EP.: XXX
DATE: XX.XX.XXXX
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
SHOW OPEN
WHAT'S TO COME?
Right as Revolution 225 is kicking off, suddenly, Bun B’s “Chuuch!” hits the soundwaves, announcing the arrival of SHOOT Project’s Owner & CEO! The crowd lights up for this, showering him and the company itself with all the love it could possibly ask for. The Real Deal makes his appearance at the top of the ramp, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black SHOOT Project t-shirt with a golden helmet on the front. He’s got a microphone in hand and holds his other hand up to quiet the crowd.
Real Deal: I’ll never get over the way that feels, heh. It’s something to be able to come out here, talk to you all, get in that ring… it never gets old. But I have, that’s for sure.
He laughs.
Real Deal: Wouldn’t have guessed you could include me on a tag team championship history in the year 2024, and my knees were real upset about it too, but here we are. And here we are, for one of the last times… is in the Las Vegas Epicenter, a place that the SHOOT Project has called home for literal decades.
The crowd isn’t happy at the phrase “one of the last times” which draws a respectful, appreciative nod from the Real Deal.
Real Deal: I know, I know. You guys have given us everything and we’ll forever be grateful for what Las Vegas means to the SHOOT Project. But, you know how it goes. As things change, we have to evolve, and for us here in SHOOT, that evolution means a relocation. We had an opportunity to do something really cool and we jumped at it. So, I know you all saw the announcement earlier this week… SHOOT’s moving to New York City.
The crowd boos and Real Deal throws an understanding look their way.
Real Deal: I know, I know. We’re still going to do shows out here in Vegas, maybe returning to our pre-Epicenter grounds, the Thomas & Mack Center. So, look for us there. You know we’ll put on a good show. For the future, though, here’s what we’re looking at.
He pauses.
Real Deal: We’ve got this tonight, kicking off with Vito Valentino defending his Premier Championship against Archer Quincannon, then we’ve got our final PPV in this building, and we’d been racking our brains for weeks to come up with a name for it and I thought… we’re at the end of an era, this will be our crowning achievement as residents of the Las Vegas Epicenter… the PPV will be called CAPSTONE. Couple of big matches in the works here, folks. We’re going to see a title unification match, the Premier Championship and the Sin City Championship will become one… Vito Valentino and Mike de los Huesos will face off, the winner coming away with the UNIFIED Premier Championship. There’s more to come on that, but also… CAPSTONE’s main event will be the FINALS of our very first FIRESTARTER… for a shot at that unified Premier Championship on the first episode of Zenith… “Golden” Burkhalter Vs. Izzy Sia!
Crowd is mixed for that, still processing all of the other information.
Real Deal: Then, we’ve got one final appearance here. While Revolution 225 is going to be our final numbered show, it’s not going to be our last Revolution. We’ll have one more Revolution, aptly titled Revolution: The Finale on June 1st. We’re out after that. The next time you’ll see us will be in NYC, in the Pinnacle, on our very first episode of Zenith.
The crowd’s alive now, accepting what’s happening and showing love to SHOOT. Real Deal puts his hands together and bows to them, thanking them for the understanding.
Real Deal: I love you guys. Alright, I’ve taken up way too much TV time. Vito defends against Archer Quincannon… NEXT.
SINGLES MATCH
PREMIER CHAMPIONSHIP
ARCHER QUINCANNON
VS.
VITO VALENTINO (c)
Backstage
FIGHT OR NOTHING!
Backstage, in the actual production area for interviews, stalk the most violent team in the company. PLANET MOTHERFUCKER may have the legendary Pigpen Matsumoto and whatever friend he can bring along, but he is just one man.
MURDER DOVES, however, are a duo of such misanthropic rage, such nihilistic and fetishistic devotion to violence, that it can be a bit of a shock to see them on American television. SEGATA is perennially stalking in the frame, pacing, his long black hair flowing from the open top of his mask. His baggy pants, his elbow-length arm sleeves, his general demeanor mark him a man stuck in 20002. Asesino de Luto II, the big man among them, has his arms crossed and his mask bunched up over his nose, allowing his perpetual sneer to be seen. SEAGATA points to the camera and begins tearing off in his rapid, accented English.
