New York City

Night.

We see the New York skyline lit up against the inky October sky.

We hear the voice of SHOOT Project veteran Dave de los Muertos, member of the famed Bone Brigade.

They say it’s always darkest before the dawn.

We cut to the subway, the 7 train barreling along its track.

But, in this city? Is it ever really dark?

We’re treated to various shots of the different boroughs of the city, all lit up at 

We cut down an alleyway, graffiti scrawled across the wall, the SHOOT Project helmet prominent.

Oh yea, there’s something new in town.

We cut to a shot of The Pinnacle, searchlights scraping the sky from its roof.

But this ain’t Las Vegas.

We cut inside of the Pinnacle, the arena empty, the ring pristine.

This is New York City!

The voice of Just Blaze picks up along with a beat.

“Welcome to New York City… Welcome to New York City!”

“Welcome to New York City” by Cam’ron featuring Jay-Z and Juelz Santana begins to knock as we start cutting to images of every SHOOT Project soldier participating tonight.

This is the dawn of a new era. SHOOT Project reached its Zenith in this city. Tonight? Tonight we kick it into a whole new gear. And we ain’t stopping until…

The scene opens with Aiden Vanity strutting down the hallway, dressed to kill in a flawless, custom-tailored suit that probably costs more than most people’s cars. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in sight—he looks like he just stepped off the cover of a luxury magazine. Naturally, a moment this perfect couldn’t go undocumented. Aiden smirks, already envisioning the perfect angle for his next post as he arrives at his locker room door.

He swings it open, ready to grab his trusty selfie stick, only to freeze. His eyes widened in disbelief. There it is, lying across the bench, chewed up, mangled, like some animal got to it. The handle looks like it’s been gnawed on, the extendable arm bent and ruined. Aiden picks it up carefully, staring at it

Aiden Vanity: “What in the hell happened here? Did some stray mutt sneak in and think this was a chew toy? Or is someone dumb enough to think they’re funny messing with my property?”

He twirls the broken stick in his hand.

Aiden Vanity: “Every shot was captured with this, and now it is destroyed. Someone owes me answers, and more importantly, someone owes me a replacement.”

He glares around, the chewed-up remains dangling in his hands, already contemplating who he’ll blame for this.

And there, in the corner, digging through the trash on all fours, is the 7’ tall Peaknuckle. His leash is attached to his collar, but Maxine Gillespie is conspicuously absent. 

Peaknuckle growls at the trash can, totally unaware of Aidan's voice and discontent.

Aiden blinks, unsure what to make of the scene unfolding in front of him.

Aiden Vanity: “I’ve seen a lot of embarrassing things in my life but this definitely ranks high among them. Look. I’m not one to judge. Actually, scratch that, I always judge. But seriously? I’m not into this whole furry trend you got going on. The howling, the crawling around, the collar. It’s a little much, even for me.”

Peaknuckle finally turns his head. He sees Aidan. His jaw drops. Then he takes an aggressive posture and begins growling, as dogs do when they're scared.

An anxious bark escapes his all too human lips.

Peaknuckle: “AROO ROO!!! ROO!!!”

Aiden Vanity: “Growl all you want, it doesn’t change the fact you destroyed my selfie stick. Do you have any idea what that cost me? Unless you got 10 grand stashed under that scraggly fur, you don’t have a leg to stand on and even if you did, I doubt you could count that high without drooling over yourself. So here is the deal—either you pay up or I’ll take matters into my own hands and beat you up, drag you to whatever kennel Maxine had you in and make you wish you would have stayed there.”

CRUNCH.

Now you might ask, what just happened?

Peaknuckle, it seems, perhaps defiantly, just bit into the ankle of Aiden Vanity. He growls as he sinks his teeth further into Vanity's flesh.

Aiden howls in pain, thrashing and shaking his leg desperately trying to break free.

Aiden Vanity: “You son of a bitch. Get off my leg.”

With a final kick, he manages to break free. Clutching his ankle, Aiden limps out of the locker room, groaning in pain and seething with anger.

Peaknuckle tilts his head to the side. Has he been a bad boy?

We cut elsewhere.

“There are places where blood becomes legend.

Where the water itself remembers every war that’s ever been fought.

This is that place.”

The screen opens to endless waves; crimson, rippling under a dying sun. Emiko Fujimoto walks slowly into the sea. The water rises past her knees, her waist, her chest. She never blinks. Never looks back.

“Some people fight for glory.

Some fight for pride.

And then there are those rare souls who fight because they must, because it’s all they know, all they are.”

The waves churn. Each step she takes stains the tide deeper red. Her armor, her robe, her skin, all swallowed by the color of her namesake.

“They call her The Crimson Valkyrie.

Not for her beauty.

Not for her pain.

But for the promise she carries, the promise that she will rise again, no matter how deep the abyss swallows her.”

Underwater now. Silence. Bubbles rise. The light fades to black.

“You see, Emiko Fujimoto doesn’t just step into the fight…

She descends into it.

She embraces the chaos.

She breathes the storm.

Because that’s what warriors do when the world demands their blood, they become the tide itself.”

The current grows violent. Flashes of her past battles ripple through the crimson sea: the moonsaults, the strikes, the moments she’s collapsed and stood again.

“This isn’t just another match.

This is war.

The Thunderwolf Wargames Invitational.

Two teams. One battlefield.

Four hearts that beat with fury on each side.”

Quick flashes of Thunderwolf, Chad Kyle, and Aiden Vanity appear beside her, warriors framed in lightning, standing at the edge of the storm.

“Thunderwolf

Chad Kyle

Aiden Vanity

And standing with them… the Valkyrie herself.

The woman who bleeds art and exudes fury.”

Emiko’s eyes open underwater, glowing crimson through the murk.

“Their enemies?

Chance Kelser

King Homewrecker

Miles Driftwood

And Wilder Meadow”

The opposing team’s shadows ripple like ghosts across the surface of the blood-red sea.

“They are dangerous. Cunning. Ruthless.

But Emiko does not fear them.

Because fear is a stranger in the heart of the Valkyrie.”

The water explodes upward, Emiko rises from the crimson waves, drenched and radiant, her armor gleaming beneath the dusk.

“For when the cage closes…

When the metal groans and the storm begins to howl…

It will not be about glory, or pride, or even victory.

It will be about survival.

And in that place, the place between life and legend…

Emiko Fujimoto thrives.”

She steps from the sea, dragging her robe behind her. Each step leaves a trail of red mist in the air, like the wings of a specter.

“The Crimson Valkyrie is not coming to fight.

She is coming to end wars.”

Emiko raises her head, her war paint dripping into the surf. Thunder cracks.

“And when the sea stills…

When the cages are empty…

When all that’s left is silence…

The world will remember the night the ocean turned red…

and The Crimson Valkyrie rose from it.”

“All storms end in blood.”

Eryk Masters: Fans, earlier tonight there was a confrontation in the parking lot between the team now known as the Last Vanguard, Dustin “Thunderwolf” Kelser and Corey Lazarus, were accosted by members of the Kelser Covenant.

Jason Johnson: Things almost got ugly, Eryk, so let's show everyone what happened.

PREVIOUSLY RECORDED

The stretch limousine rolls to a stop outside the arena, chrome glinting beneath the floodlights. The air is heavy with the hum of generators and the smell of rain-wet asphalt. When the door opens, the first to step out is Corey Lazarus — black suit, tinted shades, smirk like he owns the red carpet that doesn’t actually exist here.

Gregory Price follows, one hand adjusting his cufflinks, the other holding a briefcase he never really opens but always seems to need.

Then comes Misty Starks — legs first, confidence second, beauty and danger tied together in a knot of silk and perfume. A fitted black dress clings to her curves, red lipstick catching the light as if the moon itself were jealous. Behind her, Ricky Tenet emerges, zipping up his bomber jacket, posture unsure but heart already in the fight.

And then — Dustin “Thunderwolf” Kelser. Slate-gray suit, black shirt, silver threading his beard like stormlight. He moves with that quiet steadiness that makes the young stop talking and the veterans nod. A man who’s done everything, lost everything, and still carries himself like he has one last great war to win.

The production crew whispers as the fans behind the barricades try desperately to get phone angles. And then comes the voice that breaks through all of it.

Fiona Kelser: Dad!

