The Pinnacle is electric. The camera sweeps across a sold-out crowd, signs bobbing in the air, the energy of a building that knows something important is about to happen. The Master of the Mat banner hangs above the ring, spotlit.
Eryk Masters: Ladies and gentlemen, WELCOME to Master of the Mat, LIVE from The Pinnacle in New York City! I'm Eryk Masters alongside Jason Johnson, and Jason, what a night we have in store.
Jason Johnson: This is it, Eryk. Master of the Mat finals. The tag team tournament continues. And after tonight, SHOOT Project goes on Spring Break. So every single person in that locker room knows this is the last chance to make a statement before the reset.
Eryk Masters: And what a statement we're starting with. The Master of the Mat finals. Jamie Johnson versus Arthur Pleasant. The Benchmark against the Godsend. Two second-generation competitors with legacies that stretch back to the foundation of this company.
Jason Johnson: Arthur Pleasant has already secured his World Championship opportunity, so the question becomes, how motivated is he really? Jamie Johnson, on the other hand, has made it very clear that this tournament is everything to him. That's a dangerous gap in motivation, Eryk.
Eryk Masters: We're told the Grappler's Guild is assembled backstage. Let's go there now.
Backstage at The Pinnacle. The Grappler's Guild occupies a staging area near the gorilla position. The muffled roar of the crowd bleeds through the walls. The Master of the Mat finals are minutes away.
Jamie Johnson sits on an equipment trunk, wrists taped, boots laced. He's quiet. Not nervous. Calibrating. Joe Quinn leans against the wall to his left, arms folded. Dan Richards paces slowly near the door, rolling his neck. Avalanche Anderson stands in the corner, still as furniture.
Nearest the door, sitting cross-legged on a road case with his black and white mask already on, the young man watches everything. He hasn't earned the right to speak in these moments. He knows it. His hands rest on his knees, perfectly still, absorbing.
A production assistant opens the door halfway.
PA: Ten minutes, Jamie.
Jamie nods. The door closes. Quinn looks at him.
Joe Quinn: You see what he put out there?
Jamie Johnson: I saw it.
Joe Quinn: That's a lot of words for a guy who says he doesn't need to win.
Jamie almost smiles. Almost.
Jamie Johnson: It is, isn't it?
He hops off the trunk and rolls his shoulders. Stretches his neck side to side. The methodical movements of a man who has done this a thousand times.
Jamie Johnson: Arthur Pleasant put out a lot of material this week. Called my family a cancer. Called SHOOT Project "The Lie." Called me a ceramic copy of my dad. A forgotten son. Said he was going to send me home in a mask.
He pauses, looking at his taped wrists.
Jamie Johnson: He also talked about his dad. About X-Calibur. Said he hates him. Said he wishes he'd get hit by a car. Die. Just cease to exist. And then he talked about what he went through as a kid. The choice he made. The weight of that.
Jamie looks up.
Jamie Johnson: I'm not going to mock that. I'm not going to weaponize it. That's his story and he owns it. Whatever happened between him and his father, whatever he had to become to survive it, that's real. I know it's real because our dads were in Instant Heat together, and I know enough about what went on in those days to understand that not everyone came out clean. Arthur didn't. And that's shaped everything about who he is.
He flexes his hands open, then closed.
Jamie Johnson: But here's where Arthur and I part ways. He thinks the fact that I had a father who was present, who built something, who put his name on this building, makes me soft. Makes me a product of privilege. A coat of paint on someone else's structure. He thinks because I didn't have to claw my way out of something dark, I don't know what it means to build myself.
A beat.
Jamie Johnson: He's wrong about that. Having a father who built an empire doesn't mean you inherit the empire. It means the empire is the measuring stick. Every single day. Every match. Every decision. You're not just competing against the person across from you. You're competing against the legacy that was here before you walked through the door. The name Johnson doesn't open doors in SHOOT Project. It raises the bar for what people expect when you walk through them.
Richards stops pacing. The young man on the road case hasn't moved. Quinn watches Jamie with the focused attention of a man who's heard a lot of speeches from his leader but can tell this one is different.
Jamie Johnson: Arthur said he doesn't even need to win this tournament because he already has the World title shot. And maybe that's true. Maybe he walks into that main event regardless of what happens tonight. But the fact that he said it out loud tells me more than every other word in that promo combined. That's a man building himself an exit. A safety net. "I didn't need it anyway." That's not the language of someone who's certain. That's the language of someone who's already imagining how the loss will feel and trying to get out in front of it.
He looks toward the door. Toward the arena. Toward the ring.
Jamie Johnson: I don't have a safety net. I don't have a World title shot waiting for me if this doesn't go my way. I have this match. One match. Against a guy who is legitimately one of the most dangerous people to ever step into a SHOOT Project ring. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. Arthur Pleasant is a former Master of the Mat. A former Iron Fist Champion. He has beaten people that most of this roster would cross the street to avoid.
He pulls his hoodie off and tosses it on the trunk.
Jamie Johnson: He's also a guy who spent an entire promo trying to convince himself and everyone else that he's already won. While I spent the week in this building, in that ring, drilling. Preparing. Doing the work.
Jamie turns to the Guild. Quinn. Richards. Avalanche. The young man in the black and white mask.
Jamie Johnson: That's the difference. Arthur fights because of what was done to him. I fight because of what I'm trying to build. His fuel is pain. Mine is purpose. Both are valid. But only one of them is sustainable.
He takes a breath. Rolls his shoulders one more time.
Jamie Johnson: I respect Arthur Pleasant. I respect his pedigree, I respect his talent, and I respect the hell he walked through to get here. Our fathers ran together. There's history between our bloodlines that goes back further than either of us. I won't forget that and I won't disrespect it.
A beat.
Jamie Johnson: But for Arthur Pleasant, this is an insurance policy. He said it himself, it's not something he needs. For me, it's EVERYTHING.
