Skip to content Skip to footer

Ruination: 061

EP.: 061

DATE: 07.07.2024



Hello, mi amores

A sultry, Cajun voice echoes over the Epicenter speakers, cutting through Scott Kumura’s well-rehearsed introduction, causing a hush falls over the SHOOT Project crowd.

Dutch Harris: What the..

Wafts of perfume begins to fall from the vents, lightly covering the arena and all those in it with the lush smell of roses while the arena lights slowly fade, not to black, but to a steamy magenta as we get a countdown that appears in opulent calligraphy:





We see the spotlights turn to the top of the rampway covered in luscious vines and flowers that are slowly covered by a mist, causing the rose petals to glisten with dew.

Scott Kamura: Did we get a new production crew and no one told me about it?

Dutch Harris: That or this is going to be the most violent episode of As the World Turns in history…

As the countdown hits “One” we hear the warbly synth of Savage Garden’s “I Want You” and an explosion of pink and white rose petals thrust forward from two confetti cannons placed at the side of the rampway.


As the petals continue to fall, Remy ‘Savage’ Garden emerges from the back, draped in a resplendent robe adorned with intricate floral patterns and shimmering sequins. The robe flows like liquid silk, catching the light and casting a dazzling array of colors.


Remy steps forward with graceful poise, a confident smile playing on his lips. His auburn hair is volumed and bouncing at the sides of his perfect cheekbones. He holds a single white orchid in his hand, sashaying down the rampway, looking for the right woman – or man – to gift his flower. He pauses to acknowledge the crowd with a charming wink and a subtle bow, his eyes sparkling with mischief and confidence as he locks eyes with a young woman in the front row at the base of the rampway. 


He stops and raises the orchid to his lips, kissing it gently before tossing it gently to the woman, who is so overcome with the scene she lets it bounce off her face and onto the floor below. Remy raises a hand to his lips and hides a wry chuckle before slowly ascending the steps to the ring and then dropping his robe to reveal a sleek, form-fitting leotard adorned with floral accents.

He hands the robe to the time keeper, Dennis Heflin, who handles it like he’s holding the Betsy Ross Flag and gingerly takes it over to his seat — careful not to let any element of it touch the ground. Remy meanwhile looks over to the announce table and blows a kiss to Scott and Dutch.

Scott Kamura: I have to admit, Dutch, I’m impressed. This is quite the entrance from- DUTCH! Control yourself!

A flustered Dutch Harris realizes he is on his hands and knees on top of the announce table, crawling towards the ring.

Dutch Harris: I? What? Huh? Sorry I… uh… what match are we calling?

Scott Kamura: Your wife is going to have some questions for you when this airs, my friend.

We cut back to find a confidently smiling Remy standing in the center of the ring, arms extended in a graceful bow towards the entrance ramp, awaiting his opponents.a


Moriton Vs. Madison Seton Vs. Remy Garden Vs. CICADA

Elimination Match



Dutch Harris: We’re supposed to be announcing the entrances for Picaro Jr. and El Hijo de Fantasma Hambriento II, known from here on as El Fantasma, as far as I’m concerned, but we’re getting word that something is going on with Picaro Jr.? 


Scott Kamura: Yeah, I’m not sure what’s going on. I’ve heard a couple things in the headset, either that he hasn’t made it to the arena yet or he’s been attacked… nobody’s really sure. 


The scene shifts to the back, following a lone camera that’s quickly wandering its way through the staging area. One of SHOOT’s agents catches the attention of the camera person and waves them through, wanting to get video of the scene that’s apparently been discovered. As the camera person rounds the corner, the Real Deal and Jason Johnson both come into view and are standing over an unconscious Picaro Jr. 


Dutch Harris: Oh god, what happened here? 


Scott Kamura: I don’t know, but I don’t think Picaro Jr. is going to be making it out here tonight. 


As the camera zooms in, there’s no signs of physical damage or assault or anything like that. Picaro is still breathing, but is absolutely blacked out. 


Real Deal: Does anyone who’s in this immediate vicinity have any idea what happened here? 


Jason Johnson: I think I was first on the “scene”. He was just… laying like this. No hurt signs, nothing like that, just unconscious. 


Real Deal: Is that…


Real Deal moves forward and pulls a slip of paper that’s tucked in the belt-line of Picaro’s tights. It’s folded printer paper with a few words written in Spanish. 


Real Deal: Esto fue una advertencia. This was a warning.


Jason Johnson: Well the fact that it’s in Spanish obviously means something. 


Real Deal nods his head and goes to one of the agents standing by.


