DATE: 08.04.2024
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
Narrator: The neon lights of Las Vegas shimmer against the velvety desert night sky, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the bustling Strip. The city, known for its unending pulse of excitement, is alive with anticipation, its usual fervor heightened by the arrival of SHOOT Project’s “Iron Will 3.” The iconic Epicenter looms in the distance, its modern architecture a beacon for fans from all walks of life converging to witness history in the making.
Inside the arena, the atmosphere crackles with electricity. The roar of the crowd reverberates through the rafters, a cacophony of cheers and chants as fans eagerly await the night’s matches. The event promises not just entertainment but a showdown of epic proportions, where careers can be made or ended in an instant.
The spotlight falls first on the Contract Vs. Career match, a clash of destinies between Roy Vezina and Johnny Patriot. The air is thick with tension, each competitor knowing that for one of them, the night will mark the end of an era. Vezina, with his contract on the line, locks eyes with Johnny Patriot, whose career hangs in the balance. The gravity of their contest transcends mere sport; it is a battle for survival, each man’s legacy at stake.
Next, the Grudge Match between The Real Deal and Scottie Barnes promises to settle a rivalry as fiery as the desert sun. Their animosity has simmered for months, each encounter more intense than the last. Tonight, it all comes to a head. The Real Deal, known for his ruthless tactics and sharp tongue, faces off against Barnes, whose relentless spirit has earned him a legion of fans. The tension in the arena is palpable, each strike echoing the bitterness that fuels their feud.
The World Tag Team Championship match sees The Coltons defending their titles against the formidable Devil’s Advocates. The Coltons, masters of teamwork and finesse, face a brutal and unyielding challenge from their opponents. The Devil’s Advocates are relentless, their unorthodox style threatening to unravel the champions’ carefully crafted strategy. The clash is a testament to the strength of alliances and the chaos that comes when they are tested.
As the night wears on, the Sin City Championship unfolds in a whirlwind of chaos and unpredictability. In a match where the rules are as elusive as the Las Vegas wind, each competitor pushes the boundaries of endurance and daring. High-risk maneuvers leave the audience breathless, the potential for victory or disaster hanging in the balance. In Sin City, nothing is certain, and the championship is as volatile as the crowd’s energy.
The Premier Championship match brings forth a display of speed, skill, and relentless ambition. Each participant has their eyes set on the prize, their movements a blur of calculated strikes and counters. The ring becomes a canvas for their artistry, each competitor painting a picture of determination and drive. The crowd is mesmerized, their collective gaze fixed on the unfolding drama.
Finally, the night culminates in the battle for the World Heavyweight Championship. The stage is set, and the stakes are the highest they can be. Lindsay Troy, the reigning champion, stands at the center of the storm, her presence commanding and unyielding. Around her, challengers gather like a force of nature, each hungry for the ultimate accolade. RIA, LOCUST, Joshua Breedlove, Laura Seton, Moriton, Mike de los Huesos, and Vito Valentino—each brings their unique brand of fury to the fray.
The ring is a crucible, each moment forging legends and heroes. With every thunderous slam and near fall, the fans are pulled deeper into the spectacle, their voices rising in a crescendo that matches the intensity of the battle. As the dust settles, only one question remains: Who will emerge victorious?
As the final bell tolls, the crowd’s energy reaches a fever pitch. In the aftermath of “Iron Will 3,” the world of the SHOOT Project will be forever changed. Legends are born, destinies are altered, and the echoes of the night linger long after the last light fades from the Epicenter.
Jason Johnson: We’re getting things kicked off with a BANG, folks. You saw that wonderful recap just now, you KNOW what the stakes are, and we’ve just learned that the stakes for this tag team scramble opening match have gotten EVEN HIGHER, isn’t that right, E? Eryk Masters: That’s right! We’ve just learned that the WINNERS of this match will face off at Ruination to determine a new number one contender to the tag team titles!
Jason Johnson: That’s HUGE. So what that means is that either we see the Collins Twins face off against the Wild Ones or the Unholy Cyber Army face off against the Atomic Punks, and the reward? Challenge either one of the most dominant tag teams that have ever been in the SHOOT Project OR the team that unseats them. That’s what I’m talking about!
Eryk Masters: Yep, a lot on the line here as we kick off Iron Will 3!
PREVIOUSLY RECORDED
BEST FRIENDS (OR FOES) - FOREVER (PART 1)
Chick Grillbreast sits patiently at the Epicenter’s staff entrance, his eyes focused on the door that funnels every ring worker, custodian, and SHOOT Solider into the building. His hands felt sweatier than normal as he rubbed them nervously.
His eyes grow wide as he sees the door open and catches a flash of red.
Chick Grillbreast: Dai-
The man whose muscles look ready to explode out from under his skin stands up but quickly cuts himself off as he sees CYBER Superbeast and CYBER Power Devil emerge.
CYBER Power Devil: IRON WILL YOU ARE NOT PREPARED!
CYBER Superbeast: IRON WILL YOU WILL BE TAMED!
The two Baphometian brawlers yell into a void that only Chick can hear. They stop and turn in unison, matching Chick’s disappointed gaze. Superbeast walks over, a black leather gym bag slung over his spiked shoulder.
CYBER Superbeast: Have you come to witness, meat man?
Chick shakes his head.
Chick Grillbreast: I’m waiting. For somebody.
CYBER Superbeast frowns and looks around.
CYBER Superbeast: GODOT!? SHOW YOURSELF YOU COWARD!
Chick curls his fist in frustration.
Chick Grillbreast: NO! Daihm. Ferguson. I’m waiting for Daihm.
The frown turns to annoyance as CYBER Superbeast turns back to his partner and spits on the ground at Chick’s feet. CYBER Power Devil crosses his arms and looks at Chick.
CYBER Power Devil: He hurt us. He hurt Judy Thunderfist. He is not worth waiting for.
Chick lowers his head but says nothing.
CYBER Power Devil: Come, brother in battle. We have atoms to harness and beasts to tame! Witness.
CYBER Superbeast: WITNESS!
CYBER Superbeast raises his fists to the ceiling and roars defiantly as he turns and rejoins CYBER Power Devil. The pair shout wildly, echoes of their boisterous voices bouncing off the hallway walls as Chick turns his attention back to the door in front of him as he sits back down and continues to wait.
PROMOTIONAL VIDEO
BRICK BY GLORIOUS BRICK
“Brick by Glorious Brick”
The scene fades up to a normal sized room, and by normal sized, we mean approximately fifteen feet by fifteen feet or something like that. Give us a break, don’t nitpick the premise. The walls are painted a soothing amber color (the color, not like the color of some girl named Amber), giving off a very cozy homey vibe.
In the middle of the room is a small wooden table. The table is stained brown, with intricate little details carved into the side as though it were a priceless piece of furniture made by a craftsman in a fine Alpine workshop. This table was purchased by one of our heroes at a flea market in Tallahassee, however. But the Alpine workshop thing could be true, also. Let’s go with that. Behind the table looks like it would be a good spot for a nice crackling fireplace. There isn’t one, but it would be a good spot for one.
