Skip to content Skip to footer

Revolution 203



Eryk Masters: Welcome to another edition of Revolution where…

The Revolution PBP man is interrupted as the opening riff of “Lexapro” by VOIID plays over the speakers.

Eryk Masters: Oh, the Sin City Champion is here? Huge main event tonight for her.

Jason Johnson: Yeah, but if you heard what went down in Mexico last weekend, I think two of the competitors in that match are the furthest thing from her mind right now.

Miranda DC, wearing a Puerto Rican flag-themed tracksuit and Air Jordans with the Sin City Championship around her waist, storms to the ring, and grabs a microphone from the ring announcer.

Jason Johnson: Yeah, she does NOT look happy.

Miranda taps on the microphone and raises it to her mouth.


She paces around the ring waiting for NC-17 to appear, but nothing.

Miranda DC: Yeah, real easy to stay back now, you coward! Who follows someone to Mexico to jump them after ducking them for two weeks? WHO? WHO DOES THAT, CHINGA!!

Eryk Masters: She’s referring to LUCHA ESPECIAL 5 last week, where she wrestled El Guapo Grande in his retirement match, and then NC-17 attacked her afterwards.


She paces even more. Suddenly “Gnarly” by Kodak Black cues up, and the crowd INSTANTLY begins to boo. But instead of NC-17, we get his agent – the skinny, pock-marked used car salesman Johnny Vignochi, dressed in a powder pink suit and ocean blue dress shirt. He nods knowingly at the crowd reaction as he saunters down the ramp, a microphone in one hand and what appears to be a contract in the other.

Johnny Vig: Teen can’t be here right now…due to the present security conditions in SHOOT Project. We’ve got him under guard 24/7…wouldn’t want him to get ambushed, ya know whadimsayin?

Johnny snickers as he reaches the base of the ring. He’s staring up at Miranda through a pair of mirror shades.

Miranda DC: Don’t play that shit with me, scumbag! Whoever it is targeting Daihm and others, they’re not targeting your man, and in fact, he’s the one doing this sneak puto shit! El Guapo Grande’s retirement was nearly ruined! RUINED! Because your lil’ dicked client couldn’t face me, mano a mano.

Eryk Masters: Such language from the Sin City Champion!

Jason Johnson: Hey, this is wrestling, not high tea with the queen. She’s got a right to be mad.

Miranda continues to pace, stomping her path in the ring.

Miranda DC: How convenient he can’t be here to face me now when I want a fight. But you know what, even if I tear him limb from limb tonight, you know what I want?

Vig looks on as the crowd gasps.

Miranda DC: Miranda DC. NC-17. One. On. One. At Reckoning Day. I don’t care about titles. I don’t care about anything but clawing that puto’s adam’s apple from his throat!

The crowd cheers vociferously. Vig nods in agreement surprisingly. The wiry con-man boldly rolls into the ring under the ropes, approaching Miranda cautiously.

Johnny Vig: It’s funny ya say…’cause my client feels the same way. So we’ve prepared a formal contract for Reckoning Day. You and Teen. Mano a mano. Ya just gotta sign on the dotted line.

Vig flashes an ugly back alley smile full of yellow and black teeth, extending the contract and pen to Miranda, who scans the contract to make sure there aren’t any trap clauses in it. She sees the name that’s been signed on the one above hers.

Miranda DC: No way, no. You’re going to put SEVEN-TEENY in against me? Why… why would you do that?

Vig’s smile disappears. Obviously Miranda wasn’t actually supposed to read the contract. He scratches the back of his head, trying to improvise.

Johnny Vig: Ah shit, we didn’t think ya were actually gonna read it. Uhhh, look. Sin City Champion or no, you haven’t EARNED a shot at the PREMIER champion. Ya wanna shot at the final boss, ya gotta fight his henchmen first. I didn’t make the rules, that’s wrestlin’ kid. Standard operation’ procedure.

Vig winks and smiles again, pulling on the lapels of his suit jacket.

Miranda DC: You know what? Whatever, that little man has more heart and integrity in his pinkie toe than you or the big version of him have in thirty bodies.

She signs the contract and shoves it back at Vig.