He walks toward the door. Quinn pushes off the wall. Richards falls in step. Avalanche moves without a sound. The young man hops off the road case and follows at the back, keeping his distance, keeping his place, mask tight against his face.
Jamie stops at the door and looks back at the room one last time. Empty now except for a discarded hoodie and rolls of tape.
He turns and walks toward the gorilla position. The crowd noise swells.
The arena goes… pitch black. The sudden absence of light cuts off the chatter of the crowd, replacing it with a tense, vibrating murmur.
Eryk Masters: What in the world….
Then, the lighting rigs pulse, washing the entire arena in a deep, suffocating shade of midnight blue. On the massive LED Tron above the stage, an image flickers to life. It is that of a wolf, but fractured. The left side is a hyper-realistic, snarling timber wolf, fur matted with snow and blood. Obviously on the wrong end of a fight. The right side is a jagged amalgamation of chrome, glowing crimson optics, and exposed hydraulic wire. It breathes in slow, heavy, mechanical heaves.
The haunting, atmospheric opening chords of "Lachryma" by Ghost echo through the PA system, heavy and funeral-esque. The crowd realizes what the imagery means. The roar that erupts from the stands is deafening, a visceral explosion of hope.
Jason Johnson: Wait a minute… Eryk, are you seeing this?! The blue light… the wolf on the screen…
Eryk Masters: I see it, Jason, but it is impossible. We know the medical reports. We know the damage Chance and Hannah, not to mention NC-17 did. There is absolutely no way he is cleared to be in this building tonight. He was looking at nine-months, best case scenario…
Jason Johnson: Medical reports be damned, listen to this crowd! They think the Last Damn Pillar is back! They think Thunderwolf has returned to exact his revenge!
Thick, heavy fog rolls out from the entrance tunnel, clinging to the steel grating of the stage. The music swells, building toward a crescendo. A silhouette steps out from the shadows of the curtain.
It is not the brawny, scarred warrior they were expecting.
The figure steps into a singular spotlight, the fog swirling around the sharp points of her black stiletto heels. It is, the one and only, Misty Starks.
She is the picture of ruthless corporate efficiency. She wears a tight, charcoal-grey business skirt that hugs her curves, a crisp white button-up blouse tucked in sharply, and a pair of dark, wire-rimmed glasses pushed up the bridge of her nose. In her right hand, she loosely grips a microphone.
The crowd, initially stunned by the bait-and-switch, quickly pivots. The roar does not die; it evolves. They aren't getting the Wolf, but they are getting the Lamb. The sheer presence of the Kelser matriarch is enough to send the arena into a frenzy.
Jason Johnson: It's not Thunderwolf… it's Misty! Misty Starks is here!
Eryk Masters: Look at her face, Jason. That is not the face of a grieving wife. That is the face of a woman who just bought the bank and is here to foreclose on the entire roster.
Misty begins her descent down the ramp. Her walk is measured, a slow, predatory strut that commands the attention of every eye in the building. Halfway down the steel ramp, she stops. The arena house lights suddenly kick back on, harsh and blinding, shattering the moody blue atmosphere.
Misty stands perfectly still. The crowd buzzes, leaning in. She slowly raises the microphone toward her lips. A hush falls over the thousands in attendance, hanging on whatever declaration of war she is about to deliver.
She holds the mic an inch from her mouth for three agonizingly long seconds.
Then, she lowers it.
Without changing her expression, without uttering a single syllable, Misty turns on her heels. The sharp clack of her stilettos against the steel ramp is swallowed by the confused murmur of the crowd as she walks right back up the aisle, slipping through the curtain and disappearing into the back.
Jason Johnson: …What? Misty! Wait!
Eryk Masters: A psychological masterclass, Jason. She didn't come out here to talk to the fans or the wrestlers of SHOOT Project. She came out here to remind them that they are still out there watching. Thunderwolf might still be laid up in a hospital bed somewhere, but the family is clearly open for business.
Jason Johnson: But what does it mean?! The robotic wolf, the music, the silence… the games have just begun, folks, and Misty Starks is the one dealing the cards!
The Pinnacle is quiet. In a few hours, the streets will be bustling with the fervor of people pushing their way to the front of the line. The single door will be divided into four lanes controlling traffic, with a high school senior at the head of every turnstile. They'll scan tickets with their SHOOT issued phones and do their best to funnel people into the Pinnacle one at a time.
The facade of the building will be washed in the type of lights that are befitting of a flagship show. Master of the Mat will begin here. The mouth of SHOOT Project.
While the show is preparing, that mouth is closed, silent. When the lights shine, that mouth will open wide and will show the people of New York City the type of grandeur that only the SHOOT Project can muster. Bright lights, flashy music, feats of athleticism worthy of the Colosseum of old.
A new crown jewel of the city showing just why it belongs here. And it will start here.
Ignatius Albert Martin sits on a park bench, just across the street. It was only a few months ago that he found himself staggering up to these very doors, hoping not to be noticed. He found himself lost, looking for a direction, coming back to the only place that he felt that he could find himself.
It was different then, bright lights, loud music coming from inside. He was on the outside, listening to a party going on that he wasn't invited to. Now he was outside for a different reason. He wasn't just invited to the party today, he was an integral part of the namesake to the entire event. In a few short hours he would be fighting against two men that have defined the sport for the right to say that he, along with his partner Josiah, were worthy of being called Masters of the Mat.
He chuckles softly to himself as he stares at the doors to the building. From nobody, to world champ, to nobody, and now he's facing off against certifiable hall of fame talent. In one of SHOOT's biggest shows of the year.
Part of him knew that Embrace Black Excellence was mostly to blame for his sudden rise through the rankings. Not for the skill, not for the in-ring work, but for the outside influence. IAM had been a broken man for several years, just going through the motions after suffering another crippling loss of career. First the field, then the ring, then life. There wasn't much further down that he could slip.