Sitting behind the table in a high-backed dining chair is a new face. His slightly longer than shoulder length hair gently brushes his shoulders on either side. In front of him on the table is a bowl of cereal, and next to that bowl, a box of cereal. On the box, there is a picture of Joshua Breedlove smiling, and above him, the words “SHOOTY POPPLES.” The new face, this wonder of a man, is Scott Hunter. One look in his eyes and you can only help but think, of all the thoughts ever thought, of all the thoughts that anyone could ever think, this man has not thought any thoughts in a long time.
Despite this, he seems pleasant enough, as far as you can tell. He looks up, as though startled by the camera, even though he was the one who set up the camera, and smiles.
Scott Hunter: Oh hello! I didn’t see you there. You caught me during my morning cereal. My name is Scott Hunter. Now you may be thinking to yourself… This makes no sense. This man is sitting in a blank room that is, however cozy, clearly not his home. I think he is lying to us about catching him during his morning cereal. Well, to that I would say you are invited to actually shut your whorish mouth. This is a totally real room in a totally real place and it makes perfect sense that I would eat cereal here, and you can look that up in the encyclopedia. Lindsay Troy told me not to mention that I am in Vae Victis, so please ignore this sentence.
Scott straightens up slightly.
Scott Hunter: Now that I have established my credibility, which means I can be believed and not that I have many credit cards, let us move on to more important matters. First, let me tell everyone about myself. I am a professional wrestler. I was born at a very young age in a very small fishing village on the South Florida coast called “Miami.” I will not be surprised if you have not heard of it, but it is real like this room. Ever since I was a young boy I wanted to find a way to harvest the souls of the wicked and purge them in the waters of the Florida Everglades.
Scott stares blankly at the camera. After a moment, he cracks a smile.
Scott Hunter: That was a trick. Actually, I always wanted to be a wrestler. You will find that I like to play tricks. When I was a child, my family went on a plane trip to California and I told my little sister that the reason she could not see Care Bears in the clouds is because she is so ugly that they ran away in terror when she came too close. She cried, and my mother said I was something called “hurtful”, but I have to say I laughed and laughed. Anyways, these are the sort of hijinks I am known for. I used to also be known for lowjinks, but I am taller now.
Scott stretches upward slightly, as though trying to grow a little more.
Scott Hunter: Another thing you need to know is that I am a very dangerous in-ring competitor. I am known as an innovator of offensive weaponry, by which I mean moves, by which I mean things that hurt people. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I have long been developing a secret new move that is so dastardly, so deadly, so impossible to comprehend that the few people who were lucky enough to see it during its development could indeed not comprehend it. I do not even know what ‘comprehend’ means but it sounds like a thing that is hard to do.
Scott leans forward slightly, and whispers, but still loud enough for us to hear.
Scott Hunter: Okay… I’ll give you a little sneak peek. That sounds like you can look at it, but instead I will describe it with words. What I do is… I throw you onto your back. Then, I approach your legs, lift them, and twist around one of them until it crosses over into the shape of the number four. Then, I fall onto my back and pull back as hard as I can, which causes all of your ligaments to instantly cry out in pain, makes you wish you were never born, and probably makes several of your pets sad. I call it… THE FIGURE FOUR LEG LOCK… now… I know that is hard to understand. Like I said earlier, it is impossible to comprehend. You are a bad listener or you would remember that.
Scott nods in satisfaction.
Scott Hunter: Now that I have introduced myself to you, I would like to introduce you to my friend. About three months ago, I was building sand castles outside of my family hut down in “Miami” when I was approached by a very happy boy. I said, excuse me happy boy, but you are in my sun. There are shadows all over my castle, and while the ambience is currently ‘doom and gloom’, I am going for ’happy and bright.’ So move your big, fat head, por favor. Turns out, that happy boy was actually a thickly muscled specimen man who looked like he could crush coconuts between his biceps, although you should probably not do that because you will get coconut milk on your biceps. You will then not be able to go to Red Lobster because they have a sign that says ‘no shirt, no shoes, no coconut milk on your biceps.’ Long story short, he did move out of my sun, and then we became fast friends. He will therefore be my tag team partner as I start my journey here in SHOOT Pro. Without further ado, allow me to introduce…
BRICK “SUNSET” SUNSET!!!!
With a “WHOOOOOOSH!!!” sound, Brick “Sunset” Sunset slides into frame behind Scott, as if on a conveyor belt, posing like a Greek God. He’s wearing a neon green singlet. His arms and legs shine from the baby oil he bathed in prior to coming out here. He grabs Scott Hunter by the shoulders in an aggressive but friendly manner. Looking at the camera, he shouts over the shoulder of his new mentor.
Brick Sunset: WHAT’S UP ALL YOU SHOOT PRO FANS OUT THERE. MY NAME IS BRICK …”SUNSET”….SUNSET AND I’M HERE WITH SCOTT HUNTER, TAG TEAM PARTNER OF THE STARS AND SUNSETS! NOW I’VE BEEN HEARING A LOT OF ALL KINDS OF THINGS ABOUT HOW GREAT THIS PLACE IS, AND HOW THIS IS FOR THE BEST WRESTLERS IN THE WORLD, BUT LET ME INFORM EVERY SINGLE WRESTLER ON THE ROSTER OF ONE THING, I’VE NEVER WRESTLED IN MY LIFE! BUT I’VE GOT A SECRET WEAPON AND HE’S STANDING OR SITTING RIGHT NEXT TO ME. SCOTT HUNTER HAS WRESTLED IN HIS LIFE, HE’S WRESTLED MORE THAN ONCE, BETWEEN THE TWO OF US, WE HAVE A MEDIOCRE AMOUNT OF EXPERIENCE. I’VE SURFED THE WAVES FROM THE BEACHES OF MINI MIAMI ALL THE WAY TO THE BAYS OF TITANOUS TAMPA. I’VE BEEN CRUNCHING, TANNING, AND EATING IRON FOR THE LAST 30 YEARS IN PREPARATION FOR THIS DAY. I DIDN’T MEAN FOR THAT TO RHYME BUT NOW THAT IT DID I AM HAPPY!
The mammoth of a man takes a minute to flex his arms and chest for the camera. Stepping forward to give everyone a show. When he’s done he steps right back behind Scott Hunter and shouts again.
Brick Sunset: NOW I’VE KNOWN A LOT OF MEN WHO EAT CEREAL IN THEIR OWN HOMES, AND SCOTT HUNTER IS AMONG THE BEST. LIKE THE DIET I KEEP TO LOOK THIS GOOD, SCOTT HUNTER HAS A MARSHMALLOW TO CRUNCHY PIECE RATIO YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE! IF HE’S ONLY HALF AS GOOD AT WRESTLING AS HE IS AT EATING CEREAL IN PLACES THAT RESEMBLE REAL APARTMENTS AND HOMES THEN I LEARNED SOMETHING VALUABLE FROM HIM. I’M GOING TO USE THAT KNOWLEDGE IN SHOOT PRO UNTIL THEY HAVE TO DRAG MY HARD, CHISELED, AMAZING BODY OUT INTO THE PARKING LOT, PLACE ME INTO THE TRUNK OF A CAR, AND SEND ME TO NETHER REGIONS OF NOVA SCOTIA.
Scott Hunter whispers something to Brick who has intensity dripping from his eyes.
