Zenith 007

A smile with a chuckle that grows as she hears the boos as the fans see her. In her wrestling gear and hands on hips, Madison Seton appears to enjoy the sound of upset fans. As the booing dies down, she begins.

Madison Seton: I'm sure you're all enjoying today. Just as much as two weeks ago, you all got to see the brutality Izzy and I put forth. You all got to see The Redwood be punched and stretched until she could take no more. You cheered as Izzy lifted both belts. And now you sit eagerly, wondering what I'm gonna say.

…

I'm fucking pissed.

Maddie has a big breath as she has a quick snarl.

Madison Seton: I'm pissed off because Izzy couldn't bust me open. I left the ring with nary a drop of red coming from me. In my first couple matches here in SHOOT? Nearly three years ago? I think I bled out more than my time of the month.

That's what I was hoping for in the event I lost.

I respect the absolute FUCK out of Izzy. I hit her as hard as possible and she got through it. I can't credit that wildcat any bit more. That's why I look forward to facing her again. Because trust me. This was not the first time we're gonna bash each other's face in. And hopefully that next time, that canvas is gonna be stained from us both.

A few seconds of silence as she calms down. A new smirk then forms.

Madison Seton: So what does Madison Seton do now? Be a good girl of The Empire and follow along blindly and quietly?

A short look of confusion as she sticks her arms to the side in the classic, "Are you kidding?" pose, letting them drop back to her hips as she starts again.

Madison Seton: Are you fucking serious?? That's, like… so not Empire! "Just do as you're told…"

She gives a quick double middle finger with a look of disgust.

Madison Seton: Get the fuck outta here! I do whatever the fuck I want… because I'm that fuckin' good. If I restricted myself to something "normal," that would piss off The Empire. We're all about going outside normal boundaries. We're encouraged to go outside our comfort zones, almost required to do so, because that's what'll make us better. I'm not falling back in line with the rest of the non-Empire shit around here. I have my own Manhattan background. Speaking big and playing even bigger. Showing the world just how big a deal it is to support Manhattan. Let everyone know just how big a fucking deal it is to be in the great graces of Manhattan…

She goes silent as the crowd cheers the support of their city. That cocky smirk comes back to her.

Madison Seton: … KANSAS!! You fuckers didn't honestly think I meant New York, did you?? Fuck you all!

The crowd has a raucous booing of the younger Seton as she has a huge laugh of enjoyment from screwing with the fans, giving them another middle finger in the process.

Madison Seton: I'm fucking taking more chances. I'm gonna keep taking big chances here so I can make bigger strides and when y'all wanna see a new star here, y'all are gonna be looking at Madison Seton. I may have taken a step back against Izzy, but trust me; I got two steps forward coming up.

When the feed cuts on, there's the telltale tracking of an honest-to-god VHS tape, and when we see who it is, that…well, it makes sense.

Pigpen Matsumoto is standing in front of what can only be described as a high school homecoming dance photo area. There is a backdrop of cloudy blue swishes, in front of which there is a balloon arch of blue, white, and silver. To the left and right, cheap fake plants seem to complete something resembling a tableaux.

And in front of that tableaux is the King of All Death, who has dressed up for the occasion: He is wearing blue jeans that appear to be free of cigarette burns and blood, and he has gone with a tuxedo t-shirt, upon which he has crudely pinned a corsage with what appears to be a carpentry nail. And in front of him, god help us all, is a microphone. A backing track begins to play–clearly this is a ballad–and Pigpen starts to sway with the music. What follows cannot charitably be termed 'music', 'singing', or even 'warbling'. Somewhere between a lifetime smoker's vocal fry, this being his third language ( and least proficient of them ), and the fact that he clearly only has talent for making things bleed means that the best descriptor would be…Leonard Cohen by way of GG Allin?

"Are you lonesome, tonight?

Are you missing me, tonight?

Are you sorry because we're apart?

Does your memories stay, with the bright summer day?

When I kiss you, kill your dog, and you are my sweetheart?"

