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Revolution 191

Falling for a Chick

Daihm Ferguson and Chick Grillbreast are huddled together in the back of the Epicenter with the swole warrior patting the head of the smol warrior, trying to comfort him – albeit in his own testosterone-driven way.

Chick Grillbreast: NO TEARS. ONLY GAINZ!

Daihm lifts his head up and chuckles slightly.


Daihm Ferguson: I know. I know. I’m sure he’s fine but… it’s not like him. I mean it’s not like him NOW. It was like him back then. I just don’t know where he is – no one does – and I can’t help but think something bad happened. I haven’t been able to think about much else.

Chick frowns.

Chick Grillbreast: Dave. You are about to fight a wizard. Dragons and wizards are mortal enemies; you MUST CRUSH GANDALF!


Daihm Ferguson: I’d say Mystic Warrior is more of a sorcerer than a wizard.


Daihm Ferguson: I…

Chick looks back earnestly at Daihm, trying to encourage him the only way he knows how.

Daihm Ferguson: Thank ye’ Chick. I do appreciate it; and everything you’ve done for me. Honestly. All our training sessions. The long nights. The sweat. The post-shower carbo loads. It’s made a big difference and actually has me thinking I can take on this Mystic Warrior guy. I just… wish I knew where me’ dad was. 

Chick puts his hand on Daihm’s shoulder.

Chick Grillbreast: He is a strong warrior. Just like his son. He will be OK. And when tonight is over? We will begin looking. You and me.

Daihm Ferguson: You and I.

Chick Grillbreast: WE WILL USE ALL OF OUR EYES!


Daihm smiles. 


Chick Grillbreast: First you must defeat Voldemort. I have trained you. Watched you.

Daihm blushes.

Daihm Ferguson: You’ve… watched me?

Chick Grillbreast: Training. Yes. You have been a good student. You understand the way of the Gainz. It will serve you well in your fight tonight and your search for Mr. Ox. You are stronger. More prepared. 


Daihm reaches out and puts his hand on Chick’s arm, trying desperately not to squeeze his ripped muscles.

Daihm Ferguson: You know… it’s ironic.

Chick Grillbreast looks confused.

Daihm Ferguson: I never would have expected I’d fall for a chick.

Chick Grillbreast still looks confused.

Chick Grillbreast: Falling? Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? I can get you some electrolytes.

Daihm shakes his head and laughs.

Daihm Ferguson: Nevermind. I just… I’m glad you’re here.

Chick Grillbreast: You’re glad? THAT ALSO MAKES ME SO GLAD!

Chick reaches over and gives Daihm a big bear hug.

Daihm wraps his arms around Chick and leans in.

Daihm Ferguson: Thanks, man. Now I’m ready to go kick some sorcerer ass. 

Unholy Cyber Army Vs. Fear & Loathing

TL;DR - Boomer

Early on in the night at the Epicenter, we see Peach Backshots, dressed casually in a print tee and ADIDAS track pants, hair tied back in a ponytail. She walks by, sipping a bottle of designer water, when suddenly, she hears a voice beckon to her. It’s a familiar one.


Nate Robideau: So, rumor is you’re looking for a place to train.  


The SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Champion emerges from behind her, dressed in what appears to be some manner of expensive luxury athletic wear.  He’s wearing sunglasses even though he’s inside, and his watch is some kind of ostentatious deceptacon of white gold and platinum.  He leans against a wall, smirking.  


Nate Robideau: Saw you and that man you consort with in action against the Boomer Shooters.  David Fox really can throw a mean machine gun of a kick.  Looked like you were…struggling, as a tandem, we’ll say.  


Peach Backshots: Yeah? And what’s it to you?

Nate Robideau: Ah, I could sit here and do a song and dance, couldn’t I?  A little verbal rope-a-dope.  Lull you into a false sense of security.  But you’re way smarter and way more perceptive than you let on.  Mincing words bores me.  You’re miles ahead of that tomato can and you’ve got an almost unlimited upside.  You’re young, talented, eager.  The sooner you cut that albatross off, the sooner you’ll be free to really achieve something.  That’s why we want you at Blackhawk Fight Gym, Miranda.  


