A sweeping, cinematic drone shot flies over New York City at night, approaching THE PINNACLE. The massive open-air stadium is bathed in the "Midnight Sovereign" aesthetic—deep navy blue floodlights wash over the outer steel, pierced by sharp, cold silver spotlights beaming into the clouds. Inside, thousands of fans hold up blue LED lights, creating a breathtaking "sea of stars" as "Enemy" by Tommee Profitt feat. Beacon Light plays.
"I see the fire in the sky
I feel the tension in the night
I hear the voices in my mind..."
Slow-motion, high-contrast black and white footage plays. Joshua Breedlove stands atop the entrance ramp, the World Championship raised high, looking down on the world with a sneer. Arthur Pleasant wipes blood from his forehead and smiles at the camera. NC-17 slams a car door shut, leaving a broken body behind him. Hannah Kelser screams in rage as she spears her own mother.
"They say the end is coming soon
But I got nothing left to lose
So I'm gonna fight until I move..."
Color bleeds back into the screen violently with a flash of CYAN laser light. X-Calibur swings a metal catering tray, smashing it squarely into Breedlove's face. Rick Hull and Harv Norris slam the "1897 Treaty" onto a table. Chance Kelser drops a steel chair and extends his hand to Thunderwolf.
"I am the enemy!
I am the enemy!
You better run from me
I am the enemy!"
The beat drops like a hammer. Rapid-fire cuts of the Zenith 008 Main Event Riot. Sammy Rochester clotheslines Corey Lazarus inside out. Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody skid a motorcycle down the ramp, leaping off with kendo sticks swinging. Laura Seton cinches an armbar on Depravity amidst the chaos. The Collins Twins stomp a mudhole in the corner. Thunderwolf and Breedlove bump backs in the center of the ring, turn, and lock eyes as time seems to stop.
"I'm drawing lines in the sand
I got the world in my hands
I'm taking back what is mine
It's just a matter of time..."
Austin Anderson stares coldly into a camera lens in the catering hall. Misty Starks holds her ribs, staring daggers at her daughter. Dan Stein stands in the ring, pointing a finger: "Consider this your test!"
"Watch me rise
Watch me rise
You can see the fire in my eyes..."
The camera pans up the body of X-Calibur, looking battered, bruised, but defiant. Laura Seton stands between the challenger and the champion, looking conflicted but dangerous. Joshua Breedlove sits on his throne of gold, clutching the title tight.
"I AM THE ENEMY!"
One final, massive wide shot of the stadium as silver fireworks explode from the roof, illuminating the night sky. The logo slams onto the screen in heavy, metallic letters:
The video fades and the live feed explodes with noise. The camera flies over the massive crowd inside The Pinnacle. The "Sea of Stars" is breathtaking—a waving ocean of blue lights against the dark night sky. The energy is deafening. Pyro explodes from the stage trusses, bathing the arena in silver and cyan light.
We cut to the ringside announce desk, where Eryk Masters and Jason Johnson are seated, dressed in sharp black tuxedos to match the grandeur of the evening.
Eryk Masters: "We are live from the sold-out Pinnacle in the heart of New York City, under the epic lights of the Pinnacle! The wars have been fought, the lines have been drawn, and tonight, the debts are paid. Welcome... to REDEMPTION!"
Jason Johnson: "Eryk, look at this atmosphere! I have goosebumps! The temperature has dropped, the lights are cold, but the hatred in this building is burning hotter than anything we have ever seen. We aren't just here for wrestling matches tonight; we are here to witness the survival of the fittest."
Eryk Masters: "You are absolutely right, Jason. The road to Redemption has been paved with broken glass, shattered alliances, and spilled blood. We saw a literal riot close out Zenith just two weeks ago. And tonight, the architects of that chaos—The Empyrean Forge, The DeMONSTRance, and The Kelser Covenant—are all in the building, and they are all looking to end this season standing tall."
Jason Johnson: "It all comes down to the main event, Eryk. A Three-Way Elimination match for the World Heavyweight Championship. Joshua Breedlove. X-Calibur. Laura Seton. One King, one Legend, and one Asset who might hold the key to the entire future of this company. There is nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide."
Eryk Masters: "Plus, the Tag Team Titles are on the line in a 'Last Chance' encounter, Thunderwolf leads his reunited family into war, and NC-17 answers for his crimes in the ring! The season finale starts right now! Let's send it to the ring!"
Dustin Kelser stands in the center of the LAST VANGUARD locker room, flanked to his left by Misty Kelser and Corey Lazarus; and, to his right, by Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody. All four competitors are dressed and ready for the Rumble, Misty looking luxurious in a red dress and black peep-toe Luis Vuittons, and Dustin holds up a hand.
Thunderwolf: "No hard feelings."
Dustin sighs, resting his hands on his hips.
Thunderwolf: That's a phrase that's been shared between Corey and I for as long as we've known each other. From day one, when we were at that first training camp together.
Corey smirks and plays with the hood of his entrance jacket, stepping away and casually walking behind the lineup.
Thunderwolf: And everybody in this locker room right now? We're all saying it to each other after the Rumble. No matter who wins. No matter what happens. That's the kind of attitude that I mean when I say people need to put the work in. Treating this business as just that - a business.
Corey leans between Ricky and Holden, putting his arms around the both of them as he brings them in for a surprise group hug.
Corey Lazarus: Ricky, my boy? Holden, my…boy's pal…I think? Whatever you have to do in the Rumble tonight? Whatever the L-A-Z has to do? Hey, babes. No hard feelings. Dig?
Holden pulls himself away from Lazarus, shaking his head and trying to hide any hint of a laugh, as Ricky rolls his eyes.
Ricky Tenet: Yeah…no hard feelings. I even said it to everyone in the Belmont Classic the other day.
A moment of silence passes as Corey and Ricky look to Nobody, his muteness drawing Dustin and Misty to look his way, as well. Corey lowers his sunglasses, the disappointment on his face palpable.
Holden Nobody: Oh, yeah…no hard feelings…
Corey and Dustin turn to each other and shrug.
Thunderwolf: That's why the four of us will be able to stand united later tonight, regardless of what we do when it's every man for himself.