Miranda DC: Your shitty games are going to come back to haunt you, but unlike your puto client, I am not taking any shortcuts. Throw it all at me, I don’t care.

She throws the microphone down and storms out of the ring. Vig stares at the signature and nods his head in approval as the crowd starts booing hysterically.

Jason Johnson: So…did 7teeny just get booked against Miranda DC at Reckoning Day?

Eryk Masters: It appears that way…looks like Johnny Vig might have tried to pull a fast one on our Sin City Champion with that contract, but Miranda’s shrewd as ever…I don’t think she was ever just gonna sign a piece of paper blindly like that.

Jason Johnson: So…is 7teeny alright with all of this? Did NC-17 and Johnny Vig get him to do this of his own accord, or is he booked in a PPV match against a champion and doesn’t even know it yet? I’m curious how this whole dynamic’s gonna play out, Eryk.


Eryk Masters: I’d say we’ll find out at Reckoning Day, but there’s still a lot of Revolution left, and Miranda DC and NC-17 WILL be meeting in tonight’s main event. Don’t go anywhere, folks!


Singles Match



Archer couldn’t tell you how he got here, just that he was, somewhere in the bowels of the Epicenter. 

He was, in a word, lost. 

The guts of a building of this magnitude are a confusing series of halls, catwalks, plumbing, exhausts, fiber optic conduit, power panels, the works.  In many ways he’s inside the veins and central nervous system of the SHOOT PRoject Epicenter’s organism.  He hasn’t seen or heard another soul in at least half an hour, but the dark corners and recesses have kept him on his toes.  Still, when the voice calls out with a gravesite croak, he jumps a little. 

“Count it will all joy, my brothers, when you have a fight.  For you know that such a testing provides steadfastness, and let your own steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”


He clears his throat once. No response. 


He clears his throat again. 


Still nothing


Archer Quincannon: I can’t say exactly what’s going on here, but I have a feeling I’m in the right place. A foreboding feeling, but a feeling nonetheless.


From the shadows, a familiar drawl speaks up.  


CJH: Man is beset on all sides, darkness is an inescapable thing.  


She emerges from the recesses, looking much the same.  Clothes stained with dirt and motor oil and what we can only hope is animal blood.  Eyes milky.  Skin ashen.  Idly, she looks him over.  


CJH: The Most Unclean can claim a man fore he even knows what hit him.  That’s how pervasive the Devil is.  He speaks to me, the one on high.  Tells me that to resist the temptation of the darkness, it’s not enough any more for me to simply clear the board.  World got too sick.  So now even the average man must himself become a fighter.


Quincannon: Look, I ain’t much for asking for help, but these fellas in this “Celestial Order” deal seem like something you’d be interested in snuffing out. So, I’m thinkin’ you and me, we get to snuffing. 


He’s uneasy, but maintains eye contact.


Quincannon: Sound like somethin’ you might be interested in?


She stares at him for far longer than a person considering his simple question should.  Still, unblinking, unflinching.  Quincannon loses the staring contest, glancing to the floor, but his gaze meets hers again with resolve behind it.  


CJH: “The fight provides stedfastness”, friend.  Maybe what all that rumbling in the skies is…is the heavenly host telling us that who we fight or what we fight ain’t as important as just getting up and fighting.  Cause the war is arriving at our doorsteps, and the wolves have carried our babies into the forests, and the edifices of man weep blood into the soil.  


Quincannon:…I don’t…is that a yes?


She begins walking towards him.  Unsure of her intentions, we can see his fists ball up and his stance change ever so slightly as he prepares for something that…doesn’t come.  She simply starts walking the direction he came from, angling her skull so she can pop her neck, the staccato sound of vertebrae socketing into place the only response.  




We’re at a backstage area, where a stationary camera is watching a man pace.  He’s diminutive but a ball of muscle these days, somewhere between PAC and Juelz Santana.  He’s decked out in nice threads, a peacoat over a fashionable t-shirt and some Amiri jeans–though as a nod to who the fuck he is, the peacoat has a neon green skeleton pin on the lapel.  He’s rubbing his hands together like Birdman, searching for the words. 

