EP.: 212
DATE: 07.21.2024
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
The Eagles’ classic “Life in the Fast Lane” hits the speakers and the crowd comes to life.
Jason Johnson: Nothing like a good classic to kick things off for Revolution!
Eryk Masters: Amen, brother!
Just as the classic hits the Epicenter’s Epispeakers, three words appear on the SHOOTron in a colorful, fancy graphic.
Jason Johnson: Vito Valentino’s dominating performance last week in the qualifier for the third ever Iron Will Classic means the entire SHOOT Project has one HELL of an obstacle to get through!
Eryk Masters: Given that he knocked out two of his three opponents before getting the three-count on a very game Kazna, I’d say ‘obstacle’ would be an understatement. Anybody that’s been sleeping on this guy’s ability up until this point needs to have their heads examined.
Jason Johnson: Well said, Eryk!
Eryk Masters: It’s been like, what, twenty years now? I have my moments.
Vito makes his way down the ramp, high-fiving and bumping fists with all of his fans. Pointing to one sign in particular that says “I’M A SMASHER!”, Vito grabs it and holds it up to the camera to a collective cheer. Handing it back to the twenty-something fan and quickly climbs up the steps. Wearing jeans and a black tank top with a pink SHOOT Project Spartan Helmet, Vito steps between the ropes and enters the ring.
Motioning towards the fans in one of the corners, Vito does his ‘Classic’ muscle pose as flashbulbs all go off at once. Hopping down from the corner, Vito asks for a microphone from the timekeeper’s area. A few moments later, as “Life in the Fast Lane” fades, he grabs the microphone from a ringside technician.
Holding it up to his mouth, he pauses, listening to the Epicenter chant his name.
“VI-TO! VI-TO! VI-TO!”
Once the chants die down, Vito nods in appreciation.
Vito Valentino: I appreciate that, Smashers! You can thank that young fan over there for giving me the idea! Don’t worry, my guy. Royalties will be on your way.
Some of the audience laughs as Vito takes another moment to acknowledge the crowd.
Vito Valentino: So, appreciation. That’s kind of why I’m out here right now, actually. There’s a lot of things I appreciate right now as a SHOOT Project Soldier.
Someone yells, “Marry Me, Vito!” and whistles. Vito chuckles at the flamboyant looking gentleman cosplaying as Maximo and continues.
Vito Valentino: I appreciate the impact I seem to be makin’ here in SHOOT. The brass by bein’ involved in opportunity after opportunity since my arrival. In the cup of coffee I’ve been here, i don’t think it’s oversteppin’ for me to say I’ve managed to make myself as a standout competitor.
Vito paces for a moment, thinking back to the last couple of months.
Vito Valentino: For starters, I’ve seen myself get a shot at winnin’ the most prestigious tournament in all of professional wrestling, even if I didn’t make it out of the second round. All thanks, of course, to the proper humblin’ I got from Kid Burkhalter. Shame he didn’t make it to the Iron Will Classic; there’s nothin’ more I’d love to do than send him a receipt like I sent to the Second Son, but I digress.
Then, based on what I can only assume was a Soldier evaluation of sorts, I received a shot at the Premier Championship. Even though I saw fit to eliminate half the field that stood in my way, a simple roll-up thing-a-ma-jig caught me off balance and sent me on my way back to the showers.
And now?
Vito pauses.
Vito Valentino: Here I am, on my way to the third ever Iron Will Classic. Pretty crazy if you think about it.
My second only PPV for SHOOT. SECOND! And I have the opportunity to become not only Sin City Champion, not only Premier Champion, but also WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!
Some of the crowd roars at this and a louder, MUCH louder “VI-TO! VI-TO!” chant breaks out all across the Epicenter.
Vito Valentino: As fun as it is to think about all the cute little ‘Vito 3-Belts’ or ‘Vito The Trio’ slogans bein’ placed on t-shirts in a post-Iron Will SHOOTverse, I’m not gonna get ahead of myself here. All that talent in that ring? This is gonna be a fuckin’ BATTLE, folks.
And I’m fuckin’ here for it.
The crowd roars at the mere thought of the incoming chaos that awaits them all at the PPV.
Vito Valentino: But I’m not deterred by that. No fuckin’ way. Unlike a lot of these comic book cosplay cowards masqueradin’ as wrestlers around here, I’ve shown it before that “The CRITICAL! King” can knock anyone the fuck out with a perfectly placed powerbomb. Iif I have to do it to LOCUST, RIA, or , no offense to the legend herself, Lindsay Troy? You best believe I’m gonna do it.
‘Cause that is what MATTERS!
The 23-Year long SHOOT Project die-hards get hype with Vito’s impassioned words.
Vito Valentino: Not the HEXXX garbage and Ayumi Seppuku needin’ someone to change her fuckin’ diaper so she’s not so outta her goddamn MIND the next time she wants to deliver an ancient civilization lesson to the sleepin’ masses!
MOAR ROARS!
Vito Valentino: Not this torture porn horse shit duo we see from the likes of the Devil’s Advocates!
EVEN MOOOOOAR ROOOAAARS!
Vito Valentino: And certainly not this culture of delusion from the Spitter-influenced, petulant ass fuckin’ children. Children who constantly run their mouths at every opportunity, ill-timed or not,‘cause they know they’re not good enough to speak what they’ve been vomiting from behind their smart devices inside an actual wrestlin’ ring. Children who refuse to meet me face to face, with a little backbone holdin’ them up, so adults like ME—who can back up their words with a stiff punch or an even stiffer Smashline—make their world come smashin’ down.