Pigpen hobbles out of frame, quickly, and returns pushing Chadwick Kyle, who is still apparently confined to a wheelchair and done up like the invisible man with a head to toe mummy bandage job. Pigpen yells something in his face, punctuated with a quick jab of his fingers into Chad's ribs, before going back to the mic.

"Maxine."

As if on cue, Chad begins to sing the melody in such an off key manner as to be almost unrecognizable. The whole thing feels like David Lynch has directed a Kyu Sakamoto music video.

"Life was not being in color before you. Pigpen measures life now in before Maxine times and after you show up. I have proven I can beat your shithead dog within inch of his life. I will do it again, and again, even if it takes years, because Pigpen Matsumoto is King of All Death, Pigpen is Javert going after stupid shit for brains dog John Val John."

One must assume we credit Matsumoto's 'learn English by watching reruns of Frasier' plan.

"We are not so different. You have dumb dog. I have dumb child. But Chadwick become real rock and roller when I'm done. "

He blows a kiss. Winks.

"Stupid shit for nothing dog become food for worm."

The backing muzak swells anew.

"Does your hearts fill with pain?

Shall I come back again?

Tell me Maxine, are you lonesome to…niiight?"

With that, the backing track ends. Pigpen fires up a cigarette, as he's gone a whole three and a half minutes without one. Off screen, someone complains about this.

Pigpen lifts the mic stand and hurls it like a javelin at whoever piped up. The feed goes black.

The final bell rings and the Sunflower Cartel exit the ring, making their way back up the ramp. Between the ropes, Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody meet in what was their corner, swapping words between them that the cameras can't quite pick up.

Eryk Masters: An impressive effort from both Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody tonight.

Jason Johnson: It isn't easy for two talents who aren't used to teaming with each other coming together as a cohesive unit, even for experienced veterans, but these two were on a similar page the whole time.

Holden shakes his head and pats Ricky on the shoulder, prompting a nod and a fistbump from the younger Tenet. The crowd begins chanting for both men, that verbal seed planted in the balcony before spreading throughout the arena.

"PLEASE COME BACK! PLEASE COME BACK!"

Jason Johnson: Well, I'd say that they impressed the Pinnacle tonight.

Eryk Masters: The SHOOT crowd has always appreciated effort from younger talents, Jason, and we're looking at two of the most promising rookies that we've seen in a long…oh, what is this, now?!

The cameras cut to The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ himself, Arthur Pleasant, walking down the ramp, a microphone in his hand. Flanked to his left by DEPRAVITY, there is a knowing swagger in each carnal step, one that draws the full attention of both Holden and Ricky as they step into the middle of the ring.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: My sincerest apologies for ruining this little…hehe…MOMENT…of yours.

The fans' chants for Holden and Ricky turn to a symphony of jeers, all directed at the two grueling fiends making their way to the ring.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Fear not, though. I come not empty-handed, but bearing baskets of fruit. Fruit from the tree of knowledge! Rejoiiiiiiice!! (looking out to the audience, his hand pointed at Holden and Ricky) What better gift is there for a couple of underdeveloped saplings such as these here boys? Hm?

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Pleasant's mouth is practically salivating at the reactions from both the now hostile crowd and Holden and Ricky.

Eryk Masters: Awww, this is some bull…

Holden steps to the ropes, climbing and pointing down at Arthur. He fires off some choice words for him, as well as DEPRAVITY, drawing a smirk from both. They stop at the halfway point of the ramp, Lou slumping to her knees at Pleasant's side. He places a cold hand atop her skull, grinning wide.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Ohhhh Mister Nobody. My, my, MY! All the attention that you have sought from us over these past few weeks, and that which you've stirred elsewhere, one has to wonder how it is…

Ricky walks up behind Holden, trying to keep him back, but Holden storms out of the ring, marching toward Arthur and DEPRAVITY.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: DON't be rude, my child. Please, let me finish. It's in your best interest to take heed in my words.

Holden stops at the bottom of the ramp as Ricky bails out after him, marching over to back up his partner this evening.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: You see, my child, the eyes of this great congregation; this magnificent contribution to society, were once set upon you as one to embrace. You, Mister Nobody, were… are… a lost ship adrift at sea in search of a welcoming harbor. But, well, unfortunately for you and everyone you hold dear, THAT ship has sailed. Now…

Ricky taps Holden on the shoulder and nods, both men readying themselves for another battle.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: …we look toward a prodigal son.