Mike: Look, jokes are jokes, feel me?  I’m not ever gonna be accused of being some Spitter Fingers fuckboy, ever.  I’m him.  I will always be him.

He’s using his patented “I’m gonna have to snuff this motherfucker” tone, all rapid Noo-Yahwk Jones Beach Queens rage.    

Mike: So let me lay down the credit where it’s due, papi.  You rung my bell, hard.  I think you got the brains of a cinderblock, but you got the hands of one, too.  And I am better than you, Samuels.  But that ain’t why I beat you so fast.  Nah, not even close.

With a pointed finger, the avatar of the Great Skeleton accuses his target.  

Mike: I beat you so quick because you thought I wasn’t anything to take serious.  And that part pisses me off way, waaaaay more than you blindsiding me.  Like, I get scrapped up.  I understand it.  That’s the job, and I take that cause I like the notoriety and I like people giving me free prerolls and I like being able to afford Forces and Aime Leon Dore, so I don’t got a real bone to pick with you on that.  But treating me like I’m nothing? 

At this, he does a full circle, shaking his head.  Idly, he punches his own palm, chewing his lip.  It’s clear this infuriates Mikey de los Huesos, to the point that he’s stewing in his own rage–and then he stops.  Stares at the camera, nodding in a way that most guys do before they swing on you–or draw a hammer. 

Mike: Fuck you, corncob. 

He raises a finger in the air. 

Mike: But just to prove that Mikey de los Huesos is really Mike de los Huevos, hear me out.  I beat you solid.  You beat me up.  Means you owe me, Samuels.  So I want you to think of two words. 

For this, he walks closer until he fills out the field of view. 

Mike: I want you to think of Reckoning Day.

A grin, showing off his all-gold fronts with a line of emeralds on each canine. 

Mike: Because I don’t wanna stomp you out in the streets, Ryan.  No one gets to see that.  And I’m trying to put those days behind me, heard?  I’m trying to be…esteemable.  So instead, I’m gonna call you a bitch to your face and slap that lip toupee off you, in the ring, under all the lights, with the world watching, papi.  Cause Mikey D don’t play.  Me and you.  One more dance.  And this time, baby boy?

The smile drops.  All warmth drops.  He’s back to letting his rage fill him.  

Mike: You better come guns blazing–or your ass better not even bother to show up. 

With that, Mike De los Huesos draws his thumb across his throat–a threat, a promise, an intimidation.  Then, he turns, strutting out of frame to a beat only he can hear.  We cut away…


Tag Team Match



Transitioning to the backstage area, we find Lexi Gold seated on a leather sofa in her locker room. Her emotions are unclear as she gazes at her hand, holding many human strands of hair. Rising from her seat, she crosses the room, and three of her dolls await on a table. She attaches the human hair to one of the dolls’ heads and stands back to examine it. 


Lexi Gold: Your new hair suits you well, but unfortunately the overwhelming scent of hair products she applied is nauseating. The terror in her eyes, as I held those scissors and began cutting those precious blonde locks, made the experience quite satisfying.


With an evil laugh, she picks up the doll and together they twirl around a bit before the scene fades to black.



The scene is set in the center of a wrestling ring, bathed in a spotlight that cuts through the dimly lit arena. The crowd’s murmurs fade into a focused silence as Jamie Johnson stands alone, microphone in hand. His eyes scan the audience, reflecting a mix of determination and frustration. Jamie’s usual charismatic demeanor is tinged with a seriousness that the situation demands.


Jamie Johnson: For weeks now, I feel like I’ve been looking over my shoulder. At every corner, every shadow, I see him… that masked figure who’s been lingering, wreaking havoc here in the SHOOT Project. You all have seen it, week after week, this… this phantom stalking me, interfering in my matches, invading my space without so much as a word.


The crowd responds with a mix of boos and cheers, showing their support for Jamie while expressing disdain for the masked figure.


Jamie Johnson: I’ve faced giants, I’ve battled legends, and I’ve earned my scars in this ring with pride. I know it gets said a lot, but… longest reigning Sin City Champion in company history. But this? This isn’t about competition; it’s about intimidation, it’s about fear… and I’ll be damned if I let fear dictate my life.