The crowd has reached CRITCAL! mass as Vito paces back and forth like a hungry lion about to catch himself a delicious gazelle sammich.
Vito Valentino: Unlike all you motherfuckas out there who just got put on blast right here in a SHOOT ring? From the bottom of my warm, pink heart? I appreciate the opportunity.
He pauses, soaking in the adulation from the fans he’s built since coming into SHOOT Project.
Vito Valentino: My appreciation isn’t exclusive to the opportunities at championships and glory, though. No, sirs, ma’ams, and every person in between.
I appreciate—and so should anyone who believes in the SHOOT Project like I do—Breedlove’s impassioned speech last Revolution.
With all the cringey jackasses walkin’ around here, actin’ like they own majority stock in bein’ clever, scary, or holier than thou? Like the world owes ‘em or somethin’? We need more people like Joshua Breedlove to stand up and represent this.
Vito points down at the Spartan Helmet insignia that’s situated right in the center of the ring. There’s a massive pop that transitions into a “BREED-LOVE!” chant. There’s more than a smattering of “VI-TO!” chants that start to break out, making The SmashShow smile proudly.
Vito Valentino: Make no mistake about it, either. This isn’t your typical new guy blowin’ smoke up the ass of a future Hall of Famer. ‘Cause if he stands in my way at the end, middle, or beginning of this thing? I WILL do what I have to in order to call and, more importantly, make my fuckin’ shot.
That goes for everybody else, too.
But right here and now? I’m just sayin’ this: Joshua Breedlove, you’re not the only man willing to step up and be the beacon of hope for SHOOT.
‘Cause you know somethin’, Smashers?
Vito pauses, looking out at all people in the audience. With a great big smile, he winks at the camera.
Vito Valentino: I kinda fuckin’ like it around here.
Mic is dropped.
“MAKE WAY FOR THE KING”
Jason Johnson: Oh SHIT this is unexpected!
Eryk Masters: Vito looks surprised too! Crowd’s happy with it.
Golden pyro falls from the sky, announcing and heralding the arrival of the former World Heavyweight Champion himself, the dude known as the Emperor, the leader of the Empire… Joshua Breedlove. He’s dressed to compete with an “Empire” shirt on and his tights, and wouldn’t you know it… he’s got a microphone in hand, which the crowd is a big time fan of. He’s rubbing an eye as he gets ready to speak.
Joshua Breedlove: Gosh, you’ve… you’ve made me a bit misty, Vito. Veet, from here on. I love when people say nice things about me. It’s like… probably one of my top 5 favorite things ever.
He smiles.
Joshua Breedlove: I’m not gonna come out here and say that it’s good that I inspired you, because that’s reductive… but I’m glad that someone else is making their feelings known about the way things are shaping up around here, and I’m glad that it’s a fresh face.
Not that I don’t like old stalwarts or anything like that, but it’s a nice change seeing the Moriton’s and Vito Valentino’s of the world step up and start to really lock in when it comes to the SHOOT Project and what the SHOOT Project is.
Jason Johnson: You got that right, too many pretenders.
Eryk Masters: Ride or die, baby.
Joshua Breedlove: So I’m going to let you have this moment. I didn’t intend to really come out here and say or do much, but I want you to know, Veet, that I see you. I see what you’re doing and I see how you’re trying to get business done, and on August 4th?
I’m extending you a personal invite to the celebration of my third World Championship. You’ll already be in the building – hell, you might already be in the ring – because that shit’s happening in the main event, my boy. But for now? Enjoy your moment. The Faithful are here for you.
“Make Way for the King” starts to kick back up again, but Breedlove comes back on the mic and says “No no, this is his moment” and “Life in the Fast Lane” takes over as Vito poses in another corner for his “Smashers”.
Jason Johnson: Well, I’d say that Vito’s spoken missive here was plain and simple: he’s ready to do what it takes to be the kind of SHOOT Soldier we need right now.
Eryk Masters: I’m glad. There’s too many people running around here causing a ruckus. It’s time for people to step up. First Breedlove. Now Vito. Let’s get some goddamn order around here!
Vito heads up the ramp way, once again slapping hands and bumping fists.
SOLAR GAMMA DEATH RAY VS. LOCUST (C)
SIN CITY CHAMPIONSHIP
Singles Match
IN THE RING
YEAH, KEEP BOOING!
Scene opens with The Punch Line—Roy Vezina, Harv Norris, and Rick Hull—standing in the ring. The arena is buzzing with anticipation as the crowd waits for Johnny Patriot and his mystery opponent. Roy Vezina is leaning over the ropes, jawing with some fans in the front row, pointing at them and yelling.
Roy Vezina: [Pointing aggressively] You think Johnny Patriot’s gonna save the day? He’s just a joke, just like all of you!
The fans respond with boos and jeers, but Roy continues to taunt them, seemingly enjoying the back-and-forth.
Roy Vezina: [Mocking] Yeah, keep booing! It’s not gonna change a thing! The Punch Line is here to stay!
Suddenly, patriotic music blares through the speakers, and the crowd erupts in cheers. Johnny Patriot, with his signature mask and big grin, appears on the stage, basking in the adulation of the fans. He lifts a microphone, signaling the crowd to quiet down.
Johnny Patriot: [Smiling] Thank you, thank you! Now, I promised you all a surprise tonight, and I always keep my promises. I’ve found a partner for this match, and he’s someone who’s more than capable of taking on The Punch Line.
The crowd cheers louder, eager to hear who the mystery partner is.
Johnny Patriot: [Grinning] Let me tell you a bit about him. He’s a well-traveled wrestler, a multiple-time champion, and a huge star in Japan. He’s a human suplex machine and one of the toughest competitors I’ve ever met. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s none other than Ryan Samuels’ tag team partner and cousin, “Big Brutus” Boomer Johnson!
