Interior, Blackhawk Fight Gym
There’s a certain cacophonous din when things are in full swing, generally around the timeframe of 330pm to 9 o’clock–that’s when there are two classes going, that’s when all the student teachers are prowling, and that’s when sometimes you can catch Nate Robideau himself stalking on the perimeter. ‘Stalking’ is maybe a strong word–he definitely gets attention, but these days he leaves the stern military end of things to Izzy. Instead, he walks slowly, his eyes placid, occasionally drawing a student away from the group to help them with something he notices they’re struggling with.
It’s a simple way to live your days, but Nate believes in the actual transformative power of martial training. The wins and accolades seem so breathtakingly small to him when he looks at his students developing as human beings. Sure, he still gets the occasional aspirant who has seen his worst moments on a television screen and thinks that Robideau will teach them how to be a merciless killer in the ring, but those sorts get drummed out as fast as those who don’t want to take things seriously.
But sometimes a student walks in who defies easy classification. Today, that student is Remy “Savage” Garden.
The door swings open, and for a moment, the drab, almost brutalist nature of the gym is overtaken by what can only be described as untamed glamor.
Remy steps inside, his auburn hair catching the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. He’s dressed in preparation for training, that is for certain, but not the kind of training Blackhawk traditionally offers.
A Coach travel bag slides off the man’s slender shoulders, pulling at the cloth of a barely-taught silk robe. He lets the bag drop to the floor softly as he adjusts his garment and lets out a modest cough, as if he hadn’t already captured the attention of every young man and woman in the gym.
Nate notices Remy immediately as well, but not just his appearance. The seasoned fighter and trainer he is, what stands out is the way he moves—graceful yet powerful, like a predator surveying its territory. Remy’s eyes scan the gym, taking in the various activities with a discerning if not admiring gaze as he watches the footwork of two fighters in particular. He is so entranced that he barely notices Nate approaching.
Robideau: Garden, right? New SHOOT Talent?
Remy turns his attention away from the ring and toward the owner of the Blackhawk Gym.
Remy Garden: Oui. Monsieur. Though, while I may be a new arrival to your SHOOT Project, my talent stretches back decades.
Remy raises his eyebrows in a mocking, but playful opening volley somewhere between flirting and a verbal spat. Unfortunately, these more subtle overtures are either lost on Nate or, more likely, just wholly ineffective. The Blackhawk crosses his arms, nodding.
Robideau: No, I’ve seen your talent. Also watched you lose a couple times, too. That sort of winning pedigree stretch back decades as well?
Remy chuckles slightly and runs a hand through his hair before holding up his hands in mock defeat.
Remy Garden: You’ve caught me like a moth in a flame, mon cher. But let me assure you, my recent losses are merely part of a grander path. As Oprah once said… “A queen is not afraid to fail. Failure is another stepping stone to greatness.”
Nate crosses his arms, waiting to see if there is more. Remy takes in a breath and clenches his fists slightly, elegantly-filed nails digging into his palms.
Remy Garden: Oh fine. If I must say it. I am here, monsieur Robiedeau, the much-lauded Faucon Noir, to seek assistance. As you so rightly put it, I have … struggled more than anticipated and so I have come here to cultivate my skills and transform those losses into victories. In the ring, as in life, it’s not about how many times you fall, but how you rise — like the perfect rose craned to the sun in full bloom…
Remy seems lost in his own narrative but quickly finds his focus and locks eyes with Nate.
Remy Garden: Now it is my turn to ask you, sir, if you are the man for the job or if I should seek my fortunes elsewhere?
Nate begins a slow pace. He walks around Garden, sizing the man up–Remy, to his credit, not only doesn’t flinch, but appears to lean in to the attention. Finally, after a full circle, he reaches out, extending a hand to shake.
Robideau: I’ve got some basic ground rules, Remy. One, you will not disrespect this building or these instructors. Two, you give it your all. Because I’ll let you in on a secret, something a lot of folks aren’t looking hard enough to see: you’ve got legitimate potential. A lot of it.
He turns and starts to walk off, but stops short, turning back around.
Robideau: Five A.M. tomorrow. Meet outside. Roadwork.
The scene fades to black…
EP.: 062
DATE: 07.20.2024
ARENA: THE EPICENTER
We moved to the backstage area and found Lexi Gold sitting on the hallway floor with a bottle of Jack Daniels next to her. She picked it up, examining it closely while humming to herself, then set it down and started twirling her hair.
???: So you gonna actually take a drink or just stare at it?
From off to the right, Premier Champion RIA walks into frame. As is her style with any title she wins, the belt is wrapped around her left shoulder diagonally to just under her right armpit, bandolier style. The Psychoberry snatches the bottle up, examining herself with a bit of a smirk on her face before putting it back down. Her attention shifts over to Lexi.
RIA: Lexi.
Lexi rises from the ground, a wicked smirk curling on her lips as she eyes the bottle and then turns her attention to Ria.
Lexi Gold: Oh, so you do remember me. How precious. If that was yours you’d have chugged it already. Is that how you prep for your matches now? It seems like you reached a new level of low since you’ve returned
RIA’s eyes narrow and her arms cross on her chest. She whips her head left and right, cracking her neck.
