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Revolution 205



The camera fades in to reveal Mary Kelly, microphone in hand, standing in the bustling backstage area of the arena. She turns to the camera, a professional smile on her face.


Mary Kelly: Joining me at this moment is none other than Archer Quincannon. Tonight, he’s set to face off against Ryan Samuels, the self-proclaimed “Midwest Nightmare” known for his angsty cowboy attitude and disdain for pretty much everyone.


The camera pans to Archer Quincannon, who stands confidently beside Mary, his focus sharp.


Mary Kelly: Archer, Ryan Samuels has been on a tear lately, with a string of victories fueled by his intense hatred for his opponents. He’s vowed to add you to his list of conquered foes tonight. Your thoughts?


Archer Quincannon: First off, Mary, let me say it’s always a pleasure. Now, onto Ryan Samuels… The man’s got an act, I’ll give him that. Walks around like he’s the only gunslinger left in town, with that chip on his shoulder bigger than any bull’s. He hates everyone, or so he says. But see, hate’s a heavy burden to carry into a fight, and it blinds you to what’s really important—the battle itself.


Archer leans in slightly, his demeanor serious.


Samuels might think his disdain for the world makes him strong, makes him unpredictable. But I’ve faced down men fueled by far worse than just ‘hate.’ I’ve battled against odds that would break lesser men. So, to me, Ryan’s just another opponent. His gimmick, his angst, it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t even worry me.


Mary Kelly: There’s a lot of talk about this match being one of the highlights of the night. How have you prepared for someone as unpredictable as Ryan Samuels?


Archer Quincannon: Prep for me doesn’t change. It’s about staying true to who I am—”The Fist of Eire.” I train hard, I fight harder, and I never underestimate my opponent, no matter how much of a whiny, angsty cowboy he is. Ryan’s gonna come at me with everything he’s got, driven by whatever demons he’s got riding him. But I’ll be ready. I always am.


Archer’s gaze intensifies, a hint of a smirk appearing.


As for Ryan hating everyone, well, he’s about to dislike me a whole lot more after tonight. Because when that bell rings, it’s not about gimmicks, it’s not about who hates who—it’s about who’s standing at the end. And I plan on being the one on my feet. And not for nothing, it’ll be good to fight someone who just wants to fight and not have to deal with all the Celestial horseshit that’s been following me around. Fuck you, Elijah Starborne.


Mary Kelly: Strong words from “The Fist of Eire.” Archer, we wish you the best of luck tonight. Thank you for your time.


Archer nods to Mary before turning and walking away, his focus evident as he prepares for the upcoming battle. Mary turns back to the camera.


Mary Kelly: There you have it, folks. Archer Quincannon, ready to face off against Ryan Samuels in what’s sure to be an unforgettable match. Don’t go anywhere; the action continues right here. Back to you.


The camera fades out, leaving the audience buzzing with anticipation for the clash between Archer Quincannon and Ryan Samuels.


PLANET MF Vs. Martial Law

Tag Team Match



Jason Johnson: We’re getting word that we have a live feed coming in, so we’re going to go to that now.


Eryk Masters: I’m already seeing the feed and it’s…odd.


The scene cuts to a dark room. There are shadows and muffled sounds, but it is unclear what exactly is happening. A single light turns on and we see Maximo Fisico. He wears a neon green mesh sleeveless shirt with bright vinyl neon pants, but the strange part of his outfit is the plastic raincoat that he wears over it. From behind his mask he smiles at the camera. He is on the only thing lit up, but there is clearly something in front of him moving in the shadows.


Maximo Fisico: I am…un poco cansado…of how this company sees myself and my sweet, if not a bit verde, partner. 


His hand moves to the darkness and rests on top of whatever squirms there.


Maximo Fisico: My partner, El Niño Lucha, has a reverence for this sport, a respect for the competition, and he seems to think that we’ll get somewhere simply by winning and being great athletes. God, he’s so…inocente.


Maximo caresses the thing in front of him. It makes muffled noises as he does so.


Maximo Fisico: I wish he was right, but I think we know, Coltons, that the way you make your way in this industry is by making people remember you…and winning isn’t the only way to do that.


Another light is flipped on, illuminating the thing in front of Maximo. A man sits in only boxer briefs, a bag over his head. The man has a muscular, athletic build. Maximo caresses the pex of the man, making the man flinch and struggle. He’s tied to a chair with a combination of ropes and chains, fully stuck.