Dustin's younger daughter, his only child with ex-wife Enika Engel. She runs straight into his chest, arms tight, voice cracking with a laugh. Wolf catches her like he’s been waiting years to do it, his smile lingering for a beat.

Her eyes shift past him — to Misty. A pause. The briefest of polite nods.

Fiona Kelser: Ms. Starks.

Misty Starks: Good to see you, sweetheart.

Not cold, but not particularly warm. The kind of civil peace you offer when history is heavier than the air.

Corey Lazarus: Family reunion, huh? Shame, I didn’t even bring a casserole. Hey Ricky, maybe we can call Karen and see if…

Gregory Price: Save it, Corey.

And that’s when that sound comes— slow, deliberate clapping, echoing through the concrete corridor like a slow countdown.

Chance Kelser steps out from the shadowed end of the hallway, gloved hands smacking together in mock applause. Hannah appears beside him, the perfect contrast — blonde hair falling smooth over a black blouse, ice in her stare and pride in her stride. 

Behind them, Sapphire and Velour — white slit-leg Chanel dress on the former, tight black Gucci dress on the latter.  Matching red heels for all the true believers.

Chance Kelser: Well, well, look at this. The old gang. All that is missing is our dear sister Sarah, and the two little ones you had with wife number three.  What were their names?  It slips me. You know — the second set you decided to abandon.

The laughter in his voice cuts deeper than a shout. Misty steps forward, calm but firm, the quiet command of a woman who’s buried worse than her pride.

Misty Starks: You done, or are you planning on circling the airport all night before you land that thought? You got your digs in — congratulations. But let’s not act like your childhood was a Dickens novel. You had food, shelter, and two people who loved you enough to fight for you when you couldn't fight for yourself.

Chance’s jaw twitches, just once, before he leans in with a sneer.

Chance Kelser: Love? You call abandonment love? You call your vanity project marriage love?  The only thing you two ever raised right was your own egos.

Thunderwolf steps forward, slow and measured.

Thunderwolf: You done talking, or are you still working through the draft copy of your therapy notes?

The corridor freezes for a second, half the crew trying not to laugh. Misty’s smirk blooms like a struck match.

Misty Starks: Careful, Dusty. Our son's a delicate one these days — you might trigger him.

Chance Kelser: And you might want to remember who actually calls you Mom. Spoiler — it is not me.

Before Wolf can reply, Hannah glides forward, a smile like a saint and tongue like a serpent.

Hannah Kelser: Is it not beautiful though? After all the chaos, all the betrayals, the divorces, the press releases… the family finally stands together once again — if only to watch each other burn.

Misty’s expression hardens, but her tone stays velvet.

Misty Starks: You don’t get to rewrite us into villains, baby. We made mistakes, sure. But we never stopped loving you. You had everything — even when you didn’t want it.

Hannah tilts her head, voice sweet as poison.

Hannah Kelser: Oh, I wanted something. I wanted a mother who didn’t need a spotlight or prescriptions to feel real.

Corey steps forward, glasses off, smirk razor-thin.

Corey Lazarus: And we wanted five minutes of peace, babe, but here we are.

Sapphire: Cute line, Hollywood. Did you practice it in the mirror?

Velour: He probably did. Right before he Googled himself again to make sure he was still relevant.  Still isn't.  Never was.

Ricky slides his bomber jacket off and drops it on the ground, bringing forth a minor gasp from Fiona.

Ricky Tenet: You should probably watch your mouths.

Chance Kelser: Relax, kid. You will have plenty of time to play hero in front of your little college girlfriend there after I unceremoniously break your spine.  You can pop wheelies in front of her to show off all your cool tricks!  I can smell her juices on you from over here.

Ricky lunges forward but Thunderwolf catches him by the arm, voice low but lethal.

Thunderwolf: Not here. Not like this, Ricky.  Chance, walk the other way.

Chance takes a half-step closer, grin widening.

Chance Kelser: Still holding people back, huh, Father?  Guess it’s easier than keeping them.

Corey moves fast, but Wolf is faster — hand up, stopping him cold.

Gregory Price: Gentlemen, easy.  Cameras are rolling.  Fines start at five figures.

But Hannah isn’t done. She inches in close, face to face with Misty, almost touching noses.

Hannah Kelser: You always did love a stage, didn’t you?  Just couldn’t resist coming back for one last curtain call.

Misty Starks: At least I didn’t spend my entire twenties auditioning for one.

The tension snaps as security swarms the corridor, shouting over the chaos. Ricky and Corey both try to surge forward again as Chance barks out a laugh. Misty and Hannah remain nose-to-nose, words drowned out by the chaos but clear enough to burn.

Corey Lazarus: Are you going to start juggling, clown?

Fiona stands frozen and wide-eyed, barely removed from the chaos as Ricky edges protectively in front of her. Thunderwolf exhales, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on his son.

Thunderwolf:  You're trying to start a war that you can't and won't win, my son.  You'll only find out what kind of man you really are, in the end.  And I hope to God you recognize him… because I barely can.

Chance smirks, already backing away with his crew.

Chance Kelser:  Oh, I will.  He will be the one who finally buried his old man.

They turn and disappear into the dark corridor. Security holds everyone else back as Wolf’s eyes linger — not angry, not even wounded. Just… disappointed.

Beside him, Misty folds her hand into his, soft and firm all at once.

Misty Starks: Let it go my love. Settle it tonight, at Daybreak.

Thunderwolf: Yeah, you're right.

Thunderwolf shakes his head as he and Misty walk into the building, leaving Corey and Ricky and Price behind.

Corey Lazarus: You know, sport, this was still not the worst family reunion I've been to. This week. 

Ricky Tenet: That's, uh…that's nice, dad. 

LIVE FEED

Jason Johnson: You could barely even scratch that tension with a chainsaw, Eryk.

THUNDERWOLF

CHAD KYLE

AIDEN VANITY

EMIKO FUJIMOTO

CHANCE KELSER

KING HOMEWRECKER

MILES DRIFTWOOD

WILDER MEADOW

In the back, Holden Nobody sits on a steel chair, tapping his foot anxiously. He has all his in-ring gear on despite not being booked for the show. He looks up and down the hall, as if he is waiting for something.

Holden Nobody: Someone might get hurt, and they need a last-minute replacement, right? Or…segment goes short, filler, right? There’s gotta be something for me.

Holden speaks to no one in particular, and it is very clear by his tone of voice that he’s mostly trying to calm himself down.

???: Oh, hey, Holden!

Holden looks up as Dan Stein walks into frame. Holden stands up, meeting Dan Stein and shaking his hand.

Dan Stein: How are you enjoying the show so far?

Dan takes note of Holden’s in-ring gear.

Dan Stein: You….uhhh…you got something planned?

Holden shakes his head no.

Holden Nobody: No sir, just, y’know, ready to go if y’all need me.

Dan smirks, but there’s something in his look.

Dan Stein: We appreciate your gumption, Holden, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary. You know, just enjoy the night. Take it all in. Y’know, not many people get the backstage experience at a SHOOT Project PPV, and with this one being the inaugural New York one…well, you know, enjoy it whil-

Dan stops himself. He laughs.

Dan Stein: Just, you know, take it in.

Holden seems to shrink a little, definitely catching what Dan Stein was saying.

Holden Nobody: Maybe you’ll need me for Zenith 5?

Dan nods.

Dan Stein: Maybe. Anyway, I have to get to production du-

Holden Nobody: I beat Cormac. I eliminated Ricky Tenet and gave Emiko a hell of a fight. I…I can hang with these guys, Mr. Stein.

Dan smiles.

Dan Stein: Just enjoy the night, Holden. We’ll talk more soon.

Dan pats the young man on the back and leaves. Once Dan Stein is gone, Holden slumps back in the chair.

Holden Nobody: …fuck.

DARKSPADE

“I AM SO HIIIGH I CAN HEAR HEAVEEEEN”

“Hero” By Chad Kroeger and Josey Scott begins to blare through the arena.  Some fans begin to cheer, others groan.  Chad Kyle is here!

Eryk Masters: Here we go.  Chad has really been on a mission here as of late.

Jason Johnson: That mission seems to be getting his butt kicked a bunch.

Chad Kyle walks down the ramp with a purpose.  There are a few more fans in attendance reaching out for a high five than usual.  This takes Chad by surprise a little and he thinks about slapping a few hands, but thinks better of it, likely due to the sound of Pigpen in his head telling him they are all shit.