RIA: So we’re doing it this way, huh? Fine. It seems like YOU have reached a new level of being a bitch since I’ve been gone! Guess we’ve both changed, huh?
She takes a step forward, looking down at Gold.
RIA: So I like to have the occasional drink. What’s your point? I fuckin’ kill myself at the gym, day in and day out. And quite frankly, with some of the other choices I’ve made in my life, alcohol is a far lesser evil. But please, continue judging.
Lexi chuckles, tracing her long fingernails against the center plate of the Premier championship.
Lexi Gold: You’re right, Ria, alcohol might be a lesser evil, but you know what isn’t though? Well, you are staring right dead in her eyes. While you took your ball and ran away, everything around here shifted. The so-called friendship we had died and buried. Now, you want to stroll back in, claim that Premier Championship as your own and pretend everything is just as it was. That doesn’t sit well with me. While you were off trying to find yourself, I discovered who I truly was. I shed my own image and erased everyone in my life and the difference between us I didn’t need to run away to do it.
RIA’s lips curl up in a snarl as Lexi speaks. She pulls the Premier Championship off over her head, holding it in her right hand.
RIA: Oh no! I walked in, beat something like ten other fuckin’ people and won a title! How low of me! How dare I win matches I have low as hell odds in! I fought for this. Go ahead and trash me for leaving if you want. Cuz guess what? I can see through bullshit well enough. So what’s the real problem here, Lexi? Hurt that I left without a word to you? Jealous that I came back in hotter than a July day in Nevada?
Sliding the title up over her right shoulder, RIA steps forward again; right into Lexi Gold’s personal space.
RIA: If it’s the former, I will offer you a genuine and sincere apology. I really liked you. The old you. I absolutely considered you a friend. If your problem is the latter, I ain’t apologizing for that. For too goddamn long, I’ve let other people fuck with my confidence. I WON this title! I outlasted seven other people to do it! I had to fight a good friend of mine in that match. Shit, I had to fight through a fuckin’ crowd to even get the shot! Don’t be mad at me cuz I got the job done, babe.
Lexi Gold: I don’t want your apology. Your hero act is as pathetic as it is predictable. You admitted yourself that your chances at winning tonight are pretty low. It’s clear you don’t believe in yourself, and honestly, neither do I. No one does. You can keep battling the world, but in the end, the demons always win. So, go ahead, drown your sorrows in a drink now before you step through that curtain. It’s the only thing you’re good for.
RIA raises the title and holds it up next to Lexi’s face.
RIA: Newsflash, darling. You ain’t dealin’ with Lockhart. I’ve recentered myself. The demon in my head has been there since I was seventeen years old! She might win battles, but she ain’t never won the war. And you? You’re gonna find the same result. But ya know what?
The Psychoberry shoots her left out and grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels.
RIA: I will take this. But it’s not to drown my sorrows, no no. It’s to celebrate my victory! You’re gonna learn something that a number of people have already. My rainbow is shining bright, babe. And if you ain’t careful, it’s gonna blind you! Good luck, Lexi. You’re gonna need it!
With that, RIA turns around and storms off. Lexi watches her leave with an angry look on her face.
Lexi Gold Vs. RIA (c)
PREMIER CHAMPIONSHIP
Singles Match
Backstage
HE'S WATCHING
Darkness greets the camera as it cuts to the backstage area. The massive Ultimo Muerte walks slowly out of the shadows toward the camera in his ring attire. He stops, crosses his arms across his bare chest, and stares down into the camera with his dark brown eyes through his mask. Pandora’s voice booms from off camera.
Pandora: For years, the High Brujah had her thumb on Ultimo Muerte. She felt powerful keeping her claws sunk into him. In her old age she seemed to have forgotten what made Ultimo Muerte so dangerous.
Pandora paused as a splice of video from Total Annihilation “glitched” into the current video, capturing Ultimo Muerte violently beating CICADA in a steel cage.
Pandora: Thankfully, the High Brujah has been disposed of. There is a new Master in town, and he has learned how to play with his new toys.
He knows what makes Ultimo Muerte at his best.
Freedom.
Pandora’s voice again pauses. Sweat begins to trickle down Ultimo Muerte’s body.
Pandora: Tonight, at Ruination 62, Ultimo Muerte will be free to do whatever it is he wants in the six-man tag match; A match the Master has personally requested for Ultimo Muerte.
Come, Ultimo Muerte. Let’s go impress our new Master.
Ultimo Muerte grunts. He snarls at the camera, then walks away from it. The camera fades to black.
Backstage
THE CATCH-UP
Panting, covered in sweat, but smiling, RIA labors backstage. Slung across her shoulder is the Premier Championship, freshly defended against a worthy challenger in Lexi Gold.
“RIIIIIIAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”
A sing-songy voice from up the hall breaks into RIA’s concentration. She focuses and sees a small, bouncing figure in purples, blues, and blacks approaching her.
Ami Troy: Hiiiiiii!!!!!!
Upon seeing her friend, RIA can’t help but smile. She stops and turns around, waiting for her friend to catch up.
RIA: Hey babe. What’s going on?