SEGATA: Fly us over. Fly us over here when they need to teach someone lesson, or see if they can hang.
His partner shrugs his shoulders and pipes up, his English coming with the clarity of someone who was raised to speak it, the hints of his Rican heritage only playing at the edge of his words.
Asesino de Luto II: Maybe they just like having us here.
SEGATA: You believe that?
Asesino de Luto II: Ask my dick bouri, Asesino don’t go to bed alone since we started showing up at SHOOT. Even got some bitch in Iowa paying my car note!
This jovial exchange doesn’t seem to improve the shorter man’s mood.
SEGATA: Nope. They bring us, because they need to see the blood. But they do not have the balls to sign us to fucking contract. They say all reasons. “Oh, MURDER DOVES too violent! Oh, MURDER DOVES scare the children! Oh, MURDER DOVES cost us sponsorship with Sweetgreen after death warrior SEGATA threatened head of promotions in the hallway with a set of tin shears!” Boo-the fucking-hoo. You too pussy to give us big contract deal? Then we take it out on your people.
Throwing his hands up in frustration, SEGATA begins to pace again, cracking his knuckles and muttering to himself in his native Japanese. Asesino begins to walk forward, crooking a finger to the camera.
Asesino de Luto II: C’mere. Come close. I wanna show you motherless fucks something important.
He reaches down, seemingly fiddling with his boot, until he pulls free what he was looking for: A fork. But not his usual one, not the rusted and jagged affair that he was known for carrying. This one is fresh. Unbent. The metal is still shiny. The tape on the handle is pristine white. He sneers under his rolled up mask, before kissing the utensil.
Asesino de Luto II: Meet Amaia. See every little bit I gotta get me a new girl. And this is her big debut, you fuckin’ pigs. This is her coming out, this is her first drink. It’s important to feed your new weapons good. Makes her hungry for more. Make her appetite for your flesh insatiable. And then she’ll talk to daddy, right?
He taps the fork on his covered ear.
Asesino de Luto II: “Oh Papi, I’m sooooo hungry! ¡Dame carne, carne limpia, carne sucia, pero déjame convertirla en carne sangrienta!”
He chuckles, looking at the implement.
Asesino de Luto II: My jaina is such a slutty girl, but I love her. I believe in her. And I will rip you to the fuckin’ bone, perros, I will coat the first three rows with you just to make her happy, just to feed my beloved Amaia. Because this is a big day for her, you pig fucks. But don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to lay down. Murder Doves don’t do mercy jobs.
SEGATA: Fight or nothing!
Asesino de Luto II: Fight or nothing. So try and stop us!
SEGATA: Try and stop us, bitch fucks!
Asesino de Luto II: I’m Asesino. The nightmare man. I’ll eat you alive and it ain’t because I feel offended at our lack of big money like SEGATA here. I’ll do it because I’m fucked and mean and violent and this is the only way I can legally stab you pieces of shit without catching a case. But you know what? Fuck motivation. Fuck the SHOOT Project and fuck you two most of all. I hope you reconsider your careers after you’re done healing up. If you ever heal up.
Luto chuckles, jamming his Amaia back into his boot. SEGATA shows up in the frame and claps his partner on the shoulder, sneering and jerking his head backwards in the international symbol for “let’s go”.
SEGATA: MURDER DOVES. Out.
Both members of the team stalk off, cackling down the hallway as the scene cuts away…
SINGLES MATCH
N/A
REMY GARDEN
VS.
SOBRE NEGRO
PROMOTIONAL VIDEO
BLITZMODE
The arena is dimly lit, the crowd is red hot. A deep synth track thumps through the speakers like a heartbeat under pressure. Purple, cyan, and hot pink lasers slice through the fog as the Epicenter’s Video Wall glitches to life.
The static clears. Neon Blitz stands in the center of the screen.
He’s surrounded by mirrors — seven of them, all positioned in a perfect circle. The reflections are disjointed. Off. Lagging half a second behind him.