Ignatius knew that he could still make the cuts and make the incredible grabs that he could years ago. He knew that he could still go in the ring with the same level of skill that he had when he first entered the ring several years ago. What he didn't know was how to make it count. He didn't know how to make the people want to watch him. He wasn't a winner anymore.
Embrace Black Excellence knew that his friend could still make the people believe in him. He knew that he could make Ignatius believe in himself again. That was the reason for his success. He had done his time in the ring just showing up, going through the motions, and waiting for the checks to come in. He didn't have the sack needed to gut it out until the final bell, to dig deep enough within himself to find the will to carry it all the way to victory. It hadn't been about that. It was about showing up, the bare minimum, and finding his way to the bank to put enough money in to pay his rent and feed himself.
At best, he had become a caricature of himself.
Win or lose at Master of the Mat, Ignatius knew that this was only the beginning. EBE had managed to find the key to unlocking that desire, that drive that IAM once had to be the best of the best. There was no trailer park in the world that was going to be big enough, or comfortable enough for him.
This was New York City.
This was IAM's city.
And Master of the Mat was going to be the grand unveiling of 16 Chambers explosion onto the Tag Team scene in SHOOT Project.
Embrace Black Excellence: Thought I may find you out here.
Embrace Black Excellence puts a hand on his friend's shoulder, coming from behind him.
Embrace Black Excellence: It's funny, growing up I always knew we'd be here. You and me, standing together on the brink of excellence. Well, maybe not here exactly. I figured we'd be at the Garden getting ready to open for DMX or some shit. Or maybe at Metlife. Not for the Giants, you aint never been good enough for the Giants. But the Jets would suit you just fine.
IAM laughs and turns to face his friend.
IAM: Shit son, you know the Giant's is trash too. Jerry-World was where I wanted to be. New York was always your scene, not mine. You made this city your home, hell I'm just a tourist.
Embrace Black Excellence sits on the bench next IAM. The two of them look at the front door of the Pinnacle. Embrace Black Excellence looks a little confused.
Embrace Black Excellence: Fuck we lookin at a door for son? You know we got shit to do today?
IAM: It ain't just a door, man. It's the entrance.
At this point, Embrace Black Excellence looks even more confused than before. He squints his eyes and looks deeper at the door to the pinnacle. A SHOOT Staff member is out front, sweeping the sidewalk and is starting to get the turnstiles ready for the evening's festivities.
Embrace Black Excellence: Same damn difference man. A door is an entrance. We should be using this time to go inside instead of just looking at it from out here. Fuck you on about, son?
IAM gestures half-heartedly towards the door.
IAM: Look closer, man. There's a difference. A door can be a lot of things. It can be an entrance. It can be an exit. Today that door is an entrance. It's the beginning of 16 Chambers. You, me, and Josiah are gonna use this door to make our arrival in SHOOT Project. I know I already been here. I know I already done my share of memory makin', but today aint about that ya know? Today is about taking something bigger than you and me and giving it legs. Today is about going into the arena and giving people a message that the 16 Chambers is gonna be the next Empire, The next Instant Heat, the next fuck I dunno…
Embrace Black Excellence: The next Fear and Loathing?
IAM laughs.
IAM: You know what I mean man. This promotion has had so many teams that stood on the mountain of greatness. Stellar Insanity, the Bad Ass Brotherhood, shit man. SHOOT Project is tag team wrestling. Not only do we have the chance to make 16 chambers a part of that Legacy, but we got the chance to do it against a bonafide member of that Legacy. He's out here trying to take a second bite of that apple with Draven, and he got a good chance at taking the whole thing to the core too. But to do it he's gotta go through 16 Chambers. You ever think that'd be a thing we'd be saying three months ago?
Embrace Black Excellence nods slowly at the entrance to the Pinnacle.
Embrace Black Excellence: I always knew that, man. You were the one that needed convincin'.
IAM: You know what I mean man. I been in my head for far too long. I been out here so worried about tryin to prove that I belong, I guess I just never sat down and tried to enjoy the moment man. You know, really appreciate where I am? This is the biggest stage, in the biggest city and I'm on it. We're on it. We here right now. That's what matters man. So just..I dunno, can you just sit here and try and soak it in with me a bit?
Embrace Black Excellence tries his best to sit still and look towards the door. A few people walk past the entrance, and look up towards the Marquee, still not lit for the night's festivities. The building janitorial staff has already gone back inside, and we are back to quiet. Well, as quiet as a city street can be. After a few seconds, Embrace Black Excellence stands up and quickly slaps his friend on the back.
Embrace Black Excellence: Man naw, get the fuck up. We got shit to do. You can sit out here and be all deep and shit later, but right now we gotta get in and start getting ready for the show. Christ man, if it aint one thing with you it's another, always ponderin' or some shit. Well ponder this for me? Ponder how you gonna take that black back-hand and slap it across a hall of fame ass. Get your ass up offa that bench and let's get to work, son.
Ignatius laughs and rolls his eyes before getting up off the bench. He looks up and gives the Marquee one last look before settling his eye-line back on the entrance.
IAM: Aight brother, let's go get us a dub shall we?
The two men carefully cross the street and make their way to the door. The camera focuses on their backs as they open the double doors and disappear into the Pinnacle….
Eryk Masters: What an incredible night of action thus far, Jason, one for the books and we're not even half way through!
Jason Johnson: With more to come! But hold on a sec, Eryk…I'm being told through the headset there's an altercation backstage. Uh oh. It sounds like…the Moonshiners, Josh Kaine and Aaron Dearinger, are…BRAWLING?
Eryk Masters: Last Zenith Aaron found a packet of mysterious photos wedged in his locker. It's my understanding…so I've heard, anyways…his tag team partner has been sleeping with his wife! We can only assume those pictures had something to do with that.
Jason Johnson: A messy, messy situation as we head backstage to see exactly what's going on.