Ami Troy: Not much, we were all watching your match in the locker room. Wanted to catch you on the way back. You did great!
RIA shrugs, drawing closer to Ami. The smile is still present on her face, gentle and welcoming.
RIA: ‘Prieciate your support! You know me, always gonna give my best! So you said we… Who all we talking here, honey?
Ami Troy: Oh, you know. Me. Ceese. My big dumb brother.
“Forgetting someone?”
Ami looks over her shoulder and smiles. Lindsay Troy approaches, dressed in a blouse, slacks and heels with the SHOOT Project World Championship strapped around her waist.
Lindsay Troy: Someone important?
Ami Troy: Nope! Don’t think so!
RIA can’t help but giggle at the exchange. She stays between the two Troy women, glancing at Ami before looking at Lindsay.
RIA: Boss Lady! Sup?! Don’t think I got the opportunity to congratulate you on the title win in person, so congrats! Knew you could do it, so I ain’t surprised. Speaking of, feels like I haven’t seen ya in a bit, despite being in the same orbit.
RIA smirks playfully, tilting her head and scooching closer to the elder Troy.
RIA: You avoiding me? Too busy? Intimidated by how goddamn beautiful I am? Which is it?!
While it’s likely the second option, the Psychoberry can’t help but jokingly prod her now years long friend. Lindsay laughs at the good-natured jab and elbows RIA’s arm.
Lindsay Troy: Everyone should be intimidated by how beautiful you are, RIA, but no, it’s not that. And definitely not the other things. I’ve been trying to keep it low-pro, get a lay of how the land is now since I was gone for so long…and trying to keep the target on my back as small as possible since I won the big belt in my first match back. Of course, that was never gonna be in the cards, but it was a nice thought to have.
A genuine smile appears on her face.
Lindsay Troy: I appreciate the congrats. Wish I could have done it sooner, but finally getting that win over Breedlove sure felt good no matter when it happened.
RIA nudges LT in the ribs with her elbow with force that probably wouldn’t break an egg.
RIA: You’re quite the flatterer, ya know? But yeah, totally get the other stuff. Shit, feels like forever ago when you were tossing me around the ring here. And now, we both ended up breaking through. Crazy stuff.
The former Lockhart backs up ever so slightly. She glances up at the statuesque World champion, first at her face, then at her title.
RIA: It’s not gonna be easy keeping a hold of that. Especially not with what Iron Will has in store. Oh, by the way, not that I need to say it… but if for whatever reason, you’re ever lacking in backup, you know I’m just a phone call away.
Ami Troy: Pssh, duh! And you know you can count on us, too, especially when it comes to that Night of the Living Dummy, Lexi Gold.
Lindsay Troy: She’s changed quite a bit since you and I have been gone, that’s for sure.
Ami Troy: (muttering to herself) Probably was all that time spent in The Pit…
The Queen nudges her daughter into silence. RIA groans, having just barely heard Ami’s mumbling.
RIA: We’re just gonna pretend that place doesn’t exist, yeah? And I think I’ll be fine when it comes to Lexi. What she mighta gained was done so by tossin’ something else aside. Also gettin’ kinda bored with people tellin’ me how ‘low level’ I am. Dunno if it’s jealousy, insecurity, concern… Whatever it is, it’s a load of bullshit.
RIA places her hands on her hips, looking back and forth between the Troy women.
RIA: Here, PRIME, doesn’t matter. I’m climbing, after years of being at a certain level. Too many fuckin’ people think they know who I am and what I’m capable of. But it’s not just me…
The Psychoberry’s gaze locks onto Lindsay.
RIA: Somehow, people keep underestimating you. No goddamn idea how they do, but they do. I’m still chasing after you, ya know? And while I very much value our friendship, I wanna keep growing. You’re a damn high standard and I’m hoping someday, I can hit that level.
Lindsay Troy: You’d better, because I want to see you holding this belt someday, even if you have to beat me to do it.
She smiles and pats the faceplate of the SHOOT Project World Title.
Lindsay Troy: I know you can do it. But you have to know you can do it, too. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise, or that your accomplishments don’t matter, whether it’s Lexi, or Anna, or HEXXX, or anyone else, because then I’ll definitely toss you around the ring again. Got it?
RIA laughs heartily before whipping her head left and right, cracking her neck.
RIA: Lexi can’t tell me shit, she’s lost that right. Anna and I… We had a talk and figured some shit out. So no worries there. HEXXX?
The smile that was on the face of the Technicolor Comforter of Wrestling fades into a more somber look. One that’s undercut with a bit of anger and sadness.
RIA: 17 can go get lost in a garbage dump somewhere. I’m disappointed in Daihm and I don’t give a shit what else he wants me to call him. Ayumi… I have to get my hands on her. I dunno when, I dunno how. And I know there’s a line for the pleasure of smacking her upside her head… But I’ll wait as long as I have to.
RIA raises an eyebrow while looking at Lindsay.
RIA: Pretty sure you’ll wanna get a crack at her before I do.
Lindsay Troy: Oh, I want to get more than a crack at her. I’ve got enough on my plate right now with Iron Will on the horizon. If I make it out of that, then I’ve got the venereal disease she calls a friend to contend with. And I don’t see her or any of her other cohorts making that a fair or easy contest.