Brick Sunset: THAT’S RIGHT DUDE, I’VE SEEN THE FIGURE FOUR LEG LOCK AND LET ME TELL YOU, IT’S INNOVATIVE, IT’S INCREDULOUS, AND IT’S GOING TO BLOW YOUR MINDS. YOU’VE NEVER SEEN A HOLD SO DEVASTATING, SO INCAPACITATING, SO PAINFUL! AND I COME WITH MY OWN MOVESET THAT I’VE DEVELOPED IN THE WRESTLING DUNGEONS OF SCOTT HUNTERS 1 BEDROOM APARTMENT. NOW I’VE GOT A VERY DANGEROUS MOVE SET THAT WILL HURT AND LOOK GOOD LIKE ME. THE FLEXPLEX, THE MIAMI VICE GRIP, THE SUNSET SLAM, AND MY PERSONALIZED FAVORITE THE BEACH BOMB. IF YOU BECOME A VICTIM TO ANY ONE OF THEM THEN YOU WILL SAY OUCH THAT HURT! THEN BEFORE YOU REALIZE WHO JUST COUNTED TO THREE, YOU WILL BE THE LOSER. BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I BELIEVE THIS WORKS! WHEN IT COMES TO WINNING, LOOKING GOOD, AND…
Brick steps forward once more and starts flexing as hard as he can. He pumps his arms up and down frantically before flexing them so hard his skin goes from orange tan to red.
Scott sits there in silence for a moment, still staring at the camera. Slowly he turns his head, then does a double take as he sees Brick standing and flexing in all his glory. Somehow there is a glow around his partner, so Scott reaches under the table and pulls out a pair of sunglasses and puts them on his face.
Scott Hunter: Okay, he is flexing again so I think he is done.
Scott whips his head back around to the camera and points his finger out at it in a very menacing way.
Scott Hunter: You just watch yourselves, we’re wanted men. We have the death sentence in three systems!
Scott makes a mean growly face, pauses, then sits up straight with a smile.
Scott Hunter: That is a Star Wars reference. Those movies are good.
He suddenly points and growly faces us again.
Scott Hunter: You have all been warned. But begone! For we are late for our dinner at the Sizzler!
Brick Sunset: BEEF!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEF!!!!!!!
Scott Hunter nods, then winks at the camera.
FADE TO BLACK.
IN THE RING
EMBRACE IT, PEOPLE!
The arena lights dim, and a deep, ominous hum fills the air as a crimson spotlight illuminates the entrance ramp. Percy “Have Mercy” Blake and Bo Harris, “The Runaway Train,” make their way down the ramp. The crowd’s reaction is lukewarm, with only a few scattered cheers and applause.
Percy, dressed in his immaculate white suit with a crimson tie, leads the way, holding a microphone. Bo Harris, towering at 6’5” and weighing 450 pounds, walks behind him with an air of unstoppable force. The indifference of the crowd doesn’t go unnoticed by Percy, who sneers as they approach the ring.
As they step into the ring, Percy raises the microphone to his lips, his voice dripping with disdain.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I can even call you that, your lack of enthusiasm for the arrival of greatness speaks volumes about your ignorance and unworthiness. How dare you, how dare you, show such indifference to the presence of The Runaway Train, Bo Harris!”
The crowd begins to stir, a low rumble of discontent building as Percy continues.
“You see, you people don’t understand what you’re witnessing. You are in the presence of a man who is destined for greatness, a man who will redefine professional wrestling as we know it! Bo Harris is not just the future of SHOOT Project; he is the future of this entire industry!”
Bo Harris stands stoically, his eyes scanning the crowd, which starts to boo louder. Percy paces back and forth, feeding off their growing negativity.
“You think your boos and your disdain mean anything to us? No, no, my friends, they only fuel our fire! You are nothing but insignificant insects in the path of a locomotive, and that locomotive is Bo Harris!”
The crowd’s discontent escalates, and a few cups and pieces of trash start to hit the ring. Percy grins, relishing their reaction.
“Look at you! Pathetic, small-minded, and blind to the truth! Bo Harris is a powerhouse, a juggernaut, an unstoppable force! There is no one in SHOOT Project who can climb the mountain and topple this man! You are witnessing the birth of a legend, and you don’t even have the decency to show respect!”
The boos grow louder, and more trash is hurled into the ring. Percy’s face contorts with righteous fury.
“Your hatred, your anger, it only makes us stronger! Bo Harris will run through this roster like a runaway train, leaving nothing but devastation in his wake. And when he stands atop that mountain, looking down at all of you miserable creatures, you will finally understand the power of The Church of Mercy!”
The ring is now being pelted with debris, but Percy just laughs, holding the microphone out as if to capture the sound of their boos.
“Keep it coming, keep it coming! Your scorn is our sustenance! Bo Harris is here to take over, and there is nothing, NOTHING, you can do to stop him! He is the future of professional wrestling, and every piece of trash you throw is a testament to your fear, your jealousy, your impotence!”
Bo Harris steps forward, flexing his massive muscles, and lets out a thunderous roar. The crowd’s response is a crescendo of boos and flying objects, the arena now a cacophony of hostility.
“And to those who think they can stand in his way, take a good, long look at the man beside me! This is your future champion, your unstoppable force, the very embodiment of power! Bo Harris will crush every single one of you who dares to oppose him, and he will do it with a smile on his face!”
The crowd is now in a frenzy, their anger boiling over as they continue to throw whatever they can find into the ring. Percy, eyes gleaming with a manic intensity, raises his arms as if conducting an orchestra of hatred.
“Embrace it, people! Embrace the era of Bo Harris! The Runaway Train is here, and nothing will stand in his way! Have mercy on your souls, for you will need it!”
With that, Percy drops the microphone, and Bo Harris raises his arms in triumph, the boos and debris continuing to rain down on them.
BACKSTAGE
OUR STORY
The camera opens on a lavishly decorated backstage area, bathed in romantic pink and red lighting. The scent of roses seems almost tangible as the camera pans across heart-shaped decorations and luxurious red velvet curtains. Standing in the center, exuding charm and confidence, is Amor, The Love Machine. His red, heart-studded outfit and matching mask catch the light as he gazes deeply into the camera.
Amor: (smiling seductively) Hola, mis queridos fans y mis bellas damas. El momento se acerca. The anticipation, it’s… overwhelming, isn’t it? Soon, very soon, the SHOOT Project will feel the warmth, the passion, the irresistible charm of Amor.
He places a hand over his heart, letting out a contented sigh.
Amor: I know you’ve been waiting, counting down the days, dreaming about the moment when el Amor graces the ring. And let me tell you, that dream is about to become a reality. (pauses dramatically) Can you feel it? The excitement in the air? Because I can.
Amor steps closer to the camera, his eyes twinkling with mischief and allure.
Amor: You see, ladies, when Amor arrives, it’s not just about the wrestling. It’s about the experience, the spectacle, the romance. I am here to sweep you off your feet, to make your hearts race, to give you a show that you will never forget. (switches to poor Spanish) Todas las mujeres, prepárense para el espectáculo del amor.
He chuckles softly, his voice low and smooth.
Amor: I come from Las Vegas, the city of lights, where love and passion are always in the air. And I am bringing that same electricity to the SHOOT Project. My moves, my style, my… presence, it’s all designed to captivate you, to make you fall… deeply in love.
He gestures downward suggestively, his smirk widening.