Jason Johnson: Jesus Christ…


Maximo Fisico: No matter who we beat, no matter how impressive we show ourselves to be, we keep getting overlooked. You think because you got a lucky win over me, Benny, that you can look down on me? The Midnight Cowboys looked down on us, and we took everything from them.


Maximo smiles grimly.


Maximo Fisico: I’ve come here to Boston because I want to make it clear that I can take everything from you too.


Maximo removes the bag.


Eryk Masters: Oh my god, that’s Nate Colton, the older brother of Benny Colton.


Nate has a cut lip and a black eye. He has been overly roughed up by Maximo, but it is clear that he has suffered some damage from however Maximo knocked him out to tie him up. A sock is tied into his mouth so that he can only make muffled cries.


Maximo Fisico: Don’t worry, I know the limitations of what I can get away with in this industry, so, for now, Nate Colton is in no…major danger. I just want to make a point and leave a mark.


Maximo reaches into the shadowy corners and pulls out an industrial staple gun. He also has a bunch of SHOOT Project Colton stickers. He places one on the chest of Nate and staples it into his chest. Nate grimaces and tries to cry out, but the rag keeps him muffled.


Maximo Fisico: I know you’ll seek revenge. That’s fine.


Maximo staples another Colton sticker into Nate’s shoulder. 


Maximo Fisico: I want you to. I don’t want us to just have a match for those titles. I want blood. I want-


Maximo places another sticker on the stomach of Nate and staples it in. 


Maximo Fisico: -violence. And, sure, you’ll hurt me, you’ll hurt KL, but you’ll get hurt to. And with the blood we spill…


Maximo places a sticker against Nate’s cheek. Nate is clearly trying to say ‘no no no’.


Maximo Fisico: …we’ll be remembered. 


Maximo proceeds to staple the final Colton sticker into the cheek of Nate. He pats Nate on the shoulder, right on where he stapled a sticker. 


Maximo Fisico: Don’t worry, hermoso, we’re almost done. 


Maximo reaches back into the darkness. When his hands return, he has replaced the stapler with a gusset plate.


Maximo Fisico: Colton’s…we’re not having a normal match for those titles. And I think after this, you’ll be perfectly fine with that. 


Maximo places the gusset plate to the forehead of Nate and slams it with his hand. Blood begins to pour down the forehead as Nate lets out muffled screams. He slaps it with his hand a few times, driving the incredibly sharp plate into the forehead of Nate. Once he is satisfied with his work, he tugs at the gusset plate a few times just to make sure it is fully stuck. 


Maximo Fisico: Oh yeah, that won’t be easy to remove.


Maximo reaches back into the darkness. He comes back with a phone now. He dials a number and places the phone to his ear.


Maximo Fisico: Sí, hemos terminado aquí. Ven a buscar a este gringo y devuélvelo.


Maximo hangs up the phone. He looks back into the camera.


Maximo Fisico: See you soon, Coltons.


The feed ends.


Jason Johnson: That was…ummm…


Eryk Masters: Was that show of respect from Kid Lucha last night a distraction or…?


Singles Match



It had been… longer than she would willingly admit to as to when she last had her hair done by professional stylist.


And now that she was SHOOT’s World Heavyweight Champion?  Well, why wouldn’t Laura Seton take a rare chance at treating herself?


It was a few hours earlier this day as she sat in the stylist chair as the mid-30’s brunette worked on her golden locks.


Stylist: Your hair is so shiny and soft!  No offense, but I feel quite a bit stressed.  I don’t want to mess up The Champ’s beautiful hair.


Laura grins and shakes her head.  


Laura Seton: You can’t possibly screw this up.  I’m not asking for a full makeover; just a simple snipping of an inch or two off.  Hmmm…


She looks at herself in the mirror, turning her head left and right.


Laura Seton: How about if I asked you for a coloring?  You think I’d look good in auburn?


Stylist: You know… I may have a few samples of some different colors.  Lemme go get those!  We can see what looks great for you!


She walks off.  Laura sits back and has a relaxing breath as she closes her eyes.  It felt good to have a free self-pampering moment.  Yet, as she relaxes, the lights begin flickering.