The camera cuts to a backstage hallway, where Aaron Dearinger and Josh Kaine are VIOLENTLY punching each other door-frame to door-frame. Aaron is dressed in his wrestling gear and is swinging like a man who just caught the man banging his wife, while Kaine has the look of somebody who knows he fucked up and is fighting for his very survival. Crew members scramble out of the way as Aaron grabs up a steel chair and starts swinging it wildly, just NARROWLY missing Kaine.
Eryk Masters: And it looks like these two have managed to find an arena blindspot! AEGIS has been notified and is currently enroute!
Jason Johnson: I hope they get there fast. There's no telling what this man may be capable of in his current state of mind.
A swing or so later and Aaron connects with a chairshot to Kaine's side. The younger man winces but absorbs the blow. Aaron slaps him with it again; this time in the knee.
Eryk Masters: And Kaine seizes the chair! He's got a hold of it!
Aaron Dearinger: You LOW down DIRTY PUNK sonuvaBITCH!
Dearinger lets go of the chair, opting to CLOTHESLINE Kaine into another dimension instead! Kaine practically does a flip before hitting the cement ground with a THWAP. Dearinger pounces on him and starts pummeling him, but Kaine's crafty. He rolls and traps Dearinger's arm in a triangle!
Jason Johnson: He's got him in a TRIANGLE!
Eryk Masters: AND HERE COMES AEGIS!
Josh Kaine: Don't make me put you to sleep, Aaron! Stop this bullshit before I gotta hurt you!
But AEGIS gets in between the clawing, scrambling, fighting men. Aaron's face is a shade so orange it's RED! Almost like a cherry tomato! It takes four men to hold the hissing, spitting Dearinger at bay. Kaine is the opposite; calm, cool, and collected as he dusts himself and gets to his feet on his own accord, clearly disappointed and annoyed but not nearly concerned as he could've been.
Jason Johnson: Man, this whole thing is a shame, Eryk.
Eryk Masters: These guys were partners…now look at them!
A familiar voice suddenly brings the chaos to a fever pitch.
Laney Dearinger: STOP THIS. NOW.
The commotion of the brawl comes to an abrupt halt. Suddenly you could hear a pin drop. Aaron Dearinger looks like he's seen a ghost. The mother of three and wife to Aaron strides into the camera shot wearing a flowery blouse and a pair of form-fitting khakis. She looks sad but resolute.
Laney Dearinger: This ain't about Josh, Aaron. This is about you and me. This is about the future. And if you wanna have one with the girls, you'll stop this foolishness. NOW.
Aaron stops fighting against the security. Now he looks defeated; beaten. AEGIS lets him go and he falls to his knees. Meanwhile, Josh Kaine has joined the side of Laney, prepared to continue fighting if need be.
Laney Dearinger: Try as you might to make this about another man, you and I both know the truth. You were never married to me, you were always married to the dream.
Laney spreads her arms, gesturing at the arena around her.
Laney Dearinger: Well here it is.
Josh puts his hand on the small of Laney's back for support, beckoning her to make an exit. Laney turns her back to Aaron, who's still slouched on his knees, eyes to the ground.
Laney Dearinger: I hope it was worth it.
The sentence hangs in the air like an exclamation point, and Laney and Josh use that as their mic drop. The two stride out of camera shot, having said their pieces, leaving Dearinger crumpled on the hallway floor. Aaron looks like his life is flashing before his eyes. He can't find the words, but tears are definitely gathering in the corner of his sapphire eyes.
AEGIS mills about him awkwardly as Eryk Masters clears his throat.
Eryk Masters: Well, that was uncomfortable folks. An ugly scene just unfolded here at the Pinnacle. Jason, what do you make of it?
Jason Johnson: I'm not sure, Eryk. Josh Kaine has a lot to answer for. I don't know about you, but…I kind of feel bad for Aaron Dearinger. The big move from Texas…the success of Aaron's partnership with Josh, regardless of its limits…this was a guy who dreamed big, and we just watched him lose his family for it.
Eryk Masters: The SHOOT Project has always been a dog eat dog world. Kill or be killed, as they say. Not everybody gets the hero's journey, Jace. With that said, there's still a lot of action left in the evening. But first, a word from our sponsors.
The fans were shocked with the ending to the match with The Darkspade and Charon… the carnage left behind… everything… but then, as if the ending was here… once again, the lights cut off, that familiar haunting laughter is heard…. and on the SHOOT Tron were eerie unfamiliar scenes… something to do with Righteousness, Balance, and Wickedness and a Final Gate?
Eryk Masters: Woah… now whats up!?
Jason Johnson: This whole thing is increasing getting weirder and weirder…
FROM A WALL OF FIRE…. a giant figure clad in dark armor emerges…. everyone watching this is beside themselves… in total shock and amazement…. In the ring, The Darkspade was standing watching forward as the figure methodically made its way towards the ring…. Charon was still on the mat…
The marquee identified it as "The Unholy Knight"… and with that, with one hand, it climbed to the top of the outside turnbuckle, raised its hands, and sent forth a fiery inferno on all four corners of the ring posts…. The Unholy Knight, with ease, walks over the top rope, and stands there staring at The Unholy One… not a word was uttered…. as if The Darkspade was given a command telepathically, he slowly turned his sights on his daughter…. and raised her to his feet by a grab of her hair…. The Unholy Knight stared with ominousness and gestures, slitting its throat.
Eryk Masters: This does not look good
Jason Johnson: WHERE. AGAIN. IS AEGIS!!?!
The Unholy One, with Charon in his clutches, looks deep into her watery eyes… At that point, The Unholy Knight conjures forth what looks to be a twisted, dark sword from a blue flame in its hands… it points it forward… motions it as if the solution to Charon is to impale her with it…. Screams from fans erupt… and then, finally, a swarm of AEGIS security exits the entrance, but they were set back by that wall of fire from before….
Eryk Masters: DEAR GOD… DARKSPADE… DON'T DO IT!!!!