Holden turns to Ricky, both men looking confused at Arthur's insinuation.

Jason Johnson: …a prodigal son?!

Holden pulls away from Ricky, staring daggers at him.

Holden Nobody: What the hell is he talkin' about, Ricky?

Ricky Tenet: I…Holden, listen…

Ricky holds his hands up and steps back, his focus torn between Holden and Pleasant. DEPRAVITY laughs and waves at both men, her sickening smile matching Arthur's.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: A young man who understands the same pain and torturous feelings of trying to grow from within his father's shadow, pushed and prodded in directions not of his own choosing. Yes, my child. Search within yourself to know with whom I speak of.

Holden Nobody: …you son of a bitch…!

Ricky Tenet: I…he's lying, man! He's full of it!

Holden backs up against the barricade, keeping the three - Ricky, Arthur, and Lou - where he can see them.

Eryk Masters: What's…?!

A large, hulking figure clad in flannel and overalls emerges from behind the barricade, his face covered in a flesh-like mask.

Eryk Masters: THAT'S SAMMY ROCHESTER! WATCH OUT, HOLDEN!!

Sammy brings a chain up from the floor and hooks Holden around the neck, dragging him over the barricade and into the crowd. Holden struggles and kicks, drawing Ricky over to help. DEPRAVITY leaps from her knees and blindsides Tenet, leaping onto his back and throwing wild crossface punches as he covers up.

Arthur laughs and drops his microphone, marching over to help Depravity attack Ricky. He boots Ricky in the gut as Depravity climbs off of him, Sammy wailing away on Holden in the front row as fans scatter. Arthur grabs Ricky by the back of his head and hurls him into the ring steps face-first.

Jason Johnson: We need security out here!

Depravity howls with glee and dives onto Ricky, slamming his face into the steps again and again, smearing it against the grating on the steel until red streaks appear. In the front row, Sammy hoists Holden high over his head and drops him at the bottom of the ramp, casually stepping over the barricade before continuing his assault, whipping Holden with the chain across his back.

THUNDERWOLF and COREY LAZARUS charge out from the back, rushing to the aid of the rookie team. Corey kicks off of Sammy's back and barrels toward Arthur and Depravity as Thunderwolf boots Sammy in the face, breaking Sammy's battery on Holden.

Eryk Masters: The Last Vanguard are here to even the odds!

Corey lunges at Arthur, connecting with a wicked elbow to the side of his head that sends the ĜØĐṢ̌ËŇĎ reeling. Lou looks up just in time to dodge an incoming soccer kick, scrambling away while Lazarus checks on his son.

Sammy grabs Thunderwolf by the throat and lifts him off his feet, but Wolf spews a cloud of blue mist into his face, blinding the giant and forcing him to break his hold.

DEPRAVITY leaps onto Corey's back and attacks, a pair of crossface punches landing before Lazarus flips her off of him, drilling her with a knife edge chop across the face as she rises. Arthur charges in and knocks Corey down with a clothesline, his boot finding its way across Corey's throat.

Jason Johnson: And here comes security. FINALLY.

Holden pulls himself up and picks up the chain, ready to strike Sammy as guards swarm him, kicking and screaming. Thunderwolf, too, is separated from Sammy, both he and Nobody forced against the ring apron.

Arthur savors the reddish hue covering Corey's face as he chokes him with his foot, but it's short lived as Ricky Tenet climbs to the ring apron and charges, drilling Arthur in the face with a dropkick. Ricky leaps to his feet and readies a following attack before security engulfs him and his father.

Eryk Masters: Some law and order being restored here.

Thunderwolf and Holden both roll into the ring, Holden wiping blood from his nose as security swarms Sammy, a dozen men desperately trying to hold the giant back. Soon, Ricky and Corey join them, Ricky wiping blood from his face while Laz catches his breath.

Arthur and Depravity rise and walk back up the ramp, both smiling at the chaos they've caused. Sammy forces himself back to his feet and Holden hits the ropes…

Jason Johnson: Holden Nobody with a SUICIDE DIVE…!!!