Amor: I know what you’re thinking. ‘Can Amor really live up to this hype?’ Oh, believe me, ladies, I am more than capable. I am not just a wrestler, I am ‘The Love Machine.’ I have so much more in my arsenal. And let’s just say, what I have below the waist… (raises an eyebrow) is more than enough to leave a lasting impression.
He winks at the camera, his charm undeniable.
Amor: But it’s not just about what happens in the ring. It’s about the connection, the chemistry between us. Porque cuando el Amor está aquí, cada momento es mágico. Every encounter, every look, every touch, it all becomes part of the story. Our story.
He takes a step back, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire audience.
Amor: So, to all the lovely ladies out there, get ready. Because when I finally step into that ring, when I finally make my debut, it’s going to be an explosion of love, passion, and excitement. El amor está en el aire, and I am here to make sure you feel every single heartbeat.
Amor blows a kiss to the camera, his eyes full of promise and allure.
Amor: The countdown has begun, and soon enough, Amor will be there, ready to sweep you off your feet. Stay tuned, stay excited, and get ready to fall… in love.
With a final, confident smirk, Amor turns and walks away, the camera lingering on his retreating form as the Spanish guitar music swells softly in the background.
BACKSTAGE
THE SAINTS MARCH IN
Darkness.
Voice: “Do you have a moment?”
A lantern clicks on. It’s night. You see a small brown-bricked church in the middle of nowhere, one of its doors tilts off its hinges, showing nothing but dust inside.
Voice: “To learn about our Congregation?”
The wind blows, the grass bends, a tumbleweed rolls by.
Voice: “Nobody? HaHA! That silence! Let’s fix that.”
A faint, pulsing house beat starts playing. It sounds far away for now.
Voice: “At the Congregation of Elation, this is how we light the candles:”
You see the once-dark church fill with rainbow, mirrorball lights dancing through the windows and cracks in the broken front doors.
Voice: “This is how we call to service:”
Airhorn: BWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
It’s on. The silhouette of the church goes purple, then green, then yellow. Neon lines outline every angle of the church as the music gets stronger, faster, better, and harder.
A hoard of people run to the church from all sides, faces covered in glowpaint pink, green, and orange circles on their necks.
Voice: “And this is how we pray:”
Now, the light reaches the steeple and hits the top! The church doors fly off their handles, the inside is filled with light and music, blurred figures losing themselves to the music.
Airhorn: BWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Fireworks paint the sky in falling colors, illuminating two men in silhouette on the church’s steps, one large and bulky, the other lean and fidgety. The larger figure nods to the beat, making small waves with his rainbow LED visor.
The smaller man rips a vape; its blue light reveals Stevie Saint, a young punk, his hair dyed royal purple and brat green. He saunters into the light.
Stevie: “Lastly, we only have one commandment: When DJ Saint bequeaths you a beat, you GET DOWN-”
He looks into the camera, vapor casually trickling out of his mouth:
Stevie: “-OR GET PUT DOWN!! HaHA!”
He laughs, takes another hit, and blows out an obnoxious cloud of smoke, blocking out the screen, as we fade to black.
Neon letters flicker on, off, and on again:
“THE NEON SAINTS”
Then:
*The WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP BELTS in garish neon.*
*Cut to black*
IN THE RING
PREPARE TO WITNESS GREATNESS
Scene opens in the packed arena, the crowd buzzing with anticipation for the match between Roy Vezina and Johnny Patriot. The lights suddenly dim, and a hush falls over the crowd. Dramatic, patriotic Canadian music begins to play, and the arena is bathed in red and white lights. The Canadian flag is projected onto the large screens around the arena, and the stage is set for an over-the-top entrance.
The camera focuses on the entrance ramp as a spotlight shines brightly. From behind a curtain, Roy Vezina emerges, dressed in a lavish robe reminiscent of Macho Man Randy Savage, but with a distinct Canadian theme. The robe is adorned with maple leaves, with red and white sequins sparkling under the lights. Harv Norris and Rick Hull, also dressed in matching Canadian-themed gear, flank him on either side.
The crowd’s reaction is a mix of boos and cheers as Roy makes his way down the ramp, strutting confidently. Harv and Rick carry large Canadian flags, waving them proudly as they walk. Fireworks and pyrotechnics go off in the background, adding to the spectacle.
As they approach the ring, Roy pauses at the top of the ramp, spreading his arms wide and basking in the spotlight. Harv and Rick take their places on either side of him, waving the flags with exaggerated enthusiasm. The camera zooms in on Roy’s face, capturing his smug, confident grin.
Samantha Coil: Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring, accompanied by Harv Norris and Rick Hull, representing The Punch Line… the one, the only, Mr. Canada… ROY VEZINA!
The crowd’s reaction intensifies, with more boos than cheers now. Roy begins his descent down the ramp, stopping occasionally to taunt the fans. Harv and Rick continue to wave the flags, playing to the crowd.
Halfway down the ramp, Roy removes his robe to reveal his wrestling gear, also adorned with Canadian symbols. He hands the robe to Harv, who carefully drapes it over his arm.
Roy Vezina: [Shouting to the crowd] This is what a true champion looks like! Get ready to witness greatness!
Harv and Rick join in, shouting and playing to the crowd, adding to the over-the-top display. As they reach ringside, Roy climbs the steps to the ring apron, pausing to soak in the moment. He enters the ring and climbs the turnbuckle, spreading his arms wide once more.
Roy Vezina: [Taunting] Johnny Patriot, you’re about to learn what it means to face Mr. Canada!
Harv and Rick take their places at ringside, continuing to wave the flags and cheer for Roy. The camera captures the spectacle, the arena filled with red and white lights, the Canadian flags waving, and the music reaching a triumphant crescendo, with Roy Vezina standing in his corner, hyping himself up as the crowd boos loudly. The camera pans to a fan in the front row holding up a sign that reads “Roy fears Ryan Samuels.” Roy’s face contorts with rage as he spots the sign. Without a second thought, he jumps out of the ring and heads straight for the fan, pointing aggressively.
Roy Vezina: [Shouting] What did you just say? You think I fear Ryan Samuels? You’ve got another thing coming, buddy!
The fan stands their ground, defiantly waving the sign. Roy gets closer, yelling back and forth with the fan, creating a chaotic scene. Harv Norris and Rick Hull join in, threatening the booing fans around them, making intimidating gestures.
Harv Norris: [Shouting] You wanna mess with The Punch Line? You better think twice, b’y!
Rick Hull: [Threatening] Keep booing, and you’ll regret it!
Roy grabs the sign from the fan’s hands and rips it in half, throwing the pieces to the ground. The crowd’s boos grow louder, and the atmosphere becomes increasingly hostile.
Roy Vezina: [Sneering] Ryan Samuels is nothing! And you all know it!
The referee, seeing the escalating situation, jumps out of the ring and rushes over. He gets between Roy and the fans, trying to restore order.
Referee: [Firmly] That’s enough, Vezina! Back in the ring, now!
The referee then turns to Harv and Rick, who are still causing a commotion.
Referee: [Pointing to the back] You two! Out of here! You’re banned from ringside!
Harv and Rick protest loudly, but the referee stands his ground, motioning for them to leave.
Harv Norris: [Furious] You can’t do this!
Rick Hull: [Yelling] This is a setup!