Peach cocks her eyebrow as if she’s interested in something the Champ has to say.


Peach Backshots: You raise a good point. Felix has gone from being distant and nonchalant about this whole thing to developing an entire ego about his own prospects here. Maybe I do need to ditch him professionally. Romantically, that’s none of your business, but professionally? Maybe.


The Champion’s eyes begin to light up before the luchadora throws a wet blanket on that enthusiasm.


Peach Backshots: But your offer? What can you teach me that I don’t already know? Hybrid martial arts? Yeah, but at what cost? Look at the bodies you’ve left in your wake. If I wanted a life of sucker-punching people, I’d have sold dope with mi primo. If I wanted to put people in the hospital, I’d have bought a gun and walked the streets. I am looking for a new school to round myself out, but I’d rather put all my money on Chadwick Kyle to win the next Master of the Mat than join your murder factory.

Nate Robideau: You’re such a child. 

Peach Backshots: Excuse me? 

Nate Robideau: You don’t want to train at my gym, that’s no skin off my back.  I think you’ve still got a lot to learn, but people who had less of a handle on this shit have succeeded before me and they’ll succeed once I’m back in the great beyond, too.  But you’re still looking at the world, at this business, like it’s a blockbuster movie.  That there’s a clear right and a wrong.  That there’s an altruistic “good” way to engage in this.  There’s only one real law, at the end of the day.  There’s success, and there’s failure.  And more often than not, the people who succeed are the ones who wanted it more.  Who were willing to go just a little too far.  Who were willing to break those eggs, spill that milk, and put some psychopaths and their camera-ready pet projects on the shelf for a long…fucking…time. 

He snorts.  Crosses his arms.  His eyes are fixed on her, unblinking. 

Nate Robideau: Facts are, you can learn a lot from my gym.  State of the art instruction.  The best conditioning equipment in the state.  Access to nutritionists, therapists, the whole thing.  We are a shining beacon in the wastes of this city. 

Finally, his stance relaxes. 

Nate Robideau: But if you aren’t willing to do everything you can for your own success?  Don’t even bother.  You can keep toiling away and putting out Mullen’s fires.  And I can keep on winning and being the greatest champion this company has ever seen.


She rolls her eyes and snorts, just as a dismissive young adult would be wont to do when confronted with a story they find, for lack of a better term, bullshit.


Peach Backshots: tl; dr, boomer. Look, I’m sure you have justification in your head why you think going too far is cool, but I have my code too. Your school? It ain’t in my code. Thanks, but I gotta go do something more important, like watch TikToks before your generation bans it.


She whips her head back around to leave.  Nate chuckles, checking the time on his down-payment-for-a-house wristpiece.  He doesn’t offer her a rebuttal, does not leave himself, instead content to take up space as she walks off.  

Daihm Ferguson Vs. Mystic Warrior

It's Time to Finish This

The fans of the Epicenter are abuzz as they usually are when all of a sudden, the drums kick in for Prince’s “Partyman” and they are now just…confused.  The camera cuts to the ring for a moment where we see balloons on each of the four turnbuckles.  The smoke begins to billow from the entrance as the iconic voice begins to sing.


All hail the new king in town

Young and old, gather ’round (yeah)

Black and white, red and green (yeah, funky)

The funkiest man you’ve ever seen

Tell you what his name is


Suddenly, the song cuts off for a moment.  Then the SHOOTTron tells you just who this is:




Out from the back, to a flood of boos, is BRONSON.  He is wearing a three piece white suit with a black undershirt and a wine red ascot.  The suit is accented with green cufflinks, buttons, and a black belt with green buckle.  He grins from ear to ear as the fans boo their asses off which he gleefully ignores.  He stops at the ring steps, adjusts his cufflinks, and hops up the steps.  He enters the ring and bows to the fans as they couldn’t care much less for his attitude.  He lets “Partyman” play on for a little bit more before he motions for it to get shut off.  He holds the microphone to his lips and waves to a few fans who may or may be flipping him off.