Holden's body crashes into Sammy's, dropping the monster to the floor along with half of the security guards around him. Holden pulls himself to his feet and wipes the blood pouring from his nose, flinging it from his fingers at Sammy before he's tackled against the barricade by two guards.

Ricky smiles as Corey and Thunderwolf point up to Arthur Pleasant, Wolf holding the ropes open, inviting him back to the ring. DEPRAVITY sits cross-legged at the top of the ramp, Arthur hovering over her, dragging his fingers across the side of her neck. Pleasant laughs and waves before he snaps his fingers, prompting Lou to jump to her feet and follow him back behind the curtain.

Jason Johnson: Coming up we've got King Homewrecker taking on Aaron Dearinger in–

The crowd pops a bit as Jason is cut off by the FMW version of "Wild Thing" blares, signaling the arrival of the only Wild One left standing.

Eryk Masters: We haven't seen Cormac since he attempted to attack DEPRAVITY on the first Zenith after Daybreak, Jason, and I imagine he's got something to say to his former partner.

Jason Johnson: Maybe, but every time he's attempted to do anything with regards to the DeMONSTRance, he's been shut down by Sammy Rochester. What makes him think this is gonna be different?

Cormac steps out, his usual face paint missing, his hair hanging loose on his head. He slowly makes his way to the ring, climbing the steps and walking to the far corner opposite the hard cam, and slides down, resting against the turnbuckles a la Raven. A PA hands him a microphone.

Cormac Nelson: It's been a tough month. In the span of a couple of minutes at Daybreak, I lost my teammate, my friend, and my pride. I watched right here in this ring as a woman I've known since I was 5 years old turned on the people who have had her back through thick and thin for a decade.

A lot of thoughts have run through my head since then. "What did we do wrong? How could we have stopped this?"

But the biggest question that's always the one I come back to is "why?" Why would Lou stab her best friend in the back like that? What does Arthur fucking Pleasant have to offer that was so good she had to throw away everything? It's the one question I just can't answer.

So I'm gonna get my answer from the horse's mouth. Lou! DEPRAVITY or whatever stupid name you're calling yourself now, come out here! I refuse to–

The house lights die, and as smoke begins to pour from the entrance, In This Moment's "Sex Metal Barbie" starts up. DEPRAVITY steps through the curtain, wearing a pair of vinyl leggings, a cupless leather harness on her chest with electric tape X's to keep it somewhat network-friendly, and her face made up in black, white, and red clown makeup. She's holding a leash that is attached to her own spiked collar around her neck. She already has a microphone and motions to cut the music as she steps forward.

DEPRAVITY: You're lucky I'm in a good mood tonight, Mac, because another time I would've been happy to let you sit until security pulled you out. But I'll humor you, just this once, OK?

Cormac Nelson: Cut the shit, Lou. What made you do it?

DEPRAVITY: Before I answer that, let me ask you something. What answer are you expecting here? Do you really think you're going to get something that satisfies you? You looking for "closure?" What happens when the response doesn't satisfy you?

She stands at the apron, as Cormac stands up, moving closer.

Cormac Nelson: Could you maybe use less words when you say nothing? Just fucking answer the question.

DEPRAVITY: What, why I attacked Jane? Easy. Because I felt like it.

Cormac Nelson: What made you hate her so much that you would flip like this?

DEPRAVITY: Hate? I don't hate her, I love Jane.

Cormac Nelson: What?!

DEPRAVITY: Let me level with you here, Cormac. SHOOT is changing, whether you like it or not, and the ĜÓḎṦĘꞤḊ is the spark that's going to ignite this whole powder keg. What I did to Jane was a mercy. Now, she gets to watch from backstage as this organization burns, and something better rises from the ashes, and when it does, I'll be there to welcome her with open arms to our new Eden. She earned that opportunity.

You, on the other hand, haven't earned a goddamn thing, have you? You couldn't even beat a Nobody who never set foot on the big stage, and yet, here you stand, as if you have the right or the responsibility to hold the banner for SHOOT. As if you're duty-bound to fight for this promotion that has given you nothing, and, for that matter, which you have given nothing.