The referee stays firm, his voice unwavering.
Referee: [Shouting] I said, out! Now!
Harv and Rick reluctantly head towards the back, still shouting and gesturing at the fans. Roy, seeing his backup being sent away, begins to freak out, his earlier confidence quickly turning to panic.
Roy Vezina: [Desperately] You can’t do this! I need them here! This isn’t fair!
The referee points towards the ring, insisting Roy gets back inside. With no other option, Roy begrudgingly climbs back into the ring, still glaring at the referee and the fans. The crowd cheers loudly, clearly pleased with the referee’s decision.
The camera captures Roy pacing angrily in the ring, his earlier bravado shaken as he prepares to face Johnny Patriot without his usual backup.
POST MATCH
THE HANDSHAKE HEARD 'ROUND THE WORLD
Johnny Patriot stands victorious in the ring, the referee raising his hand as the crowd goes wild. Roy Vezina, furious and seething with rage, watches from the corner. As the referee releases Johnny’s hand, Roy seizes the moment and delivers a low blow, dropping Johnny to his knees.
The crowd’s cheers turn to boos as Roy starts pounding away at Johnny, who falls to the mat in pain. Rick Hull and Harv Norris race down to the ring, joining Roy in the assault. The Punch Line trio stomp away viciously at the fallen Johnny Patriot, the boos from the audience growing louder.
Suddenly, “Old West Gunslingers” hits the speakers, and the arena erupts. The fans lose their minds as “The Midwest Nightmare” Ryan Samuels returns to SHOOT Project. Ryan sprints down the ramp, eyes locked on the ring.
The Punch Line momentarily pause their attack, turning to face the ramp. Ryan slides into the ring, immediately overpowering Rick and Harv. He delivers an extra hard elbow to Harv’s nose, the sickening crunch of bone breaking audible even over the roar of the crowd. Harv collapses, clutching his face in agony.
Roy Vezina, realizing the tide has turned, tries to slip out of the ring. But Johnny Patriot, still on the mat, grabs onto Roy’s leg, preventing him from escaping. Ryan Samuels sees the opportunity and delivers a devastating lariat, practically sending Roy’s head into the third row of seats. Roy crumples to the mat, lifeless.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering wildly as Ryan and Johnny clear the ring of The Punch Line. Ryan stands tall, glaring down at the fallen Roy while Johnny struggles to his feet. The two men bump into each other, the tension in the air palpable. The crowd quiets down, sensing the moment.
Johnny and Ryan lock eyes, the history between them evident. For a brief moment, it seems like another fight might break out. But then, Johnny extends his hand. The crowd holds its breath.
Ryan looks at Johnny’s hand, then up at his face. Slowly, he reaches out and grasps it, shaking firmly. The arena explodes in cheers, the fans losing it as Johnny Patriot and Ryan Samuels, two former adversaries, stand united in the ring.
The camera captures the moment, the two men standing tall together as the crowd chants their names.
BACKSTAGE
DEAR AYUMI
**heavy foot falls**
A long hallway stretches out ahead as Dan Ryan walks backstage. He wears business casual attire: a pair of black slacks with a light blue dress shirt, with a small bag slung over his massive shoulders. Light reflects off of the dark sunglasses covering his eyes. He passes several crossing hallways. At one such intersection, several members of the crew are staring but avert their eyes as soon as the big man glances in their direction.
He keeps walking, stoic and calm, headed for the Vae Victis dressing room, but before he can get there, he sees movement in his peripheral vision down another hall and clocks Ayumi Seppuku walking in his direction.
Dan raises an eyebrow and turns, nodding and muttering to himself.
“No time like the present.”
Adjusting the strap over his left shoulder he turns in the direction of the approaching Ayumi, whose eyes are now firmly fixed on the big Texan. Once Ayumi is close enough, Dan gives a curt bow of his head.
Dan Ryan: Konbanwa.
Ayumi blinks and watches Dan remain in the bowed position, though a smirk crosses his lips as he holds eye contact.
Ayumi Seppuku: Charmed. What is it people say as a greeting where you’re from? Oh that’s right… “Get out of my country and go back to where you came from.” There we’re acquainted. Now kindly fuck off and go babysit your brats.
Dan, still smirking, straightens back up to his full height.
Dan Ryan: Where I come from? Where I was born, you mean? Ah yes, solid dig at Texas straight out of the gate. No see, where I ‘come from’, we greet each other the way I greeted you…
Ayumi raises one eyebrow just a tad, almost imperceptibly, but says nothing.
Dan Ryan: However, your lack of manners are not my concern. In fact, I have a general rule to only concern myself with my own. And in your case, the only reason we’re speaking at all is because of your concern with… my own. See, I’ve been doing this a long time. I do my homework. You’ve been doing this a long time, too. So the thing is, I saw you, I didn’t seek you out this evening. But I’m also more than happy to stand here and get a read from the great Ayumi Seppuku. You are, after all, a former World Champion. I offer respect where it is deserved, until it is no longer deserved.
Ayumi pivots slightly on her back foot and crosses her arms in a mix of surprise and simmering anger.
Ayumi Seppuku: You forgot SHOOT Project Hall of Famer and former Tag Team Champion; but we both know the reason you left THAT particular accolade out of your little Wikipedia entry.
Ayumi shakes her head.
Ayumi Seppuku: And you want to talk about respect? Last time we crossed paths you extended your fist before any sort of respect you claim to have. So let’s cut the bullshit.
The way Ayumi says “respect” has so much of an acidic tone it could melt through the steel beams framing the two competitors’ conversation. Meanwhile, Dan’s confident smirk remains unbroken; in fact it grows even more pronounced.
Dan Ryan: You want to cut the bullshit? I’m happy to do so; but first try and do your best to stop talking to me like I’m some kind of fool. Your antics — you and your friends — you wanted to provoke a response, and a response is what you got. I don’t even hate it. I’ve been an asshole the better part of my life and I’ve done everything you’re doing and more to provoke a response out of someone I don’t like. But life is about timing, my dear. When someone is playing games with you or your family, extending your fist is the surest gesture of respect possible in our line of work. Though, I suppose in your version of the world, we should have respected you by marching out to your parade, blowing on some noisemakers and clapping at the spectacle. But in my version? You timed your ‘parade’ right in the middle of the World Champion’s speech. You hire goons to try and enforce your will. So we refuse to stay inside like good little boys and girls; don’t act surprised or like you don’t know Lindsay and I have collectively dealt with people like you for over two… fucking… decades.
Ayumi stares; gaze narrowing as she approaches Dan Ryan, closing any remaining distance the two had until they are centimeters from each other. Ayumi looks up, confidently, at the imposing fighter who is more than several inches taller than her.
Ayumi Seppuku: People like me, motherfucker? Go on. Elaborate. What is it about people like me you both seem to know so well? Choose your words carefully Ryan-SAN, and you fuckin’ call me “dear” again you’ll be the one provoking a response.
Dan looks up slightly, and he nods his head. Finally, he shrugs and looks Ayumi in the eyes again, his head tilted slightly to the right.
Dan Ryan: Considering you’ve been shaking with rage since about thirty seconds into our conversation, I’d say I already have. But it’s okay. I understand. I’ll make a mental note of your aversion to that word. But just so you know, when it comes right down to it…
Dan looks down at Ayumi, no longer smirking, now with a chilling grin on his face, the tension swelling.