Neon Blitz: Aiden Vanity. I’ve seen the way you look at yourself.
He steps forward, hands behind his back, his visor down, jacket pulsing with soft neon.
Neon Blitz: Like you’re the only real thing in a world of simulations. Like the mirror tells the truth.
He raises a hand and touches one of the mirrors. The reflection doesn’t match. It glitches. Flickers.
Neon Blitz: But you? You’re no god. You’re not a vision. You’re not light.
He tilts his head, voice calm and cold.
Neon Blitz: You’re noise.
One of the mirrors shatters with a sudden high-frequency pop, glass flying in slow motion. The other six remain — but now each reflection of Vanity in them has been warped, twisted, consumed by neon static.
Neon Blitz: And I’m the frequency you can’t filter out.
He walks slowly past the next mirror.
Neon Blitz: I don’t need the world to revolve around me. I don’t need worship. I need momentum. Motion. Pressure.
He stops in front of the next mirror, visor still down. The light across his body pulses with every syllable.
Neon Blitz: I’m not here to be adored. I’m here to be downloaded.
Another mirror cracks. Then another.
Neon Blitz: So when Revolution 225 hits… and your reflection doesn’t show up like you expect…
He lifts his head. The visor flips up, revealing his eyes—one green, one blue, both burning under electric haze.
Neon Blitz: …don’t blame the mirror, Vanity.
He raises his foot and kicks straight through the final mirror. Shards scatter across the floor, catching the lights like pixel fragments falling from a dying screen.
Neon Blitz: Blame the glitch that broke the loop.
The tron cuts to black. One final line flashes across the screen in blocky, neon font:
BLITZMODE: CONTINUE? Y/N
SINGLES MATCH
N/A
AIDEN VANITY
VS.
NEON BLITZ
Backstage
THOUSAND BUCKS
Backstage, more specifically a locker room, finds us at an interesting shared space.
Not only are they on opposite teams tonight, but they are on opposite teams in an indelolgocal, training and business oriented space. Joey Burkhalter reps the Sanctum, the largest jewel in the crown of Emperor Josh Breedlove. Izzy Sia reps Blackhawk Fight Gym, the forge that is Nate Robideau’s life’s work. Yet here they both are, sharing space, laughing with one another, because sometimes bad blood just needs to be left to dry before it can be swept into the wind. Izzy, currently taping her left ankle, seems to know the strangeness their renewed friendship has been perceived as, and nods as she tears off another strip.
Izzy: I know, I know. We should be at each other’s throat.
Burkhalter: I mean, cause like…that’s how it’s supposed to go, right?
Izzy: Dude, I really think that’s some fragile ego thing. Like these people gotta hate one another, right? Gotta make it all personal. I mean, full send, I’m like that sometimes myself. Cause hate is easier. Hate makes it all so…simple.
She tosses her roll of tape to Joey, who begins tearing off strips to apply to his hands in sequence so he doesn’t damage his circulation. This movement isn’t one of focus, but a rote thing that he executes with nothing more than a bemused expression as the talker of this friend duo keeps rattling off in her vocal style, somewhere between a long machine gun and a foul-mouthed minnie mouse.
Izzy: But hate this fuckin’ guy? Joey Golden Burkhalter? Nah. I’ve been the slumpy man to this himbo SOB too many times to take something like a match personally. Or need to to get motivation. This is just business, so when I make him tap like a scared little baby in there, we’ll just go get some waffles after.
Burkhalter: “If”.
Izzy: Losersayswhat?
Burkhalter: Loser says “If”, shitbird. Cause if I knock your block off–which I’d like to remind all the people at home that I’ve done before, right?
Izzy: Then you beat me, you get your arm raised, you get announced.
Burkhalter: Exactly.
Izzy: Then you wake your cornbread ass up because you were surely dreaming, fuckboy.
She begins to cover her foot, first with a compression ankle sock, then with high top wrestling shoes. Joey throws her a look of extreme challenge, his shit-eating smirk quite evident.
Burkhalter: I’m sure it’s inspiring watching you try to square up on someone who almost has two feet on you. Real ‘little engine that could’ vibes.