As he approaches the ring, he slides under the bottom rops and then comes to a standing position in the center of the ring.

“AND THEY SAY THAT A HEEERO CAN SAVE US!”

“I’M NOT GOING TO STAND HERE AND WAAAAAAIT”

Chad looks around for a bit of ringpost pyrotechnics that sadly never come.  The music begins to die down.

Chad Kyle: (Raising his hand to silence the crowd who is not making that much noise) Everyone wants to know what Chad Kyle is down here for tonight.  

Eryk Masters: I’m not sure that a lot of people are wondering that, Chad.

Jason Johnson: Get to the point already buddy, we’ve got stuff to do.

Chad Kyle:  All of you have heard Ole Chad talk about a lot of the things that he’s tired of here lately.  He’s tired of being made fun of.  He’s tired of people not paying attention to how hard he works.  Hell, he’s tired of getting stepped over by other people that think that just because I know how to take a beating that I am somehow less of a soldier than them.

Chad clears his throat, obviously trying not to start crying.

Chad Kyle:  I’ve tried so hard not to let any of it get to me.  Momma Kyle always said “Water off a duck’s back” everytime I would be upset that someone teased me about not having the newest shoes, or the best looking clothes.  I tried to bring those lessons here to SHOOT Project.  I ignored it when you all made fun of Ria for dating me.  I ignored it when everyone told me that the only reason Josh Breedlove was my buddy was because he felt sorry for me.  I even ignored it when the guys in the back were laughing all through my matches…

He drops the mic to his side and looks down at the mat.  After a second or two he brings the mic back to his face, speaking in almost a whisper.

Chad Kyle:   Momma…I tried, Momma.  

His voice rises now, looking back at the entrance ramp.

Chad Kyle:   This is a new Chad Kyle.  Pigpen has been showing me everyday just how much I’m worth and that I am good enough to stand toe to toe with any one of you.  I am Chad Fucking Kyle.  So here I am, ready to prove that I am the best around and that I can kick ass with the best of you cock suck’s.  So what do you say?  Who wants to come down here right now and get wrecked by the newly crowned ruler of the Kingdom of Chad!?  Who’s it going to be?  Champions, challengers, hell I’ll even fight the catering dude.  I don’t care. 

He begins pacing around the ring as he speaks, hyping himself up by slapping the turnbuckles as he paces.

Chad Kyle:   Get your ass down here Maintenance Bro.  I think his name is Gary.  Bring it on, down here.  Bring whoever you want.  I don’t even care if you have ring gear.  It’s fine.  There has to be some soldier back there that is ready to be the first sacrifice to the Kingdom of Chad…

Just then, Chad is stopped in his tracks.  The lights drop.  A far off, otherworldly bass seems to herald the arrival of something…sinister.  

The crowd buzzes not only with excitement for the return, but also because rather than cowering…Chadwick Kyle hasn’t moved.  He remains standing in the ring. Chest puffed out, spine straight–and his lack of even so much as a flinch causes that buzz in the crowd to turn into the rarest of things: A Chadwick Kyle pop! 

Eryk Masters: No one is doubting the kid’s balls right now, but this doesn’t end well for him, right? 

Jason Johnson: I’ve never known Power Devil and Superbeast to show up anywhere without the express purpose of violence on their–look out!!

Chad swings the mic into the taller of the two behemoths with an audible THOMP and a screech of feedback, but his sneer of satisfaction turns to a gaze of fear as Superbeast arches his torso backwards and flattens him with a headbutt!!  The impact actually almost flips his body, and Chad lands awkwardly on the back of his neck with his ankles showing up a moment later!  The crowd starts to boo as the Demons of Cyber-Roppongi begin to circle the diminutive mainstay, not so much stalking their prey or playing with their food as much as seemingly savoring The Chadster’s attempts to get his bearings and get to his feet, much though his extremities aren’t listening to the signals from his scrambled brain.  Casually, Power Devil snatches him by one ankle and raises him from the mat before easily tossing him across the ring, causing him to land once again head first in an awkward heap! 

Eryk Masters: Someone get someone out here!

Jason Johnson: Get several someones!  I get the feeling they’re just getting started!

Chad actually does manage to get to his feet with the assistance of the ropes, and it’s a grisly sight: He’s red from his busted nose down to his chin, slowly drooling blood from his mouth. 

And like a hero–like an idiot–he puts his dukes up. 

To a massive cheer!

Eryk Masters: What the hell are you doing man?!  Get out of there!!

Jason Johnson: Clearly the training with Pigpen has made him feel bold, but this feels half suicidal!

With a sneer, Superbeast sets out for him, but even the big man is a bit shocked that Chad comes out to meet him!  Chad ducks his clubbing forearm, coming up with a solid rib shot and comboing it to a kick directly to the side of Superbeast’s knee!  Left stunned by the attack, he has no defense for when Chad gets a small leap and rocks his jaw with a solid elbow strike!!  The bigger man stumbles back, and Chad grins a bloody grin and raises one arm, basking in the crowd reaction–but it’s not a cheer, it’s a scream, as his minor victory is soured by Power Devil SPEARING HIM IN THE LOWER BACK AT FULL SPEED!!  Chad bends in half the wrong way and eats the mat at full speed, crushed under the explosive running assault!!

Jason Johnson: Holy shit!!

Eryk Masters: Get medic out here, get every member of security out here, get…I don’t know, someone!!

Security has started to filter out from the aisles and backstage areas, and the fastest of them hops to the apron, clearly intent on putting a stop to this–only to have Superbeast casually boot him in the face so hard that he goes flying to the floor in a heap!!  Power Devil clambers to his feet and deadlifts Chad Kyle, draping him across his substantial shoulder.  Though it only sounds like screaming mixed in with all the crowd noise and security staff pleading with them,  he yells to Superbeast…and nods his head to the corner. 

Superbeast grins.  Nods his head.  Screams in joy. 

Jason Johnson: We may need to cut away and get this under control, its–oh, no!

Both members of the UCA head to the same corner.  One would be forgiven for thinking they’re going for their signature double spanish fly, Heaven Torn Asunder–but the positioning isn’t right.  Power Devil dumps the limp body of Chad Kyle onto the top turnbuckle and heads to the apron, with Superbeast following on the opposite side of the post.  They both begin to climb, taking turns, the buckle ties sagging under the combined almost 800 pounds of The Kings of Hell.  Once to the topmost peak they can safely get to as a duo, one foot on the middle and one on the top, they both reach down and pull Chad up by his arms, each man grabbing a wrist and hoisting him underneath an armpit, raising him high up.  Between the two of them, an easy 14 feet from the floor.  Security is pleading.  The crowd is screaming. 

Chad Kyle goes flying. 

No art to it, no move.  Just a callous disregard for his safety as they throw him from a great high to the barricade, where chad lands CHEST FIRST, his body draped over the barrier and practically lifeless!  And if that wasn’t enough, Power Devil gets to the top on shaky feet, running his thumb across his throat!!  He seems ready to leap–heads of security are moving their teams back, the EMTs are scrambling–and then

The lights cut out. The arena is bathed in darkness. The only sound is the concerned, but nervously excited buzz of the crowd. And then…

Tiiiiiiiiime… is on my siiiiiiide… yes it is…

The lights flare back on and standing in the center of the ring is a nightmare.

Tall.  Long hair.  A beard.  It takes a moment for the appearance to register, as if he’s an apparition.

He stands looking utterly serene, hands folded in front of him. His pale grey eyes stare down at Chad Kyle on the outside of the ring, no mercy in his gaze.  The crowd catches up to the action, finally processing the data, and the eruption of the reaction–fear, excitement, surprise. 

The commentary team feels the same.

Jason Johnson: Is that..?!

Eryk Masters: No!

Jason Johnson: It is!!

Eryk Masters: Oh. My. God. Jacob Mephisto is here?!

Mephisto looks to Power Devil and then to Superbeast.  There is a long moment of anticipation as he commands the attention of everyone.  The crowd, yes, but also the gathered security staff, the paramedics…and as his gaze turns to them, Power Devil and Superbeast.  Who appear to be awaiting instruction.  

Jason Johnson: And it looks like he’s directing traffic for the Unholy Cyber Army! 