Dan Ryan: I… will say… whatever I fuckin’ want… whenever… I fucking want. ‘DEAR.’
Ayumi’s eyes grow wide but soon a smile crosses her face and in that instant she shoves Dan Ryan forcefully away from her. The impact clearly catches Dan off guard as he staggers backwards but otherwise maintains his footing. Ayumi’s eyes are burning with anger as she uses the separation to reach into her jacket pocket and pull out a MASSIVE looking pair of spiked brass knuckles.
She curls her hand into a fist and positions herself to jump Dan Ryan when a voice shouts out from behind her.
Voice: Hey! Ayumi, what-
Suddenly stepping into frame are Lars von Bremman, NC-17, and Johnny Vignochi. In an instant the other HEXXX members quickly flank their leader, ready to join whatever fight is about to go down.
Lars von Bremen: You…uhhh…you want him dead, or…
Dan stands poised, having taken a step backward after being shoved, his frame turned slightly to one side. He looks down at the spiked brass knucks, then glances at each HEXXX member, then finally back at Ayumi.
Ayumi Seppuku: Let’s see what he does next… that’ll help me decide.
He looks down again, closes his eyes briefly, and slowly, starts to laugh quietly. This only lasts a second or two before he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, and meets Ayumi’s steel gaze.
Dan Ryan: Excellent. I think I’m starting to like you. I can tell we’re gonna have a wonderful time together. Well…
He holds his hands out to the side with another shrug.
Dan Ryan: I can see you have company, so I’ll just be on my way.
Dan stiffens up, and again bows slightly.
Dan Ryan: Mata Ato De.
With a final smirk, he turns, picks his bag up from the floor, and walks off down the hall in the direction of the Vae Victis locker room.
HEXXX doesn’t pursue Dan as he walks away, avoiding rushing headlong into a four-on-one brawl. Even the normally brash Lars finds himself putting a hand on Ayumi’s shoulders, trying to keep her calm as she returns her brass knuckles into her pocket.
Just before Dan walks out of sight, Ayumi runs a hand through her hair and calls out to the Vae Victis member, her words blunt and cold.
Ayumi Seppuku: Tell my former partner something for me, will you Dan? Since you and I are such good buddies and all… Make sure she hugs Kaz extra tight tonight. And while you’re at it, give Cecilia a hug for me as well. I’d hate for either of you to have any look back on your time together as a family with any… regrets.
Down the hall, Dan Ryan stops in his tracks, though he keeps his back to her. A few moments pass, and he continues on, turning a corner and moving out of sight.
BACKSTAGE
BEST FRIENDS (OR FOES) - FOREVER (PART 2)
We return to find Chick Grillbreast still sitting in his folding chair, watching the staff entrance more like a hawk than like a chick. It’s been quiet for the past hour or so, but suddenly there’s movement.
Chick raises his head and immediately locks eyes with the one person he was hoping to avoid… Lars von Bremen.
Lars, not in competition this evening, is dressed to the nines in his HEXXX colors. He wears a bright red suit coat and dress slacks that are tailored to fit his massive frame tightly, golden accents running in wavey patterns all along the suit coat. Underneath is a black button up shirt. His fingers are covered in black, white, and red jewelry and he has a large golden watch on. Covering his eyes are big, black, round Louis Vuitton Super Vision sunglasses, rimmed with gold and studded with diamonds. Whatever he has been doing for HEXXX, it has been profitable. He takes a big puff from a large cigar and blows it out, not necessarily in the direction of Chick, but also not avoiding him.
Lars Von Bremen: What’s up, Juliet? Waitin’ for Romeo?
Chick: YOU!
Chick stands up and gets face to face with Lars. Lars simply smiles at Chick.
Lars Von Bremen: Easy there, chicken little; I’m not here to fight, but if you wanted to test those thighs and get a little froggy, I’m not sure it’d work out for you. This coat has a lot of pockets, if you catch my drift.
Chick tenses up more, clearly not at ease.
Lars Von Bremen: Also, if you get violent? Kingslayer isn’t going to look kindly on that if you’re hoping for him to come and pay you a visit. You want your little romantic tryst, don’t you?
Chick doesn’t look happy, but he does relax and takes a step back.
Chick: That’s not his name…
Lars shrugs, taking another big puff of his cigar.
Lars Von Bremen: You’re…all about sick gains, right?
Chick: YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SICK GAINZ, STUPID TATTOO MAN.
Lars scoffs.
Lars Von Bremen: What have you… gained since losing Kingslayer? You lose… a lot. No one is talking about Chick Grillbreast in the title scene. You’ve been relegated to a scavenger hunt for a man who you wouldn’t fuck and doesn’t love you.
Lars takes another big puff and blows the cigar, this time towards Chick.
Lars Von Bremen: Pathetic.
Lars begins to walk past Chick, but as he is about to pass, he leans in.
Lars Von Bremen: He’s Ayumi’s now.
Lars gives a snicker before walking away.
Chick punches the wall, leaving a hamhock-sized imprint on the drywall.
BACKSTAGE
WE MOVE FORWARD WITHOUT HIM
Scene opens in a dimly lit locker room. Roy Vezina is sitting on a bench, his head in his hands, breathing rapidly and shaking uncontrollably. The aftermath of his loss to Johnny Patriot weighs heavily on him. He is having a panic attack, his world spinning out of control. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Major Malice storms in, his face twisted with fury.
Major Malice: [Coldly] Vezina!
Roy barely has time to look up before Malice grabs him by the collar and throws him against the lockers. The impact is loud, and Roy grunts in pain as he’s pinned to the wall, Malice’s forearm pressing hard against his throat.
Major Malice: [In a low, menacing tone] You failed, Roy. You’ve let everyone down. You’re out of the Punch Line, and you’re no longer the captain.
Malice reaches over and grabs Roy’s Punch Line jersey hanging nearby. With a swift motion, he rips the “C” off that represents captain, throwing it to the ground in disgust. Roy struggles, his breathing ragged as he tries to free himself and defend against the relentless Malice.
Roy Vezina: [Desperately] Please, I can make it right! Just give me another chance!
Major Malice: [Tauntingly] Another chance? You don’t deserve another chance. You’re nothing but a disgrace.
Malice’s grip tightens, his eyes filled with cold disdain as Roy continues to struggle futilely. After a few moments, Malice releases Roy, letting him drop to the floor, gasping for breath. As Roy tries to compose himself, the locker room door opens again, and Rick Hull and Harv Norris walk in, confusion etched on their faces.
Rick Hull: [Bewildered] What’s going on here?
Harv Norris: [Concerned] Roy, are you okay?
Malice turns to them, his expression stern and commanding.
Major Malice: [Barking] Follow me. Vezina is done. We move forward without him.
Harv and Rick exchange uncertain glances, clearly torn by the sight of their friend down and broken. They hesitate, looking back at Roy, who is now sitting against the lockers, rocking back and forth, his eyes filled with despair.
Roy Vezina: [Barely audible] Please… don’t leave me…
Major Malice: [Impatiently] Now! We don’t have time for this. Move it!
After a moment of hesitation, Harv and Rick, still looking conflicted, follow Malice out of the locker room. The camera lingers on Roy, who continues to sit against the lockers, his body trembling and his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He’s completely shattered, the weight of his failure pressing down on him.