As soon as Johnny finishes, Boomer Johnson’s music hits, and the crowd goes wild. The massive figure of Big Brutus emerges from the stage, walking confidently towards Johnny Patriot. The Punch Line loses it in the ring, their expressions a mix of shock and fury. Boomer shakes hands with Johnny Patriot, and the two men head down to the ring.
Harv Norris: [Shouting] Ay, b’y, this can’t be happening!
Rick Hull: [Panicking] We’re in trouble now!
Roy Vezina furiously yells and stomps around the ring, pointing at Johnny and Boomer as they approach.
Roy Vezina: [Livid] This is a setup! This isn’t fair! You can’t do this!
Johnny and Boomer continue their approach, unfazed by Roy’s tantrum. They climb into the ring, and Johnny raises the microphone again.
Johnny Patriot: [Confidently] Oh, it’s happening, Roy. Get ready to face the might of Johnny Patriot and Big Brutus Boomer Johnson!
Boomer cracks his knuckles and gives the Punch Line a menacing glare, while Johnny Patriot grins confidently at the fuming Roy Vezina. The crowd’s excitement reaches a fever pitch as the tension in the ring builds.
Roy Vezina: [Desperately shouting] You’re going down, Patriot! You and your oversized partner don’t stand a chance!
Johnny Patriot: [Smiling] We’ll see about that, Roy. Let’s give these fans a match they’ll never forget!
THE PUNCH LINE VS. PATRIOT/BOOMER
Tag Team Match
POST MATCH
HOW WAS THAT LANDING, B'Y?
The crowd is booing loudly, but the Punch Line ignores them, basking in their moment of triumph. Roy, however, has other plans in mind. As Johnny Patriot gets up, offering a sportsmanlike handshake, Roy attacks him from behind, sending Johnny crashing to the mat.
Johnny Patriot: [Groaning] What the—
Johnny tries to get up, but Rick and Harv pounce on Boomer Johnson, knocking him out of the ring. The crowd’s boos intensify as Rick and Harv turn their attention to Johnny, joining Roy in the assault.
Roy Vezina: [Sneering] You thought you could beat us, Patriot? Think again!
Johnny fights valiantly, but the numbers game catches up to him. The Punch Line trio manage to beat him down, each taking a limb and lifting him high into the air. With a menacing look, they launch Johnny into the air, letting gravity drive him hard into the mat. The impact echoes through the arena, and the crowd gasps in horror.
Harv Norris: [Laughing] How’s that for a landing, b’y?
Rick Hull: [Smirking] He’s not done yet.
They pick Johnny up again, this time positioning themselves by the ropes. With a synchronized effort, they grab a limb each and lift Johnny high into the air. The crowd watches in horror as they launch Johnny over the top rope, sending him crashing to the floor outside. Johnny lands with a sickening thud, and the crowd erupts in boos. Johnny lies motionless, clearly very injured and hurt, unable to stand.
Roy Vezina: [Yelling down at Johnny] That’s what you get for messing with The Punch Line!
Just as Roy, Harv, and Rick move to do more damage, Boomer Johnson, now recovered, charges towards them with fury in his eyes. The Punch Line quickly scatter, retreating to the back as Boomer rushes to Johnny’s side.
Boomer Johnson: [Shouting] You goddamn cowards! Get back here and face me!
The Punch Line members taunt Boomer from a safe distance, grinning and laughing at the damage they’ve caused. Boomer kneels beside Johnny, who is barely conscious, checking for injuries.
Boomer Johnson: [Desperately] Johnny! Stay with me, buddy. We’ll get you help.
The camera captures Johnny’s pained expression, his eyes barely open as Boomer calls for medical assistance. The crowd’s boos turn to concerned murmurs as they realize the extent of Johnny’s injuries.
Johnny Patriot: [Weakly] Thanks… Boomer… I’ll get them… for this…
Boomer Johnson: [Determined] Damn right, you will. This isn’t over.
The scene ends with Boomer and the medical team attending to Johnny, the crowd cheering them on despite their concerns.
PROMOTIONAL VIDEO
BUT, OH, HAVE MERCY, A CHANGE IS COMING!
The scene opens in a dimly lit church. Rays of red light slice through the darkness, casting an eerie glow on the two figures standing at the altar. Percy “Have Mercy” Blake, a charismatic figure with a booming voice, stands beside the towering frame of Bo Harris, known in the ring as “The Runaway Train.” Their silhouettes are sharp, illuminated by the intense crimson light, creating an almost supernatural ambiance.
Percy, dressed in a pristine white suit with a crimson tie, steps forward, raising his arms theatrically. His voice echoes through the cavernous space, resonating with the fervor of a southern preacher delivering a sermon.
“Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, I stand before you today to deliver a message of strength, a message of power, a message of divine reckoning! For too long, the halls of SHOOT Project have echoed with the cries of those unworthy, those who seek glory without the sweat, the blood, the tears! But, oh, have mercy, a change is coming!”
He gestures towards the massive figure beside him. Bo Harris, with his 6’5” frame and 450 pounds of raw power, steps into the light. His eyes, hidden in the shadows, seem to burn with an inner fire.
“Behold, The Runaway Train, Bo Harris! From the heart of Austin, Texas, a man built not just of muscle and sinew, but of iron will and unyielding spirit! A man who, like a mighty locomotive, cannot be stopped, cannot be derailed!”
The congregation murmurs, captivated by the spectacle. Percy continues, his voice rising in intensity.