Eventually the room turned pitch black. Laura is heard panicking, unable to see what is happening, then within a couple of minutes the lights turn on and Lexi Gold is standing behind Laura with the biggest pair of scissors in her hands. She hums to herself and observes which side she wanted to cut first.


Lexi Gold: I’m so glad you decided to trust me with your hair. I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t. Will you be donating your hair after?


Laura’s eyes widen in shock… maybe horror.


Laura Seton: What are you doing??


She turns, hoping to get the scissors out of Lexi’s hands, but Lexi simply steps aside.  A million thoughts seem to race through Laura’s head.


Laura Seton: Lexi… How did… What… Are you–?


Lexi Gold: You’ve reached the top of the mountain with your little title and you have forgotten about me, about us. I haven’t forgotten. I remember every detail. 


She grips the chair in anger as she speaks. 


Laura Seton: W-what do you mean “forgotten?”  I remember everything it took to get here!  Are you crazy??


She snips a small piece of Laura’s hair and maneuvers her head with force to look in the mirror at herself.


Lexi Gold: Maybe I am, but it is people like you who have made me that way and now everyone wants to question my behavior. I think it’s a little too late for that. Don’t you think?


Laura Seton: I just wanted you to be able to close out in the ring!  I didn’t think you’d jump off the deep end.


Her eyes widen as Lexi opens the scissors wide again.


Laura Seton: Lexi, don’t!


Lexi Gold: Isn’t this what you wanted? You know, if you look in the mirror long enough does it remind you of something? You sure weren’t scared when you decided to slam me against a car window, resulting in my ear getting cut. It is a visual I see every day even in my sleep. 


Laura Seton: No, this is going way too far.  Okay, you’re much tougher than a year ago.  Is that good??  What you wanted to hear?  You want an “I’m sorry” again?


Laura attempts to get up.


Lexi chuckles and pulls her by her head, forcing her back in her seat. Frustration and anger take over her at this point.


Lexi Gold: Who said we were done here? Your apologies were pathetic then and still pathetic now. The pain you caused me, I can outdo you what you’re already done and you won’t ever see it coming, but for now.. I want another souvenir for my dolls.


Lexi grabs a big chunk of her hair and cuts it, then tosses it into her purse before Laura could react, Lexi spins the chair around and disappears out of nowhere, leaving the chair to spin faster and faster, unable to make it stop. 


Singles Match



The arena’s atmosphere shifts, brimming with anticipation as the lights momentarily dim, only to be pierced by…




The song, a herald of authority and grandeur, perfectly sets the stage for a spectacle of wrestling royalty. A solitary spotlight, sharp and focused, cuts through the darkness, eagerly awaiting the figure it’s destined to reveal.


Into this spotlight strides Joshua Breedlove, the very embodiment of confidence and the leader of The Empire. Clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, boldly emblazoned with “EMPIRE” in dark red outlined in gold, he doesn’t just wear his allegiance; he radiates it. Despite standing alone, without the physical presence of The Empire at his side, the power and prestige of his faction are unmistakable in his demeanor. The faces of Mike de los Huesos, Jamie Johnson, Jack Johnson, Madison Seton, and Breedlove himself appear on the video wall, reminding everyone who the Empire is.


The crowd’s response is overwhelmingly positive, a chorus of cheers and admiration filling the air as Breedlove acknowledges them with a charismatic presence only he can command. His path down the ramp becomes a procession of recognition, with fans standing, some capturing the moment, while others simply revel in the aura of a man who has become more than a wrestler; he’s a phenomenon.


Samantha Coil: Introducing the former TWO TIME SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Champion and current Number One Contender to the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship… he is THE EMPEROR, Joshua Breedlove!


The crowd’s energy surges at the introduction, their support palpable in the electric air. As Breedlove steps through the ropes and into the ring, the music fades, but the sense of expectation doesn’t. He takes a moment at the center, a lone figure under the spotlight, absorbing the cheers and the charged atmosphere of the arena.


Tonight, however, Breedlove isn’t here to fight; he’s here to speak, to declare, to challenge. As he requests a microphone, the arena falls into a hushed anticipation, hanging on to what will come next. With the emblem of The Empire adorning his chest, and the eyes of the wrestling world upon him, Joshua Breedlove is not just ready to deliver a promo; he’s set to make a statement.


