wild to see it all coming to an end.
Eryk Masters: How you feeling about New York, though?
Jason Johnson: I think it’s great! It’s a huge move and a huge risk too. The first Zenith is going to be CRAZY. I’ve heard some of the rumored matches and man oh man.
Eryk Masters: Agree with you there, but before we can get there, we gotta cap off our run here at the Epicenter and what better way to do that than by kicking off tonight’s show with an eight person tag match! The Empire takes on the Wild Ones starts us off!
“MAKE WAY FOR THE KING”
Ohana Bam’s voice explodes over the PA, nearly interrupting Eryk Masters and putting the crowd on notice that the Empire is about to make its final walk down the Epicenter’s ramp for a PPV event. The crowd’s booing, naturally, and especially so when Breedlove walks out first. He heralds the arrival of a team that is somewhat unknown to this point, as the third and fourth men have yet to be announced.
He’ll look to rectify that shortly, as X-Calibur joins him, amplifying the noise in the crowd. Breedlove has a microphone, and with X-Calibur standing to his left, he holds a hand up to silence the crowd which of course only brings on even more noise. He smirks.
Joshua Breedlove: So, I know you’re all wondering… thinking about who I might have come up with to fight this fight against the Wild Ones. We’ve got beef, you know? So I wanted to make sure we had star power. Some real heavy hitters to sorta swing the odds in our favor. Calculated. So I’m going to introduce the next two guys with a little bit of an explanation behind each, because otherwise? Some of you will be very surprised. Those of you who won’t be… are probably blind morons.
He shrugs.
Joshua Breedlove: First, this guy’s trying to make his way back. His foray into this team is to see if the Empire is the right fit for him as we move to New York. He’s a rental, so to speak. Not an envelope holder, not someone already affiliated, someone who’s looking to see if what we offer is what he wants. This man is a former World Heavyweight Champion… he’s been the subject of a lot of my vitriol, so when I got in touch with him… and to be very clear, I reached out to him, he didn’t come to me… he was very surprised. He is IGNATIUS. ALBERT. MARTIN.
The crowd’s hushed, but boo’s all the same as IAM walks out to join Breedlove and X-Calibur. Breedlove smiles, IAM is steady focused and eyes forward on the ring. He makes no other motions, he’s completely locked in.
Joshua Breedlove: Give this man a better welcome than that.
They inundate him with boos. Breedlove shrugs.
Joshua Breedlove: I tried. This next guy… he nearly made me the Hero of the Year, that’s how hard he went on me. We have a mutual respect because of our love for this business. Some of his students are gonna hate this, but this is a business decision as we leave Las Vegas and head to New York. He’s stepping out of retirement to aid in this struggle and to announce our new joint venture together… which we’ll have more details about later… he is also a former World Heavyweight Champion… a guy I’ve fought wars against… he is NATE. ROBIDEAU.
Jason Johnson: WHAT?!
Eryk Masters: I wouldn’t have expected someone more surprising than IAM to pop out here, but holy cow.
Nate Robideau walks out and joins Breedlove, flanking his right side.
Joshua Breedlove: Now then. We’re going to make our way down to this ring and patiently wait for our victims to make their way into the maw.
He smiles, flipping the microphone to the ground, as the foursome walk down the Epicenter’s ramp.
POST MATCH
HIS HEART IS PEEING!
Following the defeat at the hands of the Wild Ones, the Empire is making their way up the ramp and back through. Breedlove was pissed, the others were disappointed, but the Wild Ones were celebrating in the ring.
Jason Johnson: Huge win for those guys, wow!
Eryk Masters: Not every day you can say you picked up a win over FOUR former World Champions!
Suddenly, there’s a commotion, causing the fans to come to their feet as Breedlove, alone, comes flying out from behind the curtain! He tumbles and is splayed out at the top of the ramp! He rolls and gets to a knee as the crowd starts to go crazy!
Jason Johnson: What is this?! Someone attacked Breedlove? They got him ALONE?
Eryk Masters: You have to assume Breedlove went a different direction at the curtain than the other three! He’s paying for that choice now!
A figure clad all in black stalks out behind him, holding what appears to be a championship belt in their hand, and once the crowd gets a good look at the championship, they COME UNGLUED, BECAUSE THE WORLD CHAMPION IS HERE.