“Bo Harris is not just any man. He is a powerhouse, a force of nature, a living, breathing testament to what happens when determination meets destiny. They call him The Runaway Train, and it’s not just a name—it’s a prophecy! When Bo Harris hits the ring, it’s like the heavens themselves have opened, and the wrath of God is unleashed upon the earth!”
Bo Harris steps forward, his presence dominating the space. He raises his arms, flexing his immense muscles, and the light catches the sweat glistening on his skin. Percy’s voice softens, taking on a more intimate tone as he addresses the audience.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. Who is this man, this titan of the ring? What has he done? Let me tell you something, my friends. Bo Harris is not about the past; he is about the future. Championships? Not yet. Honors? They are coming. For Bo Harris does not need a gilded belt to prove his worth. His worth is in his power, his fury, his unrelenting drive to crush anything and anyone in his path.”
Percy turns to Bo, his face lit with a mixture of pride and reverence.
“Bo, my brother, my warrior, you are more than just a wrestler. You are a symbol, a beacon of hope for the downtrodden, a harbinger of doom for the wicked. You are the very embodiment of The Church of Mercy, a living testament to the strength that comes from faith, from belief, from the undying will to prevail!”
The congregation, now fully enraptured, responds with a resounding chorus of “Amen!” Percy raises his hands, his voice once again filling the space with its commanding presence.
“Soon, SHOOT Project will feel the impact of The Runaway Train. They will see the Train Wreck and they will know that Bo Harris is not a man to be taken lightly. He is a juggernaut, a force that will not be denied. And with the guidance of The Church of Mercy, with the backing of this sacred brotherhood, he will rise to heights unseen, he will achieve greatness unparalleled!”
Bo Harris, now fully illuminated by the red light, lets out a primal roar, a sound that reverberates through the walls of the church. Percy steps back, his face a mask of righteous fervor.
“Prepare yourselves, SHOOT Project. The Runaway Train is coming, and nothing, I say nothing, will stand in his way. Have mercy on those who dare to oppose him, for they will need it. Bo Harris is here, and he is unstoppable!”
The scene fades to black as the congregation erupts in applause, their voices lifted in praise and anticipation of the coming storm.
SCOTTIE BARNES VS. WOLF MAN
Singles Match
POST MATCH
The Epicenter’s video wall comes to life as the sound of a hard pop happens continuously over a microphone. A camera immediately turns and points at someone who’s made his way to the top of the ramp and it’s none other than the face that runs the place… THE REAL DEAL. The crowd pops hard, bringing a smile to the man’s face as he seemingly looks directly to the ring and into the eyes of one exhausted, but victorious dude, Scottie Barnes.
Real Deal: Hey buddy.
The crowd laughs.
Real Deal: So here’s the deal on this. You did a great job there, getting that W over the WOLF MAN, and you honest to goodness earned that win. Let’s give it up for Scottie Barnes.
The crowd pops for Barnes, who’s definitely dazed, surprised, but still apprehensive. Real Deal makes a few steps down the ramp, closer and closer to the ring where Barnes is standing.
Real Deal: Now then, I bet you’re wondering why I’ve made my way out here. I’ve been kinda… taunting you for a little bit, mostly just because I wanted to. I don’t really have anything against you, but you’ve decided that I’m going to be the conduit of hate that you need to work here.
He shrugs his shoulders.
Real Deal: I can live with that.
He smiles.
Real Deal: So at Iron Will, you’ve earned your match against me. I’ll pull the tights on, put the boots on, and see you there, but there are of course going to be some stipulations. Are you cool with that?
You hear an exhausted Scottie yell “ANYTHING” with no mic, but it’s picked up by the crowd and by the microphone Real Deal is holding.
Real Deal: I’m SO glad you said that. Here they are. At Iron Will, if I beat you in the middle of that ring, you will become the biggest, happiest fan of me, Dan Stein, and the SHOOT Project that the world has ever seen. It’ll be nothing but positivity from you, especially when it comes to me.
Scottie goes to speak, but Real Deal holds a hand up.
Real Deal: Also if I win, you’ll serve as Dan Stein’s personal assistant and bodyguard. You’ll report to him and only him except when you’re preaching our virtues from the top of whatever mountaintop you choose. And if you win… you’ll get a shot at the Sin City Championship, your Spitter account will be reinstated, and you’ll be free to talk whatever shit you want to talk without any stipulations. Cool?
Scottie stands in the ring, blinking almost vacantly, but finally after some encouragement from the crowd, who’s definitely cheering and excited at the idea of this match, he simply nods his head in agreement.
Real Deal: Wonderful. I’ll see you at Iron Will, buddy, and then we can put all of these shenanigans and upsetness behind us. Ciao!
As Real Deal makes his way back to the Epicenter’s gorilla position, the camera returns to Jason Johnson and Eryk Masters.
Jason Johnson: Well that’s interesting!
Eryk Masters: Didn’t expect Josh to actually fight him?
Jason Johnson: Oh no, that was never a question in my mind, but I’m surprised at all the stipulations and how easily Scottie Barnes agreed to them.
Eryk Masters: I think he might have had his bell rung a little bit still from the match, but he’s been asking for this basically since he got here, so we’re on! Up next, we’ve got some words from “The Absolute” Austin Anderson!