BRONSON:  Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is a beautiful night.  Tonight is the night I get to see my old friend face to face and we settle up.  You see, ladies and gentlemen, Victor Thane or Waylon Jeffries or Thane or whatever he says his name is…was my mentor.  He was my friend.  He taught me how to survive in this industry.  I’m not ashamed to admit it, I loved him like a brother.  I was all in on the Proper Villain mentality.  Hell, some would say I’m the Proper Villain fully realized.  Maybe I should take the name for myself.


He laughs for a second before he continues.


BRONSON:  You see, ladies and gentlemen, I came back to this company after the Proper Villainz were destroyed a changed and broken man.  I came back, though, with a mission.  I wanted to be a successful professional wrestler.  A hero for many, a role model for some, and a capable and willing Soldier who could pack ‘em into the arena from the front row to the nosebleeds.  So I said let’s go to work.  BRONSON 23.


He pauses, thinking back to his return to the company.


BRONSON:  But I need to be honest with myself and honest with all of you.  I’m not a well liked man either in the back or online or in the arena.  


He pauses to try to hush the crowd who isn’t actually roaring in disapproval for what he’s saying.


BRONSON:  I speak my mind too much.  I want too much.  Management doesn’t like me.  I say I’m the second ever REIGN champion and everybody brushes that aside.  I’m a former Battalion Champion, the second ever team there as well, and still…nothing.  I’m not a Johnson so I’m not given title shots.  I’m not a DeMitri so I’m not given main event spots.  No, my lot is to lose, it seems.  I think I’ve won…what, one match?  I couldn’t qualify for Master of the Mat, I can’t get it done against Thane, people shit all over me when I pour my heart out to Lexi Gold…so why the fuck am I still here?


He pauses yet again as the fans cheer a little bit at the idea of him quitting.


BRONSON:  Maybe I should go.  Maybe I should run away.  Maybe I should quit professional wrestling.


The fans pop.


BRONSON:  But not before I take that son of a bitch with me.  So, good people of the Faithful here, I’m here to celebrate.  In the words of Commander Shepard, “I should go.”  The only problem with that is that I can’t go.  Not yet.  Not until I’ve had one more match with Victor Thane.


There’s something inside you…


The fans actually begin to cheer as “Nightcall (Sawagii’s revenge Remix)” by Kavinsky begins to play.  BRONSON watches the entrance as Thane steps out.  He is taken aback at the cheers but he acknowledges them before he walks down the ramp.  He is dressed in a white t-shirt, a black zip up hoodie unzipped, a torn pair of blue jeans and old tennis shoes.  He enters the ring by hopping onto the ring apron.  He watches BRONSON for a moment before he enters the ring.  He stands there, slowly producing a microphone from his hoodie’s pocket.  The two of them stare at one another, nothing said, as “Nightcall” fades out.




Thane doesn’t say anything.  As a matter of fact, he seems perplexed.  He brings the microphone to his mouth to speak but BRONSON continues.


BRONSON:  You could have come back as my friend.  As my tag team partner.  The Proper Villainz could have been reborn!  There’s so many people we could have taken in!  We could have bought the Brink, we could have…


Thane:  We couldn’t do any of that, Ben.




Thane holds his hands up, backing away to let BRONSON continue.


BRONSON:  You treat me like I’m some sort of monster or something, man, I don’t get it.  I didn’t drug RAIKO up and do fuck knows what.  I didn’t abuse Kitsune.  I didn’t tear Mike’s mask off his face.  


He points at Thane.


BRONSON:  YOU did that.  Now people are looking at you like you deserve a second chance.  YOU.


He holds his arms out.


BRONSON:  What about me, man?  Where’s my second chance?  I’m open with my mental shit.  I take my meds.  I wanna come in, clean slate and all.  Why do you get to get the free pass and invites to PRIME shows and got your old victims willing to turn a blind eye to your presence but if I flirt with a girl I like on social media the fucking vultures rain down on me.