Corey Lazarus: It's why we don't need some would-be Jesus figure calling our shots for us. Why we don't need to fall in line and use each other as furniture. Why the four men that you see before you are walking away this night with our heads and hands held high!
Ricky's puzzled look draws the attention of his father, the younger man turning.
Ricky Tenet: But…I'm up against Darkspade tonight…?
The lights in the locker room die for a moment, returning to reveal CHANCE KELSER standing face-to-face with his father. A brand new baseball bat rests over his shoulder, the paint on his face recently applied.
Seconds stretch into what feel like eons. Tommee Profitt's "Enemy" starts bleeding through the locker room door, the opening video rolling, as the audible ROAR of the SHOOT faithful filter in. Chance extends his hand to Thunderwolf, the veteran respectfully shaking it.
Chance Kelser: No hard feelings.
All five turn to the camera. Chance Kelser extends his bat. Thunderwolf holds up his fists, ready to fight. Corey Lazarus flashes his trademark devilish grin. Ricky Tenet raises a fist high above his head and points forward. Holden Nobody crosses his arms over his chest.
They're ready. Ready for the Redemption Rumble. Ready for Darkspade. Ready to end the DeMONSTRance.
Eryk Masters: Unbelievable! The Last Standing Pillar stands tall! Thunderwolf drew Number 30, he came in like a house on fire, and he has punched his ticket to the main event of Reckoning Day!
Jason Johnson: That is the luck of the draw, Eryk, but you still have to execute! He came in fresh, he used that energy to clean house, and he managed to eliminate a very game, very dangerous Ricky Tenet to seal the deal.
Eryk Masters: It really makes the video we just saw stand out that little bit more. Tenet and Thunderwolf in the same room, prior to the Rumble, not knowing that the Rumble would end with the two of them. It's kind of crazy when you think about it.
Jason Johnson: Thunderwolf has a date with the World Heavyweight Champion at Reckoning Day... whoever that may be after tonight's main event! But Eryk... the night isn't over for him.
Eryk Masters: That is the terrifying reality of this evening. Thunderwolf may have won the Rumble with a short night's work, but he has no time to celebrate. Because the "Summit War" is next.
Jason Johnson: We saw the riot at Zenith. We saw Hannah Kelser spear her own mother. We saw Chance Kelser finally save his father. And tonight, for the first time in history, the Kelser family stands united against the forces trying to tear them apart.
Eryk Masters: It is an 8-Person Tag Team War. The DeMONSTRance—Arthur Pleasant, Sammy Rochester, and Depravity—have recruited the estranged Hannah Kelser to their cause. And standing against them? The reunited Chance Kelser, Misty Starks, Corey Lazarus, and the man who just won the Redemption Rumble, Thunderwolf!
Jason Johnson: The adrenaline is high right now, but Sammy Rochester is a different kind of animal. Can Wolf refocus instantly? Can this reunited family function as a unit? Or are we about to watch the tragic end of the Kelser reunion before it even begins?
Eryk Masters: The lines are drawn. The families are at war. It is The United Front versus The DeMONSTRance... NEXT!
The bell had rung - once again, no one caring about the outcome - instead the participants melding into a shapeless, violent riot. There were truly no winners, only survivors, some fairing better than others. The referee had lost control and is now waving his arms impotently from the safety of the ramp as the eight-person war spills out across the ringside area.
Inside the ropes, Thunderwolf and his son, Chance Kelser, trade heavy blows with Hannah Kelser and DEPRAVITY. To the crowd, it looks like a desperate family stand—father and son fighting back-to-back against the corrupted daughter and the monster.
On the outside, the chaos is equally thick. Corey Lazarus is brawling with Arthur Pleasant near the announce table, admittedly getting the upper hand, while the young prodigy, Holden Nobody, is trying with all his might to chop down the redwood that is Sammy Rochester near the timekeeper's area. Blow after blow rain down on the monster, dazing him.
Jason Johnson: The bell has rung, but nobody is listening! It's like we're stuck in a time loop! We have bodies everywhere! The official is trying to reign in the chaos, but I don't think DeMONSTRAnce or any of the others really care! It's pure anarchy!
On the inside of the ring, Hannah and Chance roll through a catch-as-catch-can bout back and forth, before their legs are tied up in a figure-four. With Hannah getting the upper hand, Chance fights through, applying every nerve hold he could muster to try and get her off.
Eryk Masters: This is no longer a match, Jason, it's a crime scene in the making. Look at the eyes of Arthur Pleasant. He doesn't care about the match, just the bloodshed!
On the floor, Arthur Pleasant absorbed a right hand from Lazarus. He stumbled back against the steel steps, wiping blood from a split lip. He didn't retaliate. Instead, he smirked, and then reached into his pocket and produced a silver pen. He tapped it against the steel post.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
Corey looked at him in confusion at first, but then the two began trading blows again.
It was the signal. The switch flipped.
Holden Nobody, who had momentarily staggered Sammy Rochester, let out a roar as soon as he saw Arthur tap the post. Holden had turned, just for a second, looking to aid Lazarus, but the distraction was fatal. Sammy Rochester hadn't been hurt; he had been stalling. The giant exploded from his stared slumber, catching Holden in mid-stride. He didn't just tackle him; he lifted him high into the air, running him like a battering ram first into the apron, but just as quickly turning him around - to and through the timekeeper's barricade.
CRASH.
The plexiglass exploded. The LED boards shattered in a shower of sparks. Holden Nobody disappeared beneath a twisted pile of steel tubing and black debris.
Jason Johnson: GOOD GOD!!!
Eryk Masters: Sammy just BURIED Holden Nobody in the wreckage! He's just… he's just GONE!
Near the announce table, Corey Lazarus grabs Arthur by the throat, lifting him with both hands.
Corey Lazarus: It's over! You hear me, BITCH?! IT'S FUCKING OVER!!
Arthur Pleasant: (smiling, choking) but…is it? My…child…
With his last gasp, shifting his weight down and through, he thrust the silver pen downward. He didn't aim for the neck or the throat. He drove the point directly into Lazarus's right eye.
Eryk Masters: NO! HIS EYE! HE STABBED HIM IN THE GODDAMN EYE!!
Lazarus screams—a sound that cuts through the arena noise. He clutches his face, blood instantly forcing its way through his fingers. He's blind and defenseless.