Backstage
LET'S MAKE TONIGHT UNFORGETTABLE
The scene opens backstage at the Epicenter, a bustling hub of activity. The energy is palpable as crew members, assistants, and catering staff go about their tasks, ensuring everything runs smoothly for the night’s event. In the middle of this controlled chaos stands “The Absolute” Austin Anderson, wrapping his waist with tape in preparation for his upcoming match. A group of backstage assistants, ring crew, and catering crew have gathered around him, drawn by his magnetic presence and powerful words. Anderson, ever the professional, takes a moment to address them, his voice carrying the weight of his appreciation and respect.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Anderson begins, his voice rich and resonant, drawing the attention of everyone around him. “Before I step into that ring tonight, I want to take a moment to acknowledge each and every one of you. In the world of professional wrestling, it’s easy to get caught up in the spectacle, the grandeur, and the glory that happens under the bright lights. But let me tell you this: none of that would be possible without the hard work and dedication of the people behind the scenes.”
He pauses, securing the tape around his waist with practiced precision, his eyes scanning the faces of the gathered crew.
“You see, wrestling is much like a finely crafted symphony,” he continues, his tone authoritative yet warm. “Each note, each instrument, plays a vital role in creating a masterpiece. And you, my friends, are the unsung heroes of our profession. The backstage assistants who ensure everything runs like clockwork, the ring crew who construct and maintain our sacred battleground, the catering crew who provide the sustenance that fuels our bodies and minds—you are all indispensable parts of this grand production.”
Anderson’s words resonate with the group, their expressions reflecting a mix of pride and gratitude.
“No one is any less important than the other,” he says, his voice filled with conviction. “The spotlight may shine on us wrestlers, but it is your efforts that make that spotlight possible. Without you, there would be no show, no spectacle, no wrestling. Your dedication, your hard work, often goes unnoticed, but it is the foundation upon which we build our art.”
He continues wrapping his waist, the rhythm of his movements a testament to his years of experience and preparation.
“Every time I step into that ring, I carry with me the knowledge that I am not alone. I am supported by a team of extraordinary individuals who give their all to ensure we can perform at our best. From the setup of the ring to the preparation of our meals, from the coordination of our schedules to the countless behind-the-scenes tasks that go unnoticed, each of you plays a crucial role.”
Anderson looks up, his eyes meeting those of the crew members, his gratitude evident.
“Remember this,” he says, his voice softening slightly, “true greatness is not achieved alone. It is a collective effort, a symphony of contributions that come together to create something extraordinary. And you, each and every one of you, are part of that greatness. You are the heartbeat of the Epicenter, the unsung heroes of our profession.”
He finishes taping his waist, his preparations complete, but his focus remains on the gathered crew.
“As I step into the ring tonight, I do so with immense gratitude for all that you do. Know that your efforts are seen, your dedication appreciated, and your importance recognized. Together, we create magic. Together, we build legends. And together, we are unstoppable.”
Anderson’s words hang in the air, the room filled with a newfound sense of camaraderie and purpose. He stands, ready for his match, but takes a final moment to nod respectfully to the crew.
“Thank you,” he says simply, but the depth of his appreciation is clear. “Let’s make tonight unforgettable.”
With that, Austin Anderson heads towards the ring, leaving behind a group of inspired and motivated crew members, each now fully aware of their vital role in the world of professional wrestling. The scene fades out, a testament to the unity and shared passion that drive the sport forward.
AUSTIN ANDERSON VS. IAM
Singles Match
Backstage
A HELPING HAND
Even if you aren’t booked, the unspoken rule is that you show up for the shows.
Part of this is an admittedly old-school sensibility in the locker room fostered by some of the more aged on the roster and on staff–the camaraderie is good for business. Plus, who knows, maybe you can score some TV time if things need to be filled.
Other folks show up out of gangland mentality. Flaco is booked, so his friends Oso and Bronco are here, despite the Chingones not being booked whatsoever. Support your friends, get some free catering. And while it wasn’t required of Joey Burkhalter–Breedlove isn’t one for ultimatums–he’s decided to hang out because Mike is booked. Not that he particularly likes Mike, but it was suggested to him that he can learn something from the wisecracking skeleton. Though so far, Joey has only learned how to insult people with deep pull NBA references.
So that’s where we find The New Aeon, idly chatting with a member of the production staff in an Adidas tracksuit custom-color matched to the hero banner red, midnight black, and bright gold of The Empire…when he gets approached.
The approaching face is a relative newcomer to SHOOT Project. Josh Kaine isn’t booked, but he’s here regardless. He hasn’t been publicly present for a couple of weeks beyond matches, and rather than listen to his birth mother bitch at him…he’s here.
Here with a purpose.
Josh: Hey, you’re Joey Burkhalter, yeah?
He offers a tattooed hand to shake with a smile, hoping for some small measure of camaraderie. Joey takes it, eyeballing him.
Josh: Saw you ain’t booked neither, but here as me all the same.
Burkhalter: Not much else to do, I guess. And I’m supposed to watch and learn a bit, so here I am watching. Guess the learn part will reveal itself any minute now.
Burkhalter doesn’t add much to that, letting an awkward silence fall over the pair. Josh releases the young man’s hand and continues smiling.
Josh: You know, I thought the same shit with my first promotion. My Ma always said it was the same premise as a condom. Better to be here if somethin’ happens than not be here if something big happens, yanno?
He shrugs, obviously trying to smack down some mild anxiety before he finally reaches into the back pocket and pulls out an envelope.
Josh: I was 19 when I first got signed and I had a lot of help—wasn’t hard to find out you don’t…have a lot of help, I mean. I know it’s real forward of me, but I know it ain’t easy to keep your brain in the game when you got folks back home dependin’ on you.
He holds it out to Burkhalter to take.
Josh: Figured it might help y’all out a bit—I got more’n I know what to do with nowadays and maybe offer a friendship too if’n you’re interested?
Burkhalter turns to him, his face earnest. He gratefully accepts the envelope, looking at it with disbelief.