The scene fades to black, leaving the audience with a haunting image of Roy Vezina’s defeat and isolation, his once confident facade now broken and fragile.
BACKSTAGE
OF SWARMS AND EMPIRES
We fade into the back. The entirety of SWARM is in a very public area. CICADA leans against a wall, arms crossed, looking down at the ground. Dara Salim stands perpendicular to him, looking with a modicum of concern around them, always returning her eyes to Antonio Santos, who sits in a steel chair across from LOCUST, who is also seated. Adongo Mbazi massages the shoulders of LOCUST, who has his hands rested on his knees, looking down at the ground and beyond it, into a vastness of opportunity and uncertainty. While Dara and Adongo are dressed in their usual business attire, Antonio has removed his suit coat and has his sleeves rolled up and a couple of the top buttons of his white dress shirt undone, his blue Rorschach tattoos very apparent.
Antonio: You are nervous, maybe even a little afraid. Overwhelmed? Possibly. That is to be expected.
LOCUST nods, his featureless mask revealing nothing.
Antonio: This…series of matches you are involved in, they do not leave much room for confidence. You must run through a gauntlet of matches against very game competitors that could leave us with nothing.
LOCUST’s hands ball up for a moment before releasing and relaxing, a rare show of tension from a member of SWARM.
Antonio: Remember, though, while there are numerous ways that this could go poorly, there are a number of ways it could go well. If you win the first match, you would be the first champion to ever retain their title in the Iron Will series.
LOCUST nods at this, reaching up to the Sin City Championship slung over his shoulder.
Antonio: If you win the second match, you’ll hold a Premier title, a title that neither of you has ever held before.
Antonio looks over at CICADA, who locks “eyes” with him before all attention is turned to LOCUST.
Antonio: Finally, should you find yourself losing the first two matches, you could still win the top prize in SHOOT Project and become the World Champion, a prize I know you deeply desire. I remember what you said, LOCUST, when I asked what you saw in the Blue…
LOCUST looks up, locking “eyes” with Antonio.
Antonio: Them…proud…those were your words.
LOCUST nods, still caressing his Sin City Championship. Antonio smiles warmly.
Antonio: And, should we be truly blessed, you may even have more gold than any of us could have dreamed of.
Antonio laughs but quickly becomes very serious again.
Antonio: It is fine to be fearful of the future, especially a future that promises greatness. But remember, LOCUST, the Blue brought you back for a reason. This could be the reason.
Antonio reaches out and touches the shoulder of LOCUST.
Antonio: And if it isn’t…we will find other ways.
Breedlove: The Blue also could just be a whole lot of nothing and you should maybe focus on the immense, corporeal challenge in front of you instead of voodoo and vibes.
LOCUST is on his feet fast. CICADA is off the wall. Dara places a hand on CICADA’s shoulder, a silent gesture of caution. The camera zooms out to reveal that the entire Empire, Joshua Breedlove, Mike De Los Huesos, Joey Burkhalter, Madison Seton, and Jack Johnson are all together. CICADA and Burkhalter clearly lock eyes. Seton gives a harsh look to LOCUST and the Sin City Championship before trying to look unbothered. Breedlove, sensing the tension, holds up his hands to indicate that everyone, especially his side, should stand down.
Breedlove: Relax, relax. We’re not going to fight here. Our business gets done out there. Just couldn’t resist the opportunity for a little sass.
Antonio shakes his head, but it is Adongo who moves forward to stand between SWARM and the Empire, offering a hand to Breedlove.
Adongo: Of course, Mr. Breedlove, and we are not without our senses of humor. So nice for the Emperor to pay the insects a visit. Please excuse our SWARM. Ever since those two…killers…harmed our associate, you could say our hive has been a bit riled up.
CICADA has relaxed, but LOCUST has not. He stands at the ready, slowly shifting his gaze between Mike and Breedlove.
Breedlove: Wordplay is really doing a lot of work for the overall scene here, eh? You guys are fine. I appreciate a little heated tension, especially before we all dance together.
Breedlove smiles, most members of the Empire leave him, except for Mike de los Huesos, one of the other competitors in the Iron Will Classic.
Breedlove: But make no mistake, once we’re under the big lights out there?
He motions towards the arena.
Breedlove: All bets are off and all pleasantries are done.
Adongo smiles pleasantly.
Adongo: Mr. Breedlove, your…advice is…appreciated and all, but…
Adongo looks back at LOCUST. When she returns, her usually pleasant demeanor is gone. She looks Mike up and down, then does the same to Breedlove.
Adongo: Who do you think you’re talking to?
Adongo gives one more smirk before motioning for them to leave. Dara and Antonio leave quickly. CICADA follows, though slowly. As he walks by, Breedlove chuckles and offers a sarcastic wave. Last is Adongo. LOCUST, however, holds. He stands where Adongo was, not getting completely in Breedlove’s face, but making his presence felt.
BACKSTAGE
BEST FRIENDS (OR FOES) - FOREVER (PART 3)
Chick puts his head in his hands, eyes red from holding them open as long as he can until he’s forced to blink — because men like him don’t cry. Not even a little.
He takes in a big sigh and leans back in his folding chair, looking up at the ceiling.
Chick Grillbreast: Where are you?
Chick closes his eyes and shakes his head.
Chick Grillbreast: This was a mistake…
Seeming to have given up, Chick leans back forward in a huff and stands up – collecting his seat but as he does we see – over his shoulder – Kingslayer methodically walk through the staff entrance door. He is without his mask and as Chick hears the door click open he spins around to see Daihm Ferguson’s face looking at his own.
Chick freezes; his preparations immediately going out the window as he can only stare and look at Kingslayer who is otherwise oblivious and already begins making his way down the hallway.
Chick Grillbreast: DAIHM!
Kingslayer keeps walking; his pace unchanged.
Chick Grillbreast: DAN DRAGON!
No change.
Chick Grillbreast: KING… KINGSLAYER. STOP!
Kingslayer stops. He blinks robotically before turning to look at Chick Grillbreast who is overcome with a mix of anxiety, fear, and excitement. He rubs his hands nervously as he goes to approach his former partner, who does not move but simply watches until Chick is just feet from him.
Chick stops before he gets any closer and looks Kingslayer up and down. He sees Daihm’s face as clear as day, but his normally bright blue eyes are dimmed and his hair is tied back tightly in utilitarian fashion. The warmth Daihm Ferguson once displayed is completely… gone.
Chick Grillbreast: PLEASE STOP! I WANNA SAY SOMETHING!
Kingslayer just looks through Chick. Not at him… just through him.
Chick Grillbreast: I… I AM SORRY IF I MADE YOU FEEL LIKE YOU WERE PUNY. YOU HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE SICKEST GAINZ OF ALL MY FRIENDS. PLEASE DAN DRAGON.
No change in demeanor from Kingslayer.
Chick Grillbreast: Please. I’m sorry.
Kingslayer turns and finally looks at Chick, whose feet are firmly planted on the ground, but his body is otherwise swaying back and forth from exhaustion and emotion. Chick watches as Kingslayer’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, his breathing clearly accelerating even as his expression seems to be as cold as ever… all except for his eyes. Daihm’s eyes.