Ami Troy: Which is why you’ve got us. And Uncle Dan. And RIA.
Lindsay smiles and nods.
Lindsay Troy: You bet I do.
RIA nods emphatically.
RIA: Don’t matter where it is, who it is, whatever. We’re gonna do it our way and with each other. Shit ain’t even close to ending, it’s just beginning! So HEXXX, Lexi, SWARM, the Empire, don’t give a single solitary fuck who it is… Step up and we’ll happily sit you right back the fuck down!
Ami holds her hand up for a high-five, which RIA gladly returns. On that happy note, Ruination goes elsewhere.
REMY GARDEN VS. Josh COnway
Singles Match
Backstage
AN INFESTATION
Meanwhile, in the Vae Victis locker room…
Some time has passed since the members of House Troy had a delightful conversation with the Psychoberry, RIA, and they now find themselves in their spacious accommodations for the evening. Without matches to prepare for and no interviews scheduled, the Vae Victis contingent have settled in for an evening of absolute peace and qui-hahahaha, yeah right.
The lights begin to flicker, gently at first, before growing progressively worse, and then cutting out completely.
At first, there’s confusion….
Ami Troy: Um…is this where we make a joke about someone forgetting to pay the electric bill?
Kaz Troy: Ami, that’s not a real thing.
Ami Troy: Yes it is, dum dum. The lights in the arena go out and an announcer makes the joke. Don’t tell me I’m not doing the wrestling tropes right, Kaz, I’m not an idiot.
…and then confusion turns to annoyance…
Cecilia Ryan: Alright, this is stupid. I’m going to find out what’s going on. Where’s my phone.
Lindsay Troy: Everyone calm down and stay put. I’ll—
The lights come back on, but they are significantly dimmer. A blue light shines off screen, and everyone turns their attention to the monitor.
Siren: Hello, Champion. As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend – but are you? HEXXX has done irreparable damage to the SHOOT Project brand, and you and your compatriots, along with our clients [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] have taken up arms against the trio. Shall we consider you friend or foe?
There is a beat in the conversation, as if Lindsay is expected to respond, but the Siren keeps speaking, because you can’t talk to a TV, right?
Siren: Undoubtedly, we are put at odds due to the forthcoming Iron Will structure. We at ERID LLC. have no ill feelings for you as a person. However, you as a competitor stand in the way of an opportunity. At Iron Will 3, any sense of appreciation will be replaced purely with respect, but at the end of the night, you will be another feast for our LOCUST.
The Queen scowls at the closing remark, but it’s Ami who is the first to speak following the message.
Ami Troy: Ayumi keeps making friends, huh?
Both Kaz’s and Cecilia’s faces turn stormy at the mention of the HEXXX Leader’s name, her last-minute switch into their tag match two weeks ago in place of the former Daihm Ferguson was still fresh on their minds. Kaz’s especially.
Kaz Troy: Fuck that hypocritical bitch. Out loud. She has some nerve going around saying the things she’s saying when she’s nothing more than a hypocritical, sanctimonious cu—
Lindsay Troy: That’s enough!
She grabs her son by the shoulder and whirls him to her so they’re looking nearly eye to eye. Both Ami and Cecilia watch on, shocked at the normally even-keeled Kaz getting this fired up.
Lindsay Troy: You know how I feel about what all has happened with Ayumi. And I know you’re still pissed about that tag match two weeks ago. But this…getting mad, losing our heads…is not how we’re gonna go about handling it.
There is a blast of static from the screen, reminding the locker room that something is happening on the TV. The screen changes over, now showing the bizarre plastic and business-attired image of the Speaker, still shaded in blue.
The Speaker: Missssssssssssssssssssssss Tr-tr-tr-troy…loooooooooooos-ing-ing-ing your head would be ill-advised, indeed.
Ami Troy: Whoa, is that Max Headroom?
The Speaker: (the voice grows progressively higher pitched and faster) hahahahahahayouresofunnyhahahahahahaha
The Merry Mischief Maker skips over to the TV and taps the screen.
Ami Troy: Hi!!! We’re not in the business of losing our heads, just kicking the heads off of others, Mr. Headroom.
Kaz Troy: Ami, that’s not—
The Speaker: We want to make our intentions clear-clear-clear-cleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-
The screen goes static for just a moment before returning to the Speaker.
The Speaker: We respect you, and we have our own reasons to be at odds with your enemy. In any other circumstance, you can consider us allies. We are…sorry that our situation has put our SWARM before you, because the SWARM must feed.
Ami Troy: That…doesn’t sound pleasant…
Lindsay gently moves her daughter over next to her son, then takes a knee in front of the TV. She rests an arm across her thigh and peers at The Speaker.
Lindsay Troy: Normally I’m not down with the trippy, spoopy pranks or whatever this is, but things haven’t been any flavor of normal since I made my way back here. Respect goes both ways, though, and I know how hard it is to win an Iron Will qualifier. But as far as feeding goes, it’s not gonna be me your SWARM is feeding on, because I don’t intend on letting this title get away from me this soon.
Static again, being replaced with the Speaker. This time his eyes, far too human, are zoomed in on.