Real Deal: I need you to find Pandora for me.


The agent blinks.


Real Deal: Right now. 


Moving with hustle, the agent shuffles off in search of KAGAMI. Real Deal just keeps reading over the words on the slip of paper, clearly distracted. Jason intervenes.


Jason Johnson: What about Fantasma? I just heard his music play, he’s probably in the ring already. 


Real Deal: KAGAMI is here and in his gear. Tell him there’s a $5,000 bonus for him if he goes and fights Fantasma right now. 


Jason makes his way away and we head back to ringside, with Dutch Harris and Scott Kamura. 


Scott Kamura: Why do you think he immediately went to Pandora? 


Dutch Harris: I have no idea, except that he was in Mexico for a few days the last couple of weeks, which is uhh… extremely rare for him, if you’ll recall. 


Scott Kamura: Oh. OH. Ohhhhh.


Dutch Harris: Yeah. Good news though is that we’ve confirmed that KAGAMI will take on El Hijo de Fantasma Hambriento II, which again… I’m shortening to El Fantasma. That match is NOW!




Singles Match



The scene opens in a grand cathedral, its vast interior bathed in the soft, multicolored light streaming through a large stained glass window. The air is hushed, the only sound a distant, gentle echo of footsteps. In a pew near the front, “The Absolute” Austin Anderson sits in quiet contemplation. The serene atmosphere contrasts sharply with the intensity of his thoughts. He begins to speak, his voice a rich, resonant whisper that fills the sacred space.


“Many of my peers,” Anderson begins, his gaze fixed on the stained glass, “have always said they feed off the energy and noise of the crowds. The roar of the fans, the chants, the cacophony—it fuels them, drives them to greater heights. But for me, it has always been different. In the midst of that chaos, I hear nothing but silence. The ring is my sanctuary, and the silence is my salvation.”


He pauses, the soft light casting an ethereal glow on his face, highlighting the deep conviction in his eyes.


“In a world where everything is loud and in your face, I long for the quiet of the ring. It is there, amidst the ropes and the canvas, that I find my true self. It is where I can tune out the world, where the noise fades away, and I am left with nothing but my thoughts and my craft. Wrestling, for me, is not just a sport; it is an art form, a symphony of movement and strategy performed in the sacred silence of my sanctuary.”


Anderson shifts slightly, the play of light through the stained glass creating patterns on the polished wood of the pew.


“When I step into the ring, the outside world ceases to exist. The ring becomes a cathedral of its own, a place where I can express my purest form, untainted by the distractions of the crowd or the clamor of everyday life. It is in that silence that I find my strength, my focus, my peace. Every move, every hold, every counter is a part of a greater composition, a masterpiece in motion.”


His voice grows more resolute, the echo of his words reverberating through the cavernous space.


“I will do whatever I need to do to protect my sanctuary, to preserve the purity of my art. The ring is more than just a place of competition; it is my refuge, my temple. It is where I am most comfortable, where I am most alive. And I will defend it with everything I have, against anyone who seeks to tarnish its sanctity.”


Anderson’s gaze shifts to the altar, the flickering candlelight reflecting in his eyes.


“CK Butcher, you may thrive in the noise, in the chaos. But understand this: when you step into the ring with me, you step into my world. A world of silence and precision, of artistry and discipline. You may try to bring your noise, your brute force, but in my sanctuary, you will find only the calm determination of a true artist. I will protect this space, this art, with every fiber of my being.”


He takes a deep breath, the tranquil atmosphere of the cathedral seeming to infuse him with renewed resolve.


“In the silence of the ring, I find my clarity, my purpose. It is there, in that sacred quiet, that I will prove once again why I am ‘The Absolute.’ I will show the world that true strength lies not in the noise, but in the stillness. In the focused, unwavering dedication to one’s craft.”


Anderson’s voice softens, his words now a gentle murmur that fills the vast, empty space.


“This is my vow: to uphold the sanctity of the ring, to protect my art, and to find my peace in the silence. For it is in that silence that I am most powerful, most pure. And it is in that silence that I will prevail.”


With that, Anderson closes his eyes, the light from the stained glass window painting his face in a kaleidoscope of colors as the scene fades out. 


Singles Match



Backstage at the EPICENTER, the camera catches two familiar figures discussing what went wrong and what went right in the opening match. The man holding a notebook is dressed in a leather jacket, sunglasses indoors, and a porkpie hat. The massive slab of beef looking intently at the notes is still in his gear. Mr. Ho and Moriton, always strategizing.

At least until their rap session is loudly interrupted.

VOICE: Maury!