Arthur then delivers one clubbing blow after another, dragging him to the edge of the Spanish Announce Table.
Sammy Rochester, dusting off the debris from Holden, joins him.
The GODSEND: (rubbing his throat) Do it, my vessel of DESTRUCTION!!
As soon as Arthur gives the order, Sammy lifts the flailing Icon and drives him down with a double handed choke bomb through the wood and monitors. Lazarus lay twitching in the wreckage, clutching his face - calling for help.
From the back, a blur of motion. Ricky Tenet, seeing his father destroyed, sprints down the ramp, sliding into the ring to save the day. On the inside of the ring - Thunderwolf took a massive blow from a lead pipe that Depravity had hidden in the stitching of the ring apron, his rib taking the full impact.
Jason Johnson: Ricky Tenet is here!
Eryk Masters: The cavalry has arrived!
But the cavalry ran into a wall. Two figures emerged from the crowd - one on the east side of the ring in a dark blue jogging suit, the other in dark purple. As Ricky slid under the bottom rope, one would be keen to notice that he hadn't won the race. Sapphire and Velour were waiting to strike. Velour sprayed a cloud of red mist directly into Ricky's eyes, blinding him, as Sapphire took out his legs with a sweeping round house kick. As he staggered back to a stand, coughing and clawing at his face, Depravity swung her lead pipe into the back of his knee. Ricky collapsed. Sammy Rochester slid in, grabbed the young man by the throat, and dragged him to the corner, choking him the whole way. He punched him hard in side of the jaw - hard - but didn't knock him out; instead he pulled out a pair of cuffs, handcuffing Ricky's wrists to the bottom turnbuckle link. Ricky was kicked repeatedly before Sammy stepped on top of him - using all of his weight. Ricky was pinned, screaming, and was being forced to watch.
Misty Starks, seeing the collapse of their forces, came sprinting out herself at lightning speed, as Depravity started working the ribs of Thunderwolf again with blow after blow. Misty was turned into a wild mother protecting her young and her love as she hit the ring. She dropped Sapphire with a stiff palm strike and hip-tossed Velour across the ring.
Eryk Masters: Misty Starks is clearing house! She's trying to get to Wolf!
She turns, hair wild, eyes searching for her husband—but she finds her daughter instead, as she releases the hold on Chance and pops to her feet. Hannah Kelser nails a Bicycle Kick with sickening precision. Misty's head snaps back, and she crumples to the ground, likely concussed. Hannah doesn't waste any time, though, and mounts her mother, raining down elbows until Misty's face is a mask of red. The final shot connects right between her eyes, blowing her nose open and breaking it upon impact. She then drags Misty's mostly limp body to the ring post, pulls her arms around the steel, and cuffs her hands together on the outside. Misty is trapped at the foot of the post, bleeding onto the canvas.
In the center of the ring, the dust settles. The noise dies down.
Thunderwolf stands alone, having finally fought Lou off. He spins around, chest heaving, blood in his beard, and ribs certainly reinjured. He sees Lazarus just helplessly broken on the floor, and as eyes continue to scan the carnage, he sees Holden buried underneath the rubble from Sammy's choke bomb. Still scanning, he sees Ricky chained and Misty beaten. He lets out a roar of all roars with a face snarled like that of an animal, and his arms flexing up as he readies to charge.
He backs up, finding the only ally left. Chance Kelser. Who has pulled himself up just seconds before.
They stand back-to-back in the center of the ring, surrounded by Arthur, Sammy, Lou, and Hannah.
Thunderwolf: (rasping with raised fists, ready to die fighting) They took out everyone, son. It's just us, now. Back to back. We make them pay. We go down fighting.
Chance looks at the carnage. Then he eyes a steel chair lying on the mat that Arthur had slid in just moments before. He picks it up.
Chance Kelser: You know what they say about predictability, Dad?
His voice is devoid of fear. Wolf furrows his brow, glancing over his shoulder.
Thunderwolf: What?
Chance Kelser: Sometimes...
He smirks over at Arthur Pleasant.
Chance Kelser: It's really just… inevitability, disguised as a lesson.
Chance swings the chair a full 180 with absolutely zero warning, driving the steel edge hard into Wolf's untaped, injured ribs.
CRACK.
Jason Johnson: WHAT?! NO! CHANCE! THAT'S YOUR FATHER!
The air steadily leaves Wolf's lungs. He doesn't fall; he freezes. The shock paralyzing him more than the pain itself. He looks at his son, his eyes wide, pleading for it to be a mistake.
But Chance swings again.
He smashes the chair across Wolf's spine.
Dustin "Thunderwolf" Kelser falls to his knees, then to his face. Defeated. 'Et tu Brute?' style.
The DeMONSTRANCE swarms like the bloodthirsty killers they are. They stomp the legend into the canvas. Over and over again.
Then, the ritual begins.
Eryk Masters: What in the actual fuck?!
Jason Johnson: This is disgusting. And something tells me it's about to get a whole lot WORSE.
Sammy and Arthur produce heavy industrial chains and a padlock out from under the ring, while Sapphire and Velour withdraw a wooden cross on their side. Sammy and DEPRAVITY drag the semi-conscious Thunderwolf to the corner turnbuckle, where Sapphire and Velour set up the cross.
Eryk Masters: Oooooh no. No, no, NO they are NOT doing what I think they're doing!!
They hoist his arms high, chaining his wrists around the cross, and down to the top hooks of the turnbuckle, spreading him wide.
He's now crucified on the wood and steel, hanging directly above where Misty sits slumped and bleeding. She whispers, rather, gasps out the words "snuggles."
Chance tosses the keys to the padlock and the two sets of handcuffs into the dead center of the ring.
The GODSEND: Burn it.
Lou and Sammy grab jerry cans from under the apron. They douse the ringside mats in lighter fluid. Arthur pulls a small matchbook with the Kelser Covenant logo on it, the words "The Pit" at the bottom. He holds it up to the sky before striking it.
The GODSEND: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You really should have never fucked with us.
He finally strikes it, and tosses it to the outside.
WHOOSH.
