Static.
A deep, distorted voice speaks out that sounds like it’s coming over a vintage 1950’s radio.
TO ALL MY LISTENERS OUT THERE, THIS ONE’S FOR YOU.
The distorted voice unscrambles to the lyrics of a song.
♫ “I know you’ll excuse me if I say goodnight”♫
♫ I’ve got a promise to fulfill ♫
♫ Thank you for listening to my troubles ♫
♫ Pardon me, I’ve got someone to kill ♫
♫ I warned him not to try and take her from me ♫
♫ He laughed and said if I can you know I will ♫
♫ So tonight when they get home I’ll be waiting ♫
♫ Pardon me, I’ve got someone to kill ♫
♫ I know I’ll surely die for what I’m about to do ♫
♫ But it don’t matter I’m a dead man anyhow ♫
♫ This gun will buy back the pride they took from me ♫
♫ And also end this life of mine, that’s worthless now ♫
♫ By the time you tell the sheriff, it’ll all be over ♫
♫ He’ll find me at their big house on the hill ♫
♫ He’ll find a note explaining why I killed us all ♫
♫ Now it’s time to go, I’ve got someone to kill. ♫
AHHHH WHAT A SONG. THAT WAS “PARDON ME, I’VE GOT SOMEONE TO KILL” BY JOHNNY PAYCHECK. WHAT A CLASSIC.
A shadowy, curvy, female figure from behind a set of curtains can be seen for just a moment.
IT’S TIME FOR A RECKONING.
Static.
The scene opens with a sweeping aerial shot of the Las Vegas skyline at night, neon lights illuminating the bustling streets. The camera pans over the iconic Epicenter, glowing with intensity and alive with the energy of the sold-out crowd inside.
Suddenly, the screen goes black. A heartbeat-like drumbeat begins, slow at first but building in intensity. The beat continues, reverberating louder and faster as sparks of electricity crackle across the screen. Words appear in bold lettering: “THE SHOOT PROJECT PRESENTS…”
A massive explosion of pyrotechnics erupts on screen, filling the Epicenter with dazzling lights and thunderous sound as the camera cuts to the arena.
Inside the Epicenter, the crowd is a sea of humanity, thousands of screaming fans waving signs, pounding on the barricades, and chanting in unison. The energy in the arena is a tangible force, buzzing with anticipation.
A golden spotlight sweeps across the entrance stage, revealing a massive, elaborate set designed to resemble an ancient battleground. Stone columns rise from the floor, jagged and cracked, with flames licking at their edges. Two colossal metal gates stand at the entrance ramp, emblazoned with the words “RECKONING DAY.”
The gates slowly creak open, and a wall of fire ignites, sending pillars of flame shooting into the air.
“Reckoning Day” by Megadeth blares through the arena speakers, and the entire venue comes alive as the music kicks into high gear.
The camera cuts to the announce table, where Jason Johnson and Eryk Masters sit, both dressed in their finest attire, exuding excitement and authority.
Jason Johnson: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grandest stage in all of professional wrestling. Welcome to the SHOOT Project… welcome to RECKONING DAY!
Eryk Masters: It’s finally here, Jason! The biggest night of the year, the night when legends are born, scores are settled, and champions are crowned! The Epicenter is absolutely on fire tonight, and the atmosphere is like nothing we’ve ever felt before!
Jason Johnson: You can feel it in the air, Eryk! The stakes have never been higher, the intensity never more palpable. Every competitor in that locker room knows what this night means. They know that this is their moment to seize greatness, to etch their names into the annals of history.
The camera cuts to a wide shot of the entrance stage as more pyrotechnics explode in a synchronized display of color and light.
Eryk Masters: And what a card we have tonight! Every single match is a main event in its own right! The SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship is on the line, the Sin City Championship will be defended, the Premier Championship, the World Tag titles, and SO MUCH MORE!
Jason Johnson: That’s right, Eryk! Rivalries will come to a head, alliances will be tested, and by the end of the night, we’re going to find out who truly has what it takes to stand tall on Reckoning Day!
The camera pans across the raucous crowd, zooming in on fans waving signs that read, “THIS IS MY RECKONING,” “HERE FOR THE FIGHT,” and “RISE OR FALL.”
Eryk Masters: Look at this crowd, Jason! These fans have waited all year for this night, and they’re ready to witness history unfold right before their eyes. This is what the SHOOT Project is all about! Blood, sweat, and passion!