Chick reaches out to grab Kingslayer’s hands.
Chick Grillbreast: We used to be Daihmbreast. Do you remember? You said we were the DaihmBEST and I… miss you. I miss my friend.
Kingslayer closes his eyes and reaches up to grab the side of his head. He shudders, almost convulsing as he pulls at his auburn hair.
Chick Grillbreast: Are you hurt!? Have you had too many carbs? Is Japanese Flock of Seagulls feeding you Panera!? What is it? What can I do?
Chick approaches Kingslayer and tries to touch the HEXXX member, only to immediately be grasped into a violent headlock. Chick’s eyes grow wide as he slaps wildly on Kingslayer’s arms, trying to break free, but to no avail. Kingslayer looks absolutely manic, his eyes wildly searching around for something – someone – as Chick’s face begins to turn red and swollen.
Abruptly, Kingslayer lets the hold go and staggers backwards, leaving Chick to fall to the ground gasping for air.
The HEXXX member hesitates for a second, looking like he wants to reach out toward the fallen fighter, but in that same instant he retracts his arm and simply watches as Chick struggles to get up, gasping for air. Chick finally pushes himself up off the ground and into a standing position.
As soon as he steadies himself, he looks around — but Kingslayer is already gone.
ENTRANCE
MAKE WAY FOR THE KING
The music screams out and the crowd is definitely into it. Breedlove is staring at the ground right outside of the entrance and he smiles at the reaction. He’s wearing an EMPIRE t-shirt and his normal red, black, and gold ring gear with standard black wrestling boots. He lifts his head, looks out to the ramp, and steps out, grabbing the pop that all wrestlers want to hear at some point in their career.
Jason Johnson: Tall order on tap for ol’ Breedlove tonight.
Eryk Masters: That’s MY line!
Jason Johnson: Not tonight it’s not!
He’s soaking in the cheers as he takes a few steps in, with Samantha Coil carrying him the rest of the way.
Samantha Coil: INTRODUCING FIRST… HE STANDS AT SIX FEET, FIVE INCHES TALL AND WEIGHS IN AT TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY FIVE POUNDS… HE IS A TWO TIME FORMER SHOOT PROJECT WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… HE IS THE NUMBER ONE CONTENDER… THE CHALLENGER… JOSHUA. BREEDLOVE…
As Breedlove gets into the ring, he offers a quick thanks to Samantha Coil and turns to face the ramp once more, awaiting the last dance partner. The lights dim to an almost pitch black dark, flashes from phone cameras start to blink all over the arena, the crowd quiets in anticipation, waits for it… keeps waiting… finally…
ENTRANCE
SUFFER UNTO THE LOCUST
Eryk Masters: All that is left is for the champions to enter.
Jason Johnson: While the champion always has the displeasure of walking into an already occupied ring, this particular evening has to feel like jumping into shark infested waters without a cage.
Eryk Masters: And the sharks are hungry.
The crowd buzzes with anticipation, but they erupt as the LIGHTS. GO. OUT! On the screens at home, a seizure warning appears.
SHOOOOOOOOOOT PRO-JECT-JECT-JECT-JEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
S͈̠̦̩̯̬̜͌̆͋͜Ů̶̡̨̹̪̙̐̓̃̈́ͅF̷̭̝̠͔͗͆F̢̼̟̲̙̹̏̆͌̚E̢̧̧͙̤̊̉̆͋̎Ř̭̪̱̀̅̿͜͟͞ͅ ̶̨̛̘̗́̒̐͜U̥̥̯͖̩͛͐̅̈̓̃͜N̢̜͇̪̺̩̺̉̂͂̿T͚̖̈͊͝͏̶̷͂O̸̍͐͋̀͝ ̳̬̼̋̏̋̚Ț̭̘͇͎̗̦͓̊̓͘͡H̫̗̣͐́́ͅE̱͈̖̅́͋͛͆ ̻̬͉̟̓̍L̸̵͉̪̻͈̭͕̖̂̔̚Ó͖͉͉̹̖C̶̨̮̜̥̩̖̱̋̄̑͟U͔̺̝̖̼̳͑͑͗S̡͚̗̻̓͑́̐͛̋́̕Ť̸̷̠͑̌̉̊
An explosion of pyro shoots from the SHOOTron as the image of the Speaker vanishes, plunging the arena into darkness. The opening riffs of “Locust” by Machine Head begin to play over the PA, a somber, slow melody. Over the song, a robotic voice repeats a single word rhythmically.
SWARM
SWARM
SWARM
SWARM
The drums kick in, building the song up. Two blue spotlights shine on either side of the ramp. They flash rhythmically with the drums, creating an almost strobe-like pattern. The song crescendos, building and building, the robotic voice saying “SWARM” louder and louder until, finally, as the song hits its driving, distorted guitars, the two spotlights converge on the center of the ramp, illuminating a single figure in the darkness in blue light.
The Sin City Champion.
LOCUST.
He stands, fists clinched, eyes down on the ground. Even behind his mask that covers all his facial features, it is clear he is breathing heavily. Slowly, but heavily. The weight of the moment is on him, and he feels it. No one can truly know what is going on in the mind of LOCUST.
But the gravity of the situation is not lost on him.
CICADA emerges behind him. He places his hand on LOCUST’s shoulder. LOCUST turns to the much larger CICADA. CICADA leans down, placing his forehead against LOCUST’s. No expression can be made, but the two seem to communicate without words.
Until, suddenly, CICADA slaps LOCUST!
Eryk Masters: What is going on here?!
Jason Johnson: Is CICADA jealous of LOCUST?
“Forming clouds, their shadow shrouds
Louder the tattered wings they sound
Descending”
LOCUST barely moves. He touches his cheek, turns to CICADA, and slaps him back! CICADA slaps LOCUST, LOCUST slaps CICADA! They exchange these slaps for a moment before LOCUST turns to the ring, throws his arms up in the air and back down to his sides, and screams! The stage erupts in blue pyro as the lights come back on!
“Down they come, the swarm of locust
Skies above converge to choke us
Feast of souls, consume the harvest
Young and old
Suffer unto the locust”
CICADA looks on for a moment as LOCUST walks to the ring, a purpose in his step. He nods before turning and heading back to the backstage. LOCUST stops at the ramp and eyes all the competitors currently in the ring: Moriton, Laura Seton, Mike De Los Huesos, Vito Valentino, and Joshua Breedlove. He lingers the longest on Breedlove before leaping up onto the apron.
Eryk Masters: Well, it seems any nerves or trepidation LOCUST had is gone.
Jason Johnson: LOCUST is new to the industry, Eryk, and this is a huge opportunity, so nerves make sense, but it does seem clear that whatever is behind that mask is ready to go.
LOCUST enters the ring and takes the center. He removes the Sin City Championship and holds it high, turning slowly and locking ‘eyes’ with each competitor in the ring.
Eryk Masters: So much being said without saying a word.
“Locust” dies down as LOCUST hands off his Sin City Championship. As he pops his neck and stretches to get ready, the crowd begin to chant in support.
THAT SPOOKY SHIT!
THAT SPOOKY SHIT!
THAT SPOOKY SHIT!
Jason Johnson: Spooky indeed, but halloween tricks aren’t going to help LOCUST retain his title or win more. Two more champions to go!