You aren't worthy to be a part of what's coming, Cormac. You're not even worthy to be a part of what's already here.

Cormac slowly walked, getting angrier by the second, to the side of the ring closest to the ramp, staring at Lou over the top rope.

DEPRAVITY: Face it, Cormac, you aren't a SHOOT Soldier. You're hardly even a recruit.

Cormac doesn't bother bringing the microphone to his lips, just leaning over the top rope to hurl insults at DEPRAVITY.

Eryk Masters: Wait, from under the ring–!

Sammy stands over the wreckage of the announce table, as DEPRAVITY slowly walks over, squatting down to speak to the broken Cormac.

DEPRAVITY: You can't stop what's coming, Mac. Just give up.

She stands, patting Sammy on the arm. The monster squats down, and DEPRAVITY climbs up onto his shoulder, sitting, like a parrot on a pirate, as Sammy climbs over the guardrail and into the crowd.

Eryk Masters: Still to come tonight, in our main event, we have Izzy Sia defending her Empire State championship against Johnny Napalm, in what promises to be an old-school war in the ring.

Jason Johnson: Izzy's already faced Joshua Kaine tonight, and win, lose, or draw? You just know that both of them have something to prove later on this evening.

Eryk Masters: So, too, do the former Tag Team champions, and I'm talking about both the Punch Line and the Last Vanguard. We take you now backstage, where Abigail Chase is with Corey Lazarus and Dustin "Thunderwolf" Kelser to get their thoughts on tonight's match.

The scene cuts to the Last Vanguard locker room, where Abigail Chase stands beside Corey Lazarus, his ring gear immaculate and his silver-rimmed Ray Bans pushed up over the top of his head.. Corey paces back and forth, his thoughts elsewhere, as Abigail takes her cue.

Abigail Chase: I'm in the back right now with Corey Lazarus and Thunderwolf, and…wait…

Chase looks all around her, even at the ceiling above.

Abigail Chase: …where's Thunderwolf?

Corey stops pacing and rests his hands on his hips, nodding quickly to cause his Ray Bans drop down over his eyes.

Corey Lazarus: My brother Wolfenstein has some business to tend to right now, namely picking up the trail of a walking, talking, absolute grade-A pile of living BULLSHIT that calls itself Arthur Pleasant.

Abigail Chase: Oh, alright. Later tonight, Corey, you and Thunderwolf find yourselves facing the Punch Line once again, with title contention against the Collins Twins on the line. What are your thoughts on the match tonight?

Corey smirks, shaking his head and feathering his hair with his fingers.

Corey Lazarus: Well, Abs…can I call you Abs?

Abigail Chase: Well, I don't…

Corey Lazarus: You see, Abs, there are a lot of thoughts running through the L-A-Z's mind right now, and not all of them are particularly pretty, but some of them, if I'm being honest, are just so absurdly brilliant that you'd need to spend a few nights under psychiatric evaluation just to comprehend. One, in particular, is about what I'd look like with a hockey mullet. Business in the front, party in the back, and shag, shag, shaaaag, babe, you dig? I don't know where this one came from, maybe it's from seeing all the simple fun that Rick Hull and Harv Norris embody each time they crack open an ice cold Molson, but whatever its origin? That falls under the "not pretty" tab, slick.

Corey, of course, forms the quotation marks with his fingers.

Corey Lazarus: As for the match later tonight, I've already said my piece leading up to Zenith, courtesy of Brink of Time Media and, as always, Platinum Knights Productions. I - no, we - want the best that the Punch Line can give us. To have them prove to us, prove to the office, to the entire WORLD that they deserve to be talked about in the same breath as the Last Standing Pillar, as the Last Damn Icon. As the Last fucking Vanguard. Tonight is a special kind of night, me b'ys, because it's the kind of night where we separate the men from the boys, so make sure you've got your mufflers tucked in and your laces tied tight, dig?

Chase takes a breath, reeling from the quick verbal flurry unleashed upon her.

Abigail Chase: Corey, thank you very much, and…!

Lazarus rips the microphone from her hand, walking in front of her. Closer to the camera. All eyes on him.