The Speaker: W-w-w-w-w-w-w-wonderful Misssssssssssssssssssssss Troy…we look for-for-for-for-for-waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard to the chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-
Static. The screen attempts to turn to normal, but it seems to be barely functioning, as if electricity is surging into it. Finally, a very unsteady image of The Speaker returns.
The Speaker: -llenge. But all life ends in a flash of white, darkness, and endless blue. The SWARM…must…fee-
Black. In the form of a boot stomping through the screen and sending the TV crashing off its stand and onto the floor. Cecilia Ryan sends two, three more stomps through it for good measure.
The Speaker is gone.
The room is silent for a moment. Cece speaks after catching her breath.
Cecilia Ryan: I didn’t want to hear that stupid line again.
Nobody disagreed.
Backstage
ST. ANDREWS, JUNE OF '83
Scene opens backstage with Major Malice, dressed in his militant gear, striding through the corridor with a stern, sneering expression. The camera follows him as he moves with purpose, his boots echoing off the concrete floor. As he turns a corner, he spots an older, rugged man with a muscular build and a classic 80s wrestling vibe, chatting with an assistant.
The man is Hank Hercules. He laughs heartily, reminiscing about old times. Major Malice stops in
his tracks, his stern demeanor faltering as he recognizes the legend.
Major Malice: [Eyes widening, voice incredulous] St. Andrews, June of ‘83?
Hank Hercules turns to face Malice, his laughter pausing as he takes in the sight of the militant figure before him.
Hank Hercules: [Curiously] That’s right, kid. St. Andrews, June of ‘83. You were there?
Major Malice, usually intimidating and stern, breaks into a broad grin, his eyes shining with excitement. He rushes forward, almost giddy with excitement.
Major Malice: [Fangirling] Hank Hercules! I can’t believe it! You were my childhood hero! I have replayed that match a hundred times in my mind!
Hank: [smiling broadly] – A Herc head! Always glad to meet a fan, partner! Andrew’s ‘83 feels like yesterday. The night I pinned Maritime Maniac Connie Irivine. Tough son of a bitch…for a Canadian.
Major Malice: [Grinning even wider] Absolutely, sir! That match was legendary. You were unstoppable that night! Maritime Maniac Connie Irvine didn’t stand a chance against you. I still remember the way you executed that perfect piledriver—it was like watching poetry in motion. To meet you in person, after all these years… it’s a dream come true. You’ve inspired me more than you know!
Hank: Well it was a special crowd with the Herc heads like you in the stands watching so I brought out some of the razzle dazzle moves I learned in Mexico like that pile driver. I bet you never saw anything like a pile driver before. Haha! God I was great l, wasn’t I? Hey partner what are you doing here? Wrestling? Looking for someone to do a sponsorship deal with?
Just then, The Punch Line—Roy Vezina, Harv Norris, and Rick Hull—walk by, having been looking for Major Malice. They stop in their tracks, bewildered by the sight of Major Malice smiling.
Roy Vezina: [Confused] Major Malice… smiling? What’s going on here?
Rick Hull: [Whispering to Harv] Is that really him? He looks… happy?
Harv Norris: [Scratching his head] Ay, b’y, this is weird.
As soon as Major Malice notices The Punch Line, his demeanor shifts dramatically. His grin vanishes, replaced by his usual stern, militant expression. He turns to face them, his voice booming.
Major Malice: [Shouting] What are you maggots doing standing around? You think you can slack off on my watch?
[Harv Norris stumbles back, startled by the sudden change in Malice’s tone. Major Malice strides over, grabbing Harv by the collar and throwing him down to the floor.]
Major Malice: [Commanding] Norris, drop and give me fifty push-ups! Right now!
Harv scrambles to comply, dropping to the floor and starting his push-ups, his face red with exertion and embarrassment.
Major Malice: [Turning to Roy and Rick] And you two! Why aren’t you ready for your next match? I don’t want to see any of you slacking off again. Do you understand me?
Roy Vezina: [Stammering] Y-yes, Major Malice! We understand!
Rick Hull: [Nodding vigorously] We’ll be ready, sir!
Harv continues his push-ups, struggling but determined to keep up. Major Malice glares at them all, his eyes cold and unyielding.
Major Malice: [Sneering] Good. Now get out of my sight and make sure you’re prepared. Next time, I won’t be so lenient.
The Punch Line quickly scramble away, leaving Harv to finish his push-ups under Malice’s watchful eye. As the camera pans back to Major Malice, he stands tall, the harsh drill sergeant once again firmly in control.
Hank: I like the way you handled those punks. My trainer had me doing 500 push ups before breakfast and once he broke my arm because I asked for a bathroom break! The kid im working with is nice and violent but man is he a moody bitch. Not real men like me…and you Master Mall! [Hank pats Malice on the back] hey why don’t we grab a couple of blues, your treat and I’ll tell you some more war stories.
Major Malice: [Grinning, clearly pleased] You got it, Hank! I’d be honored to hear more of your stories. Let’s go.
The camera captures the two men walking off together, Malice’s stern demeanor momentarily softened by the presence of his childhood hero.