A wall of fire erupts around the ring. Security guards rush down the ramp but are skidded to a halt, shielded by the heat. The ring was cut off. Sammy rushed back in to hold up the head of Ricky Tenet for what was to come next. DEPRAVITY does the same for Misty.
Someone from the front row is screaming louder than anyone in attendance, her hands over her face, crying. They knew she was here. They had set the trap with nothing more than that silver pen of Arthur's and a fake letter.
Sapphire and Velour hop the rail and grab a young, beautiful red-head from the crowd. More specifically, someone from the front row who wasn't supposed to be there. She screams, fighting them, but they manage to shove her past the fire, and subsequently under the bottom rope. The smoke around them was eating up the mats, billowing out and almost catching the ring skirting on fire. Sapphire and Velour continue the assault, kicking her legs out from under her and slamming her down in the center of the ring, inches from the keys.
Jason Johnson: They have Thunderwolf's daughter, Fiona!
Eryk Masters: Someone help them! Security! Get the water!
Ricky Tenet: NO!!!!
He tears at his cuffs until his wrists bleed.
Ricky Tenet: TAKE ME! LEAVE HER ALONE!
Chance and Hannah walked to the center. They loomed over their half-sister. Chance grabbed Fiona's left arm. Hannah grabbed the right. They planted their boots on her ribs.
Thunderwolf: CHANCE!
Wolf roars from his chains, thrashing against the wood and steel.
Thunderwolf: I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, BOY!
Chance looks at his father.
He smiles.
Then he pulls back. And so does his sister.
SNAP.
Fiona's scream shattered the arena. Both arms, wrenched back, broken at the elbow.
Jason Johnson: THEY BROKE HER ARMS! THEY BROKE HER DAMN ARMS!
Chance wasn't done. He twisted the broken limb. CRACK. A compound break. Hannah tugged on the shoulder, popping it out of socket. Fiona passed out from the shock.
Chance and Hannah stood up, covered in their family's blood. Sapphire and Velour pressed in close. Chance kissed Sapphire hard. He kissed Velour even harder.
Then, he turned to Hannah.
The crowd has long since gone silent. The revulsion is ever so palpable. Chance grabs the back of Hannah's head. He pulls her in. She jumps into his arms, legs wrapping around his back…
The kiss is violent, bloody, and deeply, uncomfortably intimate.
Eryk Masters: Oh god... cut the feed. Cut the damn feed or something!
Chance breaks the kiss, blood on his teeth. He looks at the hard camera and…winks.
Chance Kelser: Lesson Twenty-One: A coward, no more.
The lights go out.
…
…
…
Thirty seconds of darkness. The sound of fire extinguishers hissing.
When the lights come back on, The DeMONSTRance are gone.
Eryk Masters: That was the damnedest thing I've ever seen.
Jason Johnson: Yeah. But, uh, hey… at least the fire is out and we don't have to evacuate everyone.
The ring's a graveyard. Fiona lay broken in the center. Wolf hangs from the chains, weeping in rage, thrashing to get free. Misty is slumped, staring up at him, clearly concussed with her eyes glazed. Ricky sobs as well, cheek against canvas, pounding the mat and trying to break the handcuffs.
On the outside, there's movement. Corey Lazarus, a towel pressed to his bleeding eye, crawls back into the ring. He can barely see as his good eye even has blood dripped down into it, but he feels his way to the center and grabs the keys as Ricky manages to finally break free from the cuffs, crawling over to his fiance's broken body, shielding her, yelling for help.
Holden Nobody limps from the wreckage, dragging a chair, and rolls into the ring - standing guard over the fallen, daring anyone to come back.
Lazarus unlocks Misty first, who crawls to a stand to embrace Thunderwolf.
Finally, Lazarus unlocks the chains of his Last Vanguard partner.
Wolf's arms drop. He collapses, but Misty catches him. They crumble together in the corner—a broken family in the ashes of their empire.
Jason Johnson: A Redemption twenty-years in the making for The Kelser Covenant - but at what cost? What have we just witnessed? This is just… just vile. Despicable. I've never seen anything like it.
Eryk Masters: I think I'm going to be sick…
Jason Johnson: Can we cut to the back for a moment and give this family some privacy?
The screen opens on deep, suffocating shadow, the kind found in the corner of a locker room after a thirty-minute war. The only sound is the heavy, ragged breathing of a man pushed past his limit, the audio amplified so every gasp feels like it's right inside your ear. A single bead of sweat, caught in high-definition slow motion, traces a path down a bruised temple, catching the glint of a distant, flickering fluorescent light before dropping into the darkness.
Then, a hand cuts through the gloom. It wraps around the sleek, matte-black can, the aluminum sweating with condensation. The sound of the tab cracking open cuts through the silence like a gunshot—CRACK-HISS—followed immediately by the rising hum of an electrical charge, low at first, but building in pitch.
Neon blue liquid rushes over ice, filming in macro-focus so it looks like a glacial tidal wave. The drinker's eyes snap open, the pupils dilating instantly, reflecting a sudden, jagged arc of blue electricity. The ragged breathing stops, replaced by the thumping, rhythmic bass of a heartbeat that sounds like a war drum.
The scene match-cuts violently to the entrance ramp. The same man, now revitalized and practically vibrating with power, bursts through the curtain. Pyro explodes in sync with the bass drop, bathing the screen in blinding white and electric blue light. He screams into the void, the roar of eighty thousand fans washing over him, the fatigue erased, replaced by pure, unadulterated voltage.
The frame freezes on his face—wild, intense, unstoppable—as the Voltz logo slams onto the screen with the weight of a falling anvil.
We find ourselves ringside, presumably for the start of Austin Anderson vs. NC-17. "Gnarly" by Kodak Black and Lil' Pump hits the PA system, and the Pinnacle knows what to do. As NC-17 hits the top of the entrance ramp, the boos reign supreme. Johnny Vignochi is behind him, swearing at the crowd, leering in his purple oakleys with tobacco-stained teeth.
Eryk Masters: And here comes the self-proclaimed "cream of obscene", who is coming off a tough loss to Aiden Vanity last Zenith. Not sure how to feel about this one, Jace. While you have to admire Austin Anderson's tenacity and his willingness to come out of retirement to defend his client…this whole thing feels wrong.