Jason Johnson: Tonight is not just a night of competition, Eryk. It’s a night of reckoning! Each match, each moment, will push these warriors to their absolute limits. There will be triumphs… and there will be heartbreak.
The camera cuts back to the entrance stage, where the golden spotlight returns, highlighting the words “RECKONING DAY” emblazoned across the massive gates.
Jason Johnson: So buckle up, SHOOT Nation! Because the road to destiny starts right now! This is Reckoning Day… and it’s time to fight!
The camera zooms in as the gates burst open, fire and smoke billowing out as the first competitor’s music hits, signaling the start of an unforgettable night of wrestling action.
The lights in the Epicenter dim, and the crowd erupts into a thunderous chorus of boos. A single spotlight illuminates the entrance stage, casting a golden glow that highlights a massive gilded throne, set atop a raised platform of polished marble. Ornate pillars, adorned with carved lions and opulent gold leaf, flank the sides of the stage, while a red velvet carpet rolls down the ramp, leading to the ring.
The arena is filled with the sound of “Make Way for the King” by Ohana Bam, and the pulse-pounding beat thunders through the Epicenter, commanding attention and announcing the arrival of the most reviled villain in the SHOOT Project: Joshua Breedlove.
As the music builds, the golden throne begins to rise higher into the air, carried upward on a hydraulic lift. Seated atop the throne, with a smug grin of unparalleled arrogance plastered across his face, is Joshua Breedlove himself. He wears a lavish, custom-made robe of crimson and gold, the fabric shimmering as if spun from pure arrogance. His shoulders are adorned with golden pauldrons, and the robe’s train spills dramatically behind him.
The camera closes in on Breedlove as he casually lounges on the throne, one leg crossed over the other, looking down on the crowd as if they are beneath him. He raises a jewel-encrusted scepter high into the air, igniting a cascade of golden pyrotechnics that explode along the stage in a synchronized display.
The platform begins to move forward, slowly gliding down the ramp like a parade float of egotism, with Breedlove seated high above the crowd. The audience’s boos grow louder with each passing second, their disdain palpable as Breedlove soaks in their hatred with glee.
Halfway down the ramp, the platform stops, and the throne lowers slightly, bringing Breedlove closer to the audience. He stands dramatically dressed in a custom robe adorned with gold accents and the words “EMPEROR BREEDLOVE” emblazoned in obnoxiously large lettering across the back.
Breedlove leans over the edge of the platform, sneering down at the audience as he shouts out above the music.
Joshua Breedlove: The time has come to appreciate me, you PEASANTS. This is GREATNESS.
The crowd’s boos intensify, but Breedlove basks in it, arms outstretched, soaking up the animosity like it’s the finest applause.
The platform reaches the base of the ring, and Breedlove steps off, using the scepter to mockingly “clear the path” before him. He ascends the steel steps one deliberate step at a time, as if gracing the ring with his presence is a gift to all who witness it.
He steps into the ring and makes his way to the center, raising the scepter high above his head as golden confetti cannons erupt from the ring posts, showering him in a glittering storm of excess.
The music reaches its peak as Breedlove arrogantly spins in place, basking in the grandeur of his entrance. He finally points the scepter toward the entrance ramp, signaling for his opponent to come forth.
Joshua Breedlove: KAINE. Bring yourself to me. It’s time for a lesson.
The crowd roars with renewed boos, but Breedlove only smiles, reveling in the chaos he’s created. He tosses the scepter aside, cracks his neck, and drops into a casual, confident stance as he awaits his opponent.
POST MATCH
As the bell rings, Breedlove immediately rolls away from Josh Kaine and into the corner of the mat. He calls for a microphone and Samantha Coil hands him one. He pulls himself to his feet, still catching his breath.
Eryk Masters: Can’t this guy just, you know, win and then go to the back quietly?
Jason Johnson: Never, E. He will never ever do that.
An obnoxious rhythmic audio pop interrupts everything, as Joshua Breedlove has caught his breath and is ready to give his own comments as to what just transpired.
Breedlove: This dude was everything I imagined he would be and more. I LOVE fighting people like this, people who don’t know any better. People who don’t know when to keep their nose out of other business. People who don’t know when to quit, or even how to.
He motions towards Josh Kaine, who’s recovering in the opposite corner.
Breedlove: I’m serious, give this man his due.
The crowd gives a decent, if not confused sounding pop, which causes a Breedlove smile.