Jason Johnson: He's a sick bastard….
The Darkspade nods and swings Charon around, readying to lunge her forward into the awaiting dark sword that The Knight held…. However, what he did instead….
The Darkspade hurls Charon aside like she's nothing and charges forward, no hesitation, no mercy. From the opposite end, the Unholy Knight surges in to meet him, a collision of darkness and fury….. AND THEN, IMPACT. The twisted blade drives straight through The Darkspade's body!!!!
The arena freezes in disbelief as the jagged dark sword erupts through him, and then massive amounts of blood pour like a crimson waterfall all across the SHOOT wrestling ring….
The Darkspade's eyes dim… his body trembles……and then he collapses to the mat. Charon's eyelids slowly opens, she sees what had become of her father… she crawls on the mat and lunges with whatever energy she had left on top of him as if she was shielding him from the horror looming above…
Darkspade's body is still twitching and the camera then zooms in on Darkspade holding Charon's right hand as if a promise.
Eryk Masters: Did… did Darkspade actually sacrifice himself to save his daughter?
Jason is beside himself.
Jason Johnson: I don't even know what I just witnessed, good lord.
The massive giant of a Knight backs off, and the fans are in awe as it literally evaporates into a puff of dark smoke…. The wall of inferno flame ceases… the AEGIS team rushes to the ring… but yet again, the lights flicker, and everything is black… once more, light returns…
The Unholy One and Charon are nowhere to be seen… nothing was left behind as evidence of the massacre…
Darkness and blood vanished like ink dissolving in clear water, fading without a trace.
The Card had been intense and the fans were nearly exhausted from the back and forth action. While the competitors in the ring filled the crowd's insatiable hunger for action, it was the concession stand that stood as the true heartbeat of the operation, filling the crowd's hunger for…nachos and Pepsi.
Master of the Mat brought a crowd in unlike anything that the Pinnacle had seen to this point in it's life. It was a true test of the grit of the concession employees. Slinging Pepsi's and hot dogs, slicing pizza, filling tiny cups with molten Nacho Cheese. It was the kind of thing that they had been training for since the very beginning.
"Oh shit!"
A young teen shouts in pain as the accidentally dribbles a bit of nacho cheese on his index finger as it drips from the side of the cup. A rookie mistake, but one that would cost the team a valuable cheese-merchant. A costly mistake that would mean the team would have to pick up the slack.
"Damnnit Joey, this is no time to be a hero, I got you. Go get that looked at before it blisters! Jane! Take over on the soda machine, I'll take over the cheese station for now!"
The voice is familiar, but the face can't be seen. Heroically, the man leaves his post at the drink station and begins to sling cheese cups up towards the counter, filling the orders for pretzels with cheese with the type of precision that just can't be taught. No, you are born with that type of leadership.
"Chad, you can't do it all alone, don't be reckless. We can slow down!" shouts Jane from the soda fountain.
Yet Chad Kyle Persists.
Chad Kyle: Jane…someone has to get these hungry people their cheese cups. If not me, then who?
Jane shrieks with fear as Chad grabs three cheese cups and holds them in between his fingers. With the type of skill that can only be described as "transcendant" Chad manages to quickie fill all three in one fluid motion before sliding back towards his station at the soda fountain.
Chad Kyle: This is no time to be cautious. The people need their cheese. And I am just crazy enough to be able to give it to them…For a $1.99 upcharge on their pretzels of course.
The people at the counter are starting to realize that Chad Kyle is the man that is getting their concessions. A few of them unravel their folded up programs and start looking around to see if this is some kind of joke. No joke. Chad Kyle is here.
Chad Kyle: Jane. Show business is a business of the people. Whether we are in the ring putting on a show, or slinging nachos, or cleaning the bathrooms, we are all a part of the experience. This is your time to shine, Jane. This is you chance to show that, you too are a Master of the Mat.
Jane, filled with the words of encouragement from Chad takes her rightful place at the checkout counter. She breezes through customers, getting every single order correct with no mistakes. The customers, although confused, leave with everything they asked for.
The lights in the concession area flash on and off twice, the signal that the show is getting ready to come back from break. The people begin to flood their way back into the arena and the concession staff are left with the mess left behind from the hoard. Joey has wrapped his hand with a dish towel and is sitting next to the sink, finally breathing a sigh of relief that the wave of people has crashed and finally receded back into the ocean.
Jane rests her shoulders on the counter, allowing herself to catch a moment of respite, knowing that the show is long from over.
The rest of the employees in the concession stand are showing varying signs of fatigue. All but one man. Iron Chad Kyle stands in the center of the concession area, a broom in one hand, and a sleeve of plastic cups in the other. He surveys his fellow workers and notices that none of them appear ready for the waves to continue. They are tired, beaten, worn. But the show must go on, and so too, must Chad go on. He must find a way to get this team ready for what lies ahead.
Iron Chad Kyle: My fellow concessionee's. We have witnessed but the first crash of the waves come down on our heads. We have emerged victorious for now, but we must not rest on those laurels for long, for the waves continue to crash upon our shores and so too, must we be prepared to weather their relentless assault. Rest but for a moment, because the time is now to shore up our defenses against the coming onslaught of hungry guests. We all have a part to play in this, the Master of the Mat, and today will be our finest hour.
The other employees begin to perk up at the words from Iron Chad Kyle. He is correct, there is no time to rest, no time for respite. Masters of the Mat they shall all be, they will reach that summit together, or not at all. Today is their day of victory. Joey stands, unwraps his hand and grabs a broom. Jane opens the register next to her and uses it to change some of the larger bills into change in preparation for the next round of guests. Chad smiles as he watches his team come together. Like a proud father, there is nothing left to do but join in the preparations. His job is done, his team is ready, or as ready as they can be.