Then he spits on it! He drops the check to the ground and steps close to Kaine, very much getting into his personal space.
Burkhalter: When my Dad passed, lotsa folks just like you came around. They all wanted to help. ‘A single mother with so many kids, it’s gotta be tough.’ But she never took a handout. Never begged. Never once was beholden to a single living soul, and we may have grown up poor as shit–but she never once let us feel that way. That woman worked herself to the bone so that we could all have opportunities that she envisioned for us. And just that, just that simple thing, taught me a valuable lesson.
He leans down. Scowling.
Burkhalter: You’re new, so I’m letting you get away with this with your fuckin’ jaw intact. Next time I see you, I might not be so generous. Pull some shit like this again–bring up my family again? And I’ll send you to the hospital with your career deaded.
He turns, stomping down the hall, his eyes full of sharp, murderous rage. The son of Jada Kaine watches the younger man storm off down the hallway before he bends down, picking up the envelope. He’s been rebuffed in his attempt to make a connection, yet again. He heaves a long suffering sigh, speaking softly to no one in particular.
Josh: I ain’t the dumbass slappin’ away a helpin’ hand, but you do you.
We cut away…
PROMOTIONAL VIDEO
THINGS ARE BOUND TO GET...SPICY.
The camera fades in on a dimly lit backstage area, with pink and red spotlights casting a romantic glow. A velvet curtain with heart-shaped patterns serves as the backdrop. The faint sound of Spanish guitar music plays in the background. Standing in the middle of this love-struck setting is Amor, “The Love Machine.” His 6’1” frame is adorned in a tight, red, heart-embellished outfit, complete with a matching mask. Amor exudes confidence, his smirk practically dripping with charm.
Amor: (in a sultry tone) “Ladies, ladies, ladies… finally, el Amor has arrived in the SHOOT Project. (winks at the camera) You see, I am not just any wrestler; I am ‘The Love Machine.’ And tonight, I am here to win your hearts and… perhaps a little more.”
He takes a step closer to the camera, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Amor: “Now, I know what you are all thinking. ‘Who is this handsome devil?’ Allow me to introduce myself properly. Me llamo es Amor, and I am from the city of lights, Las Vegas. But tonight, this ring, this arena, will be transformed into el paraíso del amor, the paradise of love.”
He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small chuckle.
Amor: “You see, I’ve got a lot to offer, and I’m not just talking about my moves in the ring. (raises an eyebrow suggestively) Oh no, chicas, I have something… much more grande.”
Amor gestures downward, his smirk widening as he continues his monologue.
Amor: “I know you’re all waiting to see the Kiss Goodbye, my signature finisher that will make my opponents weak at the knees. But ladies, it’s not just my opponents who will be falling for me. It’s you. (switches to poor Spanish) Todas las mujeres en la audiencia, ustedes van a caer… enamoradas conmigo. Sí, eso es.”
He pauses, as if savoring the thought, then places a hand over his heart.
Amor: “I lead the Lucha Love Army, and tonight, I start my campaign. Not just to win matches, but to win over each and every one of you. Porque cuando el Amor está en el ring, there is no escape from my charm.”
He winks again, the camera zooming in on his face.
Amor: “Now, I know some of you might be skeptical. ‘Can this man really back up his words?’ Allow me to assure you, ladies, I always deliver. In and out of the ring.”
He flexes his muscles, giving the fans a taste of his physical prowess.
Amor: “So, to all the ladies watching tonight, remember this face, remember this body, because you will be seeing a lot more of it. I promise to bring excitement, passion, and a whole lot of love to the SHOOT Project. And trust me, when Amor is involved, things are bound to get… spicy.”
He blows a kiss to the camera, then turns, giving a final glance over his shoulder.
Amor: “Prepare yourselves, SHOOT Project, porque el Amor está aquí, and he’s ready to take over. Ladies, don’t be shy. Tonight, let’s make some… unforgettable memories.”
With a final smirk, Amor walks off, the camera lingering on his retreating form before fading to black.
LAURA SETON VS. KAZNA MOROZOVA
Singles Match
Backstage
THIS COULD GET AWKWARD...
Backstage, the cameras find Joshua Breedlove walking toward the Empire’s locker room, hand-in-hand with Maria Madden. They talk quietly amongst themselves, their conversation drowned out by the cheers from the SHOOT Project Faithful inside the Epicenter. As the duo approach the door, their gait slows down as another figure is shown in-frame.
This person has a belt around their waist.
A large, shiny belt.
The same large, shiny belt that they won at Master of the Mat….and Joshua Breedlove did not.
This might be an awkward conversation. Made triply so by the facts that this person and Joshua Breedlove plain don’t like each other (a huge understatement), used to see each other (briefly, for two months), and Joshua’s current, and very serious, partner is standing right there.
And does not look happy to see this person. At all.
Lindsay Troy: Joshua.
The cheers from the fans grow even louder once the Queen of the Ring is revealed in full.
Joshua Breedlove: Lindsay.
The Champ looks at Maria, nods her head, and holds out her hand.
Lindsay Troy: Hello. I’m Lindsay.
And, as if to assuage her…
Lindsay Troy: Just here for business.
Maria puts her hand to her forehead like a hat rim, peering inside of the Empire’s locker room and thinks she might possibly see someone, anyone, from the group.
Maria Madden: Oh my god, is that Mike? It is! Mike hi! Pleasure to meet you, but I gotta go talk with Mr. DLH. Goodbye!
Breedlove smiles, shaking his head and turns to the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Champion.
Breedlove: So, hey.