Thane says nothing.




Thane:  I don’t know, Ben.


BRONSON laughs derisively.


BRONSON:  You wanna walk this path of retribution.  You wanna look at me like I’m this piece of shit.


Thane:  Ben, you need to stop blaming others.  You point to people on Spitter for their attitudes towards you.  You point to me for people being kind to me.  You point to management for not letting you get more bookings.  You point everywhere but never…at yourself.


He lets that sink in before he continues.


Thane:  I don’t deserve the mercy I’ve been shown but I damn sure will do what I can to earn it.  I don’t ask for that mercy.  I don’t ask for people to support me.  I have to earn that.  I plan to do just that every single day I’m here.


BRONSON:  Yeah, about that.


He laughs at Thane.


BRONSON:  We’re here to celebrate, Vic!  It’s time for you to announce your retirement!  Call it a career, man.  Go home.  Go be a personal trainer or self help guru or whatever the fuck.  Tell the world you made a mistake coming back here and it’s BRONSON’s time now.


Thane:  You need help, Ben.  You need to take responsibility for who you are…


BRONSON:  WHO I AM?!  Fuck right on outta here with that.  I have a hot girl that likes to talk to me, I make money, I have all these fans…


The boos give him his reply but he ignores it because of course he does.


BRONSON:  …YOU have no right.  I tried to run you out of here at ICONIC.  You beat me because everybody fucking beats me.  I got back up, though.  I got back up and I sent you packing.  I thought it was all over.  But it wasn’t.  It fucking wasn’t.  So if you won’t quit and let me have this then I’m just gonna have to force you to do that.


Thane sighs.


Thane:  Ben, you’re tenacious.  You’re talented.  You could be a star with titles several times over.  But you let yourself become overwhelmed and instead of coping with it, you lash out at it.  I came back to SHOOT to stop you from…


He motions around the ring at the balloons.


Thane:  …all of this.  I came back to either see you become the Ben Bronson I know you can be or be lost to the BRONSON you’ve let yourself become.


BRONSON’s grip on the microphone is as white as his suit.


BRONSON:  God damn you, Victor Thane.  I challenge you to a match at Master of the Mat.  Winner takes all.  No holds barred.  No DQ.  Whatever.  If I win, you are barred from ever getting a title shot of any kind here.  If you win, you…


Thane:  …you go silent.  Go get some legitimate help.  You don’t come back until you’ve done that.  And we don’t wait for Master of the Mat.


He takes a step towards BRONSON.


Thane:  I want you at Revolution.  May 1.  We don’t need the spectacle of Master of the Mat.  We just need to finish this.  So let’s finish this once and for all, Ben.


He extends his hand.


Thane:  Agreed?


BRONSON looks down at the open hand and then grabs it.


BRONSON:  Agreed.


The two men glare at one another for a long moment.  Finally, they release their hands and Thane backs off, watching BRONSON.  “Nightcall” kicks in again as Thane leaves the ring.  BRONSON, meanwhile, tears his ascot off as though he suddenly felt like he looked stupid.  He tears the balloons off of one of the turnbuckles and lets them slowly ascend into the darkness above.  He leans against the ropes as Thane is back up the ramp to the stage now.  He turns and looks at Thane over his shoulder, ready to finish what he started.

Live from the Executive Suite

We cut to what appears to be some sort of luxury box.  Leather furniture, charcuterie, champagne, the whole nine–although what’s open and being enjoyed is a bottle of Cornelisson 20202 Sususcaru.  Seated at the row of chairs is Nate Robideau, dressed in expensive athletic wear and sporting a new Santos de Cartier timepiece, his World Title on the table in front of him.  Down the line?  Isaiah Galliard and Luis De Leon, matching while making it look unintentional and effortless, the tables in front of them frankly crowded with a stack of both their Tag Team and Battalion Championships.  They’re also wearing what appear to be brand new watches: an AP Royal Oak and a Brietling Chronomat, with custom Lions colors faces.  And past them, an empty seat, with a glass of wine poured and the third Battalion Belt in front of it–and a box that remains unopened, but clearly states “Rolex”.  They clink glasses, clearly in good spirits, and Nate decides to address the camera. 