Breedlove: You’ve got some new choices in front of you, Josh, because here’s what happens next. You can take this moment and you can turn it into championship opportunities, merch sales, and elevation to that “next level” that you very clearly crave.
He pauses.
Breedlove: Or… you can “be a thorn in my side” and this is as high as you go. You’re SO close to hitting that new gear, so this is a really important, formative choice you’ve got in front of you. Do you take the Breedlove bump and introduce yourself to the world’s stage or are you cool with languishing in mediocrity? That’s where you’ll die if you want to keep barking up the Breedlove tree.
The crowd boos at the threat, Kaine just keeps his eyes locked with Breedlove, unflinching and unintimidated.
Breedlove: Choice is yours, but you gotta understand that after tonight, my focus is shifting fully back to Laura Seton, and know this… I’m going to fuck her up, and if she’s still the champion at the end of the night? I’m going to fuck her up and take her title, whether you’re there to try and stop me out of your white-knighty infatuation or not. So, enjoy the rest of the show, but pay close attention to what happens at the end of the night.
He smiles.
“Make Way for the King” hits, and we fade.
ENTRANCE
WHERE THERE'S SMOKE, THERE'S FIREFLIES
The lights in the Epicenter arena suddenly go dark as the scene is set for the massive grudge match between HEXXXED and SWARM.
Jason Johnson: Here we go, Eryk. Bugs versus Beasts! The final reckoning!
Eryk Masters: I didn’t realize you were so invested in this match, Jason.
Jason Johnson: Well, one of the teams kidnapped and abused my nephew and the other is just really, really creepy.
Eryk Masters: I am not sure those are comparable…
Jason Johnson: Either way, Eryk, I’ll enjoy seeing both of these teams get the snot kicked out of them. Let’s GOOOOO!
Out of the ruins…
Out of the wreckage…
Ghost’s cover of “We Don’t Need Another Hero” begins playing over the speakers as a red spotlight kicks on at the top of the rampway, revealing the familiar figure of NEMESIS, standing with her back to the ring as their burned and tattered ringway hangs loosely from their body. Above them, the jumbotron flashes an American flag.
We are the children…
The last generation…
Then a yellow spotlight snaps on across the other side of the stage as RAIKO stands rigid, her head lowered and covered in a tiger mask. A Japanese flag shines above her.
We are the ones they left behind…
A pink spotlight shines on Bellecose, her head and fist raised toward the ceiling, pointing towards Britain’s Union Jack.
And, I wonder when we are ever gonna change…
Then, a blue spotlight lands on Ayumi Seppku, blue lion mask donned as she is the sole HEXXXED member facing the ring. She looks from her left to her right as the Union Jack morphs into the rainbow pride flag, then the pink, purple, and blue of the bisexual pride flag; then the pink, yellow and blue of the pansexual pride flag; and orange, white, and magenta; black, gray, white, and purple; pink, green, and blue – multiple colors flashing across the screen as the music reaches its crescendo.
We don’t need another hero
We don’t need to know the way home
All we want is life beyond Thunderdome!
The house lights come up as all four members of HEXXXED are now facing the ring and begin to make their way down the rampway. As they do, a surprising number of fans begin to reach out their arms, and even more surprising is that the members of HEXXXED begin slapping the hands of dozens of fans as they approach the ring.
Jason Johnson: Now I’ve seen everythi-
The arena goes…blue. Blue light all around, intense, blinding.
Runnnnnnn
Runnnnnnn
Runnnnnnn mother fucker runnnnnnnn
“Streaker” by Tobacco hits over PA system. CICADA walks out first. He slowly stalks to the right side of the entrance ramp. LOCUST follows, slowly making his way to the left side. They both stare down the ramp at HEXXXED, waiting.
Runnnnnnn
Runnnnnnn
Runnnnnnn mother fucker runnnnnnnn
A blue flame erupts from the center of the ramp as all the lights in the arena turn on. When the flame disappears, WASP stands in the middle, glaring down at HEXXXED. The lights go OUT!
Jason Johnson: You know, it’s probably just a really good pyrotechnic and stage crew, but it also could just be magic.
When the lights come back, all three members of SWARM are in the ring, face to face with HEXXXED, with WASP directly in front of Ayumi. Ayumi keeps her cool, not allowing the heat of the moment to get to her.
Ayumi Seppuku: WASP… it doesn’t have to be like this. I’m not your enemy.