Izzy: Listen to this guy aura farming right now. Could never be me. I like to let my work in the ring speak for itself.
Burkhalter: That’s why you record videos talking about how you’re the Camaro grim reaper or whatever.
Izzy: Oh fuuuuuck you, it’s ‘Kamatayan’ and you know that, Fool’s Gold.
Burkhalter: Ha. Ha ha ha. Hear that, Iz? That’s me laughing.
Despite this rapid back and forth in the language of insult, both of these combatants are smiling. It is plain to anyone who watches them that what they have with one another was forged in stronger stuff than a dojo war could have ever broken. Both of them are out of time with their siblings, Joey by age and Izzy by circumstance. They, in effect, found out who they were and became adults together–they’re family. Which makes this next round of speech after a 30 second silence make all the sense in the world.
Izzy: Thousand bucks.
Burkhalter: Excuse me?
Izzy: Thousand bucks me and whoever they put me with–WASP and that guy that Mikey is scared of–beats your team.
Burkhalter: A full g bar?
Izzy: A rack, big dog. Unless you’re just all bark.
Burkhalter: I mean, if you want to lose your money, way easier ways to do that in this city. Just hate to take it off someone making as little as you are.
To this, Sia scoffs.
Izzy: Shit, London, Japan, Brazil? I got revenue streams you aren’t even tapped into. I’m doing you the favor.
Burkhalter: Sure thing, small time.
Izzy: Yawn. Look, you taped up yet? I wanna get some warmups in, and you’re the best heavy bag I know. Almost as fuckin’ smart as one, too.
Joey shakes his head and stands up, grabbing his gloves and sliding them on over his taped hands. He slaps his six pack and steps forward, in a mocking threat.
Burkhalter: You wanna pound the slab, be my guest. Just make sure you don’t hurt those soft honor roll-ass hands of yours, Iz.
Without a word, Izzy strides up to him–and lightning fast, backhands him in the groin with a classic sack tap! Joey bows forward, his eyes momentarily wide, before straightening his posture and adopting a fighting stance. We leave these two to begin their drills and warmups as we cut away…
SINGLES MATCH
SIN CITY CHAMPIONSHIP
CORMAC NELSON
VS.
MIKE DE LOS HUESOS (c)
PROMOTIONAL VIDEO
A VIOLENT BLOODBATH OF EPIC PROPORTIONS
“So I was thinking…”
The scene immediately lights up to Joshua Breedlove’s face. It’s all you can see for now, and the crowd boos him mercilessly as soon as they see him.
Joshua Breedlove: We’ve heard about the Pinnacle, we’ve heard about Zenith, we’ve heard about the final Revolution, the move to NYC, all of that. I know that there’s a lot of “Empire” based rhetoric that I can throw out around that location, but I digress.
He smiles.
Joshua Breedlove: What about CAPSTONE? What does CAPSTONE have in store for the Empire? What does CAPSTONE have in store for the SHOOT Project? Well, you already know that you’re going to get Golden Joey B in the main event. That was a natural choice, he’s a capstone of professional wrestling, after all. But what about the rest of us? I was thinking…
He pauses, smiling again.
Joshua Breedlove: There’s been some really annoying gnats that need to be swatted. Some people who can’t just seem to mind their business, and who have started to just… really irritate the folks in my home. I can’t abide by that, so here’s what we’re gonna do. At CAPSTONE, the Empire is going to square off against the Wild Ones and Josh Kaine in what’s going to be a massive eight person tag team match.
The crowd pops, hoping beyond hope that it’ll be a violent bloodbath of epic proportions.
Joshua Breedlove: I’m glad you all are into it. I figured… since the World Champion is unable to compete… putting down her little misfit crew is the next best thing, so at a minimum? It’ll be X-Calibur, teaming with myself, and two other members of the Empire whom I haven’t picked yet. Maybe the Collins Twins. Maybe Hanzo & Cromwell. Maybe two new folks.
Shrugging, never releasing the smirk on his face.
Joshua Breedlove: Who’s to say? Anyway, that’s all from me for now. Ta-ta!