Robideau: I know, I know, it’s a bit high and mighty of us to chill here in the lap of luxury instead of mingling with all the enhancement talent downstairs.  But we’re high up on our thrones, and mighty we do reign, so why pretend?  


The cameraman’s attention is caught by the snapping of fingers.  He turns his view over to the World Tag Team Champions, both grinning their Cheshire best for the camera.  And why wouldn’t they be, with the value of an Audi A6 gracing their wrists?  


Reaper:  See, that’s the thing about it, right?  We sent Lux Aeterna to the retirement home, we broke the Broguns, this man sent Joshie B to the hospital and probably sent Bucky D to the morgue.  We’ve been running this place so hard management’s had to reset the whole thing with these tournaments and…let’s be honest here…while I’m sure they want us to be impressed at the plebs…right now we just…ain’t.


Smoke snickers.


Smoke:  So let’s take a moment, SHOOT Project, let’s enjoy ourselves.  Let’s ignore the phone calls asking us to come up with a catchy name to put on t-shirts of this brotherhood right here, let’s close our eyes and ears to the whiny bitches on Spitter, and let’s enjoy what happens when El Paria, the third member of our Pride and the fourth man on our all-star team, put Azraith DeMitri below the dirt.

Robideau: See the way I figure it is, and these guys can back me up on this, is Az is like a bike that you’ve left outside in the rain.  If you catch it in enough time, maybe you can grind the rust off and oil it up, make it work again.  But if you’ve left it outside for 30 years? 

Reaper: Permanent rust. 

Smoke: All those gears locked. 

Robideau: Right!  So we’re going to enjoy this, we’re going to welcome our brother Paria up here with open arms and crack open another bottle of the good stuff, because Azraith DeMitri is old…and he’s going to fold.  But don’t worry, DeMitri!  Don’t let this upcoming loss get you down in the dumps, man.  Because I’ll still throw you a bone and give you a title shot after–you’re gonna need a big time payday to help cover your mortgage after I retire you.  


The Lions chuckle as the World Champion finishes speaking.


Smoke:  See, even the Sandman’s gotta go to sleep sometime…and who better than a Johnson named for an OutKast?


Reaper:  And if that’s not enough, you see how good Nate is to you, Azzy baby?  We all brothers here in Blackhawk town, so when we see a limpin’ gazelle like you we…well, we just feel plain bad.  We’re nothin’ if not merciful.


Smoke:  You mind giving your girl Judy my number, bee-tee-dub?  You need a strong role model in that family and a son-in-law is just what the doctor ordered.  Plus, I like ‘em thick.


Isaiah looks at his partner.  Nate does too.  They then look at one another, then back to Luis.  


Reaper:  And crazy?


Smoke:  Man, you ain’t living if you can’t go to bed with a girl that might cut your throat in the night.


He whistles to himself.


Smoke:  Better give her that number quick, too, homie.  Don’t sound like you got much longer on this Earth to enjoy seein’ your daughter happy.

At this, the trio erupt into chuckles.  Fists are bumped, expensive wine is sipped.  Nate finally settles down and looks to the camera–though he’s not speaking to it’s operator. 

Robideau: That’s just how it’s got to be, Az!  But don’t think this benevolence is all just on your account.  We’re just so good and so bored–we can’t just wait for someone worthy to show up.  We’ve got to be charitable. 

His smile fades and he looks just past the camera. 

Robideau: Now you, camera guy–fuck off.  We’ve got a beating to watch.

With another clink of the glasses, they focus themselves on the ring below.  The cameraman books a retreat, and we cut to the ring… 

El Paria Vs. Azraith DeMitri

My Little Phony

We find ourselves backstage with Mary Kelly as she is trying desperately to keep a frazzled looking Blaze Claymore focused in one spot for an interview.