WASP: We made you an offer, you declined and your girl…
WASP and Bellacose lock eyes.
WASP: …made it very clear what this is going to be.
Ayumi Seppuku: Are you really so confident that you’re going to take us on four on three?
The camera locks in to a smirking WASP.
WASP: Oh Ayumi…
WASP wags her finger.
WASP: …we didn’t have to look hard to find an ally to join our cause.
Eryk Masters: They managed to convince someone to work with them? Who would be that suicidal?
WASP: There are far more people than you realize who want their pound of flesh from you. Including those who know exactly what your motivations are and always have been.
When there’s lightning, you know it always brings me down
‘Cause it’s free and I see that it’s me
Who’s lost and never found!
Eryk Masters: No fucking way.
Jason Johnson: No fucking way.
The crowd goes ballistic and Ayumi Seppuku’s expression drops as we see the edges of a white-fringed robe emerge from the back. WASP turns to look back as DAIHM FERGUSON steps forward to pose at the top of the rampway as Dio’s “Rainbow in the Dark” blares over the speakers..
Eryk Masters: This… what…. How…
Jason Johnson: You took the words out of my mouth, Eryk. This. What. How, indeed. I thought we’d never see Daihm Ferguson again after the absolutely barbaric psychological torture Ayumi put him through … but why in the world is he aligned with SWARM!?
Eryk Masters: Maybe he’s their newest recruit? DRAGONFLY?
Jason Johnson: Don’t joke about that…
Eryk Masters: Who’s joking!? Look… you can’t tell me he doesn’t fit the mold.
Daihm is wearing his classic dragon luchador mask, but even through the mask we can feel his eyes stabbing daggers into Ayumi as he makes his way down the rampway, tosses his robe into the crowd for one VERY lucky fan, and steps into the ring to join SWARM.
A big grin stretches across WASP’s face as she hands the microphone to Daihm. “The Dragon” raises the mic to his lips. Meanwhile, the HEXXXED leader lowers hers, stunned.
Daihm Ferguson: You don’t. Get to. Use me. Anymore.
The crowd EXPLODES as Daihm’s ragged and raspy voice utters seven clear and powerful words!
Ayumi’s teammates dig in their heels, collapsing around her as Daihm takes a step forward to close the distance between the pair.
Jason Johnson: We haven’t heard Daihm speak for nearly a year and a half and his first words back are a direct threat to Ayumi with HEXXXED with SWARM at his back.
The crowd is on their feet now as Ayumi and Daihm are just inches apart and despite her shock, Ayumi is trying as hard as she can to maintain her composure.
Ayumi Seppuku: Kings- Daihm. I’m… I’m so sorry.
Ayumi pauses, choked up, looking to Daihm for some kind of reaction but gets nothing but a cold stare back..
HEXXXED steps forward, aligned in a row, flanking Ayumi, as SWARM responds in kind, with WASP facing Bellecose, CICADA on RAIKO, and LOCUST on NEMESIS.
Daihm Ferguson: Not yet. You aren’t.
Daihm drops the microphone with a soft “thud” as the bell rings and the match gets underway!
POST MATCH
The bell rings and a once-again defeated HEXXXED retreats into their corner, watching as a confident SWARM gather around an emotional Daihm Ferguson who suddenly drops to his knees and holds his head.
While showing no clear emotions, the members of SWARM defend Daihm, prepared to protect him from anything HEXXXED might try. But as Ayumi breaks away from her team, she doesn’t raise a hand in anger … instead she extends an arm in congratulations.
Daihm looks up and eyes the gesture… but doesn’t return it. Instead he stands to his feet and reaches up, removing his dragon mask so Ayumi can see him – truly see him. In this victorious moment.
Ayumi, lowers her head and steps back toward HEXXXED and motions for them to leave the ring. Her teammates, particularly Bellecose, protest but Ayumi insists, gesturing for a microphone from the timekeeper’s table.
As he collects the mic, at first Ayumi looks pissed, but a strange smile starts to creep over her face.
Ayumi: You know what, good. Good for you Daihm. You deserved that, you EARNED that, so good for you.
Against all sense and reason, Ayumi is now standing alone – four on one – across from Daihm and SWARM. She looks the group over, her gaze finally landing on WASP.
Ayumi Seppuku: But you? You want me out of SHOOT? Want me to turn tail and run?
Ayumi runs a hand through her hair and lets out a dry laugh.