Superbeast rolls out of the ring and grabs the broken Chad Kyle. Power Devil comes down from the top rope. With a few yells and threats of being beaten, the security staff gives them a wide berth, as they grab Chadwick Kyle and pull him to the ringside.  With ease, they hoist him to the heavens, bringing his head in line with the top ring rope.  The two of them hold Chad in place, one on each side, as Jacob walks forward, zero rush in his movement.  Mephisto looks down at Chad, his pale, grey eyes cold. He cups Chad’s chin in his hand, tilting his head up. Mephisto takes a long look at Chad, the ghost of defiance still in the Chadster’s eyes. Mephisto smirks. Then steps back. He takes a long look at the shocked crowd.

Eryk Masters: That’s enough! Someone do something!

CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON…

The crowd comes UNGLUED as Trey Willett comes SPRINTING from the back, steel chair in hand. The UCA toss Chad to the side as Trey slides into the ring. The two behemoths pull Mephisto back and step in front of him.

The moment is tense. Trey Willett standing before the leviathans that are the Unholy Cyber Army. 

And then, Jacob Mephisto places his hands on them, one hand on Power Devil, one on Superbeast. Gently he moves them to the side, the Demons of Cyber-Rappongi parting like the Red Sea.

Mephisto steps forward, glancing down pointedly at the steel chair in Willenium's hand. Trey tosses the chair to the side.

The EMTs have begun to check on Chad Kyle. Security looks like they want to get in the ring, but the imposing figures inside give them pause. The crowd though? They understand what’s happening right now.

Crowd: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

Two SHOOT Project Legends stand face to face.

Trey Willett.

Jacob Mephisto.

And the Unholy Cyber Army looks like a nightmarish myth come to life.

No words are spoken. But, Mephisto smiles. The Silver Tongued Serpent steps back slowly, lightly tapping his Army. The trio leave the ring, not even sparing a second glance at the fallen Chad Kyle.

Power Devil and Superbeast turn and stalk back up the ramp. Not Mephisto though. Jacob Mephisto only has eyes for the man who would be Chad Kyle’s savior. He backs up the ramp, watching, waiting, calculating. Trey Willett stares daggers back.

COREY LAZARUS

Eryk Masters: Well, up next we have Arthur Pleasant’s open challenge.

Jason Johnson: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in this match. Just wondering who Arthur is going to get his ass kicked by.

“Slum Planet” by 3TEETH hits the state of the art speakers in the Pinnacle, and Arthur Pleasant walks out in his black and white bishop robes to a chorus of boos. Ignoring the boobirds, Pleasant marches his way slowly to the ring, slithering inside of it like a serpent.

Standing up, he withdraws a microphone from within his robe, and taps on the foam part of it loudly until the arena quiets down.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Guessssssss what time it is folks?!

“BOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: That’s right! It’s time to find out “WHOOOOOOO!” I’ll be testing my mettle against tonight on this spectacular Pay-Per-Viewmium Live Event! Will it be someone from the past who needs a paycheck to be garnished for alimony and child support like, say, a Lunatikk Crippler?!

Jason Johnson: Oh come on, now.  

Eryk Masters: Hey, alimony is no joke! Rumor has it that Cripps has like ten children, too!

Jason Johnson: Stop it. Jesus.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Maybe a totally not washed up or canceled celebrity like Louis C.K.?

Eryk Masters: I think I saw him groping himself to a bologna sandwich in the back.

Jason Johnson: *Audible Sigh*

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Or is this the moment my former tag team partner finally finds his smile again and decides to try and beat the man who carried The Devil’s Advocates for the last four years? Everybody likes a good ‘former tag partners reunite as enemies’ storyline.

The audience grows impatient with Arthur and begin booing even louder. 

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Hey, I’m just presenting everyone watching from home and from their iPhones here in this gorgeous arena possible scenarios. Any of those things could happen, you know. Because WRESTLING! But, I suppose it’s time to get serious, huh? It’s that time to stare down the barrel of someone who wants to kick my ass from pillar to post just because I represent the Truth in SHOOT. So let’s have it, mystery opponent! Show yourself before I get bored and wrestle the Labubu Doll that ugly little bitch in the front row is drooling over! Serious question: did your parents die in a fire yet for not aborting you? Because if they haven’t…it’s never too late to fix a mistake! 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

Jason Johnson: Dear God… I… cannot stomach this asshole! 

Eryk Masters: Yeah, let’s get on with this already. Getting a little tired of hearing this guy talk.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: OH! I know who it’ll be! It’ll be–

S-P-I-R-I-T

SPIRIT! Let’s hear it!

Holden Nobody emerges from the back. He is locked in, staring straight down the ring at Arthur Pleasant. He cracks his neck as he walks, ignoring the crowd. Some people cheer a little, but it is largely silent.

Eryk Masters: Well, of all the names, this one is certainly-

Jason Johnson: -an underwhelming one? A suicidal one? The dumbest possible one?

Eryk Masters: Holden Nobody has shown he’s a perfectly capable talent, but…yeah, damn, this is jumping into the deep end. But at least we won’t have to listen to Arthur make little girls cry anymore. Or at least for a while.

Holden enters the ring quickly and efficiently. Arthur grins at him, completely nonplussed at the man who has supposedly arrived to challenge him.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: No. Just…no. You don’t want to do this, kid.

He waits a beat, looking down at Holden, who maintains a seriousness about him.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Or…maybe that shouldn’t matter? Hmm. Maybe I should accept your challenge and kill your career before it even begins. Yes. That’s… that’s what the people want to see, right? Carnage? To perpetuate the lie further? What do YOU think, Mr. Nobody? Do you think I should accept your challenge, despite recommending you to do otherwise? 

Holden takes the microphone. Despite Arthur towering over him, despite the crowd’s non-reaction, and despite the entire arena seeming to think he’s committing suicide, he does not back down.

Holden Nobody: You know what, Arthur? You’re scary, you’re dangerous, and maybe I am a little outclassed here. But…what do I think? I think you should shut the fuck up.

An audible ‘oooo’ comes from the crowd.

Holden Nobody: Open challenge means anyone can take it, right? Well, I was the first one out. I’m here, so do you want a fight or not?

Pleasant thinks on Holden’s words for a moment. The crowd, wanting to witness Arthur’s demise SO much, start a HOLDEN chant.

“HOL-DEN! HOL-DEN! HOL-DEN!”

Eryk Masters: Really?! A… Holden chant?

Jason Johnson: Are they chanting Holden, though? Or are they chanting, “DON’T DO IT, KID!”

Arthur scoffs at the peer pressure coming from The Pinnacle. Holden’s stoic veneer cracks a bit, looking around at an arena full of people chanting his name. He locks back in, though, as Arthur takes the microphone back and begins to speak, looking The Godsend dead in the eyes.

The ḠӪḐṨĒŇĎ: Such a mouth on you, kid. Where did you learn such obscenities? Or did you grow up with trash who did not know how to communicate with you otherwise? Hehe. No matter. I’ll tell you what, Holden. I will honor the whole “First come, first to die.” routine you speak of. Let’s have ourselves a nice clean fight, then! I promise I won’t leave you so unrecognizable to the medical examiner once I’m done with you. It’s… it’s the least I can do for such a brave little soul!

Arthur drops the microphone and moves to a corner to prepare, but Holden, sensing a moment, is quick to pick the microphone back up.

Holden Nobody: That’s mighty generous, Arty. And, hey, since you’re being so nice, myself and all of New York promise not to think less of you if you get beaten by a Nobody tonight!

Another pop from the crowd, who seem to be behind Holden, whether it is because they appreciate his pluckiness or whether it is because they hate Arthur Pleasant.

Eryk Masters: Well, it looks like Arthur has found himself a challenge! Uhhh, it might not be who we all expected, but… well, I’m intrigued.

Jason Johnson: Yeah. Same. I think. All I can really say is this is going to be either really bad, or surprisingly good. 

Jason Andrews waits for both competitors to go to their neutral corners before sounding for the bell!

The scene cuts backstage as we see Johnny Napalm preparing for the seven-man match for both belts; he looks down and sees what is at stake for him. He picks up the Empire State Title then looks at the camera hearing a mix of boos and cheers from the crowd.

Napalm: “So it’s come to this. The biggest obstacle in my path now is six others each worthy of those belts. Many would say even both champions are at a disadvantage. But as a certain favorite scoundrel in the movies said.”

“Never tell me the odds.”