Lindsay Troy: Hey. Good match last night. Too bad you had an audience.
Breedlove: Heh, thanks. I should have expected it. Start making fun of whiny entitled babies and they show up to cross their arms at you. And look at you with a mean look on their face.
He chuckles.
Breedlove: I suppose I was too focused on that to really consider it.
He nods towards the World Heavyweight Championship.
Lindsay Troy: Well, I suppose when someone comes to steal your thunder, you can’t help but want to try and reclaim it.
She taps the belt and smirks in return.
Lindsay Troy: I won’t apologize for that. What I will say is even though the odds are not in my favor to still walk out of Iron Will as the SHOOT Project World Champ, I don’t intend to make it easy on any of you to take this belt away from me.
Breedlove: Lord I hope not. This whole thing is unprecedented, so who knows what’s gonna happen. If you took it easy and made it easy? That’d… be really upsetting. I have no idea what the odds are like in this thing or what anyone’s chances are. I’m at the point where I’m just trying to manifest a victory. In any of the matches, really.
He laughs.
Breedlove: I’m just glad that I don’t have to worry about an extra from the Rocky Horror Picture Show community production being in this match, you know what I mean? Pure competition, no bullshit.
Lindsay Troy: I hear there’s an RHPS community production in Philly that’s pretty good if you ever wanted to take Maria.
She chuckles to herself.
Lindsay Troy: Anyway, regardless of how Iron Will shakes out, neither my HEXXX problem nor your HEXXX problem will magically be solved. Ayumi’s manifested a problem with me that I intend to solve for her, and nobody in my inner circle’s taken too kindly to any of her bullshit. I know how the Empire operates, but I can’t see any of your guys not helping you should the need arise. Am I wrong?
Breedlove shakes his head.
Breedlove: Nah you’re not wrong. It’ll more come down to whether or not I want to subject them to that crap. They’ve all already been in my ear about wanting to throw down, but for me it’s a matter of whether or not it’s worth wasting the time. I’m all in on solving the problem, though.
He shrugs.
Breedlove: I think the whole “omg the company has wronged me” angle is played out and dull, and I think they’re wasting that kid’s talent by shutting him up and putting him behind a mask. All that to say yeah, I’ll be down and I know someone in camp will be down too. Maybe I’ll get Mike to stand in.
He laughs.
Breedlove: I don’t think they’ll have any clue how to handle him.
Lindsay Troy: Always liked Mike. And I know my kids want to see them sent to the Ditch Fields, so there’s that.
She nods and moves away from the wall.
Lindsay Troy: I’d wish you luck in two weeks, but I also want to rip your arms from your sockets again so, you know. (She grins) Guess I’ll just see you then.
Breedlove smirks.
Breedlove: Yeah, let’s just… you know what, good luck. Let’s pick this piece of this conversation up after all that dust has settled.
The Queen nods again and takes her leave, while the Emperor enters the locker room.
MIKE DE LOS HUESOS VS. VITO VALENTINO
Singles Match
IN THE RING
THEN LET'S GET BLOODY
“Slum Planet”
3TEETH!
That same weird, mesmerizing logo that no one can figure out what it is appears on the SHOOTron.
“BOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
Jason Johnson: I swear that looks like one of those mazes in Breath of the Wild.
Eryk Masters: I didn’t know you were a gamer, Jason.
Jason Johnson: I’m not. I just like watching SHOOTube videos of speedrunners.
Without a fan in attendance cheering, “The Provocateur”, and one-half of the 2024 Masters of the Mat, Arthur Pleasant, comes strolling out from the back.
“BOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
Just as “Slum Planet” gets into the heavier sections, Arthur reveals a microphone in his hand. Motioning a throat-cutting motion with his other hand, his theme song quickly fades out.
Arthur Pleasant: Coltons. Benji. Denny. Natey, if he so deigns to watch tonight’s show from over over there in that McKenna Blue cul de sac…
Jason Johnson: Well, someone’s not wasting time tonight!
Eryk Masters: No, it appears he isn’t.
Arthur Pleasant: Ohhhhhh COLLLLLLLTONS!
Coltons, Coltons, Coltons. I’ve thought about something you said, friends. How there’s a difference between The Coltons becoming Masters of the Mat and The Devil’s Advocates becoming Masters of the Mat.
It… it never sat right with me. Nor did it with Jeffrey. I think. Admittedly, he’s hard to read sometimes.
Scratching his head, Arthur shrugs.
Arthur Pleasant: Oh, and just as a little disclaimer? I’m sure you know by now, Jeffrey isn’t allowed out of his cage unless it’s time to wrestle. Soooo he doesn’t have much to say right now. That means I’M the one who speaks for us both whenever it’s time to come out to the ring and address you fucking stupid people…
“BOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Arthur Pleasant: Uh huh, right. Anyway. and… it’s going to be a lot to take in. You’re just going to have to listen, watch, and absorb every word.
Arthur pauses as the crowd actually hangs onto his every word. With the exception of the drunk shouts for a Colton every now and then.
Arthur Pleasant: It’s true that we didn’t have to go through the Coltons. But that fact? Coming from the mouth of a Colton, it’s meant to indicate that somehow we’re the inferior team.
So, I’ve thought about it. As I’m sure you cousins or brothers or cousin-brother-lovers wanted us too. I mean, I even commented about it on Spitter. Only to have you fucking imbeciles make light of your own words. Then, of course, the other edge of that sharp ass sword is that you boys didn’t have to go through US.
Does that mean the same thing? Does that mean you two… are inferior to US?
Maybe.
Arthur pauses just as he is about to continue speaking. After looking out at the crowd, taking in their jeers, middle fingers, and randomly creative chants that are ill-timed and don’t have the chance to echo much, he continues.