Ayumi Seppuku: I fucked up before. I admit it… before you, this crowd, and anyone watching at home I’ll say it loud and clear. I. Fucked. Up.
Ayumi pauses, her voice catching as she averts her eyes from Daihm’s.
Ayumi Seppuku: I’ll likely be paying for it long after I shuffle off this mortal coil.
She looks over to Daihm, wincing slightly before turning back to WASP.
Ayumi Seppuku: But that is MY cross to bear. How I want. WHEN I want. Not yours.
WASP shakes her head, laughing at Ayumi. Meanwhile, the HEXXXED leader holds up her fist into the air – followed by Bellecose, then RAIKO, then NEMESIS on the outside – and then… one member of the audience… and another… and then more and more and more until one third of the audience is joining HEXXXED in solidarity.
Ayumi Seppuku: There are more than enough assholes telling people like me – no, people like us – how we need to act and what we need to do just to “restore order” … you think you’re special, WASP? You’re not.
And you think coming after me will make you feel better? Because it won’t. And I’m sure as hell not walking away. So if ending my career is what it will take for you to leave my friends alone, then so be it; so go ahead, WASP… pull the damned trigger and do it already.
Ayumi screams into the mic before dropping it to the mat and changing her raised fist into a sign of surrender, raising both arms upward, as the crowd begins to become unhinged. A massive part of the crowd is champing at the bit to see what WASP will do to Ayumi while the remainder are pleading with her to get out of the ring.
WASP and Daihm look at each other and then back to Ayumi… and after a beat, Daihm shakes his head and exits the ring, leaving his temporary SWARM teammates… clearly not willing to engage in a 4 on 1 beatdown. WASP looks at her teammates in SWARM, her hive, and she shakes her head.
WASP: (off mic) No…not this easily. Not this quickly.
She gathers her teammates and guides them through the ropes and out of the ring. The two fighters never lose eye contact even as the two teams grow further and further apart. HEXXXED, despite their frustration and rage, allow SWARM to pass without further incident, the tension slowly defusing, but not for WASP, who walks backwards up the ramp, saying nothing, but never losing eye contact with Ayumi until she is behind the curtain.
IN THE RING
IT'S TIME TO DROP THE PUCK
The crowd is buzzing, the lights are dimmed, and the air is thick with anticipation. The commentary team barely has time to react before the entire arena is plunged into darkness. Then…
OH CANADA!
A massive spotlight beams onto the entrance ramp as a 25-foot-tall LED scoreboard is lowered from the rafters, displaying a flashing 3rd period countdown clock. The SHOOT Project big screen flickers to life, revealing footage of some of the greatest moments in Canadian hockey history, Paul Henderson’s Summit Series goal, Mario Lemieux’s golden moment, and Sidney Crosby’s Olympic winner, all intercut with The Punch Line’s own brutal in-ring highlights. The crowd roars as the sounds of hockey skates slicing across ice echo through the arena.
A HORN BLARES: A GOAL HAS BEEN SCORED!
BOOM! A massive explosion of red and white pyro erupts from the stage as a full marching band in Montréal Canadiens jerseys marches onto the ramp, blaring an over-the-top orchestral remix of Stompin’ Tom Connors’ “The Hockey Song.” Suddenly, an authoritative voice booms over the PA system…
LAAAADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, PUCK HEADS OF ALL AGES… THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR HAS ARRIVED! DIRECT FROM THE GREAT WHITE NORTH, THEY HAVE DEFEATED THE UNJUST, TRIUMPHED OVER CORRUPTION, AND INVOKED THE SACRED MAPLE CLAUSE TO RETURN TO THE GLORIOUS LAND OF SHOOT PROJECT!
STANDING AT A COMBINED WEIGHT OF PURE CANADIAN PRIDE, YOUR FORMERLY EXILED BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN HEROES… MR. CANADA, ROY VEZINA! THE CANADIAN SHIELD, HARV NORRIS! AND THE ROCKET HIMSELF, RICK HULL! THEY ARE… THE PUUUUNCH LIIIIIIIINE!!!
As the crowd erupts, the LED scoreboard drops a giant animated Zamboni onto the screen as a REAL, ACTUAL ZAMBONI drives out onto the stage. Sitting atop it like conquering heroes are The Punch Line, decked out in full hockey gear, jerseys emblazoned with their own faces, and hockey sticks raised high like championship banners.
But they’re not alone.