Napalm: “Every time I see these kinds of scenarios I feel like my back is against the wall. I got at least two people in this match that want to make sure I don't survive.”

“So I hold any resentment against either of them, I do not, I am just sick and tired of looking at the lights seeing my career going into the fucking trash. So you know what I am going to do. I'm going to be honest, and a bit bold at the same time.”

“Im done being the whipping boy, for most of 2013 I was just pushed aside people call me a man who can’t get the job done. Well, I only got one loss to my name in 2025, and I intend to keep it that way.  I am sick of being told I am not good enough. Let this match be my rebellion against everyone who keeps selling me short. I will be the reason the ranking will be shaken to the core, I don't fear the Smashshow, and his monstrous persona, your just letting the two of us loose in a match where everyone else is the fucking victim.”

 “And I know I’m swearing a ton cause honestly I have two goals, tonight is goal number one, claim both belts. Cause I'm pretty sure it’s gonna be down to you and me Vito, come at me with all that pent up hatred calling me a traitor. No one had the balls to do that to you before.”

“I decided to flip the fucking script, and im not sorry in the slightest because you looked at me once and saw that threat you cant beat. And tried to keep me from showing you how much of a fucking threat I am.”

Napalm gets up putting the Empire State title around his waist.

Napalm: “To all of you, I'm not here to play nice. I am here to prove that I can be that champion, and you're all in the way tonight. I fix that problem, and honestly Johnny Two-Belts is kinda sounding nice right about now. But, that is for later now I will focus on tonight.”

“Is what I would say, but now it’s time to be a bit bold. I saw the rankings. This match is gonna send someone skyrocketing to the top of those rankings. Which means, after I wipe the floor with everyone's faces covered in their own blood. I just got two words for whoever comes out of our Main Event with the Heavyweight Title.”

Napalm looks at the camera as it distorts, showing a very crazy looking Napalm laughing as the video snaps back to normal and wait, is that blood dripping down from Napalm’s forehead, he feels it as it reaches his lip then tastes his own blood and smiles widely.

“Knock, Knock”

???

As soon as the bell sounds, Arthur Pleasant rolls off of Holden Nobody and starts laughing hysterically. Motioning for a microphone from ringside, he crawls to the bottom rope, and lays there as he is given what he’s asked for. Holding his head upside down for the camera and front row crowd, The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ speaks.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ(still trying to catch his breath): How… pathetic. Hahahaha.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: You dare boo ME when it is not I who have failed you?! You should be booing this… this… AMATEUR. This–pardon the pun–NOBODY! He is the one who decided to step up to me while all the legends and top tier names back there could have done so for your wildly undeserved entertainment. Think about it, people. I could have been wiped across the arena floor by Thunderwolfie(cheers). Or The Defiler(cheers). Or, or… my even own Dad, X-Calibur!

Mixed reaction on that last one. 

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: But, no. No, no, NO! You poor, poor souls! You had to be subjected to the suffocatingly awful efforts of someone who just doesn’t matter. For that? I am truly sorry. I’d refund you your tickets if I could. You deserve better. You all deserve better than what Real Deal and Dan Stein offer you. Assuming they’re actually still alive and running this company and not being AI generated by some glorified fan.

Pleasant rises from the bottom rope to his feet. Pantomiming the act of brushing off his knees after completing a simple chore around the house, Arthur continues.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: That said? It’s time, folks. Time for the truth… to set you free. Cliché and corny as that sounds, it’s true! Sooooo COME ON OUT…my beloved congregation!

There’s a commotion in the crowd… an unrecognizable face comes through the curtains with a massive seven-foot giant wearing kevlar and over the head goggled respirator. He’s beyond terrifying. There’s an unsettled murmur making its way through the audience as they get closer and closer to the ringside area.

Eryk Masters: O……kay…?

Jason Johnson: What the shit is this shit? Who, or what, IS that thing? 

As this Monster stares up at Arthur, his handler calmly walks up the steel steps, inviting his charge to do the same. Instead, the gargantuan pulls himself up onto the ring apron and steps over the ropes. The crowd gasps at the unseemly sight of this colossus of a man.  

But that’s not all. There’s more commotion happening all around The Pinnacle as another very large figure moves through the audience, until he is standing like a skyscraper in the front row next to paying fans.

Eryk Masters: WHAT?! NO WAY!!!

Jason Johnson: THAT’S SAMMY ROCHESTER!!! WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE??

Sammy steps over the guard rail with ease. The fans shouts and gasps unnerve him as he erratically looks around, not sure if he even belongs there. Eventually though, with Pleasant snapping his fingers, Sammy finds the source of the snapping and slides into the ring. As he stands, it appears he is the exact same size as the Nameless Monster.

Eryk Masters: Oh this is BAD.

Jason Johnson: Get out of there, Holden!!

Arthur Pleasant raises his arms out and his head towards the roof. The mystery handler of the seven-foot monster fetches Pleasant’s robes as Sammy Rochester slowly walks towards Holden Nobody, who is conscious, but with his back to the bottom turnbuckle. As Arthur slips on his bishop’s robe, he turns towards this new Monster and places his hands on each of his arms. 

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: You’re even more impressive to look at in person. 

The Monster remains silent. His eyes, hidden behind the over-the-head strapped goggles, seem to be fixated on Holden Nobody.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Give Sammy a hand, wouldja? 

He pats his arms, steps out of the way, and lets out a horrible sounding holler before racing straight into Holden’s face and upper body like a missile. Holden simply crumples to the mat as Arthur is entertained by the violent act.

The Monster rolls back to his feet in quite the athletic manner and rips Holden’s lifeless body up into Sammy’s arms. Sammy repositions Holden like he’s going to bodyslam him. Or… worse.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Go on, my child. Make your Teacher proud.

That’s all the invitation Sammy Rochester needed as he turns toward the turnbuckles and post. Running forward, Sammy throws Holden like a lawn dart so top of the steel post before crashing awkwardly to the outside.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Impressive. However, I don’t think his face is bleeding enough. Nor are all his teeth removed from his head. Rectify this, would you please, my children?

“THIS IS FUCKED UP!”  

CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP

“THIS IS FUCKED UP!”  

CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP

Eryk Masters: Somebody needs to stop this! For the love of GOD, this kid’s career is going to be over!

Jason Johnson: Career?! More like his fucking LIFE!

Before Sammy and The Nameless Monster can step outside and further their carnage, Skid Row's “Youth Gone Wild” hits the speakers and the crowd goes insane! 

“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Arthur stands in the ring, with the giant, macabre, unhinged, walking weapon that is Sammy Rochester, and his newfound Monster. All four men stand in the ring, facing the entrance as The Wild Ones step out onto the stage! “The Deathmatch Debutante” Lou has a black kendo stick wrapped in barbed wire, while Jane Doe and Cormac Nelson stand to either side! 

Eryk Masters: I think Arthur Pleasant may have jumped the gun! 

Jason Johnson: Now with Sammy Rochester and this terrifying GIANT with him? I don't know that even the Wild Ones have what it takes to bring down these guys! 

The Wild Ones make their way to the ring, Lou never once taking her eyes off Pleasant. Sammy looks ready to destroy, but Arthur holds him back with one hand, letting the Wild Ones approach! Lou is face to face with the ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ. Jane calls for another mic, and hands it to Lou as she intensely stares down Arthur.

Jason Johnson: The tension is almost unbearable, Eryk.

Eryk Masters: Even with an extra person and that kendo stick, it feels like the Wild Ones just walked into the lion's den here. 

Lou brings the microphone to her lips, steadying her grip on the kendo stick. 

“The Deathmatch Debutante” Lou: How's this for a godsend?

Lou drops the mic with a thud, and swings the kendo stick HARD…

…straight into Jane's fucking abdomen!

Eryk Masters: WHAT?!

Before Jane can react, Lou plants her to the mat with a Diamond Cutter! Cormac looks as stunned as anyone, but after a shove forward from Arthur Pleasant, Rochester responds with a spear to the mat, dragging him to the corner! 

Jason Johnson: I don’t believe it! Lou has turned on her best friend and tag partner?! For Arthur…fucking…Pleasant?!

Lou grabs Jane's leg, dragging her to the corner, and sits her facing the turnbuckles, legs straddling the ring post!

Eryk Masters: Are those handcuffs?!