Jason Johnson: That’s LAURA SETON.
Eryk Masters: HOLY SHIT.
Jason Johnson: THAT’S LAURA SETON.
Eryk Masters: HOLY SHIT.
Jason Johnson: She’s beating the holy HELL out of Joshua Breedlove right now!
And keeping him true to his word, Laura Seton kicks Breedlove in the face so hard he rolls backwards down the ramp. He still manages to nearly get to his feet, but Laura is too fast and just DESTROYS his face with the World Heavyweight Championship, knocking her main antagonist OUT.
Eryk Masters: That was NASTY.
Jason Johnson: My heart’s peeing!
Eryk Masters: That’s my line!
She continues kicking him, over and over again, to the crowd’s extreme delight. As security comes to restrain her, she fully pulls the hoodie off showing no cast, no signs of injury, and a brand new shirt! The camera fades on her holding the World Championship up in the air, a look of pure fury and disgust across her face as she stares down the fallen leader of the Empire!
IN THE RING
ICE-COLD GREATNESS
The lights in the Epicenter go dead. The crowd starts to murmur in anticipation. Then—
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAM!
A deafening goal horn detonates across the arena like a cannon shot echoing off a frozen lake in Moose Jaw.
“RAISE A LITTLE HELL” by TROOPER erupts through the sound system, accompanied by a pyro wall that’d make a Fourth of July finale look like a backyard sparkler show. Red and white spotlights blaze across the stage like rink lights before a playoff game, while the screen rolls with grainy footage of classic Canadian carnage: beer league line brawls, moose chases, shirtless tailgates, and a man in a toque punching a snowman.
Then—
ENTER: THE PUNCH LINE
Roy Vezina struts out first in a blinding red velvet tracksuit, bedazzled with gold maple leaves and “CHAMPION” stitched across the back, despite not being a champion. He’s got a custom golden hockey stick slung over his shoulder like a royal scepter and a fake championship trophy cradled in his arms like it’s the Stanley Cup reborn.
Harv Norris emerges behind him, double-fisting Molson tallboys, wearing a fur-lined parka over his gear and a floppy Newfie trapper hat with the ear flaps dangling. He starts doing the Carlton dance to the beat like it’s his cousin’s wedding.
Rick Hull, the silent enforcer, stomps out last. He’s wearing a customized goalie mask with The Punch Line logo across the forehead. He rips it off in one dramatic motion, glaring straight ahead with murder in his eyes and zero patience.
Roy Vezina (on mic, strutting halfway down the ramp): LADIEEEES AND GENTLEMEN! Welcome to the main event BEFORE the main event! A match so important, so historic, they should’ve named this whole pay-per-view ‘GORDIEFEST!’
The boos begin to pour down like warm Labatt from a rooftop cooler.
Roy Vezina: The number one contender’s match? No, no, no. This isn’t a match. This is a formality. This is a crowning ceremony with fists!
Harv Norris (raising his cans): And we brought the whole flag with us, buddy, WOOOO!
He yanks a full-size Canadian flag from inside his boot. How it fit? Unclear.
Roy Vezina: Tonight, we send the Echo Canyon Outcasts back to whatever GPS-dead zone they crawled out of, no title shot, no purpose, no fans. Just two bearded bros crying into a bag of stale trail mix.
Harv Norris: Shoulda brought a sled, b’y!
Roy Vezina: Strap on your helmets and bite down on your mouthguards, SHOOT Project, ‘cause the boys are back, and tonight we ain’t skating for gold… we’re skating to BURY the Outcasts!
Rick Hull (low growl): …clock’s tickin’.
They hit the ring, all theatrics. Harv chucks empty Molson cans into the crowd like it’s a Canadian Mardi Gras. Roy holds the fake trophy overhead like it’s a religious artifact. Rick doesn’t acknowledge a single soul. Once inside the ring, they raise their elbows and shout in unison—
ALL THREE: GORDIEEEE!!!
More pyro erupts. The crowd unleashes a full-throttle storm of boos. “Raise A Little Hell” fades. Roy grabs a mic again as Harv leans lazily on the ropes and Rick posts up in the corner like a loaded cannon.