Skating onto the ramp from both sides are six full-sized hockey enforcers, dressed in SHOOT Project-branded gear. They line up like a defensive wall, glaring at the crowd like they’re about to drop the gloves and start throwing hands.
The Zamboni slowly makes its way to ringside, where a specially designed mini-ice rink has been set up in place of the standard entrance ramp. Harv Norris jumps off first, landing in a near-perfect slapshot stance. Roy Vezina follows, holding up a signed copy of the legal letter from QWET, waving it like a Stanley Cup victory speech. Finally, Rick Hull dismounts last, dramatically cracking a hockey stick over his knee before tossing the pieces into the crowd.
The ring mat has been temporarily transformed into a faux hockey rink, complete with blue lines and face-off circles. A REAL NHL REFEREE (or at least a really convincing indie ref in full gear) enters the ring, holding a customized SHOOT Project-branded hockey puck.
NHL Ref: Gentlemen… welcome back. It’s time to drop the puck.
The Punch Line gather in the center of the ring as the ref drops the ceremonial puck. The second it hits the mat— BOOM! ANOTHER EXPLOSION OF PYRO, sending streamers and confetti flying as the LED scoreboard flashes: THE PUNCH LINE WINS!
As the fans go wild, The Punch Line tear off their jerseys, revealing their official new SHOOT Project wrestling gear underneath. Harv Norris pounds his chest like a lunatic, Roy Vezina poses like he’s about to be knighted, and Rick Hull stands stoically, barely reacting, like a true goon who’s seen it all.
Roy Vezina grabs the mic as the hockey enforcers throw mini hockey pucks with The Punch Line’s faces on them into the crowd.
Roy Vezina: You tried to keep us out! You tried to shut us down! But thanks to the most sacred of Canadian laws, THE MAPLE CLAUSE, WE. ARE. BACK! AND SHOOT PROJECT? You can bet your sweet, syrup-loving butts that we’re here to take over!
Harv Norris: B’ys, we got da whole team back, we got da law on our side, and best believe… we droppin’ da gloves real soon! So, any o’ ye’s want a problem? Step up to da blue line, ya coward!
Rick Hull: …It’s over for you all.
As the Punch Line celebrates, the arena roof literally “snows” down red and white confetti, simulating a full-blown hockey championship celebration. The lights dim, the band plays one last over-the-top horn blast, and the crowd loses their minds. The last thing we see? The LED scoreboard flashing the words…
WELCOME BACK, EH?
PREVIOUSLY RECORDED
THE WAR IS COMING
The scene opens in a nearly empty arena, bathed in the cool blue glow of the overhead lights as the SHOOT Project crew methodically assembles the battlefield for the night ahead. The ring is nearly finished, turnbuckles tightened, ropes tested, the canvas stretched and smoothed out. High above, technicians adjust the lighting rigs, making sure every beam is aimed just right. The sound team runs final checks, their voices echoing softly through the cavernous venue. The seats are empty now, but in mere hours, this place will be deafening.
And in the midst of it all, walking slowly around the arena, is Austin Anderson. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie, his hair slightly damp as if he just stepped out of the shower. There is no urgency in his steps, no cameras in his face, no adrenaline just yet. Just silence. And he breathes it in.
He walks alongside the barricades, trailing his fingers along the steel as he takes in his surroundings. This is the calm before the storm, the moment before everything changes. He stops near the timekeeper’s area, looking at the seat where the World Heavyweight Championship will soon rest. He exhales slowly.
Austin Anderson: (softly, to himself) Tonight… it’s me and Laura.
He steps away from the barricade and onto the entrance ramp, looking up at the massive screen above him. Laura Seton vs. Austin Anderson – SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship. His name in bold letters, next to hers. The match he’s chased his whole career, the moment he’s dreamt about for decades. He lingers there, staring at it for a long moment.
A technician walks by, carrying cables over his shoulder. He stops when he sees Anderson and nods respectfully.
Technician: Big night, huh?
Anderson smirks slightly, nodding.
Austin Anderson: Biggest one yet.
The technician chuckles before continuing his work, leaving Anderson alone once more. He moves toward the ring, climbing the steel steps slowly, placing a hand on the ring post as if feeling its weight, its history. He steps between the ropes and stands in the center, closing his eyes for a moment.
Austin Anderson: (whispering to himself) This is where I belong.
He drops to a knee, running a hand over the canvas, as if grounding himself in the moment. In just a few hours, this ring will be alive, Laura Seton will stand across from him, the championship on the line, the crowd roaring, the stakes at their absolute peak. But right now? Right now, it’s just him and the ring. And maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.