Onto the camera walks none other than the one, the only Hank Hercules.

Hank: yes yes it’s me. No pictures please. So Morty, jeez you don’t look like a Morty. We had a guy back in the day named Morty “The Dork” Nerdinski. I squashed him at South Padre Savagery ‘88 and then slept with his wife that night. Haha! You know what it’s like. Anyway kid let’s talk about your career.

Mr. Ho: I’m sorry, do I know you?

Hank looks on in SHOCK, but Mr. Ho continues.

Mr. Ho: It’s irrelevant. My Mighty Garuda just got done taking the Queen of the Ring to her absolute limit. I think I have his career on the right track, and if you want to hear it from him himself, I’ll let him say it. Although I must admit, his English lessons are still rudimentary, and I’m not sure you’re fluent in Mongolian.

Hank: Marty who is this guy? Listen man I speak American and I’m talking to the big man here. I’m putting together a SHOOT stable! A faction! It’s gonna be better than the Radical Dudes or the Wisconsin Warriors! Now look we already have Street Fighting Skittles Barnes. Now I can cut you in for 40% that covers management, training, my expert—

Mr Ho interrupts.

Mr. Ho: My young stallion is already part of a group of physical specimens the like the wrestling world has never seen. Did you not watch LUCHA ESPECIAL 7 this past weekend? Oh who am I kidding, you probably still watch the Dumont Network you’re so old. 

Moriton looks into the camera because it’s irony, baby.

Mr. Ho: But if you’re asking if I want to give you freely the services of my client, then you are more foolish than your…

Ho looks Hank’s outfit up and down- a Herc Head t-shirt and Zubaz with a fanny pack.

Mr. Ho: …well, nevermind. 

Hank: hey big guy do you talk? I can’t work with this little dude who keeps talking. Anyone in there Moron? 

He taps on the Mighty Garuda’s head, which does not go over well. Moriton stands up, nostrils flared, arms swinging.

Moriton: Надад битгий хүр, сарлагийн хошного!

Ho gets between them.

Mr. Ho: See what you’ve done? You’ve gone and made him mad. Get out of here before I let him drive you into the concrete. And if you think I won’t, just ask Kincaid. IF you can find where he went to hide.

Hank (backing away in fear): Hey hey, I’m retired but I could still kick your ass ya big Russian. I’ve been beating up Russians since 1983! I don’t want to hurt you because you might change your mind and take my help and I can’t manage a cripple. Call me when you smarten up partner! Herc man has a Pai gow table to get to. 

As he is backing away he shoves Mr. Ho while looking at Moriton and then quickly shuffles off before he is forced to face any consequences.

Mr. Ho: Why do I feel we haven’t seen the last of that guy?


Moriton shrugs as they go back to their review session.





The Real Deal is working his way through the backstage hallways, trying to find Pandora and Ultimo Muerte before he goes out for the Iron Will Classic. He’s frantic, frenetic even, so much so that nobody has been able to slow him down. He finally finds them in the hallway right before gorilla position, with Pandora relaying instructions to Muerte and Muerte nodding his head intentionally and rhythmically. 


Real Deal: You’re not going out there until we have a conversation. How quick that conversation is, is up to you. 


Pandora: Mr. Johnson, I’m always happy to chat with you. How can I be of assistance? 


Real Deal sighs, scowling. 


Real Deal: Esto fue una advertencia.


Pandora smiles. 


Pandora: You are warning me? 


Real Deal takes a moment, pausing and reclaiming his emotions. He hands her the slip of paper he pulled from Picaro Jr.’s tights.


Real Deal: I am. 


Pandora: What is this? 


Real Deal: I have a very strong feeling that you know what this is. We can call it a hunch if you want, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this happens to a luchador days after I return from Mexico, given my history there. 


Pandora: I had no idea that you were in Mexico! I wish you’d let us know.


Real Deal: Stop. I think you know why I was in Mexico, and I think you know what I learned while I was in Mexico, so let’s just agree that there will be no further escalation. 


He looks from Pandora up to Ultimo Muerte, who’s a good five inches taller than he is.


Real Deal: Do we have an understanding? 


Pandora: Mr. Johnson, I don’t know what you think I’m wrapped up in. There’s nothing to escalate and we have no idea about that slip of paper.


Real Deal shakes his head, annoyed. He decides to drop the subject for now, allowing a deep, calming breath. 

Real Deal: Get out of my sight. We’ll pick this up again, if the need arises.


Laura Seton Vs. Josh Conway Vs. Ultimo Muerte Vs. Golden Burkhalter