IN THE RING
FEATHERS
The arena lights dim. A slow, haunting guitar riff begins—“House of the Rising Sun” by Five Finger Death Punch. Smoky light bleeds across the entrance ramp. The crowd erupts.
Logan Hart and Garrett Reid step through the curtain. Logan moves with deliberate, heavy steps. Garrett, eyes scanning the crowd, taps the side of his head as he walks, smirking.
They enter the ring. Logan stands still in the center, arms crossed. Garrett paces with a mic in hand.
Garrett Reid: Last week, we walked into this ring unproven, unknown, and unbothered.
Garrett Reid: But when the dust settled? The Atomic Punks were flat on their backs, and the world learned real quick what the name Echo Canyon Outcasts means.
The crowd pops.
Garrett Reid: Now we move from explosions to feathers. Murder Doves.
Logan Hart takes the mic, slow and calm.
Logan Hart: Cute name. Real edgy.
Logan Hart: But we’re not here to play mascot games. We’re here to fight.
Logan Hart: You fly high. You strike fast. But birds don’t scare men who’ve walked through deserts with no shade and no backup.
Garrett Reid: You two have been around. I’ll give you that. But while you’ve been busy flapping around in matching jackets, we’ve been sharpening steel in the canyons.
Garrett Reid: You’re not just in the ring with two guys trying to climb the ladder tonight. You’re in the ring with two men who already broke it and lit the damn thing on fire.
Logan Hart: You want to talk chaos? Violence? You think you know something about pain?
Logan Hart: You’ve never bled in the dirt and smiled through it. We have.
Garrett Reid: This isn’t an invitation. This is a warning.
Garrett Reid: The storm’s rolling in again. And when the wind settles… all that’ll be left?
Garrett Reid: Feathers.
Logan Hart: Ring the bell.
Logan drops the mic. Garrett backs into the corner, smirking. The crowd swells as the lights return to full brightness.
TAG TEAM MATCH
N/A
GARRETT REID
LOGAN HART
VS.
ASESINO DE LUTO
SEGATA
IN THE RING
AIDEN VANITY VS. REMY GARDEN: POSE OFF
We return to the ring to find a familiar face holding a microphone.
Samantha Coil: Ladies and gentlemen…
The crowd roars before the Vice President of Talent Relations can finish her thought, causing the ring announcer-turned-administrator to look up and smile.
Eryk Masters: Any day Samantha Coil is in the ring is a great day! It’s been too long, Jason!
Jason Johnson: She literally announced Vito’s match just a couple shows ago.
Eryk Masters: And it still feels like it’s been forever!
Jason Johnson: Dude. I know performance evaluations are coming up soon, but you don’t need to act so desperate.
Samantha Coil: Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready for a POSE OFF!?
Crowd: RAAAHHHHH!
Jason Johnson: I think this may be the first Pose Off in the history of SHOOT, Eryk. We should be in for a treat! As long as Aiden Vanity doesn’t take up the entire time talking, that is.
Eryk Masters: But what is talking, Jason, if not two lips in their own pose off? It really makes you think.
Jason Johnson: No it doesn’t.
Samantha Coil: The rules are simple… two competitors will compete in a battle of muscular tenacity to form their faces and bodies into works of art. The competition is best two out of three and the winner will receive bragging rights as well as this…
Samantha holds out a sparkling sash with the words “SHOOT PROJECT’S TOP POSER” on it.
Jason Johnson: On second thought; that’s actually perfect for Aiden.
Samantha Coil: Introducing first, hailing from Holllllllywoooooddd CALLLLLIFORNIA, Aid-
“You Give Love A Bad Name” by Bon Jovi kicks in, cutting Samantha off as the crowd instantly erupts in a mixed reaction—boos from the haters, cheers from the delusional few who think they stand a chance of ever looking this good.
The camera zooms in on Aiden Vanity walking out from behind the curtain. He is dressed in a shimmering, rhinestone-covered robe, Versace slides and designer sunglasses. He saunters down the ramp, slowly climbing the steel steps and steps between the ropes, looking cautiously at Samantha Coil.
As the music fades, Aiden removes his sunglasses and leans into Samantha’s microphone.