He looks up at the empty seats, picturing the thousands who will soon fill them. The banners, the lights, the sound, the energy, it all fades into the background. All that matters is this ring, this match, this moment.
He stands up, taking one last look around, before stepping back out of the ring. He doesn’t need to say anything else. The work is done. The moment is coming. And tonight, Austin Anderson will give everything he has left.
The camera lingers as Anderson walks back up the ramp, leaving the arena floor behind, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. The stage is set. The war is coming.
Fade to black.
POST MATCH
Laura lies exhausted on the mat after the bell sounds. Joshua Breedlove stands over her, holding the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship. Kneeling down, he holds the title up with one hand, smiling. Laura crawls over to the corner, while the rest of the Breedlove Empire watches with an unmistakable eagerness from outside of the ring.
Eryk Masters: Oh God. The whole damn Empire is there!!
Jason Johnson: Come on, already. She just won the match. You even counted his shoulders down, Joshua!
Like Masters just said, they’re all there. The Collins Twins. Joey Burkhalter. Mike de la Huesos. Cromwell Yarbury. Muratagi Hanzo.
And of course, The Devil’s Advocates. Jeffrey James Roberts, as expected. And maybe unexpected, Arthur Pleasant.
They surround the ring like a bunch of lumberjacks. Like a bunch of lumberjacks sent from hell itself.
Laura Seton: You will NEVER win this war!!
Joshua Breedlove: Oh, I don’t know about th–
All of a sudden, there’s a voice on a microphone from backstage.
???: NOPE. I said we’re NOT doing this any-fucking-more!!
The fans roar with approval as they see X-Calibur race down the ramp in his black boots, black jeans, and an old white SHOOT Project tank top!
Of all people, Arthur Pleasant is the first to stand in his way. Before Pleasant can even say anything, X blasts Pleasant with a vicious clothesline that sends his own bastard son down hard onto the outside mat. Keeping with his momentum, he slides under the bottom rope, half way into the ring. Standing up, in one fluid motion, he turns Breedlove around from Laura and BLASTS him in the jaw with a stiff left hand!
The Epicenter comes UNGLUED!
“X-Cal! X-Cal! X-Cal!”
“AN-GEL-FIRE!”
“X-CAL! X-CAL! X-CAL!”
“AN-GEL-FIRE!”
Jason Johnson: Holy shit! What a left hook that was!
Eryk Masters: I’ll say! I think it even took Breedlove by surprise!
Breedlove goes down right on his ass, holding his jaw. X stands in front of Laura in the corner of the ring, protecting her like a lion protecting his lioness. She’s halfway to her feet, when she realizes what happened. Looking at X, Laura hugs her long time friend and colleague as a “thank you” for “saving her”. X pats her hand, acknowledging the sweet gesture.
Eryk Masters: Breedlove thought he was going to have Laura all to himself, with EVERYONE from the Empire watching. But the Emperor of Opportunity didn’t pick the right one to do so, it seems!
Jason Johnson: There was no way X was going to stand idly by and watch the woman he’s loved since time immemorial be beaten down like a dog.
X and Laura move away from Breedlove, towards the middle of the ring.
Jason Johnson: Uh, yeah something doesn’t feel right here. Keep your eyes on Breedlove.
As soon as Laura steps to the side, standing side by side with her long time friend, Breedlove removes his hand from his mouth.
Laura looks confused.
X cocks his head unexpectedly.
There’s a giant smirk in place of any grimace of pain Breedlove might’ve had from that stiff right hand X-Calibur gave him.
Joshua Breedlove[receiving a microphone from Michael Collins]: Damn, X! That actually hurt! What did we say about hitting?!
Breedlove makes circles with his jaw, working out the tightness and any immediate swelling he might’ve been going through from the punch. He stands up, looking at X and Laura. X holds Laura back, yelling at her to not fall for Breedlove’s shit.
Joshua Breedlove: So, I know you just went through it and I know you were maybe a little surprised I counted this victory for you, but… and here’s where it gets a little melodramatic… I invited you to a little surprise party in the lead-up to this event. Consider it a belated… CHRISTMAS present!
BAAAAAAM!
Jason Johnson: WHAAAAT?!
Eryk Masters: THE?!
Jason Johnson: FUCK?!