Jamie’s voice grows strengthens as he steps forward, the spotlight following his every move.


Jamie Johnson: So, to this masked coward who lurks in the shadows, I say enough is enough. You want me? You got me. At Reckoning Day, let’s settle this once and for all. No more games, no more hiding. Just you, me, and this ring.


The audience erupts, the energy palpable as Jamie throws down the gauntlet.


Jamie Johnson: Reckoning Day will be more than just a match. It will be the moment I reclaim my career from the shadows. So, what do you say? Are you man enough to face me, or will you continue to hide? The clock’s ticking, and I’m not waiting any longer.


Jamie drops the microphone, the sound echoing through the arena as he stands defiantly in the ring, ready for whatever comes next. The crowd is on its feet, the anticipation for Reckoning Day reaching a fever pitch, and as “One for the Money” hits, Jamie starts to make his exit from the ring.


Jason Johnson: That’s my nephew right there, taking matters into his own hands, taking care of business.


Eryk Masters: You think he’s got what it takes to deal with this? 


Jason Johnson: I think he’s gonna kick the masked figure’s ass, quite frankly, and put this whole business to bed. 


Eryk Masters: There you have it, folks. Jason thinks Jamie’s got this, we’re gonna see Jamie Johnson against the Masked Figure at Reckoning Day! 


Singles Match



It’s some time after Lucha Fitness’ match with the Kings of the Wild Frontier…we find LF on their way out into the parking lot, a duffel bag slung over Kid Lucha’s shoulder.


Maximo: Reckoning Day bound!


Kid Lucha: We’re gonna be the champeeeeens babyyyyyyy!


Kid Lucha suddenly stops in his tracks…it’s as if he hears a far off noise getting closer…a rumbling sound…


Kid Lucha: …aw shit…


It’s like a faucet has opened up, and suddenly a dozen motorcycles with their headlights on come rumbling and revving through the parking lot, circling Lucha Fitness! Inside the Epicenter, the crowd ignites! It looks like Lucha Fitness might be getting their comeuppance!


At the forefront of the group is Sho Yoshida. The visor on his helmet is popped up, and he’s wielding a barbwire baseball bat! He taps it on the asphalt, then taps it on his head. Tafugai is on the bike adjacent wearing no helmet…just a lone pair of brass knuckles. He calls out in broken English…


TAFUGAI: Lucha Fiiiiiiitneeeeeeessss! Come out and PLAAAAAYYYYYY!


Kid Lucha and Maximo look over at their vehicle. The motorcycle gang is definitely in the way.


Maximo: Gentlemen…I’m sure we can talk this ove-RUN!


It’s like somebody waved a GO flag. Some of the motorcycles take off in pursuit! Others jump off their bikes and pursue on foot….big, burly Japanese bikers in denim village people costumes, covered in Yakuza tattoos. Sho Yoshida speeds ahead of the pair and pumps the brakes, jumping off and meeting Kid Lucha with a FEARSOME lariat! Maximo immediately sets upon the smaller attacker, but Tafugai isn’t far behind! He GRABS Maximo by the back of his neck and begins to rain down overhead hammers on him!


Now the majority of the bikers have dismounted and are lining up to beat on Maximo. Nobody notices Kid Lucha crouch up from writhing in pain and make a dash for his car.


Maximo: This…OUCH!…has to be a violation of your paro-FUCK!


As Tafugai beats the dogshit out of Maximo and more biker toughs descend upon the flamboyant luchador, a bright, hot pink and lime green Jeep comes to life! Kid Lucha drives the Jeep at the bikers, who all immediately bail.




Maximo, on instinct, launches himself into the backseat. The Jeep peels out and speeds off, disappearing from the parking lot and into the night.


As the jeep speeds off, the bikers regroup around their motorcycles, except for Yoshida. He wanders further away from everybody, staring after Lucha Fitness.


Sho Yoshida: Reckoning Day is coming! See you there!



CJH and Archer Quincannon stand across from the Celestial Order. Both men look around, wondering if anyone is coming to their aid, but as time passes, it is looking more and more like no one is coming to their aid.