CORMAC NELSON VS. FLACO CORTEZ
Singles Match
Backstage
THAT'S THE DEAL
Scene opens in the SHOOT Project arena, with the crowd buzzing with anticipation. The lights dim, and patriotic music blares through the speakers. Johnny Patriot, the all-American hero, makes his way to the ring, microphone in hand. The crowd cheers loudly as he steps into the ring, ready to address the audience.
Johnny Patriot: [Raising the microphone, smiling brightly] Ladies and gentlemen, Patriots of this great country and others, SHOOT Project Universe, how’s everyone doing tonight?
The crowd erupts in cheers, chanting “Patriot! Patriot!”
Johnny Patriot: [Nodding, soaking in the cheers] Thank you, thank you! Now, I’m out here tonight because there’s something important I need to address. You see, there’s been a lot of talk about Ryan Samuels and his suspension. And I’ve got something to say about that.
The crowd’s cheers turn to a mix of curiosity and support.
Johnny Patriot: [Pointing to the entrance ramp] Roy Vezina, you get your Canadian kiester out here. We need to settle this right now.
The arena lights focus on the entrance ramp as Roy Vezina, flanked by Rick Hull and Harv Norris, makes his way to the ring. The crowd’s reaction is a mix of boos and cheers. The Punch Line enters the ring, and Roy grabs a microphone.
Roy Vezina: [Trying to maintain his condescendingly positive demeanor] Johnny, what do you think you’re doing? You’ve got no business sticking your nose in our affairs.
Johnny Patriot: [Firmly] Oh, I think I do, Roy. You see, I believe in respect, and what you’ve done to Ryan is anything but respectful. So here’s what I propose: a match at the PPV. You and me, one-on-one, with Ryan’s contract on the line. If I win, the Midwest Nightmare gets reinstated.
The crowd erupts in cheers, chanting “Patriot! Patriot!” again.
Roy Vezina: [Smirking, then faltering slightly] Oh, you think you can just walk in here and make demands? Fine. But if you lose, Johnny, you must… [pauses, thinking] you must… wear a clown suit for a month. No, wait… [pauses again] you must be my personal assistant. Hmm… no, that’s not it. [Really thinking] You must… leave the SHOOT Project. Yeah! That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.
The crowd reacts with a mix of gasps and boos.
Johnny Patriot: [Nodding confidently] SHOOT Project has been my home for decades. But you know what? You’re on, Roy. And just so you know, I’ve been preparing for this. I’ve been training hard, and I’ve gotten some help.
Johnny points to the big screen above the ring. A video starts playing, showing clips of Johnny Patriot training. As the video continues, it cuts to Ryan Samuels on FaceTime, offering tips in his usual grumpy, angry manner.
On the screen, Johnny is doing push-ups while FaceTiming with Ryan, who is sitting comfortably on a couch.
Ryan Samuels: [On FaceTime, grumbling] Those push-ups look like you’re trying to hug the ground. You call that training? Pathetic!
Johnny Patriot: [In the video, smiling brightly] Thanks, Ryan! I’ll do better!
The video then shows Johnny running on a treadmill, with Ryan on FaceTime again, eating chips.
Ryan Samuels: [Munching] You call that running? My dead meemaw moves faster than you. Pick up the pace, you lazy ass!
Johnny Patriot: [Laughing] Will do, Ryan! Thanks for the motivation!
Next, Johnny is shown lifting weights, while Ryan is still on FaceTime, making snide remarks.
Ryan Samuels: [Sarcastically] Is that all you can lift? I’ve seen goddamn infants with more strength. Come on, Patriot, you’re embarrassing yourself!
Johnny Patriot: [Grinning] You’re right, Ryan! I’ll push harder!
The video shows various other comedic training moments, with Johnny taking all of Ryan’s rude and grumpy remarks as encouragement.
Johnny Patriot: [Back in the ring, addressing the Punch Line] You see, Roy, Ryan and I may have had our differences, but we’ve found common ground. We’re ready for this. And when I win, Ryan gets his contract back.
The crowd cheers loudly, showing their support for Johnny and Ryan.
Roy Vezina: [Trying to hide his unease] We’ll see about that, Johnny. Get ready, because you’re in for the fight of your life. And remember, if you lose, you’re out of here for good.
Johnny Patriot: [Confidently] I’m ready, Roy. And with Ryan’s help, we’re going to show you what real respect looks like. But we don’t have to wait until the PPV. How about a little warm up tag team match? The Punch Line versus me and a partner of my choice.
Roy Vezina: [Smirking, regaining his confidence] Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s see who’s foolish enough to team with you. But make no mistake, Johnny, this isn’t just a warm-up. We’re going to show you why the Punch Line is the best.
Johnny Patriot: [Grinning] Bring it on, Roy. I’ll be ready, and I already have a partner in mind who believes in respect and honor, just like me. Let’s do this!
The crowd’s cheers reach a fever pitch as Johnny Patriot and Roy Vezina stare each other down, the tension in the arena palpable.
Quincannon/Muerte/OSO Vs. CELESTIAL ORDER/Hambriento
Six Man Tag
Backstage
A CHANCE MEETING
The scene is backstage at the EPICENTER. A massive main event awaits. Moriton. Joshua Breedlove. The underdog does not look like an underdog. He is a stunning portrait of body mass. He is dressed for war already, and beside him, a manager.