Mary Kelly: Blaze! Hey! What’s… 


Blaze Claymore: Mary. Kelly. Which is it!? Quit trying to confuse me with first names!


Mary Kelly looks genuinely concerned as she leans in to try a different tact.

Mary Kelly: I… understand how difficult it must be to be one man fighting against an entire movement like Deep SHOOT. It’s truly remarkable what you’ve been able to accomplish.

Blaze’s eyes light up.

Blaze Claymore: Yes. Exactly! I’m the victim here! There have been so many unparalleled levels of harassment and gaslighting from everyone in this company. I’ve spent so many months trying to show what is lying at the company’s doorstep and now that very force is targeting me for speaking the truth!

Mary Kelly: Speaking of speaking the truth… you’ve been the focus of some recent inquiries about the disappearance of Lennox Ferguson. Do you know anything about where he might be?

Blaze Claymore: I can honestly say I have absolutely no idea where Mr. Ferguson is at this moment. But I can say that one less member of the Deep SHOOT cabal being active is a win for truth and justice. I mean… I was just saying to him last week that I was being harassed and did he do anything about it!? NO!

Mary Kelly: Wait. You saw Lennox last week? Before he disappeared? When?

Blaze Claymore: That doesn’t matter. What MATTERS is that someone stole my phone, stole my IDENTITY, and now my good name is being libeled and slandered and no one is doing anything ABO-

Pzzt. Pzzt.

Mary Kelly looks down and reaches into her pocket.

Mary Kelly: Sorry. That’s just my cell-

Blaze screams and karate chops the cell phone out of the hands of SHOOT Project’s interviewer, smashing it to the ground.

Mary Kelly: HEY!

Blaze Claymore lifts his foot up about to stomp on the phone but Mary Kelly kicks it out of the way and tries to shove back at Blaze. 


Mary Kelly: Stop it you damned lunatic!

Blaze looks up at Mary Kelly with anger in his eyes.


Mary steps backward in shock and fear as Blaze steps forward, raising his arm high above his head – ONLY TO BE STOPPED BY CHADWICK KYLE!

Chad grabs Blaze’s wrist and holds tightly.

Chadwick Kyle: Get out of here! Go!

Mary Kelly grabs her phone and scurries off while Blaze turns to face Chad.

Blaze Claymore: YOU! TRAITOR!


Chad doesn’t budge. In fact, he leans in and whispers something to Blaze that causes the conspirator to stop struggling and rip his arm away from his former partner.

Blaze Claymore: You’re bluffing. You don’t know shit.

Chad shakes his head and reaches into his pocket and holds up a cell phone. Blaze’s cell phone.

Blaze Claymore: You sonofabitch! It was YOU!

Chad rolls his eyes.

Chadwick Kyle: No, Bro. I grabbed your 1990s razor from the Epicenter’s Lost and Found. You kept running around screaming at everyone like a doofus but you never actually went LOOKING for this thing? It was in the building this whole time.

Blaze blinks in a stupor as Chad throws Blaze’s phone at him. Blaze juggles to catch it, and does, as Chad shakes his head in amazement.

Blaze Claymore: But… what about all those texts? All the people that got pissed off at me for the things that got sent?

Chadwick Kyle shrugs.

Chadwick Kyle: Maybe people just think you’re an asshole, dude. Tell me – did anyone ever actually say they GOT a text from you? Better yet… even if someone did get a text from you – why on Earth would anyone even read it to begin with?

Blaze shuts up and looks down at his phone and then back up to Chad, who just sighs and rubs his temples.

Chadwick Kyle: I can’t believe I trusted someone so stupid…

Chad turns around and leaves the scene without incident as a confused, tired, and clearly unwell Blaze Claymore just continues looking at his phone in disbelief.

Judy Punchinello Vs. Kitsune

An exhausted Judy Punchinello clutches her chest as she pushes her way through the back, trying to get to her locker room.

Having just come up short from making it to the quarter finals of Master of the Mat, the journeywoman Solider can’t help but show frustration as she knows she has to start all over again.