Joshua Breedlove: I wanted to come out here and rap a little bit for y’all about the last two years. It’s been an interesting ride.


The crowd continues listening, still hushed.


Breedlove: Two years ago, I was a champion. You might remember, I was very loud about it. I loved being the World Champion. I loved what it meant, I loved what it said about me, I loved what it stood for, for my legacy… and I loved that it meant that I’d conquered the SHOOT Project. 


Not in like a… I own the SHOOT Project, it’s the BREEDLOVE Project now… though that had a nice ring to it, but it meant that I stood at the top of this industry. A pinnacle. A symbol. Symbolism is big in wrestling, as you all know. They looooooove symbolism here in the SHOOT Project. From the Spartan helmet to the Reckoning Day imagery, you see it everywhere. Everything means something in the SHOOT Project.


That’s what I wanted the Empire to be. That’s what I think we are. 


That’s what I wanted ME to be. That’s what I think I am. 


He walks the ring, keeping eye contact with the viewer, focused and intense.


Breedlove: Then I lost all of that. I lost the title, got into my battle with Robideau, and that’s consumed me for what feels like an eternity. Then, something amazing happened. 


I won the Redemption Rumble.


The crowd pops for this.


Breedlove: Thanks for that. I won the Redemption Rumble and suddenly, my path became a little brighter and a little clearer, and at the end of that path stands someone else who is a symbol .Someone else who is a pinnacle. She’s one of the greatest wrestlers of all time, over multiple generations, and certainly stands in very rarified air as most likely the greatest women’s wrestler of all time. 


That is our current World Heavyweight Champion, Laura Seton. 


The crowd pops for Laura, causing Breedlove to nod in agreement.


Breedlove: Then I started thinking about what Laura Seton means to this business, what she does outside of the ring, and I have nothing but respect for her. Ignoring that I’ve never beaten her, she’s managed to keep herself in what feels like her prime forever. 


She’s amazing.


What we’re going to do in the ring together is also amazing. Beautiful, even. 


So I got to thinking, why does that matter to me so much? What’s changed in the last two years that has me thinking and feeling so differently about this business? 2022 Breedlove would be out here talking mad shit even despite never beating her, would be finding all the ways to get under her skin and fuck with her head, but we’re not there anymore.


Part of that is because I think I saw my career flash before my eyes when I was fighting with Nate Robideau. 


The other part of it is that I’ve settled into this mode where I just… really want to put on the best shit for everyone. I crave it. I NEED it. 


I belong HERE. In this ring. In front of you people. You all have given us a beautiful gift. This is how we pay you back.


The crowd roars in approval at what Breedlove is saying. Some are surprised, but it’s all love right now.


What we do here? We touch people’s lives. You are here for us when we’re here for you, you cry with us when we’re reduced to tears, you hurt with us when we’re getting checked over by the trainer… You come here to get away, to not think about your 40 hour work week. You want to be enamored, encapsulated by us, and that’s what I’m here to promise you.


The crowd is cheering for this, hard. Complete and total agreement.


Breedlove: You’ll get nothing but the best from me. Whether it’s Laura Seton in the main event of a pay-per-view, a match on Ruination or Revolution, or one of our house shows… I will bring it every single night until I can no longer do so. 


That’s my promise to you. That’s the Empire’s promise to you. We’ve turned from a faction… a stable… a group… into a movement. A… heh… Revolution.


The crowd gives a pop and a laugh, recognizing the wordplay.


Breedlove: I’m about to hear my music again to cue me out of here, and I’m going to stand on this turnbuckle, raise my arm, and soak all of this up. Every last bit of it, but I want you all to close your eyes and imagine with me. 


Hold your arm up. I’m doing it too. 


Right now, it’s empty, but soon? 


He pauses for effect and anyone who’d actually closed their eyes has now reopened them.


Breedlove: Soon, I’ll be raising the World Heavyweight Championship in this hand and you will be raising me up with it.


On that, he flips the microphone down and drops off of the ring ropes to the pop of the crowd. “Make Way for the King” kicks up again, and he starts his walk back to the back.


Jason Johnson: I think I might have a tear in my eye.


Eryk Masters: I’d roast that, but I loved what he said out here, because he’s right. Just… still a little weird to hear it coming from him.


Jason Johnson: Oh no doubt about that, but that’s what happens when someone has time to reflect on themselves. Happens to all of us, hopefully.