Jason Johnson: Because it is wrong, Eryk. My understanding is, Austin didn't realize he was going to be booked. This was a slimy, under-handed maneuver by Johnny Vig to prove a point on behalf of his client, and we shouldn't be televising it.
Eryk Masters: Wait a second, Jace…I'm getting word from the back…something isn't right. I'm told there's something wrong in Austin Anderson's dressing room.
Jason Johnson: Oh great. More nefarious hijinks? When is the upper brass actually going to do something about some of these atrocities these chaos agent wrestlers are getting away with? What could it possibly be now?
NC-17 slides under the ropes, hamming it up with the crowd, playing the part of the villain beautifully. Johnny takes his place ringside, still jawing with the New Yorker fans in the front row. The two look like they know something everybody else doesn't…almost like this match is a foregone conclusion.
Eryk Masters: It appears as if somebody has locked Austin Anderson in his dressing room. I'm told we've got some people working on it now, but yeah…this match might end up being delayed.
Jason Johnson: Pathetic. What other advantages could NC-17 possibly give himself? Do we need to have the ref check his tights for a gun?
All of a sudden the lights drop. A familiar chorus hits the PA system…high-pitched and church-like. NC-17's smile disappears, his face drops. He looks like he's seen a ghost.
Eryk Masters: WAIT A SECOND! That can't be! There's no way! It's not possible-
Cradle of Filth's iconic "Nymphetamine Fix" blasts over the arena speakers and the crowd gets to their FEET. It can't be! There's no way! It's not possible! But there she is, at the top of the ramp, red leather jacket and all. The Crimson Valkyrie!
Jason Johnson: The Crimson Valkyrie has arisen! This is INSANE! Is she even cleared to wrestle?
Eryk Masters: By the look of those head and rib bandages, I'd say NO. What is she doing? Who let her out of the hospital? Just weeks ago she was hit by a CAR. Somebody needs to stop this!
Jason Johnson: Oh there's no stopping it now! EMIKO FUJIMOTO SPRINTS TO THE RING!
Emiko Fujimoto DASHES down the ramp, heavily bandaged but with no fucks to give! She slides in under the ropes and the ref rings the bell!
The crowd is buzzing with a mix of awe and confusion. Eryk Masters is practically standing at the desk, his hands on his head in disbelief, while Jason Johnson stares at the replay monitor, shaking his head.
Eryk Masters: "I am... I am completely stunned, Jason. We all thought Austin Anderson was coming out here to exact revenge. We were promised a reckoning. But instead? We saw Emiko Fujimoto—bandaged ribs, concussed, barely medically cleared—limping down that ramp!"
Jason Johnson: "We just got word from the back, Eryk. Austin Anderson never even made it to the curtain. Emiko locked him in his own locker room. She trapped her own agent back there so she could take this fight herself. Talk about warrior spirit... or maybe just a death wish."
Eryk Masters: "It was valiant, Jason, I won't deny that. She fought through the pain, she fought through the injuries from that car attack... but it wasn't enough. The deck was stacked against her from the moment she stole that key. NC-17 didn't show mercy. He didn't care that she was hurt. He saw a target, and he took the win."
Jason Johnson: "And now NC-17 walks away with the victory, and Emiko is likely in even worse shape than before. It's tragic, Eryk. But we have to keep moving. The night doesn't stop for injuries."
Eryk Masters: "That's right. From one personal war to another. If you thought that was heated, wait until you see what's next. King Homewrecker crossed every line imaginable at Zenith when he humiliated Aaron Dearinger and his wife."
Jason Johnson: "But tonight, Dearinger isn't alone. He's united with Josh Kaine. The 'Hillbillies' are here to defend the family honor against Homewrecker and the massive King Oso. Can grit overcome size and slime? We're about to find out."
The crowd is still coming down from the physical intensity of the tag team contest. Eryk Masters takes a deep breath, adjusting his tuxedo jacket, while Jason Johnson shuffles his papers, looking grave.
Eryk Masters: "That was... hard to watch at times, Jason. Just pure, unadulterated aggression. Neither team gave an inch, and frankly, I don't think the bad blood between The Kings and the Dearinger/Kaine alliance is truly washed away, regardless of the bell ringing."
Jason Johnson: "When you involve families, Eryk, the scars run deep. It was a physical war, and bodies were flying everywhere. But we have to pivot, because the night doesn't get any easier for the man we saw earlier tonight in the Redemption Rumble."
Eryk Masters: "That's right. We are talking about Ricky Tenet. We saw him go the distance, surviving all the way to the final two before being eliminated by Thunderwolf. He is exhausted. He is battered. And yet, he has to step back into that ring right now."
Jason Johnson: "And look at who he has to step in there with. Darkspade. This isn't a wrestling match to Ricky; this is an exorcism. For months, Darkspade has been stalking him, tormenting him, sending him cryptic messages... it drove Ricky to a complete mental break at Zenith."
Eryk Masters: "Ricky Tenet demanded this match. He called it 'The Bargain.' He said win, lose, or draw, if he fights Darkspade tonight, the stalking ends. But you have to wonder, Jason... did he make a deal with the devil? He's physically compromised from the Rumble, and Darkspade is fresh and waiting."
Jason Johnson: "Ricky wants his life back, Eryk. He wants the nightmares to stop. But fighting a psychological monster like Darkspade while running on empty? He might just be walking into a nightmare he can't wake up from."
The mood at ringside is heavy. Eryk Masters leans back in his chair, looking genuinely dejected, while Jason Johnson stares at the ring where the referee is raising the hand of the victor.
Eryk Masters: "It is just... heartbreaking, Jason. There is no other word for it. Ricky Tenet fought two wars tonight. He went thirty minutes in the Rumble, and then he poured whatever was left of his soul into this match against Darkspade. But the tank was empty."
Jason Johnson: "You can't fight a ghost on an empty tank, Eryk. Darkspade knew exactly what he was doing. He picked the bones. He waited until Ricky was physically spent and then he struck. Darkspade gets the win, and Ricky Tenet... well, he gets his 'bargain.' The stalking is supposed to end, but looking at Ricky right now? I don't think he feels like a winner in any sense of the word."