Aiden Vanity: You know, I’ve done a lot of things in my illustrious, gorgeous career. I’ve outshined legends, I’ve stolen the spotlight from so-called “main eventers,” and I’ve been the absolute standard of what perfection looks like in this business. But tonight, tonight is special. Because tonight, we’re about to witness something truly tragic…
The crowd begins to boo as Samantha Coil tries to regain control of the microphone, but Aiden stubbornly follows her around the ring.
Aiden Vanity: You see, someone actually thought it was a good idea to challenge me, AIDEN VANITY, to a pose off. The same Aiden Vanity who’s graced covers you people wouldn’t even be allowed to touch! Someone so stupid, so worthless, so dis-
“I Want You” by Savage Garden hits the speakers and the crowd erupts – partially for the man emerging from the back but also because the music gives them a reprieve from Aiden’s whining.
Samantha Coil yanks the microphone back and creates distance between her and Vanity.
Samantha Coil: And this guy’s opponent… by way of the Bayou, he is THE SAVAGE ONE, REEMMMMMMMY GAAAAAAAARDEN.
Aiden’s face crinkles in frustration at Remy’s far grander introduction, watching as the auburn-haired beauty sashays from the back wearing a flowing pink and green silk robe.
Remy blows kisses to the crowd as he makes his way down the rampway, up the ring steps, and through the ropes. He ignores Aiden as he slowly approaches Samantha Coil and gives her a courteous bow, which causes the announcer to blush slightly.
Eryk Masters: He’s going to get such a good performance review…
Aiden uses the distraction to pull the microphone out of Samantha’s hands, pointing wildly at Remy as the crowd boos.
Aiden Vanity: Oh, you think you stand a chance? You really believe that? Let’s be honest, you don’t belong in a pose-off with me! You are the type of man who looks like he just started a New Year’s resolution yesterday! A man whose idea of a good pose is ugh, flexing his little bicep and hoping people are impressed. You should be thanking whatever higher power he prays to that you even get to stand in the same ring as me. If this crowd wanted to see someone struggle to look halfway decent, they’d scroll through their ex’s Instagram! I am THE STANDARD. I am what people pay to see! You on the other hand…
Remy removes his silk robe to reveal a form-fitting black unitard embroidered with white roses, which match his complementary knee-high white leather, high-heeled boots. The Savage One nods to a furious Aiden as he begins to walk the ring to a rousing reaction from the fans.
Samantha Coil yanks her microphone back from the distracted Aiden and continues her introduction.
Samantha Coil: Each competitor will be given a clip of a song, which will run for 10 seconds… during which they will be allowed to vogue, give face, and serve their best look. Extra points for their final pose.
Remy and Aiden lock eyes.
Samantha Coil: And in true ballroom fashion we will have three judges with us to determine each round’s winner! They are-
Samantha is cut off again as Aiden snatches the microphone back from her.
Eryk Masters: …I think that’ll get an “Unsatisfactory” on his review.
Jason Johnson: You think?
Aiden Vanity: It’s so brave of you to stand here knowing you’re absolutely about to get demolished. Seriously, inspiring stuff. Anyway—
He snaps his fingers impatiently as he fumbles with his custom made robe.
Aiden Vanity: I knew you issuing this preposterous challenge was a setup, Remy… A desperate plot to try and embarrass me! So I called in a favor to make sure that if we’re going to do this – the judging will be 100 percent… impartial.
Aiden shoves the microphone back over to Samantha as Remy glares at Aiden.
Samantha listens to her earpiece, her expression dropping. She looks up—first at Aiden, then at Remy.
We can hear Aiden yelling from in the middle of the ring.
Aiden Vanity: Let’s go! Let’s go! LET’S GO!
Samantha shoots him a glare, then reluctantly steps forward, clearing her throat.
Samantha Coil: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Judging tonight’s POSE OFF we have one of the hottest names in Vegas show business!
Samantha pauses. Longer than expected.
Aiden Vanity: …AND!?
Samantha Coil: …second only to Aiden Vanity.
Samantha grimaces.