Roy Vezina (grinning): Whew! I gotta say, it takes a special kind of toughness to come out here every show and face the same problem over and over again…
He turns to the crowd, gesturing broadly.
Roy Vezina: You people. You crusty-eyed, sunburned, double-deep-fried Las Vegas mutants look like you were scraped off the floor of a Circus Circus buffet and given a free ticket!
BOOOOOOOO!
Roy Vezina: Look, I’m not saying you’re ugly, I’m saying if we handed out jerseys to everybody here, it’d look like a rec league for people allergic to dental plans and ambition!
He paces now, soaking in the fury.
Roy Vezina: And speaking of allergic to success, how about the Echo Canyon Outcasts, huh? These two backyard-built beardos think living in a van and shouting into the desert sky makes you ‘gritty’? Nah, b’y… it makes you a Craigslist warning.
Harv Norris (yelling): HEY OUTCASTS! IF YER NAME’S ABOUT ECHOES, MAKES SENSE! CAUSE WHEN YOU TALK, NOBODY REMEMBERS!
Rick just scoffs and shakes his head.
Roy Vezina: These two clowns wear hand-me-down gear from a Reno flea market and fight like they’re still tryin’ to impress their high school gym coach. Buddy, we’ve had harder scraps at Tim Hortons when someone cut in line for Timbits!
“YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!” chant erupts.
Roy Vezina: Ohhh, we suck? That’s rich coming from a city whose idea of fine dining is a shrimp cocktail next to a gas station! You people think culture is a pawn shop Elvis and a guy handing out flyers for ‘Girls Girls Girls’ in a cowboy hat!
BOOOOOOOOOO!
Roy Vezina: We are the 2024 Tag Team of the Year. That’s not a gimmick, that’s a fact. We’re the best thing going in this company, and you gremlins couldn’t lace our skates on your best day if we spotted you the tape and the laces!
Harv Norris: Y’ever throw hands in Moose Jaw at minus forty with a drunk guy named ‘Scotty Two Bruises’ screamin’ ‘SEND ‘IM!’ while you’re tryin’ to not freeze to death? Nah. Didn’t think so.
Roy Vezina: See, you Vegas fans, you settle. You settle for knock-off fountains and $5 blackjack dreams. Meanwhile, we bring ice-cold greatness. Championship pedigree. Maple-drenched violence. And when the bell rings…
He points dead ahead at the camera.
Roy Vezina: …the Echo Canyon Outcasts are stepping into sudden death overtime. And spoiler alert, we don’t miss in the clutch.
Rick Hull (finally, cold as ice): Hope they brought helmets.
Mic drop. “Raise a Little Hell” kicks again as the boos rain down harder than a Manitoba blizzard. The Punch Line pose triumphantly, basking in the hate like it’s a Stanley Cup parade with no cops and free beer.
BACKSTAGE
CREEPOS
The scene shifts to the lockerroom where the Collins Twins are standing by with Abigail Chase, who looks stunning as usual. The boys are clad in their Empire red and gold and both have a scowl on their face.
Abigail Chase: Well boyos, you’ve got another shot at the Devil’s Advocates tonight after fighting them to a draw the last time you squared up. What’s going to be different this time?
Michael goes to answer, but Rowland cuts him off.
Rowland Collins: We’re going to beat their ass, plain and simple, and take those titles to the Empire where they belong.
Michael Collins: What he said, Abs. It’s been a long time coming for us to get our hands on some tag team gold, the Devil’s Advocates are fierce competitors, but it’s time to put their tag team reign to bed.
Rowland Collins: For good.
Abby nods.
Abigail Chase: And speaking of the Empire, any thoughts on what went down with Breedlove after the opening match tonight? The return of Laura Seton?
Michael shakes his head and backs away, not wanting to engage there.
Rowland Collins: Unfortunate. I like Laura Seton, I do, but Mr. Breedlove has given us an opportunity to become the stars that we were meant to be, so something’s going to have to be done. I don’t expect him to be down long, and when he’s back up, I know he’s going to be mad.
Michael Collins: Fightin’ mad. Brawlin’ mad.
Rowland Collins: And while Breedlove’s down, we know he’d want us to focus on what’s in front of us, and that’s bringing these titles home, so if you’ll excuse us… we’ve got some creepos to stomp out.