Eryk Masters: "A tragic night for the Motor City Madman. But folks, if you have a weak stomach, I am going to ask you to prepare yourself right now. Or maybe just look away. Because what we are about to witness next isn't about wrestling. It isn't about psychological warfare. It is about blood."
Jason Johnson: "It is the final chapter of the most bizarre, violent saga in SHOOT Project history. Pigpen Matsumoto. Peaknuckle. The 'King of All Death' versus the 'Dog of War.' We have seen them brawl in kitchens, we have seen them use forks and knives... but tonight? The gloves are off."
Eryk Masters: "It is a King of Death Match. No disqualifications. No count-outs. Barbed wire, light tubes, glass... if it can hurt a human being—or a dog-man—it is legal. Pigpen promised to 'murder the dog.' Maxine has unleashed the beast. We are about to paint the canvas red."
Jason Johnson: "Medical is on standby. Security is on standby. Pray for these men... or whatever they are. The King of Death Match is NEXT!"
The ring crew is frantically sweeping the canvas, clearing away debris and what appears to be shards of glass from the previous contest. Eryk Masters looks pale, loosening his tie slightly, while Jason Johnson takes a long sip of water, composing himself.
Eryk Masters: "I... I think I need a moment, Jason. I have seen violence in this sport for years, but what Pigpen Matsumoto and Peaknuckle just did to each other? That wasn't a match. That was a crime scene. The medical team is going to be earning their paychecks tonight."
Jason Johnson: "It was absolutely gruesome, Eryk. But in the SHOOT Project, the violence doesn't stop just because the glass has been swept up. We are moving right along to the Empire State Championship."
Eryk Masters: "And talk about a volatile situation. Johnny Napalm shocked the world at Zenith when he dethroned Izzy Sia. He proved he can brawl with the best of them. But tonight? The odds are completely stacked against him. He isn't fighting one man; he's fighting two."
Jason Johnson: "It is a Triple Threat Match, Eryk. First fall to a finish. That means Johnny Napalm can lose his championship without even being pinned or submitted. And look at who is standing across from him. You have Ultimo Muerte, a man who is as mysterious as he is dangerous. He brings a level of Lucha-libre violence that is hard to prepare for."
Eryk Masters: "But Jason, the biggest question mark in this match is the third man. Frank Bailey. He is making his SHOOT Project debut tonight, directly into a title match! Talk about a trial by fire. Who is this guy? What is he capable of? We have no tape, no scouting report... nothing."
Jason Johnson: "That makes him the most dangerous man in the ring, Eryk. Napalm knows Muerte. Muerte knows Napalm. Neither of them knows Frank Bailey. The ink is barely dry on his contract, and he could walk out of here tonight as the Empire State Champion. This is going to be unpredictable, fast, and hard-hitting."
Eryk Masters: "Can Napalm survive the numbers game? Will Muerte seize the throne? Or will the newcomer shock the world on his first night in? The Empire State Title is on the line... RIGHT NOW!"
The camera fades in on a quiet locker room. No music. No noise from the arena bleeding through. Just the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead.
Harv Norris sits on a wooden bench, already taped up, elbows resting on his knees. He is staring at the concrete floor, jaw set, breathing slow and controlled. Across from him, Rick Hull finishes lacing his boots with deliberate precision. He pulls one lace tight, pauses, then moves to the next.
Between them, hanging untouched on a hook, are two Canadian flags. Folded neatly. Waiting.
For several long seconds, neither man speaks.
Rick finishes his boots and stands, rolling his shoulders once. He looks at Harv.
Rick Hull: Collins Twins are probably already dressed.
Harv nods slightly, still not looking up.
Harv Norris: Probably. Those boys always liked bein' early. Gives 'em time to look in the mirror and remind themselves how great they think they are.
Rick almost smirks, but it fades just as quickly as it comes.
Rick Hull: Champions now.
That word hangs in the air.
Harv exhales through his nose and finally looks up.
Harv Norris: Aye. Champions.
He reaches down and tightens the tape around his wrist, pulling hard, almost angry.
Harv Norris: Funny thing about that word, Rocket. Don't matter how many times ye say it, don't mean a damn thing unless ye can back it up when the bell rings.
Rick nods. He takes a step closer, leaning back against a locker.
Rick Hull: They think tonight's just another defense.
Harv chuckles darkly.
Harv Norris: That's their first mistake.
Another silence. This one heavier.
Rick glances toward the flags on the wall.
Rick Hull: We lose tonight…
He stops himself. Shakes his head.
Rick Hull: No. Not sayin' it.
Harv watches him carefully.
Harv Norris: Good. Because I ain't plannin' on losin'.
He stands now, coming face to face with his partner.
Harv Norris: Hully, we've been knocked down before. We've had titles ripped from us, respect questioned, pride tested. But every single time, when it mattered most…
Rick Hull: We answered.
Harv nods firmly.
Harv Norris: The Collins Twins got the belts. They got the spotlight. They got everyone tellin' 'em they're the future of this division.
He steps closer, voice lowering.
Harv Norris: But they don't got what we got.
Rick meets his eyes.
Rick Hull: Pressure.
Harv Norris: Exactly. See, pressure breaks people who ain't built for it. And them boys, they ain't never had two angry Canucks breathin' down their necks with nothin' left to lose.
Rick straightens up.
Rick Hull: They're walkin' into a fight.
Harv Norris: Aye. Not a match. Not a showcase. A fight.
He reaches up and pulls one of the flags off the hook, draping it over his shoulder. Rick takes the other.
Harv Norris: We don't need speeches tonight. We don't need promises. We know who we are.
Rick Hull: Punch Line.
Harv Norris: The standard.
Rick steps closer, forehead nearly touching Harv's.
Rick Hull: We take everything they got.
Harv Norris: And when they've got nothin' left…
Rick Hull: We take the titles.
Harv places a hand on Rick's shoulder, gripping tight.
Harv Norris: No doubts. No hesitation. No mercy.
Rick Hull: None.
There is a knock at the locker room door. An unseen production assistant speaks off-camera.
Production Assistant: Punch Line, you're up soon.
Harv doesn't look toward the door.
Harv Norris: Tell 'em we're ready.
The camera lingers as Rick cracks his neck once and Harv adjusts the flag on his shoulder. The two stand side by side, silent, focused, dangerous.