Samantha Coil: You’ve been to his venues, you’ve seen his shows, but you haven’t seen him on a stage — UNTIL TONIGHT.
PLEASE WELCOME, FROM THE CRESCENT CITY TO SIN CITY, IT’S ASHLEY LEBOUCHER!!!!!
The crowd doesn’t quite know how to react—until they see Remy freeze.
Then, from behind the curtain walks a sharply dressed man in white, his golden hair slicked back and his smile razor-sharp. The fans are transfixed and silent as Ashley straightens his suit jacket and adjusts his tie, eyes locked on Remy, as he makes his way down the rampway.
Eryk Masters: Hey! Isn’t Remy also from New Orleans?
Jason Johnson: Indeed he is Eryk, and clearly these two have some history.
Eryk Masters: Doesn’t sound exactly impartial to me…
Jason Johnson: Agreed. But in whose favor?
Ashley hits the base of the ramp, looking up at Aiden and Remy before bowing and blowing a kiss into the ring. Remy’s already porcelain skin is bone white as the color drains from his face, staggering backwards, as far away from the Pose Off judge as possible.
Ashley makes his way over to the announce table, daintily setting a kerchief down on his chair before taking a seat, and pulling a miniature gold-plated microphone out of his coat pocket.
Jason Johnson: Uh… Mr. Leboucher. Welcome. Are you sure you don’t want a headset?
Ashley taps the microphone lightly.
Ashley Leboucher: Merci, Mr. Johnson, and no offense, but I have gone 26 years without knowing the pleasure of head lice and I am not about to start now.
Jason Johnson: Some taken… but okay. And so you’re here to judge our Pose Off, then?
Ashley Leboucher: Oui. Though, through a stroke of serendipity, and the generous offer of Mr. Vanity, I must admit that I have an ulterior motive for being here, and that is to wish my dear, dear friend Remy the happiest of belated birthdays.
Eryk Masters: Aw! That’s so sweet. I would expect nothing less from a man who smells like pure vanilla bean. That must be why Remy is so surprised.
Jason Johnson: That wasn’t just surprise on Remy’s face. That was fear.
Back in the ring, Aiden has seemingly yanked the microphone away from Samantha again. The VP of Talent Relations tries to wrestle it away again but eventually throws up her arms in disgust, flips Aiden off, and makes her way out of the ring.
Aiden doesn’t seem to care as turns back to the clearly horrified Remy.
Aiden Vanity: So, You want a pose off, eh? You want to see who’s got the best body, and the best looks? Is that really what you people came here for?
He pauses, letting the fans cheer, then waves them off and rolls his eyes.
Aiden Vanity: Well, guess what? It’s not happening. It’s officially cancelled just like Easter. You assholes wasted too much of my precious time out here. I won by default. I’m done playing these mickey mouse games with you, Remy so take a hike and get the hell out of my face!
Aiden steps up to Remy, his chest all puffed up and looking brave, the microphone held just close enough away that we can hear Remy.
Remy Garden: Okay.
Eryk Masters: Wait… huh?
Aiden also seems confused as he takes a step back.
Aiden Vanity: What was that?
Remy holds up his hands, all while keeping one eye on the smiling Ashley Leboucher.
Remy Garden: You win, Aiden. You got me. Good job.
Remy begins to back away from Aiden whose shock begins to slowly morph into frustration.
Aiden Vanity: No! Hey! Come back here. I paid a lot of money to embarrass you out here tonight! You wanted a pose off and so we’re going to POSE!
Aiden goes to pull Remy back toward the center of the ring but Remy swats Aiden’s hand away violently, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and fear.
Remy Garden: Va te faire foutre! You don’t know what you’ve done, Aiden.
Remy begins to exit the ring as the crowd begins to boo.
Jason Johnson: Wait, is he actually backing out of the Pose Off?
Eryk Masters: That’s not like Remy at all. Something’s really wrong.
Ashley Leboucher: Oh dear… I hope I haven’t done anything to upset Remy. His ego is as delicate as a flower…
Aiden, stunned for a beat, quickly recovers and beams, lifting both arms in the air like he just won the SHOOT Project Heavyweight Title.