A nervous Ayumi Seppuku adjusts her ring gear, preparing to make her way to the ring to confront Alex Kincaid. However, after the events of Ruination, her return match wasn’t the only thing on her mind…

A knock at her locker room door. She looks up cautiously, but doesn’t hesitate.

Ayumi Seppuku: Come.

The door opens to reveal Ayumi’s partner, Zee, who has a gleeful look on her face. Ayumi looks shocked, but happy, as she runs over to Zee and gives her a kiss.

Ayumi Seppuku: What are. You doing here?

Zee looks offended.

Ayumi Seppuku: You know. What I. Mean.


Zee: Look, Yumi. I know it’s a risk, but there’s no way I’m missing your return match. After all you’ve been through? After all you’ve sacrificed?

Ayumi smiles and squeezes her partner’s hand.

Ayumi Seppuku: I just. Want you. To be safe.

Zee: You said three words too many, babe. And did I mention I LOVE this outfit. Who the hell made this for you?

Ayumi steps back and gives a jovial punch to Zee’s shoulder.

Ayumi Seppuku: Only the best. Seamstress. In the. World.

Ayumi looks down at the outfit, running her hands down the sides, feeling the intricacies of the stitching alongside the form-fitting nylon undershirt, blending smoothly from the halter top to the leggings. She turns and sees herself in the mirror, her once-black hair now dyed into a ghostly white; standing starkly against the red of her outfit.

Zee: New look for a new era.

Ayumi Seppuku nods and checks her gear one last time for any missing parts. Once she is confident, she walks over to Zee, placing a hand on her shoulder. The two look each other in the eye.

Ayumi: I’m doing this. For us.

Zee gestures for Ayumi to get going to the ring.

Zee: I know.


Singles Match



Ayumi Seppuku and Alex Kincaid are each helped out of the ring following their encounter with security guards flanking both fighters on each side.

As Ayumi slowly regains her focus, she can be seen looking around and catches all the other ring security and crew, including camera crew, following closely behind.

Eryk Masters: That’s our cue as well, Jason.

Jason Johnson: This is ludicrous.

You can hear shuffling and then see from the one stationary camera feed overlooking the ring that the ring announce crew has left their seats. They each grab a set of portable headphones and hold them tightly as they are the last SHOOT staff to exit the area as fans begin to buzz with a mix of anxiety and excitement.

Jason Johnson: Testing. Testing. Are we live?

Eryk Masters: ….oming online right now.

Jason Johnson: Okay. I think we’re good. These lavalier microphone and Bluetooth headphones are working better than expected!

Eryk Masters: Yeah, but I can’t see a DAMNED thing trying peak over everyone’s shoulders here in the back!


Jason Johnson: CHRIST!
Eryk Masters: CHRIST!


Up on the Jumbotron the feed cuts to static and a screeching sound can be heard over the speakers before everything suddenly goes BLACK in the arena. After a couple of seconds the feed cuts from static to a series of letters that are slowly fading onto the screen in scratchy, almost handwritten letters.


S          E       S

S  S  F  HE  AT  S




Then with a sharp CRACKING sound, the screen goes white and the lights come back up instantly. When they do,, there is a masked man sitting in the center of the ring holding a microphone closely to his chest. The reaction is visceral; it’s the same mask seen at previous events, leering back hideously at the hissing audience. 


The boos are deafening, especially as a familiar gravelly voice crackles over the PA.




The figure in the ring is motionless in the face of all this jeering. He sits there nonchalantly as the ring begins to fill up with trash.




The announcement is followed by a rodent-like chuckle and an even louder reaction of disapproval.


NC-17: YAH YAH YAH, keep booing. KEEP BOOING the highest rated feature on WRASSLIN’ television…I mean FUCK, what’s more entertaining than live felony kidnapping charges?


Eryk Masters: Yeeaahhh, I don’t think that joke’s going over well.


Jason Johnson: He’s lucky he asked for in-ring immunity in exchange for this or otherwise I’d be up there right now driving that microphone into his damned gullet.


NC-17 forges on and the crowd displeasure somehow grows, throwing their sodas, popcorn, burgers, and God knows what else at the figure sitting in the chair. The ring is going to have to be swept and mopped after this segment, but somehow the figure in the ring is unflinching. 