Rick Hull: Let's remind 'em.
Harv Norris: Aye, b'y. Let's remind everyone.
Backstage. Izzy Sia, The Kamatayan herself, is geared out already. Wrists taped, fingers reinforced, boots laced.
And looking off in the distance. If ever there was someone lost in thought, it's her at this exact moment. Robideau would probably tell her to calm herself, to envision the fight, to control her breathing. But he's not here–by her request–and she's mining a new seam of motivation, it seems.
Izzy: Love can just…suck, dude.
Shaking her head, she settles her elbows on her knees.
Izzy: I don't mean romance or any of that. Those always suck too, but it's a different kind of suck, heartbreak that just sorta lingers in your bones until one day the pain is gone or you're just so used to it. Either way.
A chuckle, with no mirth.
Izzy: But the love you have for this? The pure lust you have for this? The way that you can just keep winning and winning, and soon the feeling washes away, so you keep chasing the win, hoping that maybe a new opponent or a new challenge to overcome will give you that same loving feeling? That's the real heartbreak. And when you lose one?
The Kamatayan shakes her head, straightening her posture.
Izzy: Fuck, listen to me. I know everyone probably thinks I should be thankful. "Lost one of your two title belts? To a legitimate legend? Boo-hoo, go dry your tears with all your vast success." And y'know what? Valid. But by the same token…if you haven't been sitting where I'm sitting? Then shut the entire fuck up.
She reaches down into her bag, pulling out the Premier Championship. Hoisting it up until the plate is by her head, she smiles softly, regarding it.
Izzy: See this right here? This is what's left. This is the only thing I have right now telling me that I'm worth anything. That this move wasn't a mistake, that my career isn't a mistake, that I'm not a mistake. Every single child my parents had has disappointed them, but mine stings worst of all. My oldest brother is in jail, the middle child does charity work, and me? The baby, the only girl, the one my father steered and guided and enrolled into prelaw and pinned all of his hopes and dreams on, what did I do? I told him I had dropped out, that I was going to be a professional fighter, and that I was queer. In one day I did this. In one conversation. Three full uppercuts on a man I love with all my heart. And that pain led to here. To this. Ten pounds of metal and leather.
She sets it on the bench. Arranges it properly. With reverence.
Izzy: I won't know if it's worth it. Not for a long time. Probably not until I'm old and retired and can actually look back on everything.
Standing, the champion arches her back, cracking her spine, then her neck, then all of her fingers. A practiced motion, the type one gets when all they do is sleep and breathe battle-preparedness.
Izzy: What I do know is this. Madison, I don't know if I'd call us friends. We certainly are friendly, at least where this rivalry is concerned. And I'm not going to do some hack bullshit, ask you to not take it easy on me, because I know you wouldn't dare disrespect me and not bring it a hundred percent. That's why I asked for you. But Redwood, trust me, I question if you want this as bad as me. And maybe that's the x factor, maybe that's why I have this belt and you don't. Maybe it's just that I have an unhealthy relationship with the title, and all my identity is tied to it, and I don't know who the fuck I am anymore without it.
A shrug.
Izzy: Maybe that makes me more dangerous than you. I don't know that it does.
Sia crosses her arms, a cocky sneer returning to her face, erasing all of the grim introspection.
Izzy: But maybe.
Reaching towards the bench, she snatches up her belt and grabs her jacket.
Izzy: See you out there, beautiful. Hope you're ready to make me bleed. Cause otherwise?
Izzy Sia throws the jacket over her shoulder, the belt on top of it. Pausing to take a swig of some brightly colored nitric BCAA concoction, she stands in the best shape of her life. The best shape of her career. And when she chucks the shaker bottle to her bag, she laughs.
Izzy: I'm still a success. And you're still someone who couldn't take me down when you had the chance.
The Champion walks out of the locker room. The door closes behind her. The feed cuts away with a fade.
The crowd is buzzing after the words from Izzy Sia. Eryk Masters leans forward, his expression shifting from excitement to serious concern as the graphic for the next match appears on the monitors.
Eryk Masters: "What a night for championships here at Redemption. But Jason, we have to talk about the mental state of our Premier Champion, Izzy Sia. Just two weeks ago, she was walking tall as 'Izzy Two Belts.' She was on top of the world. But Johnny Napalm took the Empire State Title from her, and tonight... she is fighting for her survival."
Jason Johnson: "It is a terrifying position to be in, Eryk. Izzy lost half of her identity when she lost that first belt. If she loses tonight? She walks out of Redemption with nothing. The pressure is suffocating. And frankly, she couldn't have picked a worse opponent to face while her back is against the wall."
Eryk Masters: "You are talking about Madison Seton. We heard her loud and clear at Zenith. She wasn't mad that she lost her last match; she was mad that she didn't bleed. She was angry that the violence wasn't high enough. That is a sadistic mindset that I don't think Izzy is prepared for."
Jason Johnson: "The Seton family is operating on a different frequency tonight. Laura is in the main event fighting for the world, but Madison? Madison is here to prove a point. She said she is going to 'take chances.' She said she wants to stain the canvas red. She doesn't just want the Premier Championship, Eryk; she wants to beat Izzy Sia."
Eryk Masters: "Izzy has the power, she has the 'Redwood' strength, but does she have the killer instinct to put down a woman who seemingly enjoys the pain? The Premier Championship is on the line. Can Izzy save her reign, or will the superstar in the making Madison Seton take it all? It is Sia. It is Seton. It is NEXT!"
The crowd noise shifts, a chant of "O Canada" starting faintly in the upper decks before spreading like wildfire throughout the stadium. Eryk Masters smiles, tapping his pen on the desk, while Jason Johnson looks at the World Tag Team Championship graphic on the screen.
Eryk Masters: "Listen to that, Jason! We are under the lights of a sold-out Pinnacle, but the Northern lights are shining bright in the hearts of these fans! We have arrived at one of the most unique, and frankly, hilarious roads to a title match I have ever seen."
Jason Johnson: "Hilarious is one word for it, Eryk. Genius might be another. The Punch Line—Rick Hull and Harv Norris—literally dug up an 1897 International Treaty to legally force this match. They out-lawyer'd the champions! But the laughter stops right now. Because the Collins Twins accepted that treaty on one very serious condition."