God only knows what the people have in store for them, but Masters they shall all be. Victory shall be theirs on this night. Concessions stands throughout history will tell of this day, they day that the waves crashed hard against their concession shores and this rag-tag team stood firm, unyielding to their pressure. This was a day that would be the impetus of many a legendary song.
This was their day.
This was Chad's day.
Just then, Pigpen Matsumoto walks up to the concession counter, smoke pouring from his nostrils from the cigarette firmly held in the corner of his mouth. Jane attempts to tell Pigpen that there is no smoking in the concession area but without looking at her he places a hand up in her face. His eyesight never breaks from Chad Kyle.
Pigpen Matsumoto: FuckFace! Why you wear apron like bitch? Get out here now, we watch show with others. You embarrassing self with bullshit cocksuck speech.
Chad, looking a little embarrassed, raises the apron from over his head. He gestures towards Joey and Jane. This is their show now. They no longer need Chad's help. Like a father bird watching his chicks leave the nest, he looks back at them as he climbs over the counter, a single tear in his eye.
Chad Kyle: I've taught you everything I know. There is nothing more that I can do for you. Now go. Be the Masters of the Mat that I know you can be…Not for me…For yourselves…
Just then Pigpen grabs Chad by the collar and pulls him the rest of the way over the concession counter.
Pigpen Matsumoto: Chad Dumfuck Kyle cocksucking nachos. This is time for scouting future opponents, not being William dogfuck Wallace from movie.
As the two of them make their way back towards the talent area, Chad looks back over his shoulder at his team. There will be many a dangerous trench in his life, but never would be face another with a team quite the same…
Eryk Masters: What an impressive showing, both from Madison Seton as well as Michael Draven appearing in his first singles match in eight years!
Jason Johnson: Maybe now this silliness over Michael supposedly attacking Madison Seton a few weeks back can finally be put to bed.
Both competitors are struggling to their feet after a grueling night which included two matches for Draven. Michael reaches his feet, hearing the applause from the crowd showing their appreciation for a great match. Madison Seton pulls herself up in the corner, a mixture of a scowl and a smile playing at the corner of her lips…
Eryk Masters: I think it could be argued that Madison took a few liberties with Draven in that match in terms of differentiating a wrestling hold from something that belongs in a Skinemax film, but what do I know?
Jason Johnson: About women? Clearly not much, Masters. Madison Seton wrestled a hard fought and clean match, and…oh! Look at this!
The crowd begins to buzz as Draven extends a hand, wanting to congratulate Seton on her efforts. Madison, clearly taken aback in surprise by this gesture, looks out at the crowd, and a small chant of "hug it out" begins as she looks from one side of the arena to the other. Seton steps back a moment, then smirks. A few words escape her mouth, very unkind ones as lipreaders would report. She steps forward…
….and spits right at the feet of Michael Draven! The crowd breaks out in a chorus of boos as Draven's expression changes.
Eryk Masters: And Michael Draven clearly didn't care too much for that response from Madison!
Jason Johnson: Absolutely not!
Michael Draven stands before Madison exhausted, frustrated, and you can almost see the anger boiling up inside. His hands on his hips, he just stares at the younger Seton, who jaws a bit more before laughing and making a "crybaby" gesture with both hands. Draven nods, cracking a brief smile…
….and then LUNGES forward, decimating Seton with a headbutt right to the face! The crowd gasps in shock once again as Seton crumples to the mat.
Eryk Masters: Oh my goodness!
Jason Johnson: Absolutely uncalled for! What a crybaby move from Michael Draven! What a cheapshot!
Eryk Masters: I think we might need some medics out here, look at Maddie Seton!
Indeed, Seton lifts her head up and we see the blood gushing down her face, from her nose and possibly a spot on her forehead as well; the crowd roaring in approval seeing her bloodied. Meanwhile, Michael Draven is crouched in the corner now, in an unusual position, waiting for Seton to get up a little more off the mat…
Jason Johnson: Oh my goodness! He's going to curb stomp her broken face straight into the mat! Do you understand what this is, Eryk?!
Eryk Masters: I believe I do…that's the manuever that nearly ended his career almost a decade ago!
Jason Johnson: That's it, Masters! The curb stomp, popularized by The Stranger himself, one Indrid Calder, and he nearly put Draven out of the sport on a permanent basis! The man shattered Draven's leg with the help of this move and a cinder block…I can't believe he's resorting to this! This is a bit of an overreaction, Draven!
Madison gets both arms under her, and lifts her head up a little bit more, causing Michael to spring to life as he races towards Seton…
…and the lights go out.
Jason Johnson: NOW what?!
A few moments pass, with flashes from the crowd as the fans try to snap a picture of what's going on with the flash from their cell phones. The darkness ends abruptly as the arena lights fire back on….and we see Michael Draven almost immediately backpedal from the center of the ring into the corner, retreating so fast that he actually falls backwards, his back landing against the turnbuckles….
Eryk Masters: What the…would you look at the expression on that man's face?!
Michael Draven indeed looks as though he's seen a ghost. All the color has drained from the man's face, and his mouth hangs open in a lifeless O as he gets a clear glimpse, along with the rest of the world, at Madison Seton, who is now seemingly on her back, unconscious.
With a raven's feather on her face.
We hear a loud burst of distorted static and feedback over the PA system, and suddenly more feathers, hundreds and hundreds, enough to partially blot out the lights overhead, begin fluttering down from the ceiling. Black as midnight, the feathers begin landing in the ring, covering the canvas, soaking up some of the blood seeping from Madison's face. Michael is apopletic, staring ahead in what can only be described as shock and disbelief….
Jason Johnson: Allow me to give you a history lesson, ladies and gentlemen! Those features are the calling card of none other than perhaps the most enigmatic, twisted and violent men ever to walk the face of this earth! That is the mark of The Stranger, whom you all may remember as Indrid Calder! Calder must be here in SHOOT Project! Indrid Calder has returned!
Eryk Masters: And Michael Draven looks absolutely terrified!