Jason Johnson: It is looking like this is going to be a 3 on 2 handicap match, an unfortunate turn of events for Archer Quincannon. 


Eryk Masters: Unfortunately for this plucky newcomer, it doesn’t seem like he’s made any friends to call on. 


Archer and CJH nod at each other, accepting their fate and preparing to overcome the situation they’ve found themselves in. The Celestial Order looks pleased, an air of arrogance and satisfaction emanating as they stretch and decide who will start the match. The referee prepares to call the bell and get the match started.


…and then there was total darkness. The arena is filled with the sound of what sounds like chirping insects.


Eryk Masters: Wait…are those-


The Speaker: Life ends in a flash of white, darkness, and endless BLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUŰ̴̢̧͔̘̂́̉͂̃ͅU̻̘̯̼̝͔͋͂Ư͙̘̜͈͒͜Ṷ̵̻̙̯͙U̡̱̫̰͌̒͂͞ͅU̜̹͖͍͕̺̎̀̍͒̅͆Ṻ̡͓͕̣̹͕̆̚͜Ú̢̢̯̫͍̔̆͝Ư̰͓̔̆̎́U̘͆͂̌͌͑Ű̷̝̤͚̒͡U̷̩͚͔͕̎͑̃̇̿͟Ủ̡̬̥̋̉͊̎̈Ų̶̖̼̮̇̚-


The lights come back on. A new man stands in the center of the ring, a masked man dressed in black, white, and blue. He stands facing The Celestial Order, who have lost a degree of that confidence.


Jason Johnson: That’s the former REIGN Horizon Champion CICADA!


CICADA turns to face CJH and Quincannon. He doesn’t say a word as he takes a spot on the apron and evens the numbers.


Six Person Tag



Jason Johnson: Big win for Archer Quincannon and his team here tonight! 


Eryk Masters: All three did a great job against this Celestial Order group, that’s for sure, and you have to imagine that Elijah Starborne isn’t going to be happy with this outcome.


Jason Johnson: Oh, definitely not. These cult leader types always get real upset when they lose or someone representing them loses, and–


Before Jason finishes, the lights cut to black! The crowd gasps! When they come back on, Elijah Cassius Starborne has appeared, standing on the announcer table, microphone in his hand.


Elijah Cassius Starborne: Congratulations to you, Mr. Quincannon. You found formidable partners and managed to thwart me once more. It seems as though my efforts to lead you to enlightenment are going to require a much more personal touch. Yes, indeed.


The crowd boos Starborne, who raises his arms out to his side and bathes in it.


Starborne: I’m not a man that’s used to not getting what he wants, Archer, and the Celestial Order has called for you to live amongst us as part of our ranks. Yes, yes. The stars speak to me, you know? I know like they know that you are… required. So, I’ve dec–


Starborne stops as the sound of an audio pop rings out over and over again as the crowd lights up the arena. Archer Quincannon has a microphone and he has something on his mind.


Archer Quincannon: Fuckin’ Christ, man. You use… SO MANY WORDS and say SO FEW THINGS. Just talk talk talk blah blah blah. You want a personal touch? I’ll give you one. Up close and personal. 


Starborne is smiling, listening intently. 


Starborne: Yes, that–


Archer Quincannon: Stop. Just stop. No more talkin’, Starborne. I can’t handle it. These people, they can’t handle it. I’m done with the games, with the challenges, with the “attempts at enlightenment”. You and I are gonna fight. 


We’re going to fight up close and personal. I’m going to show you exactly what it means to be the Fist of Eire.


At Reckoning Day.


The crowd pops hard and the camera shifts to Starborne, who’s still smiling but is clearly simmering with anger underneath his cool facade, his Celestial moment ruined.


Elijah Cassius Starborne: Gladly.


Jason Johnson: We’ve got a match, folks! It’ll be Elijah Starborne’s in-ring debut and he’s got a tall order ahead of him, because frankly, Eryk? Archer Quincannon is a badass.


Eryk Masters: And he has a cool ass fuckin’ nickname, too. The Fist of Eire? 