Sure enough, Lou handcuffs Jane's wrists under the middle turnbuckle, making it so she can't stand up! Jane tries to shake away, but the cuffs just hook under the middle turnbuckle!

Sammy AND The Nameless Monster put a knee on Cormac's back, cuffing his leg to the bottom rope! He tries to escape, but the two seven-footers turn their heads to face the other corner, where Jane is locked!

Lou picks up the microphone once again, kneeling in front of Cormac's face!

Lou: In his wisdom and mercy, the ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ has seen fit to offer you a kindness. This is a one-time offer, Cormac, because you're so young and have so much to offer yet. 

Go home. Go back to Las Vegas, forget New York. Forget SHOOT Project. Go back to your father and sister and pretend none of this ever happened. If not for your sake, then for your sister's. You know she would hate to see you suffer. 

As for Jane… well, a warning is no good if the consequences aren't apparent, is it? 

Arthur smiles, picking up the kendo stick and handing it to Lou. She takes it without hesitation, nodding to him, before swinging to the corner. 

CRACK!

She slams it against Jane's back, blood already starting to flow! 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

On the fifth hit, the kendo stick explodes into bamboo shards! Lou pulls the barbed wire off of the remnants, throwing the useless handle to the ground, and starts to lash Jane's back with the wire! Every shot causes Jane's back to arch in pain, but she has no escape, howling! Tears stream down her face, and her back is a criss-cross of bloody streaks! Cormac, in his futile heroics, tries to get up. But Sammy and The Nameless Monster begin stomping on his back and the back of his head. 

Lou stops whipping her former partner, before taking the barbed wire and wrapping it around Jane's head! She pulls this makeshift crown of thorns tight, with blood again spilling down the bare skin on Jane's head! She steps through the ropes, kneeling down next to Jane, looking in her eyes with a dead expression, and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek! 

Jason Johnson: A kiss after basically flaying her back?! What the hell is going on?! This is all WAY too much… my GOD.

Lou puts a hand to Jane's cheek, before standing and walking across the apron to the other corner–  and driving a baseball slide dropkick to Jane's knee, smashing it against the ring post! Jane screams, trying to pull away, but she can't! Lou pulls the top half of the ring steps up, holding them in front of her, before running and sandwiching Jane's knee between them and the post! A loud clang rings through the Pinnacle, cutting even through the boos, and Jane cries out, desperate to escape! 

Eryk Masters: Is she trying to end Jane's career?!

Jason Johnson: Jane's in-ring style relies heavily on her gymnastic ability, so she very well might be! 

Lou drops the stairs, sliding into the ring and grabbing the microphone once more! 

Lou: Don't come back next week, Cormac. I'd hate for you to face a similar fate. 

Arthur claps at Lou’s decision and following actions.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: There you have it, my friends. I warned you all. SHOOT Project was built on a lie. A lie perpetuated by each era. Each hero. And each and every one of YOU!  Well, the eradication of The Lie begins now. By The Truth. By us– 

Arthur looks all around. Dropping to his knees in prayer, he slowly raises his head up.

The camera pans to each face that surrounds their ꞠÒĐṦÊǸḒ.

Sammy Rochester. The Seven-Foot Manchild who only knows violence.

The Nameless, Kevlar-wearing Seven-Foot Monster and his mere five-foot handler.

And now? Lou. The Deathmatch Debutante herself.

Arthur Pleasant: –The DeMONSTRance.

Holden Nobody lays in a ruin of blood and broken teeth on the outside of the ring after being hit by the missile-like headbutt into the corner by The Nameless Monster, and the horrifying lawn-dart that sent him haphazardly into the top of the steel post. Jane Doe lay in ruin below, of all people…Lou.

Pleasant slowly and silently walks up behind Lou, wrapping his arms around her with pride. He kisses the top of her head, happy with what she has accomplished this evening. Meanwhile, the Monster and his mysterious handler exit the ring with their ꞠÒĐṦÊǸḒ. Sammy follows, but stops to look down at Cormac. Cormac squirms, trying to will his way out of the cuffs that keep him connected to the bottom rope, but Sammy stays just out of reach. His head twists in admiration and curiosity, as if trying to comprehend Cormac’s position on the mat, yet enjoying what he is seeing. 

Arthur yells from the outside.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Time to go, my beautiful children. There is more fun to be had. Soon. I promise!

No fadeout theme. Just shock and disgust from the people inside the Pinnacle, watching on as a parade of plagues all reach the top of the ramp. It is then, that a single logo appears on the SHOOTron before transitioning to the back:

Eryk Masters: Jace?

Jason Johnson: Yes, Eryk?

Eryk Masters: What did we just witness?!

Jason Johnson: I don’t know, Eryk. I…I just don’t know.   

A collective gasp ripples through The Pinnacle as the realization Izzy Sia has finally beaten Vito Valentino comes to fruition. The SmashShow’s incredible 330-day reign as SHOOT Project Premier Champion, a near full-year marked by dominant performances and unwavering confidence, has come to an end.

Jason Johnson: I’m… I’m stunned. I really, really thought Vito was going to pull this one out. He has been SO damn dominant throughout the year!

Eryk Masters: Not me. There was something about Izzy’s eyes at the start of this that spoke volumes of her desire to finally win that Premier Championship.

Once Lee Armstrong raises Izzy’s arm in victory, a clear, unmistakable look of disappointment washes over Vito’s face. The championship belt, which had been his constant companion, is now in possession of another. The title’s gleam reflects off Izzy's triumphant smile, and the weight of defeat settles heavily upon him, a stark contrast to the elation he has grown accustomed to.

Despite the sting of defeat and the crushing blow to his ego, Vito, ever the sportsman, extends a hand to Izzy. His grip is firm… and he pulls the NEW Premier Champion in towards him roughly. 

Jason Johnson: Uh oh.

Eryk Masters: What’s this now? Vito about to cry that he lost? 

Armstrong brings the Premier Championship over to Izzy… but Vito grabs it hastily from him!

The crowd boos what looks like an act of pettiness and unsportsmanlike conduct, but not very loudly.

Yelling loud enough so she hears him over the crowd, Vito releases Izzy’s hand.

Vito Valentino: You fuckin’ earned it, champ.

Vito turns her around… and begins clasping the buttons on the championship shut.

The crowd roars at this show of respect!

“VI-TO! VITO!”

But there are side chants happening as well.

“YOU-DE-SERVE-IT!”
Clap, clap, clapclapclap.

“YOU-DE-SERVE-IT!”

Clap, clap, clapclapclap.

Jason Johnson: What a moment. Class act, Vito. Class act.

Eryk Masters: I’ll give you that. Not sure there are many other competitors out there who would be congratulating their opponent after losing their championship to them. Especially for as long as Vito has held it.

Vito then leaves the ring, taking that long walk up the ramp as the entire audience of The Pinnacle gives Izzy her metaphorical flowers.

Jason Johnson: What a grueling 7-Way match this was! Congratulations to our new champion, Izzy Sia!

Eryk Masters: Indeed. What a night it’s been already. 

The gold top laced in blue trim.  The long, dark brown hair.  The tattoo-sleeved right arm.  Those are enough signs to tell who stands back to the camera.

She turns, putting hands on hips, an overly smug/confident/arrogant expression.

Madison Seton chuckles before speaking.

Madison Seton: Oh, Laura.  What are you about to embark on?  Yet another quest in your epic adventure of our beloved sport?  Another chapter of: “I Do It Myself.”

All because you're too stubborn or too fuckin’ stupid to know otherwise.  You have your little clan there.  Your Ragtags or Ragamuffins or whatever pieced-up jalopy of a group it is that has your back.  And yet you still insist on fighting on your own.

You stupid little cunt.

You even have our eye!  Our eye!  The Empire!  You can join the greatest collection of current and future of SHOOT!  Have access to everything in the whole world to make yourself better and keep yourself in good health!

A look of puzzlement for a second before Maddie shakes her head in disappointment.

Madison Seton: But yet, there you are.  Resting on your laurels.  Preaching your morals.  Like you're this great Godsend to the world and that you'll make everything okay in the end!  I've heard some of those stories you tell Alan and Cheyenne at night at bedtime.  They're cute.  They really are.  Heck, I admit I've ripped one or two off to use with Peridot.  But you see, there's one thing, here.

