Ever wanted a chance to shine on a global platform?
Want to get your foot in the door for one of the most modern, premiere wrestling organizations in the world?
Just wanna… settle a score with someone?
Cutting backstage, there’s a quiet knock on one of the co-presidents of SHOOT Project’s door. After a second of scanning over a memo, Real Deal looks up. He tries to force a non-exasperated look on his face while still elbow-deep in paperwork.
RD: Please, come in.
The door opens, and RD stands up at what he sees at the door. Dressed in a formal black dress and carrying a simple black clutch, her long platinum and crimson hair tied back into a professional bun stands Judy-E DeMitri. She hesitates a second before stepping in, closing the door behind her and making the way to his desk. She extends her hand awkwardly.
“Mr. De…Rea….Mr. Johns…”
He raises a hand
“Mr Johnson or Real Deal is fine, Ms. DeMitri.”
Her eyes widen a little bit.
“You…know who I am?”
RD chuckles a bit, moving to push out a chair for Judy E in front of his desk.
“I’m…familiar with your father’s work. I’ve seen you around here and there. What can I help you with today? Please don’t tell me he’s sending you to ta-“
“My father? No. I mean he told me I should do this myself.”
RD’s brow raises in curiosity.”
“Told you to do what yourself?”
“Well…I honestly don’t want to bore you with a story I’m sure you’ve heard before. I’m…well I’m a second-generation kid. Even with my parents being separated I grew up in wrestling. I actually met you when I was…two or three I think? My dad talks about it every now and then. One of those formal business parties before everything went sideways with him and mom. Anyways. He said that even though you two don’t get along super well, that I could always trust that you would be a fair person to go to if I ever wanted…well, if I wanted a job. Mr. Johnson, I’ve been trained by who, in my humble opinion, is one of the best living wrestlers today. I have a signed letter of recommendation from both Azraith DeMitri, my father, as well as some of his training partners as well, some of which are of note to this company, I believe.”
After sitting, Judy-E quietly reaches into the clutch at her side and slides a formally sealed letter across the desk to RD, her head bowing slightly. RD could just sit and stare at her before laughing, shaking his head and taking the letter, popping open the seal and looking over it’s contents.
“You’re right. Your dad and I don’t exactly see eye-to-eye on things. However, he is a damn fine wrestler and despite the possible conflicts of interest in him being your exclusive trainer, I absolutely trust his eye on talent. Can I ask, however…exactly how old are you, Ms. DeMitri?”
Her eyes widen ever-so-slightly, but she quickly raises her head and smiles politely.
“I’m certainly old enough to train at a certified gym and get all of the necessary bona-fides needed for a letter like that to grace your desk, sir.”
RD’s eyes narrow somewhat, giving Judy-E a good once-over. He takes a deep breath and sighs, nodding.
“You’re not gonna eventually go crazy and try to drown half of my roster, are you?”
She forces that polite smile and nods.
“I’m…aware…that my father was a bit of a, well…no sir. I promise I’m not going to try to drown half of your roster.”
RD nods. Wordlessly, he stands up and goes to a filing cabinet behind him. Digging through a few folders, he grabs a small packet and throws it onto the desk in front of Judy-E. She grabs it and starts pouring over it voraciously.
“I’ll be honest with you. This is the contact I’ve been offering other second-generation talent that’s been talking to me recently. I believe it’s fair, and I have no doubt that once you make a na-“
He wasn’t halfway through that sentence before Judy-E rapidly pulled a pen of of her clutch and signed in triplicate where needed, rapidly standing up and bowing formally as she once again hands him paperwork.
“I promise to you Mr. Johnson, on my name and my family that I will not let you, or this company down. I truly, genuinely appreciate this opportunity and I swear to you I will make the most of it. Thank you again!”
Once again taken aback by the awkward enthusiasm and earnestness of the young woman in front of him, he couldn’t help but laugh again and nod, taking the contact.
“We’ll send you and your father some copies of this, as well as some information about upcoming shows. If you don’t mind me asking, what should we call you, Ms. DeMitri?
She looks up, an eager, and familiar grin creeping across her lips.
“Me?” Why you can call me Judy, or Judy-E. But when I put this on?”