Eryk Masters: "That's right. This is the 'Last Bullet in the Chamber.' Michael and Rowland Collins made it crystal clear: If The Punch Line misses tonight... they never get another shot at these titles. This is all or nothing. If Rick and Harv lose, they go to the back of the line permanently."
Jason Johnson: "And that puts an immense amount of pressure on the challengers. We saw them trying all sorts of 'American Training' tactics—raw eggs, meditation—but they realized something crucial before tonight. They don't need to be fancy. They need to be Canadian. They need to be the gritty, tough-as-nails brawlers that won those belts in the first place."
Eryk Masters: "But do not sleep on the champions. The Collins Twins might be arrogant—parking their cars across two spots out back like they own the place—but inside that ring? They are surgical. They are vicious. They picked the bones of the Last Vanguard to win those titles, and they plan to pick the bones of The Punch Line to keep them."
Jason Johnson: "It is grit versus ego. It is the Treaty versus The Reign. Can the boys from the Great White North reclaim their gold, or is this the end of the road? The World Tag Team Championship is on the line... NEXT!"
The lights in the sold-out arena dim slightly, a heavy tension settling over the crowd that feels thicker than the humidity of a New York summer. The three massive screens above the stage display the tale of the tape. Eryk Masters stares into the camera, his face grave. Jason Johnson is practically vibrating with nervous energy.
Eryk Masters: "And here we are. The end of the road. We have witnessed wars, we have seen treaties invoked, and we have seen family bloodlines reunited. But everything—absolutely everything—has been building to this moment. The World Heavyweight Championship is on the line, and quite frankly, Jason, the future of SHOOT Project hangs in the balance."
Jason Johnson: "It is the definition of a powder keg, Eryk. Dan Stein didn't just book a wrestling match; he booked a demolition derby to solve a 'management problem.' He put the three most volatile elements in this company into a Three-Way Elimination Match. There is no hiding. There are no quick pins to steal a win. You have to be the last one standing."
Eryk Masters: "Let's start with the champion. Joshua Breedlove. The man who calls himself the 'Emperor.' And as much as it pains his detractors to admit, he has built an Empire that is hard to argue with. He believes he is playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers. He looks at X-Calibur and sees a 'geriatric HR complaint.' He looks at Laura Seton not as a threat, but as the crown jewel of his collection."
Jason Johnson: "That is exactly it, Eryk. Breedlove isn't worried about Laura; he is cultivating her. He sees her as a high-value asset that he has acquired to strengthen the Empyrean Forge. He believes he has her under control, that she is there to ensure the Emperor's reign continues. But we saw fear in his eyes at Zenith when that catering tray connected. He knows his Empire is under siege."
Eryk Masters: "That siege is being led by X-Calibur. He isn't here to wrestle a technical masterpiece. He is a Hall of Famer, a two-time World Champion, but tonight? He is a man possessed by pure hatred. He believes Breedlove is a cancer that needs to be cut out. X-Calibur has nothing to lose. He is in the twilight of his career, and he is willing to burn the whole stadium down if it means taking the Emperor with him."
Jason Johnson: "And that brings us to the most fascinating variable: Laura Seton. People want to say she's conflicted, or she's brainwashed... I don't see that, Eryk. I see a woman who made a cold, calculated business decision. She joined the Forge because she wants to be on the winning side. She is figuring out exactly where she fits in this new world order."
Eryk Masters: "But this is an Elimination match, Jason. That is the key. If X-Calibur is removed from the equation... if it comes down to the Emperor and his Asset... does the cultivation hold up? Does Laura step aside? or does the muscle memory of a World Champion kick in? Breedlove thinks he owns the board, but Laura Seton might just be the queen that checkmates the king."
Jason Johnson: "Three distinct ideologies. The Emperor. The Vengeful Legend. The Calculating Asset. Only one can leave New York City as the World Heavyweight Champion. The time for talking is over. It is time for Redemption!"
Eryk Masters: "Buckle up, folks. We are about to see history. The Main Event is NOW!"
The copyright graphic has already flashed on the screen, but the cameras linger on the announce desk one last time. Behind them, the sold-out arena is slowly beginning to empty, a haze of pyro smoke and exhausted energy hanging over the ring. Eryk Masters sits back, loosening his tie completely, looking physically drained. Jason Johnson is stacking his papers, but his eyes are still fixed on the entrance ramp where the champion just disappeared.
Eryk Masters: "I... I don't think I have the words, Jason. We promised Redemption. We promised war. And we got every single bit of it. Joshua Breedlove... the Emperor... he walked into the fire, he stood between a vengeful legend and a dangerous asset, and somehow, some way, he is leaving New York City with the World Heavyweight Championship still around his waist."
Jason Johnson: "He is the Inevitable, Eryk. You can hate him, you can despise his methods, but you cannot deny his results. X-Calibur threw everything but the kitchen sink at him. Laura Seton pushed him to the absolute brink in those final moments. But Breedlove found the opening. He found the way to survive. The Empyrean Forge stands tall to end the season."
Eryk Masters: "But the season may be over, Jason, yet the story is just beginning. Earlier tonight, we saw Thunderwolf—battered, bloody, and resilient—win the Redemption Rumble. The Last Standing Pillar vs. The Emperor. That is our future. That is the main event of Reckoning Day when we return."
Jason Johnson: "And that is a terrifying prospect for the champion. Breedlove survived tonight, but he didn't escape unscathed. Did you catch that on the walkout, Eryk? Just before he went through the curtain?"
Eryk Masters: "Catch what?"
Jason Johnson: "He shifted the title belt from his left hand to his right. He was... favoring that left shoulder. Just a wince, maybe nothing, but he was gripping that arm tight against his ribs."
Eryk Masters: "Well, he just wrestled a war, Jason. Nobody leaves a Three-Way Elimination match at 100%. He has the holiday break to heal up, and he is going to need every second of it. Because Thunderwolf isn't coming for a wrestling match; he's coming for the crown."
Jason Johnson: "The Emperor reigns tonight. But the wolf is at the door. What a night! For everyone here at SHOOT Project, thank you for joining us. We will see you in 2026!"
Eryk Masters: "Goodnight, folks!"