NC-17: You boohoo me but you’re booing the wrong guy. Ya should be booing the people that RUN SHOOT Project. Those are your CULPRITS. Your BAD GUYS.


Eryk Masters: What is he on about?


Jason Johnson: Does this guy know who signs his checks?


The crowd isn’t letting up, but neither is Seventeen.


NC-17: This place was built on MY BACK. And the backs of so many of my esteemed colleagues. To prop up the FEW. The PRIVILEGED. Night in and night OUT, fellas like me…we put our health on the line. We go out there in front of 20,000 draft beer chortling disgustoids with nachos on their breath and skidmarks in their underwear, and we put ourselves through HELL. And for WHAT.


The crowd chants back WHAT.


NC-17: What do I get for it? YOUR gratification? HA. This piece of tinsel called the Premier Championship? What does a championship like this matter if I break my neck like Baez? Oh that’s right, I get my walking paper and a KICK IN THE ASS on the way out like Ayumi did! What does THIS matter? What do YOU ALL matter if it means drinking my meals out of a straw and can barely string two words together through layer after layer of scar tissue!? 


Eryk Masters: Delusional.

Jason Johnson: No one is forcing him to stay here! What is he TALKING about?

The fans are in total agreement, roaring back with a “GET. THE. FUCK. OUT” chant.


NC-17: Yeah, you fartknockers think you’re real clever. Especially YOU Lennox. Mr. OX. Mr. fuckin’ BOSSMAN bigshot. You threaten to FIRE me? You tell me that I’m getting on YOUR nerves?! Well you’ve been on my shit list for a LONG fuckin’ time now and it’s your turn to listen to ME because I’m not about to entrust my long term health to some jackass who couldn’t even protect his own kid let alone other members of the roster!

The fans are LIVID at the mention of Daihm Ferguson’s kidnapping.

NC-17: So UNTIL I get some guarantees — REAL GUARANTEES — for my safety, I’m going to just go on ahead and keep showing you how unsafe this place really CAN BE and I’m going to start with the esteemed FIRST SONS…the LEGENDARY PROGENY that are TIED UP in my-


Eryk Masters: Oh shit!

Out of the crowd, RUNNING full speed from the floor, up the steel steps, and then in a flash up the turnbuckle is Miranda DC! In a single, fluid motion she hits the top of the post and vaults herself into a dropkick that hits NC-17 squarely in the chest and sends the microphone flying! The crowd is losing it!


Eryk Masters: She has been held back for MONTHS from getting her pound of flesh from Seventeen and she was NOT going to let this opportunity go to waste!

Security begin to run back down the rampway to the ring to reach NC-17, but as they do, Miranda DC steps away from the scene and rather than go after her prey, she shakes her head in utter disbelief and holds her hands to her head in a mix of fear and frustration.

Jason Johnson: What is… Oh God. Oh GOD.

The fans are clamoring to see inside the ring but it isn’t long before the scene is crystal clear as the mask that had been adorning the figure’s face has now been removed. Lying on his side, waist and legs tied deftly to the chair he had been sitting in, is an unconscious and badly injured Jamie Johnson.


The crowd and everyone in the ring cover their ears as the jumbotron once again flashes to static and then back to a feed coming from somewhere unknown. We see NC-17 peering back with a devilish grin. Miranda DC is yelling as many profane words as she can conjure up in both English and Spanish but if Seventeen can hear her, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead he shakes his head sorrowfully.

NC-17: Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. See what I mean? This company is coming apart at the seams! Just imagine what would have happened if I had been in that chair!?

The crowd roars back in anger and now the SHOOT Project management has arrived, Lennox Ferguson, Dan Stein, and Josh Johnson are approaching the ring and taking in the horror of the scene with EMTs trying to attend to the unmoving body of The Realness.

NC-17: Even when I was promised safety by the people who are supposed to be in charge of this company at the risk of their own children’s lives they couldn’t get it DONE. So there’s only one thing left for us to do.

Eryk Masters: Us? What does…

From behind NC-17, another masked figure appears at his side. 


NC-17: Since OUR safety can’t be guaranteed. NO ONE’S IS.