Those are stories.  They're fiction.  The good person doesn't always win.  There isn't always the great reward awaiting the right actions, even if you come up short.  You'll see that later tonight when Joshua Breedlove stomps you into oblivion.  When your world of wrestling disintegrates into nothing.  When the name Laura Seton becomes known solely as having the accolade of “Longest Reigning World Heavyweight Champion.”

For now.

Mind you, that's a hell of an accolade.  But that's all you'll have.

Her words begin dripping with a baby-talk like tone.

Madison Seton: Because your precious morals and whatever else only do so much.  And your widdle fans can only cheer so long while you get bruised and beaten…

Her tone becomes MUCH more serious.

Madison Seton: Because fans only take so much.  There comes that point they'll give up on you.  Even Cubs fans know when to throw in the towel for the day.  Even you and me as Brewer fans?  We know when there's times it's “just not the day.”  You're gonna come back stronger?  With more of a fighting spirit and a passion to win like never before?

She has a momentary laugh as she shakes her head before snarling at the camera and giving a middle finger.

Madison Seton: Fuck you.

You can reject us all you want.  Be yourself and be whatever the fuck it is you think you are.  But if Breedlove gets you back to our locker room during the World Heavyweight Championship match?  No, I won't interfere…

But trust me…

I'll be there grinning… laughing… as he holds your bloodied head up by the hair and you look on at me with sorrowful puppy dog eyes just pleading for the beating to stop.

A beating that didn’t have to happen.  If you could have just used your senses and joined us?  Joshua Breedlove wouldn't have to take your career from you.  Or, at least, take a couple years off it.

And I could still tell Peridot you have integrity and intelligence to do what's right.  Join us in our fight to show SHOOT what actual championship pedigree looks like, instead of looking like a fucking loser.  Best of luck…

…

Bitch.

The SHOOT Project interview backdrop fills the frame as backstage interviewer Abigail Chase stands with a microphone, looking professional but concerned. Beside her stand Harv Norris and Rick Hull, both heavily taped and bandaged from the brutal attack by the Collins Brothers. Harv has a bandage above his left eye, his ribs are wrapped, and he’s wearing his Punch Line jersey. Rick has tape around his knuckles, a cut on his cheek, and his usual stoic expression, though his eyes burn with barely contained rage.

Most notably absent is Roy Vezina.

Abigail Chase: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m here with the SHOOT Project World Tag Team Champions, “The B’y Wonder” Harv Norris and “Rocket” Rick Hull, The Punch Line. Gentlemen, in just a few moments, you’ll be defending your championships against the Collins Brothers in a ladder match. But your manager and captain, Roy Vezina, is not medically cleared to be at ringside tonight due to injuries sustained in the attack a few weeks ago. How does that affect your mindset going into this match?

Harv shifts uncomfortably, clearly feeling Roy’s absence, but he straightens up and addresses the camera directly.

Harv Norris: Right, so here’s the ting of it, b’y. Roy, he’s back at the hotel, and let me tell ye, he’s madder than a bag of cats in a washing machine! Called us seventeen times today, he did! Seventeen! Tellin’ us about strategies and counters and all sorts of tings I can’t even pronounce proper!

He gestures wildly with his hands.

Harv Norris: But see, here’s what them Collins Brothers don’t understand, eh? They tink by takin’ out Roy, they’re takin’ out our brains, but what they don’t know is me and Rick here, we been doin’ this since before we could grow proper facial hair! Well, Rick could always grow facial hair, look at him, face like a lumberjack who wrestles bears for fun!

Rick Hull: (flatly) I don’t wrestle bears.

Harv Norris: Not the point, Hully! The point is, and this is important now, so listen up ye Collins Brothers wherever ye are, the point is Roy taught us well, didn’t he? We’re like… like them ninja turtles, but Canadian! And Roy’s like Splinter, except he wears suits and complains about catering!

Abigail Chase: So you’re saying Roy’s absence won’t affect your performance tonight?

Harv Norris: Affect us? AFFECT US?! B’y, if anything it’s lit a fire under our arses like ye wouldn’t believe! See, them Collins Brothers, they put Roy in the hospital! Well, not the HOSPITAL hospital, but the hotel where he’s restin’ and complainin’ about the thread count, which is basically the same ting!

He leans closer to the camera, his Newfie accent getting thicker with emotion.

Harv Norris: Michael and Rowland, ye tink ye’re clever, do ye? Wearin’ them little dinosaur masks like ye’re at some kind of carnival? Jumpin’ us from behind like a couple of… of… what’s the word, Rick?

Rick Hull: Cowards.

Harv Norris: COWARDS! Thank ye, Rocket! Like a couple of cowards who can’t win a fair fight so they gotta ambush us when we’re tired and beaten up already! Well, tonight’s different, b’y! Tonight we know ye’re comin’! Tonight there’s no masks, no surprises, just you two, us two, and a bunch of ladders that’re gonna hurt real bad when we hit ye with ’em!

Abigail Chase: The Collins Brothers have been very vocal about this being their chance to reclaim what they believe is rightfully theirs…

Harv Norris: Rightfully theirs? RIGHTFULLY THEIRS?! We beat ‘em fair and square! We took them titles from around their waists and put ‘em around OURS! There’s nothin’ rightful about what they’re doin’, this is pure spite and jealousy, like when yer cousin gets a nicer truck than you and suddenly ye’re not invited to Christmas dinner no more!

Rick Hull finally steps forward slightly, his presence commanding despite his silence.

Rick Hull: They made it personal.

The simplicity of the statement carries enormous weight.

Harv Norris: Aye, they made it PERSONAL, Hully! And that was their first mistake, b’y! Their second mistake was tinkin’ we can’t function without Roy screamin’ at us about proper nutrition and professionalism! Imma from the ROCK! From the land where ye either learn to fight or ye get eaten by a moose!

Abigail Chase: That seems… unlikely…

Harv Norris: Ye’d be surprised what moose are capable of, missy! But that’s beside the point! The POINT is, and I’m gettin’ to it now, the POINT is that tonight, ladder match, no Roy, no rules, just pure Canadian fury versus Irish… whatever they got!

Rick Hull: Desperation.

Harv Norris: DESPERATION! See? Rick gets it! They’re desperate men makin’ desperate moves! And desperate men make mistakes! And when they make them mistakes, and they WILL make mistakes, we’re gonna be there to climb that ladder, grab them belts, and prove once and for all that The Punch Line are the BEST tag team in the world!

He pounds his fist into his palm for emphasis.

Harv Norris: Now, I know what yer tinkin’. “Harv, yer all banged up! Yer ribs are taped tighter than a Christmas present! How are you gonna climb a ladder?” Well, I’ll tell ye how, with GRIT! With DETERMINATION! With that good old Newfoundland stubbornness that kept our ancestors alive through winters that would freeze yer eyeballs solid!

Abigail Chase: And Rick, do you have anything to add?

Rick looks directly into the camera, his expression cold and unforgiving.

Rick Hull: Collins Brothers. Tonight, you pay for Roy. You pay for the ambush. You pay for everything.

He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air.

Rick Hull: No mercy.

Harv Norris: No mercy is right, b’y! And after we’re done with ye, after we’re standin’ at the top of that ladder with OUR championships held high, Roy’s gonna be watchin’ from his hotel room with the biggest smile on his face! And he’s gonna call us, probably eighteen times this time, and tell us he knew we could do it all along!

He turns to face the camera directly, his usual goofiness replaced with genuine intensity.

Harv Norris: So Collins Brothers, I hope ye said yer prayers and ate yer Wheaties or whatever ye Irish lads eat, potatoes probably, because tonight, The Punch Line is gonna remind everyone why we’re the champions! Roy or no Roy, injured or not, we’re walkin’ out of that ring with these titles around our waists!

Rick Hull: And they’re walking out on stretchers.

Harv Norris: That too! Definitely that too! GORDIE!

Rick Hull: Gordie.

They both stare into the camera with unwavering determination as Abigail Chase wraps up.

Abigail Chase: There you have it, The Punch Line, ready for war despite the absence of Roy Vezina. The ladder match for the World Tag Team Championships is next!

THE COLLINS TWINS

MICHAEL COLLINS

ROWLAND COLLINS

THE PUNCH LINE (c)

RICK HULL

HARV NORRIS

JOSHUA BREEDLOVE (c)

Laura slams her fists onto the ground on the outside, angry with herself for tapping out. The fans are on their feet, most of the love directed at her, but some are showing just a general appreciation for the match itself. Breedlove comes over, grabs Laura by the back of her head and rolls her into the ring.