Indeed, Draven's petrified, not having moved a muscle, until one of the falling talismans brushes up against his arm. That breaks the former EWA champion's hypnosis, and he immediately slides under the ring, BOLTING to the back!
Eryk Masters: I don't even know what to say about this, folks, but I will tell you this. All signs point to Indrid Calder being here in SHOOT, and if this is true, nothing and no one is safe from that man's wrath.
Jason Johnson: If he even is a man…
Eryk Masters: I'm told we have a camera on…yes? Okay? Yes, we're going backstage to Michael Draven now…
We cut backstage, where Draven's locker room door bursts open. Draven explodes out from the locker room, with his tag team partner, X-Calibur, following him, shouting out questions. Michael ignores them all, taking off in a sprint towards the exit doors of the arena. Draven hits the exit door like a freight train, sending it flying open, and our cameraman gets to it in time to see Draven climbing into a rental car, starting it, and gunning off into the night….
"I take more joy in this sport than most"
The scene fades in, backstage at Master of the Mat and walking to the ring is the Empire State champ Johnny Napalm. Almost two weeks of training he looks more cut out of granite and it made the look in his eyes more dangerous than he has ever been.
Johnny Napalm: I always say what you see is what you get, tonight Ricky Tenet you cash in your title chance, you did beat me in the tournament, you kept me from getting into the finals, but this time around. I am done being nice.
Napalm keeps walking towards the ring with no jacket this time just the empire state title around his waist.
Johnny Napalm: I have studied everything on you Tenet, and you will not be facing the same one in the tournament. You want to see the real me? The one who will wreck shit to hold what he holds dear to him. You got a front row seat, in that ring standing in the opposite corner, my opponent, my challenger, my target. Your dad will not be able to save you, he has more important things to deal with tonight, I bet some can see it, father and son both champions. Sounds rather nice don't it.
Napalm stops staring into the camera with a look of death on him.
Johnny Napalm: I beg to disagree, cause tonight Tenet I will put you through the grinder, you might be a prodigy being the son of our world champ. But you're stepping into this ring with one of the most unrecognized monsters in this sport. Always underestimated, always called a joke. Tonight in that ring, you get me and you get every bit of wrath that you got coming to you of over twenty years in this sport.. You beat me in the tournament, but not many have given me the respect. You are the final stepping stone to that World Title picture. I am the monster everyone should fear, I am the veteran that has done shit in my life that would make purists lose their lunch. I am the fucking threat that no one aknowledges. After tonight, there will be no doubt. You have a long career ahead of you kid, but tonight you hit the wall.
Johnny Napalm: I am the Empire State champ, I am the motherfucking gatekeeper, and tonight, Ricky Tenet.
Johnny Napalm: Bring everything you got, because I will take it all, then break you. Take this title if you can. You're stepping in that ring with a veteran, who is done being the punching bag.
Johnny Napalm: Time for SHOOT to get a wake-up call. This threat is more than real.
The night heads toward its grand finale, a Triple Threat match for the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight championship. There's an eerie sense of calm that begins to settle over the usually high-stress environment as the night winds down, one that happens every event as its conclusion comes within inches, especially within the corridor filled with the dressing rooms for the SHOOT talent.
The calm is betrayed as the World Heavyweight champion himself, COREY LAZARUS, exits his room and enters the hallway, flanked by AEGIS Security. He jogs in place, popping the hood of his entrance jacket over his head, and throws some shadow punches toward the wall.
Ricky Tenet: Dad! Hey, dad!
Corey throws his hood back as RICKY TENET runs up, his newly won Empire State championship held over his shoulder. Lazarus smiles and nudges past the AEGIS guards ahead of him, catching his son in a celebratory embrace.
Corey Lazarus: 'Atta boy, kiddo! Congratulations!!
Lazarus sniffs as they separate, adjusting the World title around his waist. Ricky wipes his sweat-drenched hair from his eyes, his adrenaline still running wild.
Corey Lazarus: …someone's gotten into a little champagne, I see.
Ricky Tenet: Heh…yeah…about that…
They laugh and hug again, a glimmer of wetness in Corey's eye as he tightens his grip around "the Iron Saint."
Ricky Tenet: I don't know how…I don't…
Corey Lazarus: Don't sell yourself short, buckaroo. You earned this, you understand me?
Lazarus breaks the hug, slapping the center plate of the Empire State title.
Corey Lazarus: You. Earned. THIS. Now wear it with some goddamn PRIDE!
Lazarus pulls the belt from his son's shoulder and shoves it against his waist, running behind him to buckle it on. Ricky's smile can't fade as he slams his eyes shut, desperately trying not to sob.
Corey Lazarus: Hey…hey, hey, hey…
Corey turns his son back around and goes into something rarely seen from him, a full-on "dad mode," as his hands grip Tenet's shoulders.
Corey Lazarus: Look at me, dig? Hey, look up here. At my eye.
Ricky takes in a deep breath and looks up, blinking rapidly.
Ricky Tenet: I just wish…I j-just…
Corey Lazarus: I know, I know…she'd be proud of you, but she'd also hate it.
Ricky nods and laughs, wiping his eyes.
Ricky Tenet: Yeah…yeah she would have…
Corey Lazarus: Now what you need to do is get into the room, give that fiancée of yours a ring, and let her know…
Corey's voice raises as his attention turns to the AEGIS guards surrounding them, his words echoing down the hall.
Corey Lazarus: …DRINKS ARE ON THE HOUSE AT XANAX TONIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!
One of the AEGIS guards visibly pumps his fist as Corey pats Ricky on the shoulder.
Corey Lazarus: Now…got time for a picture with your old man? Does…does anyone have a camera, or something?
A guard pulls out his phone as Ricky and Laz wrap an arm around each other, each keeping one hand on their respective championship belts. The guard snaps a few pictures and gives a thumbs up, pocketing his phone while Corey, again, pats his son on the back.