Abigail Chase: You heard it, folks. The Empire isn’t happy, the Collins Twins are calling their shot, and the Devil’s Advocates are creepos. Let’s get to the ring!
AT THE DESK
THE MAIN EVENT
Jason Johnson: AND NOW… the main event of our evening, our love letter to one of our fallen soldiers… the culmination of a brutally competitive tournament that sees two absolute stars go at it in a match that has been a long time coming, while also painting a picture of the future.
Eryk Masters: That’s right, Golden Burkhalter and Izzy Sia have come up in this business together and this thing right here should tell us what the next few months are going to look like, because not only does the winner of this match become the FIRST FIRESTARTER, they also claim a shot at the Premier Championship, now unified with the Sin City Championship, and held by Vito Valentino… at the very first episode of ZENITH when we come at you live from the Pinnacle in New York City!
The crowd, who’s hanging on their every word goes crazy for all of the news even if they’re a little bummed about SHOOT leaving.
Jason Johnson: Yep! This moment is huge, ladies and gentlemen. The very first Firestarter… the competitor who truly embodies the spirit of the late Rande Johnson, better known to us as PESTALANCE.
The crowd pops at the former Soldier’s name.
Eryk Masters: This is such a huge moment, god. I can’t wait. Let’s get this going! This is the LAST MATCH on a PPV at the Epicenter! So much is on the line, so much is at stake… Izzy Sia. Golden Burkhalter. Premier Contendership.
He pauses.
Jason Johnson: The First Firestarter. NEXT.
POST MATCH
THE FIRST FIRESTARTER
Eryk Masters: That’s it! That’s it! After an absolute war of attrition over the entire tournament, Izzy Sia has just tapped Golden Burkhalter!!
Standing in the ring, her bound hair coming out in strands, her skin shimmering with sweat, The Kamatayan snatches her arm away from the official with authority! What appeared to be an act of frustration turns into a warm moment as she circles around the referee and reaches Joey ‘Golden’ Burkhalter–former training partner, former colleague, former enemy, long-time friend–and extends her hand to help him up!
Jason Johnson: It’s like she doesn’t even care about the stakes!
Eryk Masters: What are you on about?
Jason Johnson: Last show here, winner of the first tournament, a shot at the Premier belt–and she wants to make sure Joey B is okay!
She hauls the far lankier man to his feet, looks him dead in the eyes–and pulls him in for a quick hug, before separating, both of the young competitors positively screaming in excitement for one another! Joey, wincing all the while, grabs her arm and raises her hand to high to the screams of the crowd, gripping his own shoulder in pain! Dropping it, and with a smile on his face, he uses his foot to push Izzy in the small of her back, causing her to stumble towards the corner. She turns in confusion, and he indicates she should climb up for a victory pose!
Eryk Masters: Two of the new generation of SHOOT, standing tall, no bad blood…this is what it’s about!
Jason Johnson: This is what it’s–whoa, Eryk, look!
No music, no fanfare, Nate Robideau has emerged from behind the announce table in his BFG sweatsuit! Izzy climbs to the corner as the crowd washes her in cheers, not noticing her mentor and coach entering the ring! Nate strides to Joey, clapping him on the shoulder, all hatchets clearly buried. He smiles and leans in, explaining something to his former protege and motioning towards the winner of the first Firestarter Tournament. Nodding, Joey and Nate walk forward, settling their shoulders under Izzy’s legs, hoisting her up and carrying her to the center of the ring! With an authoritative Boom!, pyro goes off in the rafters, the explosion begins the slow fall of silver and gold confetti! Nate and Joey carry Sia in a slow circle, letting her grin and scream to the heavens in excitement!
Eryk Masters: All the strife, all the anger, all the betrayal, it all ends right here, Jason!
Jason Johnson: Hell of a way to cap off our time here, man!
Eryk Masters: Ladies and gentlemen, for Jason Johnson, I’ve been Eryk Masters–Vegas, you will always have our heart, and we will be back one day, but I want to say here and now: thank you, thank you soldiers, thank you faithful, thank you fans, and thank you every person who has made this magic happen for us night after night! See you in NYC!!
Our last image is the massive smile of our first Firestarter winner, yelling in joy, her muscles tensed, fists in the air.
Black.