Upon hearing the word “Christmas”, X-Calibur looks over his shoulder towards Laura, and drops the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Champion with a nasty, old school, soul-crushing X-Terminator. The crowd screams in outraged unison as X falls to his knees by her side. The look on his face tells it all.
Shame.
Failure.
Disgust.
All for himself.
He betrayed the one person he swore to himself he never would.
Eryk Masters: I don’t believe this shit. I… come ON, X!
Jason Johnson: X stands up and goes to leave the ring, but Breedlove snaps his fingers at the Hall of Famer, causing him to turn around.
Joshua Breedlove: Where are you going, old man? Did you think that’s all I’d require? Hahaha! No. Not at all. You’re not done by a long shot! Because when you took that black envelope? It meant you give me EVERYTHING when I tell you to. Now finish the job, X. This is going to be fun to watch!
With everyone realizing what is happening now, the boos begin to rain down upon X-Calibur. Laura reaches up with her hand, putting it on X’s face.
Laura Seton: …X…I…
She goes to say something, but X swipes her hand away and rips her up to her feet by the hair. On wobbly legs, Breedlove hands X-Calibur the very title that Laura just successfully defended in a remarkable Reckoning Day main event… and levels the fuck out of her with it. She goes down hard against the canvas and a crimson gash in her forehead immediately opens up.
Kneeling beside her, X is in near tears.
X-Calibur: Too late. And I’m… so sorry for that.
Rolling Laura over onto her face, he places her directly onto the World Heavyweight Championship. Grabbing a chair from Breedlove, who received it from Rowland this time, X holds it up over his head. Looking out at the entire Epicenter, he looks around at all the faces of people watching on.
Kids are crying.
Women are crying.
Men are crying.
Everyone is devastated by this unfathomable betrayal.
With Laura’s face pressed against the World Heavyweight Championship, X brings the chair down onto the back of Laura’s cranium, creating a loud, sickening, echoing chair shot heard round the fucking world.
Jason Johnson: JESUS, NO!!
Eryk Masters: GET SOME HELP OUT HERE FOR LAURA NOW!!
SHOOT Sec comes out in droves, but the entire Breedlove Empire has them cut off at the pass.
Reaching up towards the heavens again, X brings the chair back down across the soft part of Laura’s skull.
Eryk Masters: STOP THIS!! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HER!!
Jason Johnson: [throws his headset down in disgust]
X peels Laura’s broken face up from the championship title, and shows it to Breedlove. He removes the title from Laura’s forehead and tosses it aside as if it’s of no consequence. While showing Breedlove his “scalp” he just took, X looks down at the blood that has stained Laura’s hair, the mat, and the underside of the championship title. He continues to shake his head in a self-loathing manner.
X-Calibur: … satisfied?
Joshua Breedlove: Hmm. Am I satisfied, though? Am I?
Breedlove slowly walks to Laura, and looks into her eyes, seeing how they’re almost rolled into the back of her head.
Joshua Breedlove: I… I mean… I guess…hmm.
X-Calibur: ARRRRRRGHHHH!!!!!!!!
X shoves Breedlove aside, pulls Laura up just enough to place her in his signature grapevine Kimura Lock, the Tap Or Snap. Screaming, X puts immeasurable pressure onto the arm while blood flows down onto his arms and hands.
Suddenly, there’s a sickening pop.
Joshua Breedlove: Oh! That sounded neat.
X-Calibur releases the Kimura Lock, and shoves Laura away from him. Like a kill he didn’t want added to his jacket. X digs his feet into the mat and separates himself from Laura and Breedlove until he’s leaning against the bottom rope.
Hands covered in blood, X simply sobs into them while Breedlove looks on in all his twisted glory.
Eryk Masters: I think we just witnessed the end of Laura Seton. I don’t know what else to say.
Pulling himself together, X slides his hands down his face, unintentionally covering himself in Laura’s blood. Grabbing the top rope, X looks at all the eyes from the capacity crowd all locking with his.
He feels their judgment.
He feels like his world just ended.
But as he realizes how much of Laura’s blood is caked to his own face, he realizes Laura’s just did too.
Breedlove waltzes out towards X-Calibur, and turns him around.
Extending a hand, Breedlove smiles evilly.
Joshua Breedlove: That… was… amazing! I think this is the beginning of something truly beautiful. Wouldn’t you say?
X lowers his head, and after a beat… he extends his own hand until they’re clasped together. Raising his head back up…
…X smiles?
FADE.
TO.
BLACK.