Mr. Ho: Who is the only emperor?
Moriton: CHINGGIS.
Mr. Ho: I can’t hear you, I thought you said “Breedlove” for a second, that’s quite unlike…
Moriton: CHINGGIS!
Mr. Ho: That’s right. And you are his herald, his sword, his Mighty Garuda…
Just then, loud footfalls can be heard behind Ho and Moriton. Ho turns around and takes a step back, while Moriton is unfazed.
Adongo Mbazi: Behold, the great Garuda, the divine eagle of Vishnu! What a herald of conquer and violence.
Adongo Mbazi and CICADA walk into frame. Mr. Ho and Moriton immediately tense up, Moriton definitely looking ready for a fight. This reaction also causes CICADA to tense up, fist balled and ready to fight, but Adongo stands between, keeping her demeanor light and amicable.
Adongo: Of course we aren’t looking for a fight with Moriton. It would be dishonorable to battle a Kheshig like Moriton before he must go conquer an emperor.
Adongo winks at Mr. Ho.
Adongo: We simply have a request to make, a sort of favor to be asked amongst warriors.
Ho shakes his head.
Mr. Ho: Spit it out already. I am trying to get my warrior ready for another test. You and your insect can get lost and wait until Iron Will to get your tendrils on my prizefighter.
Adongo laughs lightly.
Adongo Mbazi: Our LOCUST will feed, Mr. Ho, in due time. But, you’re right. Since CICADA was so gracious to…clear the competition for you in our match, we think that it would be only fair if your…
Adongo turns her attention to Moriton.
Adongo Mbazi: Garuda…
Adongo looks back at Mr. Ho.
Adongo Mbazi: That you would be willing to run back that meeting, especially if your warrior happens to capture one of those titles.
Mr. Ho: sneering You think the stars would’ve aligned any differently had your sentinel here not did so much struggling only not to finish the job that my young stallion did? HA! You are delusional as you are condescending.
Ho looks back at his charge and nods.
Mr. Ho: However, lucky for you, whether or not my Mighty Garuda wins a title at Iron Will, he is game for any challenge that might come his way. Man, woman, beast, or…
Ho sizes up CICADA with skeptical eyes.
Mr. Ho: Whatever the hell this monstrosity is. Just be careful for what you wish, Mbazi. You built a nice pedestal for yourself here in this company. It would be a shame if your own hubris ended up turning it into shards of wood and metal beneath your ass.
Adongo smiles warmly at Mr. Ho.
Adongo Mbazi: We are sorry you took our statements as condescending, but we appreciate your candor and confidence. However, Mr. Ho…
Adongo steps aside from CICADA.
Adongo Mbazi: The swarm must feed.
CICADA steps forward, pushing aside Mr. Ho to get in Moriton’s face, nose to nose. He makes no motion to attack, simply making his presence felt. Moriton does the same, flaring his nostrils, widening his eyes. Ho, adjusting his porkpie hat from the tussle, gets back between his charge and the massive CICADA.
Mr. Ho: Alright, alright, enough, ENOUGH. I cannot have my Garuda’s focus broken by this…
Ho looks CICADA up and down again.
Mr. Ho: …monster before a match with the crown jewel wrestler of this godforsaken company. Be gone, the both of you! We’ll continue this at a later date.
CICADA and Moriton do not move. Mr. Ho has placed himself between their bodies, but their faces are still basically nose to nose. Neither man is intimidated. Neither man gives an inch.
Until CICADA lifts his hand, open, up to his side. He looks down at it, before looking at Moriton. Moriton takes a quick glance at the hand. There is the slightest quirk of an eyebrow from Moriton as he looks eye to eye with the faceless mask of CICADA. Slowly, his opposite hand rises and, with a hardy, muscle-bound squeeze. Mr. Ho looks surprised. Adongo simply grins. They don’t shake hands long. As soon as Moriton releases the hand, CICADA turns to leave, his handler following behind.
Dutch Harris: As much as Moriton has on his plate, it looks like he has to worry about SWARM as well!
Backstage
HIS NAME
As the crowd prepares to see the return of the Unholy Cyber Army, another unholy alliance makes their way through the halls of the Epicenter as Kingslayer and Lars von Bremen, two members of HEXXX clear a path with their presence alone.
All except for a pacing Chick Grillbreast — his head down and his focus on something other than his surroundings. The fighter is muttering something to himself, but his attention immediately snaps to attention as Kinglsayer and Lars approach.
Chick looks nervous but he manages to stand his ground. Kingslayer turns his head slightly and his hair falls over the top of his red demon mask as he seemingly tries to comprehend Chick Grillbreast’s presence rather than push past him.
Lars von Bremen: Hey protein shake, go ‘work on your forearms’ or whatever you call it back in your locker room with a Playboy and plate of chicken.
Chick says nothing. The look on his face, however, says everything.
Kingslayer’s expression, however, is completely unreadable behind his mask. Lars watches, looking from Kingslayer to Chick and then back to Kingslayer before rolling his eyes in disgust. He shoves Kingslayer forward.