Corey Lazarus: Alright, slick. The old man's got some work to do. We'll celebrate later tonight, dig?
Ricky Tenet: Yeah…I dig…
Tenet wipes his eyes again before they give each other one more firm hug before they depart. Ricky heads back toward the dressing room as Corey throws his hood back up, cracking his neck to either side.
Corey Lazarus: Come on, folks. It's time to rock n' fucking ROLL.
The crowd is stunned. There's a brief moment of silence before the inevitable announcement.
Samantha Coil: The winner of this match… annnnnd… NEEEEEEEEW… SHOOT PROJECT…… WORLD..HEAVYWEIGHT……….. CHAMPION………
The torrent of booing commences, nearly drowning out Samantha's legendary voice. We see DEPRAVITY and Sammy Rochester making their way into the ring to celebrate with their leader. Their champion…
Samantha Coil: ARRRRRRTHUUURRRRRRRR… PLEASANT!!!!
Eryk Masters: I legitimately can't believe this.
Jason Johnson: Unfortunately, you have to. Arthur Pleasant is the Heavyweight Champion of the damn World. We are in uncharted territory, folks.
Eryk Masters: Wait a second!! What the HELL?!
We see a large, hooded figure hop over the barrier. He slowly moves into the ring without the event staff or security noticing. You see a nod towards the GODSEND. The mysterious figure waits for Corey Lazarus to turn around. As he does, the large figure throws a front kick and Corey tries to catch it, only for it to get redirected into a Question Mark kick!
Eryk Masters: I know of only three men that can do that kick. And I hope I'm wrong on any of them!
The man pulls off his hood and glares down towards the fallen Lazarus. The audience is stunned. Almost like they have seen a ghost. DEPRAVITY cheers in approval. She knows exactly who this man is. Sammy is still at ringside and you see his silent nod.
Jason Johnson: No! It can't be. Alejandro, you jackass! What are you doing?!!
The man known as Jaime Alejandro pulls a microphone from the stunned Samantha Coil. He glares at her for a moment and she backs away from him.
Jaime Alejandro: Hear me well, Corey. While you lie there in some considerable pain in your lower jaw. You are NOT the last icon left. Not even close, Hollywood. Allow this, parasites, to be a declaration. Your NEGLIGENCE created ME! Praise be to he. PRAISE BE TO THE GODSEND!
Ricky Tenet runs out from the back with AEGIS security in tow. The old gunslinger looks at the army of men and grins at them. He looks at the distraught son of Corey Lazarus. Ricky looks at the man who attacked his father with anger and sadness. NEGLIENCE shakes his head at Ricky and rolls backwards over the rope and lands perfectly on the floor.
Jason Johnson: Jaime Alejandro pledging his allegiance to Arthur Pleasant! The GODSEND… If the Saint has joined DeMONSTRANce…
Eryk Masters: Arthur Pleasant just gained a powerful voice and trump card to use against anyone in SHOOT. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm fearing for the entire future of SHOOT Project.
Jason Johnson: The man who made Isaac Entragian human… Is now the Herald of DeMONSTRance. God help us all.
The camera shows DEPRAVITY up on Arthur's shoulders, holding his new belt over her shoulders. She looks down at her new brother, as she's being held up by her GODSEND. Sammy Rochester, the Face of DESTRUCTION, gives NEGLIGENCE an approving hug from the side. NEGLIGENCE stares into the ring, glaring at the security and the chaos he created.
Eryk Masters: And as if Jamie Alejandro becoming a member of The DeMONSTRance wasn't terrible enough, I think we're all quickly reminded of the sobering fact Arthur Pleasant has finally done what he's set out to do since Corey Lazarus won the title. He's beaten him, and a VERY game NC-17, for his first ever World Heavyweight Championship.
Jason Johnson: He's going to be unbearable. I mean, even MORESO. If that's even… possible?
Eryk Masters: Oh, I think it's possible.
Jason Johnson: What I can't fathom at this point, is how Arthur completely MANIPULATED an astounding amount of people into weaseling his way into this match. KNOWING there was a possibility he might not beat Jamie Johnson in the finals of the Master of the Mat, he designed a backup plan that he KNEW Corey Lazarus would fall for based on the pure hatred the now former champ has for Arthur.
The GODSEND has DEPRAVITY hop down from his shoulders. She then places it around his waist, tightening the championship snap by snap.
"BOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
Eryk Masters: I can't stomach this. I'm out.
Pleasant raises his arms in victory, with the title snug around his waist, then performs a mockery of a victory lap around the ring while trash is being pelted against him.
The GODSEND: I DID IT, MAMA! I DID IT!
The commentary booth is silent at this point as Pleasant reaches the ramp-side apron where DEPRAVITY holds the ropes for him to climb through them. Snapping his fingers, Sammy Rochester hurries to him and gets down on all fours as a step stool. Pleasant then steps through the ropes, courtesy of DEPRAVITY, and then steps down across Sammy's back until his feet touch the outside mat.
Looking up at DEPRAVITY, Pleasant motions for her to jump into his arms. She obliges with a maniacal cackle and kisses the NEW World Heavyweight Champion on his lips for a full-on, gross-out make-out session right up the middle of the aisle.
More trash is thrown towards Arthur's direction, as Jaime Alejandro, now known as NEGLIGENCE, leaves the ring, not even bothering to look back at the damage he's done to Laz. Instead, he walks up to the three members of The DeMONSTRANCE.
DEPRAVITY.
DESTRUCTION.
AND NOW… NEGLIGENCE.
As the copyright materializes on the screen, all four stop at the entrance ramp. DEPRAVITY climbs down from her GODSEND's arms, and the Face of DESTRUCTION looks at NEGLIGENCE with loving admiration.
The GODSEND removes the championship from around his waist and holds it up with one arm, before hanging it over DEPRAVITY's shoulder. From there, all four of them BOW, as if they'd reached the end of a performance to a play.