Jason Johnson: Yeah I love that shit. Reckoning Day is shaping up to be a big time card, and as promised, up next? 


Eryk Masters: Joshua Breedlove.



The scene is a well lit gym filled with the sounds of clanging weights and the muffled grunts of hard work. Posters of past fights and legends adorn the walls, a testament to the prestige of its owner and his students. It’s evening time, weirdly right around now, and the gym is mostly empty, sans a few administrative staff. The camera pans across this landscape of determination before settling on a lone figure standing defiantly in the center of the gym.


This is not just any visitor; this is a wrestler known for their charisma, intensity, and an unyielding spirit. His eyes scan the room with a mix of respect and a fierce challenge. His fit is simple, just jeans and an “Empire” shirt, and his presence in this building has certainly caught the attention of the staff who’ve elected not to approach him.


Joshua Breedlove: So yeah, this is what enemy territory looks like, right? I’m alone on the moon, as it were. This place is nice, I can tell that you care about it and that you’re putting a lot into it. Kudos for that.


Breedlove walks around, the sound of his boots echoing against the gym floor, stopping by a punching bag. They lay a hand on it, almost affectionately, before delivering a swift, powerful jab that also rings out into the building.


Breedlove: Your staff is choosing to stay away, which is probably smart, but I’m not here to like… vandalize this place or hurt anyone or anything like that, I’m here because I think right here is the best place to send you a message. Words that you most definitely need to hear.


He makes a quick pause, letting the weight of their words hang in the air, a smirk playing on their lips as they lean in closer to the camera. It needs to feel personal.


Breedlove: I was all set to move on, Nate. Ready to look ahead to my challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship. I was fine to just… be done. To me, that was character growth. The insipid and obnoxious superstar instead choosing to take the path less traveled and just… move on. Seemed mature. The folks at home base were behind me with that decision. They figured it was best for the org, best for the SHOOT Project, and best for me to just let things go. 


After all, Blackhawk did beat the Empire at Redemption.


I was surprised, of course, that Jamie and Jack wanted to put this thing to bed. I wasn’t ready yet, but they convinced me. Them and Maria. It was right there, we had that electric face-off with Azraith, a guy who I’ll reiterate… I’ve never beaten.


The fans were rabid, they were primed and ready. Breedlove against DeMitri, with a dash of Laura Seton. 


He turns from the camera and starts to walk away, his voice trailing off but still crystal clear.


Breedlove: Then things started to go a little off the rails, you know? Laura beat me again. Congrats, by the way. She and Az are going to get that Reckoning Day main event, which is awesome for them, and why? 


Because like the Real Deal said, the Rumble winner doesn’t necessarily have to challenge the champion AT Reckoning Day, and you and me? 


We now have some unfinished business.


He turns and faces the camera once more.


Breedlove: You made your choice, Nate. You decided that you were going to be a sneaky fuck and jump me. I’m not even mad about that, really. It’s a Breedlove™ move. I’m much, much angrier at myself for letting my guard down. I’m angry that I let you, and don’t get me wrong here, I LET you get to me like that. 


I’m angry that all that “me” work that I’ve been doing? Well… I guess it’s about the marathon and not the sprint. 


Here’s the deal, Nate. You and me are going to fight at Reckoning Day. One on one. No Johnson boys, no Burkhalter, no Sia, no anyone else.


Joshua Breedlove versus Nate Robideau.


Former Champion against Former Champion.


Two different philosophies duking it out, and this? This is going to be the end of the road for you and me. Why? 


Because I’m going to put you into the proverbial ground for acting the way you did and for doing the things that you did. I don’t care what I have to do to get it done. You’ve robbed yourself of that agency, friend. You are absolutely done. 


So, when you get back here… enjoy this. Enjoy this space. Enjoy this moment. You have two weeks, Nate. Two weeks until I have my Reckoning Day. I have this like… rage that’s simmering underneath the surface. Just unabashed anger. I want you to remember that while you’re getting ready for this encounter, because Nate? 


Everything you do up til then? The blood, the sweat? All that work? 


It all leads to me.


And I won’t be stopped.


Cut to black.


Singles Match