Lars von Bremen: Keep your eyes on the prize, K.S. You wouldn’t want any DISTRACTIONS to ruin your Mother’s plans, would you?
Kingslayer turns his attention away from Chick to Lars, just tall enough to have the bodyguard-turned-hit-man crane his neck upward. Lars raises his eyebrows slightly, gesturing back towards the way they were originally headed.
Kingslayer pauses for a second before turning around, saying nothing, and continuing onward with Lars at his back. Lars lets out a laugh as he passes Chick, waving his hand dismissively.
Lars von Bremen: Stay out of our way, lunch meat. And more importantly keep yourself far away from Kingslayer — if you know what’s good for you.
Chick remains silent, eyes welling up with the slightest hint of tears while Lars continues on and laughs loudly down the hall.
The cameras stay locked on Chick as he watches the pair leave and mutters under his breath…
Chick Grillbreast: His name is Daihm.
UNHOLY CYBER ARMY VS. WILD ONES
Tag Team Match
ON STAGE
UNWELCOME COMPANY
Dutch Harris: Well, we’ve got our two competitors in the ring and we’re ready to see how they fare against each other one-on-one before a chance to make a run at a first-ever SHOOT Project Grand Slam title!
Scott Kamura: If there is one person who could make that a reality, Dutch, it’s clearly Joshua Breedlove. There is no one in this company right now more imposing than-
The lights in the arena go out suddenly and every screen turns to static before a familiar, unwelcome image appears.
The SHOOT fans in attendance turn on a dime blasting absolute hatred as “HEX” by Dance with the Dead hits the speakers and the members of HEXXX emerge one by one from backstage. Breedlove and Moriton both watch attentively as Johnny Vig, then Lars von Bremmen, then Kingslayer, then Ayumi Seppuku, and finally NC-17 emerge onto the rampway.
The fearsome five-some stand confidently, each holding something in their left arms.
Scott Kamura: Are those… folding chairs?
Dutch Harris: Oh hell! They’re going to try and kill these men to eliminate the competition!
Scott Kamura: What competition? No one from HEXXX is in the Iron Will Classic.
Dutch Harris: And that’s why they’re pissed, Scott!
Ayumi steps forward first, looking down at the ring at Joshua Breedlove before raising her chair; extending the legs and straightening the back before setting it down gently and seating herself at the very top of the rampway — legs crossed and smiling. As she finds her station, the other members of HEXXX follow suit until all five members are looking down at the ring from the rampway like some medieval tribunal.
Scott Kamura: These mind games, Dutch… HEXXX is trying to show dominance but I think they know if Breedlove bests Lindsay Troy for that title, it’s going to be personal.
Dutch Harris: More personal than facing the new best friend of your former tag team partner? A champion you shared the ring and more with? I think if Lindsay Troy retains… HEXXX will do ANYTHING in their power to make NC-17 champion.
The screens in the arena are focused on the number one contender and of course, HEXXX’s de facto leader Ayumi Seppuku, as she whispers something to NC-17, only to have Breedlove rush the ropes and yell something back.
Ayumi and NC-17 turn their attention to Breedlove for a split second before smirking and continuing their conversation — just as the bell rings to begin the evening’s main event.
Joshua Breedlove Vs. Moriton
Singles Match
POST MATCH
An exhausted Moriton and Joshua Breedlove pull themselves to the edges of the ring, grasping for the ring ropes to provide some semblance of stability.
Despite the carnage in the ring, the entire arena is turned to the top of the rampway where HEXXX remains seated, watching like predators sizing up their prey.
Breedlove scrambles up the ropes, grasping them for balance as he steadies his feet. As he does, he looks up towards NC-17 whose cocky grin and red mohawk shine brightly under an appropriately dramatic spotlight.
Ayumi watches with keen interest as NC-17 provides Breedlove with a gesture only reserved for well… an NC-17 showi. As he does, Breedlove’s expression is a simple smirk; he doesn’t hesitate grabbing the timekeeper’s microphone and addressing HEXXX.
Breedlove: First, and more important than misfit island up there… big congrats to Moriton for taking this W. I hate losing, but that dude earned it.
The crowd cheers.
Breedlove: Y’all got a lot to look forward to at Iron Will. You get to see the two of us in the ring again, along with a ton of other worthy, genuine competitors. This loss? Gives me some doubts, but there’s a lot riding on this and I gotta push through. It’s not a matter of if… but when. So, I hope Moriton enjoys this moment. I hope Mr. Ho enjoys this moment. I hope my detractors enjoy this moment, but we’re headed to a different show now, and I will be ready for that challenge.
He looks towards HEXXX, the crowd is into it.
Breedlove: After I reclaim my World Heavyweight Championship, though? I’m gonna embarrass this year’s Master of the Mat winner, and then all he’ll have left is the emo geek squad and his boring, pointless gestures.
He puts his hand to his chin with a very smug look on his face and waves at the group with his fingers as “Make Way for the King” takes over.
The crowd watches at an absolute fever pitch as Ruination closes with a split screen of Moriton standing tall in the ring, Breedlove opposite him, and the HEXXX contingent at the top of the ramp — now standing up from their chairs, lifting and crossing their arms in solidarity and defiance.