As she turns the corner, Judy immediately runs into CYBER Power Devil and CYBER Super Beast who seem to anticipate her arrival.

CYBER Power Devil: Warrior Judy. You still hold back. Why?

CYBER Superbeast: The Fox spirit still runs wild. You did not tame him.

Judy’s emotions boil over.

Judy Punchinello: Fuck you too. I didn’t hold back anything. 


The two members of the Unholy Cyber Army cross their arms in unison.

CYBER Power Devil: Sharpen your axe to a razor’s edge, it will still be worthless if you don’t use it to split logs and cleave the heads from traitors.

CYBER Superbeast: You cannot hone your skills by keeping them hidden. Your fear of loss shackles you.

Judy leans back and crosses her arms to match the stance of the UCA.

Judy Punchinello: My fear of loss, huh? You talk a bloody big game Cybermen considering I understand you used to run the tag division but now you can’t seem to string two wins together. What right do you have to lecture me about loss?

CYBER Power Devil: A single victory is not the same as being victorious, Warrior Judy.

CYBER Superbeast: Your mind and body are instruments that can only be sharpened in the fires of fearless combat.

Judy Punchinello scoffs.

Judy Punchinello: Oh yeah? Well then if you’re such wisened champions, why don’t we put that to the test. My dance card is pretty empty at the moment.

The two imposing figures look at each other, their expressions impossible to read. Then, the two lean down – each putting an arm on Judy’s shoulders as they lean down. They whisper a siren’s chorus in surround sound.

CYBER Power Devil: Through shadows and bone.
CYBER Superbeast: Through bones and shadow.

CYBER Power Devil: Muscle, sinew, and blood stretch outward for nourishment.
CYBER Superbeast: Mind, spirit, and energy grow deep like roots in the Earth.

CYBER Power Devil: Lords of Hell…
CYBER Superbeast: Consumers of all…

The Unholy Cyber Army lift their heads, releasing their grasp on Judy before pointing at her.



The UCA look back, their eyes aflame, as Judy glares back – an ember flickering in her otherwise cold gaze.

Judy Punchinello: Okay then. Let’s go talk to them.

Jamie Johnson Vs. Danni Johnson

As “One for the Money” plays, Danni Johnson exits the ring and Jamie gets to his feet. He’s handed the Sin City Championship and he calls for a microphone while slinging the title onto his shoulder. 


Dutch Harris: Champ’s got something on his mind.


Scott Kamura: Danni put him through the ringer there, so I’m interested to see where this goes.


With microphone in hand, Jamie makes a motion to cut the music. It instantly goes quiet, leaving only the ambient noise of the crowd behind.


Jamie Johnson: Two down… two to go.


Crowd pops for that.


Jamie Johnson: I said when I got into this tournament that this year would be different, and lo and behold, I was right. I took every experience that dealt me some kind of adversity and I turned it on its head and learned from it, so I’m going to vibe with y’all for a bit.


Danni Johnson is a sneaky good competitor and if she hadn’t come up against me? There’s a chance she’d be standing here victorious instead of walking back to the back. The difference? 




The crowd hushes, listening.


Jamie Johnson: Everyone I’ve faced so far has had one major flaw. Distraction. Lindsay Troy is distracted by Void. Danni Johnson is distracted by the looming return of Ria Lockhart.




No distractions. The only thing I have on my mind right now is winning this tournament and getting back to Nate Robideau, someone with whom I’m VERY familiar. All due respect to Laura Seton, but you’re distracted too. So here are my words of warning…


Pay attention. 


If you’re too busy playing with Lexi Gold to give this your full and undivided, then I’m going to beat you and I’m going to be in the finals of this thing. One step closer to victory. 


One step closer to Robideau.


One step closer to the World Heavyweight Championship. 


He walks towards the hard camera, staring directly into it. The glint of the Sin City Championship shines off to the side and he smiles.


Jamie Johnson: It’s my time to rise, SHOOT Project. 


2023 Master of the Mat? 


The REALNESS. Jamie Johnson.