Jason Johnson: What’s he going to do now? 

Eryk Masters: No telling with him. 

He receives the World Championship from Samantha Coil and holds it high in the air for what feels like a long time. In that time, Laura’s gotten back to her feet and is leaning up against the turnbuckle, catching her breath, looking dejected. 

Jason Johnson: So just rubbing it in, then.

Eryk Masters: Seems that way. I mean, I can kinda understand it. 

Breedlove’s handed a microphone. He slings the World championship over his shoulder and turns to look back at Laura directly. 

Joshua Breedlove: You’re solved. 

The crowd boos. 

Joshua Breedlove: But that’s okay, I think deep down, you knew I’d solved you. Deep down, you always knew this would be the result. It’s just statistics. 

He shrugs his shoulders, cat-like grin plastered across his face. Laura takes a big, heaving sigh. 

Joshua Breedlove: And now… it’s decision time. This is the last chance, Laura. I’m going to bring someone out here, they’re going to present you with both the red envelope and the black envelope. You take the black one? You’re one of us. You succeed the way we do. You no longer have to do it on your own. You’re in for life. 

He pauses. 

Joshua Breedlove: Buuuuut if you take the red envelope… well, I think you know what happens next. And why make yourself a martyr for anyone or anything, you know? Now… if you please. Mr. Van Warren…

Eryk Masters: Oh that’s sneaky. 

Jason Johnson: Using X-Calibur to give Laura her ultimatum? Yeah, that’s dirty, but that’s who Breedlove is. That’s what he does. 

Pantera’s “25 Years” hits the state of the art speaker system across the Pinnacle and the crowd turns into immediate boos. X holds the metal tray full of envelopes, looking a bit emotionless at the whole situation. 

Eryk Masters: Why does X look so.. I dunno. Different?

Jason Johnson: I’m not sure, but those envelopes never looked as foreboding as they do now.

With the tray in hand, X slides under the ring, spilling the envelopes all over.

Breedlove looks none too happy that X was so careless about the envelopes upon sliding into the ring.

Joshua Breedlove: Seriously?! You had one job to d—

WHAAAAAACK!!

Jason Johnson: Holy fucking SHIT! X-CALIBUR JUST SMACKED BREEDLOVE ACROSS THE FACE WITH THE METAL TRAY THAT ONCE HELD THE ENVELOPES!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

Laura looks genuinely SHOCKED as X smirks towards her, still holding the metal tray in his hands.

X-Calibur: Fuck this guy. I’m done with this bullshit.

Dropping the metal tray on the mat, the Hall of Famer waits for a now bloodied Joshua Breedlove to get to his feet. The camera pans to the top of the ramp showing a substantial chunk of the Empire out in force. The Collins Twins, fresh off their loss to the Punch Line, Muratagi Hanzo & Cromwell Yarbury, Mike de los Huesos, and perhaps one of the more important names to this situation, standing in the center of them all… Madison Seton.

Jason Johnson: I mean, I don’t blame her for that, but do you think they’re going to just… let her go and let X get away with what he just did other fearless leader? She hasn’t made her decision yet, and X just shocked the world by smashing a metal tray over a Breedlove’s face!. I think it’s a little odd they aren’t running down to stop the attack on Breedlove, but maybe they had orders not to intervene no matter what? 

Eryk Masters: I dunno, I don’t see how Breedlove could have anticipated X-Calibur’s betrayal, though I guess in hindsight… I don’t know, man.

Breedlove gets to his feet, staggered, checking the nasty cut above his eyebrow that will no doubt need stitches.

Eryk Masters: I’m…stunned! Has X grown a conscience since the last time we saw him back in Vegas? 

Joshua Breedlove has a slight smirk on his face, knowing how badly X-Calibur fucked up by choosing to turn on him.

Joshua Breedlove: You.. you.. fucking idio—

X jumps up with his leaping cutter and before Breedlove can get a response in to X’s, he’s dropped face first onto the metal tray on the mat.

The Pinnacle… has lost… their collective SHIT over the sudden turn of events!!

“HO-LY SHIT”

“HO-LY SHIT”

“HO-LY SHIT”

“HO-LY SHIT”

X motions for a microphone. He’s given one quickly as possible while the arena continues to chant their shock and pleasure at what he just did to the leader of the Empire.

X-Calibur: I’m done taking orders from an arrogant little prick like you. You’re a hell of a wrestler, Joshua. I’ll give you that. But it just ain’t enough anymore. Not in this business. Not in 2025. Your fucking days of telling people like me and Laura what to do are fucking OVER!! You hear that, Breed…bitch?!  OVER!! 

Laura’s eyes narrow as she shows a frustrated motherly “Stop!” expression.

X-Calibur: I don’t care what power you think you have. I don’t care what manipulative tactics you have up your sleeve to try and “get me back” for how badly I just embarrassed your red and gold ass, Mr. World Fucking Champ. Fact is? 

X lowers himself right next to Breedlove who isn’t stirring yet after the impact of the X-Terminator on the metal tray.

X-Calibur: I may be closer to the end of my career than I am to the beginning. A lot closer, honestly. But that’s okay. I’m going to devote the rest of my days inside this ring to make yours a living hell. I’m going to break you. Piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but memories of your shitty Temu-Regime.

The crowd pops hard. 

X-Calibur: So you know what you can do with your Don Corleone offers? You can shove ‘em up your fucking ASS. And while you do that? 

Prepare.

To be.

X-TERM—

Before X could even finish his old catchphrase from a millennia ago,  the crowd is shocked yet again. 

This time, by none other than Laura Seton. 

Jason Johnson: WHAT THE HELL?!

Eryk Masters: Oh my GOD. No she didn’t ..!!

Laura turns X around. She yells off-mic at him, with just an occasional “Enough!” being audible.  Laura picks an envelope and X’s eyes go wide.

Jason Johnson: She’s chosen! 

Eryk Masters: I can’t see! What did she pick?!

It’s the BLACK ENVELOPE and the crowd ERUPTS back into boos. X-Calibur is fully stunlocked, so he never sees it coming. 

Eryk Masters: ANGEL’S FURY ONTO X-CALIBUR!! 

Jason Johnson: OH MY GOD, I can’t BELIEVE that. Look at the SCOWL on her face. Look at Breedlove’s bloody face! 

Breedlove is back to his feet watching Laura stand over X-Calibur with the black envelope. The two legends in front of him: one, with whom he thought was on his side, and the other fallen at the hands of someone he didn’t exactly think was.

X is curled up, hurting from the Angel’s Fury kick, groaning in agony. Laura’s focus is now entirely aimed on the SHOOT Project Hall of Famer.

Eryk Masters: You gotta remember, X has big feelings for Laura Seton, so this has to be hitting kind of…weird? Uncomfortable? If X is even awake..

Jason Johnson: Or she’s just smart and understands what happens if this all continues. X betrayed HER. I don’t think she trusts X playing the white knight for her here.

Eryk Masters: I don’t think X is playing the white knight in this scenario. He’s fighting for himself. For his independence. For his daughter’s future.

Breedlove is fully upright now, no longer on the mat with his face planked into a metal tray.

He surveys the damage done by Laura, seeing X on the mat. Wiping his face, he surveys the damage done by X, laughing that it just cost him more than he could possibly imagine.

Jason Johnson: This… is not… fucking… good.

Eryk Masters: My head is positively SPINNING! Here’s a turn. There’s a turn. Everywhere I look there’s revenge and vengeance being played out in real time!

Breedlove is elated and joyful as he leans back against the turnbuckle, World title in hand. He shakes his head, grinning, as Laura Seton stands over the downed X-Calibur. He walks over, making eye contact with the former champion and future Hall of Famer and smiles. He offers his hand to her. She walks past X-Calibur who’s not unconscious, just in shock. 

She takes his hand.  A glare towards him in the process, but a formed alliance regardless.

A single tear rolls down X’s cheek upon seeing this union come to fruition.

The scene closes as Laura Seton and Joshua Breedlove stand together in the middle of the Daybreak ring, hands joined in victory and celebration, of sorts. The camera splits and shows the members of the Empire at the top of the ramp, almost all smiling, with the exception of one. Madison Seton has the BIGGEST grin on her face.

Laura Seton has joined the Empire.

Black.