Slowly, she pulls an ornate puro-style wrestling mask from her clutch. Taut dark blue with golden accents around the eyes, and a manic mohawk of bright red.
“You can call me NEMESIS.”
We see a man backstage. He is in a mask of black and green with horns, and his gut is prodigious. He finishes off a Tecate, throws the bottle behind him, and as soon as it smashes, he yells to the camera.
Vaquero: Chadwick Kyle! ¿Qué eres, algún tipo de perdedor?
He laughs heartily.
Vaquero: Te digo quien soy! Soy una leyenda viviente! ¡Puedo salir a beber, salir al amor y luchar contra cualquier tonto que se cruce en mi camino!
To punctuate this, he puts up his dukes, then does a pelvic grind, and then reaches off camera for another frosty beer.
Vaquero: ¡Voy a tomar tres cervezas, ser amable y cruel, y hacer que te arrepientas de haber cruzado al Vaquero Borracho!
He cracks it open, guzzles it down, and sighs in satisfaction as we cut away.
We cut backstage where Abigail Chase stands with a group of three men. One of them is wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black t-shirt with the SHOOT Project helmet logo on it. He also sports a cowboy hat. Another of the men is dressed in a pair of loose-fitting, black cotton pants complete with traditional karate gi. His face is mostly concealed by a black and red mask. Between these two men stands another in a rumpled brown suit. His bald pate shines lightly with sweat.
Abigail Chase: Ladies and gentlemen, I’m standing here with the SHOOT Project’s newest tag team, along with their manager and financial advisor…
Thaddeus Jewell: I’ll take it from here, Ms. Chase. You can run along now.
Abigail sighs heavily and exits the scene, stage left.
Thaddeus Jewell: SHOOT Project, my name is Thaddeus Jewell, and I represent the most dangerous force in professional wrestling today. I have scoured the globe for the very best talent, and I have found two men, from very different walks of life, now combined to form the most prominent duo since peanut butter and jelly.
Thaddeus jerks both thumbs back at the men behind him.
Thaddeus Jewell: There’s a new sheriff in town, people! Wyatt “The Law” Dredd is a man who does not suffer fools. He’s here to lay down the law in the SHOOT Project. This place is going to be his Tombstone. Tell ’em, Wyatt!
The cowboy smirks, pointing directly at the camera.
Wyatt Dredd: SHOOT Project, y’all ‘er in fer a wild ride. One by one, yer gonna learn not to cross the new law ’round here. Me an’ my new partner here are gonna bring this division back to justice. An’ it’s only fittin’ that we start doin’ it on a show called Shut Up and Fight! Ain’t that right, Mr. Jewell?
Thaddeus Jewell: Absolutely, Wyatt! You folks better be ready, because the other half of this team comes from a line of men who are the most lethal on the planet. I’ll let Kuja explain for himself!
Without a word, the masked man rips off his mask, revealing a painted face. He grasps his throat and spews a green mist directly onto the camera.
Thaddeus Jewell: Martial Law is going to reign supreme in the tag team division! Get ready!
The scene opens to the locker room, and in it, are Joshua Breedlove, Brock Holloway, Octavian Enright, and Spinebuster Island. Breedlove’s Boys.
“That’s not the name.”
That’s Joe Quinn, from Spinebuster Island. Stable name is TBD.
“BROCK. The MEN from Spinebuster Island did us PROUD tonight, even though they came up just a little short against those Sin City Scoundrels. I’m SURE there were some shenanigans at work here, and we will absolutely get to the BOTTOM of this.”
That’s Joshua Breedlove, the “leader” of this group.
“Josh, bud. Listen. I’ll take care of Vaka, don’t worry about it.”
That’s Brock Holloway.
“Yeh, mate. You got this!”
That’s Octavian Enright.
“Don’t let me down, BROCK. SHOW THESE BOYS WHO THE REAL MEN IN THE SHOOT PROJECT ARE. THE RICH, SUCCESSFUL, AMAZING MEN. BREEDLOVE’S BOYS.”
There’s a collective sigh.
“THAT IS NOT THE NAME”
That’s the collective voice of the other four in the group, as we fade…