Aiden Vanity: That’s right, baby! I always win! Remy Garden knows better than to test perfection!
Now the crowd is booing even louder as Aiden prances around the ring like a cat that caught the canary. Meanwhile, we see Ashley calmly get up from the announce table.
Eryk Masters: Hey! Don’t leave so soon! At least stick around for the main event.
Ashley Leboucher: Non. I’m sorry, mon ami. I must go and make Remy gets his birthday gift. It would be so ungentlemanly of me not to celebrate such an important occasion.
Ashley sticks the microphone back into his coat pocket and begins to walk toward the ring – toward Aiden Vanity – as Remy, meanwhile, is beginning to round the corner on the other side. Aiden looks down at Ashley and slaps his forehead, as if he forgot something.
The young man in white rounds the opposite corner, looking to intercept Remy, who locks eyes with Ashley and momentarily freezes.
Eryk Masters: He looks really rich, Jason! I wonder what kind of gift Ashley has for Remy!
Jason Johnson: Whatever it is… if Aiden is involved, it can’t be good.
Ashley holds up his hands, protesting as Remy tries to exit up the rampway. The fans are glued to the drama as Remy shouts something at Ashley but then Ashley moves and blocks Remy’s path up the rampway before getting down on one knee.
Eryk Masters: Oh! He’s going to propose! PRO-POSE! Of course!
Jason Johnson: Aiden isn’t that clever, Eryk, he’s– BEHIND REMY WITH A PAIR OF BRASS KNUCKLES!
The crowd goes ballistic as Aiden flashes gold plated brass knuckles, gripping them tightly as he goes to clock Remy viciously in the back of the head! Dropping him to the ground!
Jason Johnson: Those gold knuckles on Aiden look suspiciously similar to the gold microphone your new best friend had with him! I think this was a set up from the beginning!
Eryk Masters: What are you implying!?
Aiden leans down, grabbing a fistful of his hair, and turns Remy over as Ashley watches, amused as the fists come raining down on the face of “Savage One” – each one opening up a new gash as blood starts to pool around his head.
The crowd goes from boos to stunned silence as Ashley finally steps in, and puts his hand on Aiden’s shoulder, saying something we can’t pick up. Whatever it is causes Aiden to stop and stand, blood on his knuckles, breathing heavily.
Jason Johnson: Jesus. We need medics out here. IMMEDIATELY.
He gestures for Ashley’s microphone but Ashley takes one look at Aiden’s bloody knuckles and shakes his head no. A frustrated Aiden, instead, manages to grab the microphone he dropped previously from the edge of the mat and then matches back toward Remy’s motionless body, crouching beside him.
Aiden Vanity: Look at you now, Remy. You have tried to paint me as a clown, but it looks like I’m the one laughing this time!
Aiden leans down and uses his finger to draw a smile in Remy’s blood over his lips, like clown makeup as he snickers and the crowd goes even more volatile. Aiden rises and turns, pointing dramatically.
Aiden Vanity: You people can boo me all you want but let me tell you something—villains always win in the end. Better yet, the winners get to make the rules.
He smirks, running his tongue across his teeth.
Aiden Vanity: I’m done with being cute, Remy. Aiden Vanity isn’t cute he’s gorgeous! And gorgeous people are the only people worth a damn in this world! So, since you seem to love rolling around in the dirt so much like a fucking pig, I’ll be more than happy to bury you six feet under in front of all your fans next time we meet.
The crowd roars in anger as Aiden nods to Ashley who looks almost… sad as he leans down and wipes a smudge of blood off of the unconscious Remy’s face with his handkerchief.
Aiden Vanity: Oh, and Remy… I hope your insurance covers cosmetic reconstruction because once I’m through with you your own mother won’t recognize you.
Aiden sneers before dropping the mic with a thud. He throws his arms out, basking in the boos of the crowd before turning and exits to the back with Ashley Leboucher in tow.
SIX-PERSON TAG TEAM MATCH
FIRESTARTER SHOWCASE
IZZY SIA
WASP
ULTIMO MUERTE
VS.