He glares into the camera before reaching up and placing his own demon mask on his face and steps out of the way, leaving a dark gap between him and the other masked figure. As he does, like a plume of smoke, emerging from the darkness, is a THIRD masked figure who stands tall over the two others and rather than simply wearing a white-clad mask, this figure wears a black suit and tie; and a flowing black trench coat with a hood that is pulled up over a blood-red mask with a single white line smeared across the top in white war paint.

The once raucous crowd is now absolutely deathly silent and in awe of the scene as the red masked figure holds up the blue dragon mask once worn by Daihm Ferguson, holding it like a game trophy.

That is the last scene we see before the feed cuts out.




The camera focuses on “The Midwest Nightmare” Ryan Samuels, a grim scowl etched on his weathered face as he strides into the center of the wrestling ring, the air thick with tension and anticipation.


Ryan Samuels: Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in. You sorry excuses for human beings thought you could escape the wrath of The Midwest Nightmare? Ha! Think again, ’cause I’m here to unleash hellfire and brimstone on each and every one of you sorry souls!


He spits on the mat, his eyes blazing with an unbridled fury.


Ryan Samuels: You see, I ain’t here to make friends or play nice. I’m here to tear this whole damn place apart and leave nothing but wreckage in my wake. You wanna know why? ‘Cause I hate the world, and I hate every stinkin’ one of you maggots!


He grabs the ropes, his knuckles turning white with rage.


Ryan Samuels: From the high and mighty suits in the front row to the low-life scum in the cheap seats, you’re all the same to me – pathetic, worthless, and deserving of nothing but pain and suffering. And let me tell ya, I’m more than happy to oblige.


Ryan smirks as the fans boo. 


Ryan Samuels: And then there’s my opponent for the night. Archer Quincannon, you sorry excuse for competition, you think you’ve got what it takes to step into the ring with The Midwest Nightmare? Ha! You’re in for a rude awakening, son.


He cracks his knuckles, a menacing smirk twisting his lips.


Ryan Samuels: Tonight, on the grand stage of “Revolution,” you’re gonna find out firsthand what it means to face the meanest, toughest son of a gun this side of the Mississippi. I ain’t here to play patty-cake or shake hands; I’m here to tear you limb from limb and leave you lying in a heap of broken dreams.


He paces back and forth, the anticipation building with each step.


Ryan Samuels: You may think you’re some kind of big shot, Quincannon, but let me tell ya, you’re just another name on my hit list. And tonight, I’m gonna cross your name off with pleasure.


He points a finger at the camera, his voice dripping with venom.


Ryan Samuels: So get ready, moron, ’cause when that bell rings, there’s no turning back. You’re stepping into the ring with The Midwest Nightmare, and trust me, fool, it’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot. 


With a final growl of determination, Ryan Samuels tosses the microphone aside and readies himself for battle, his eyes locked on the entrance ramp as he awaits the arrival of his opponent.



Singles Match


Following his loss, Archer Quincannon is sitting on his knees in the ring as Ryan Samuels, the victor, makes his smirking way out of it. Quincannon’s getting cheered for the effort, and he looks exhausted. 


Eryk Masters: Great effort in his first televised main event here tonight for Archer Quincannon.


Jason Johnson: Yeah, he might be an asshole, but Ryan Samuels is talented and he’s got game. Quincannon is tough, but Samuels had his number tonight. 


Suddenly, the lights go out and the arena is pitch dark. You hear someone, either in the crowd or elsewhere, shout “OH NO”. A single red spotlight shines down onto the still-seated Quincannon, who has an exhausted scowl on his face. Clearly not interested in whatever is about to happen. 


Jason Johnson: It’s never good when the lights randomly go out, Eryk.


Eryk Masters: You got that right.


Around the arena, smaller lights in star shapes start to appear and before long, the inside of the Epicenter looks like a galaxy. It’s celestial, even. 


Jason Johnson: Ohhhhh no.


Eryk Masters: Was that you in the crowd? 


Before he can answer, a loud SLAP is heard and the lights immediately come back up. A few in the crowd gasp and scream. Archer Quincannon is completely down and out now and he’s COVERED in what looks like blood or most likely red paint. A hooded man stands in the ring near him, his face obscured. His clothing is different from other members of the Celestial Order, it’s blood red to their white.


He leans down over the fallen Quincannon and draws several crude looking stars on the paint on Archer’s body. He stops for a moment and then draws one last thing, one last image to burn into the screen as we fade to black.