Arthur Pleasant: I mean, it’s obvious. You didn’t have to go through the Devil’s Asvocates. Which indicates you’re inferior… to us! No U is my favorite campus, after all.
Pleasant laughs at the childish notion.
Arthur Pleasant: You see the conundrum, right? The impasse we’ve reached? I hope you do. Because there’s only one thing that can be done to create a definitive narrative between us and prove just who the FUCK is the better tag team, once and for all.
At least, to prove it to YOU. Everyone already fucking knows Arthur Fucking Pleasant and Jeffrey James Goddamn Roberts are light years better than you two. But… still. Perception is reality, as we all know, and I can’t have even the smallest percentage of fuck wagons out there believing the shit you’ve been spewing since beating Lucha Fitness.
So you want to prove the Coltons are the best team in the SHOOT Project of the modern era? You want to prove the Coltons are the REAL Masters of the Mat and not us? That we can’t coexist as equally good tag teams?
The Provocateur breaks out into side splitting laughter, knowing full well that was NEVER gonna happen.
Arthur Pleasant: You fucking DUMMIES. It’s so simple, then.
Let’s get bloody.
Let’s enter that ring together, the four of us, and tear each other apart. Limb from fucking LIMB. Let the sinewy spectacle of our orchestra of violence conduct who runs the tag team division of 2024 and beyond. Let our flesh catch the sharp edges of steel and calcify into a hardened reminder for the next tag team who believes they are better.. than US.
Dutch Harris: Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
Mark Kendrick: God I hope not. I don’t think I can stomach another ring full of barbed wire.
Arthur Pleasant: Real Deal! Dan Stein! Daniel fucking Jones! Whoever can make the decision back there? Please. Make it.
Coltons.
Jeffrey and myself, the 2024 Masters of the Mat.
A blood-stained mat.
For the SHOOT Project World Tag Team Championships.
…
THREE STAGES OF HELL.
The crowd roars at the idea of the two teams colliding in such a monumental match.
“HO-LY SHIT!”
“HO-LY SHIT!”
“HO-LY SHIT!”
Arthur Pleasant: Let’s start it off nice and easy. Have ourselves a good ole fashioned tag team match for the first fall. Then, for the second fall? The one where we most likely put you down? Let’s have that fall be decided inside of a steel cage.
The crowd ROARS in approval. Arthur’s smirk seems to stretch endlessly the more he speaks about the match.
Arthur Pleasant: But if SOMEHOW… by divine intervention or some such unforeseen cataclysm… you boys manage to survive the cage and a third fall is needed? Then how about we get the best team of ring techs out there, wrap those ropes all up in barbed wire, cut to the obligatory advertisement for the ACE Network, PRIME, or some other boring, bathroom break having bullshit, and we finish it with a good ole fashioned DEATHMATCH!
Or, the both of you can go hide on your Colton farm and continue inbreeding with a false sense of security in believing no one will ever be better than you.
It’s up to you, and, of course, the brass in the back. We’ll take those titles off of you on a random Ruination or Revolution if that’s what it comes down to it. We don’t mind an anticlimactic end to your run at all!
The fans are in a FRENZY over the match being pitched by Arthur Pleasant.
Arthur Pleasant: But just so you cunts know? In the unlikely event all parties agree to the type of match I’m suggesting?
Hell knoweth no pain and fury like the Devil’s favorite Advocates.
Pleasant places the microphone down onto the mat gently. “3TEETH” kicks back up again and Arthur Pleasant smiles from ear to ear. Slithering out of the ring, Pleasant slips to the back.
Jason Johnson: I’m stunned.
Eryk Masters: I mean, has there even BEEN a Tag Team 3 Stages of Fuck All in SHOOT yet? Or, like anywhere?!
Jason Johnson: I really don’t believe so. God I can’t wait for Iron Will 3.
Eryk Masters: As if there couldn’t be MORE hype for the PPV! What a bombshell of a challenge by one-half of the 2024 Masters of the Mat and number one contenders!
Fade to a commercial.
RING ENTRANCE
ATOMIC PUNKS: DESTINY AWAITS
Backstage at the Epicenter.
A rear view of a familiar white coat, draped over the back of a familiar Mad Science Queen.
A respectable pop, roaring in the background, as she stares at the back of the curtain separating her from where all the action happens. Especially the action about to happen.
Dr. Ayumi Sato: Fission.
She stretches her left arm out to the side.
Dr. Ayumi Sato: Gigaton.
And her right, before pulling them both back to herself, hands pointing up.
Dr. Ayumi Sato: To me… my Atomic Punks.
As if on cue, from either side of our screens, the irradiated monsters that form the meteorically-rising tag team in tonight’s main event enter and close in on their leader. Their creator. Their master.
The camera now pans around, revolving around the trio until we get an angled view of their faces. Fission and Gigaton are in their neon warpaint, staring daggers at the portal as the curtain flaps and furls, and the occasional peeks of light that they see.
Dr. Sato is not her usual hammy, conniving self. On her face is etched a stone-serious stare, as her arms now lower in front of either Punk, as if to hold them from advancing farther. She raises the goggles off of her eyes, resting them on her hairline as she herself stares ahead.
Dr. Ayumi Sato: Destiny awaits.
Van Halen’s “Atomic Punk” starts up, the funky “washing” guitar effect sending the crowd in a frenzy for tonight’s main event.
The doctor lowers her hands, and the group advances to the curtain, marching towards destiny.
ATOMIC PUNKS VS. THE COLTONS (c)
WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS
Tag Team Match