Corey Lazarus: Abs, I'm sorry, but the Hollywood Kid just isn't finished just yet.

He rips his Ray Bans off, a fire burning in his eyes.

Corey Lazarus: Earlier tonight, there was a little "incident"...

Finger quotes.

Corey Lazarus: …involving that little engine that could, Holden Nobody, and this gnarly knot of ne'er-do-wells marching to the grating little jaunt of a double-speaking, recreant piece of nepo-fuckscum named Arthur Pleasant.

Lazarus smirks, his eyes unblinking, and waves at the camera. At Arthur.

Corey Lazarus: Hey Artie. I'm Corey Lazarus. You may remember me from such films as the Final Kumite, or maybe you're more of a rom-com guy and you've watched February 14th part 3 so many times that you can recite my monologue by heart. Most importantly, though, you may remember me as the father of a certain young man in this sport, one that you decided to have your little gimps lay their filthy goddamn hands on earlier tonight.

Gone is the typical "too cool for the room" facade, the smirk devolving into the cold calm of a man that's not going to offer jokes or threats, just facts.

Corey Lazarus: See, tiger, Ricky Tenet may be man enough to handle himself in a fair contest, and I've agreed to stand back when Dracula Dead and Loving It gets involved as best as I can, but you? Oh no, sir. No, no, no. I've made no such promises to my son about you. And trust me, slick, I intend on getting some vindication for your trespasses against my family.

The social mask slides back on as Lazarus steps back, his forced smile and chuckle as easy to see through as a freshly washed window. Abigail reaches for her microphone, but Corey grabs her hand.

Corey Lazarus: Just one more sec, Abs.

Corey clears his throat and slides his Ray Bans back over his head.

Corey Lazarus: See, chief, there's only one way this ends for you, now that yours truly has been pulled into it, and it won't be pretty…and, judging by Lou's recent FetLife makeover, you're used to that kind of thing, but I digress…

Corey shrugs, once again swatting Abigail's hand away as she reaches for her microphone.

Corey Lazarus: …so why not prove yourself to be the brave leader of your little rapscallion army, huh? You. Me. One on one, babe. Zenith, chapter 8. Come show the world how the DeMONSTRance ringleader conducts himself when he doesn't have some green-as-grass rookies to toss around. I've got, oh…hey Abs, if you don't mind me asking, how much do you earn in a year?

He turns the microphone to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. She stumbles, unable to form a word as she's caught off guard.

Abigail Chase: Umm, that's…that's not really any of your business…?

Corey Lazarus: A hundred thousand? Two?

Abigail Chase: Well, uhhh…

Corey Lazarus: Oh, fine. Twist my arm, why don't you!

Lazarus pulls away from Chase, walking back up to the camera.

Corey Lazarus: Artie, I have $250,000 that says you can't last ten minutes, ten measly little minutes, against a guy like me. Do it. Do it. Say yes to the dress, Artie. Take the money, you quailing waste of a Y chromosome. Prove to your skulking little menagerie of bridesmaids that you're worth the faith they're putting in you, because from where I'm standing?

He flashes his trademark devilish grin.

Corey Lazarus: You're just another little bitch yapping away until one of the big dogs gives you a shred of attention. And that, my friend, is just life. Deal with it. Rock n' roll, Artie.

Corey slides his Ray Bans back over his eyes, chuckling to himself.

Corey Lazarus: Rock n' fucking roll. Eryk, Jason? Back to you.

Lazarus hands the microphone back to Abigail, patting her on the head before he walks off. She rolls her eyes, unimpressed, and walks off.

The scene opens in what appears to be a makeshift training area backstage at The Pinnacle. There are some wrestling mats laid out, a few chairs, and various random equipment scattered around. A handwritten sign taped to the wall reads "PUNCH LINE TRAINING ZONE - DO NOT DISTURB" in what is clearly Harv's messy handwriting.

Harv Norris stands in the center of the area wearing a headband that says "ROCKY" on it (clearly purchased from a tourist shop), cargo shorts, and a tank top that reads "TRAINING MONTAGE IN PROGRESS." He's holding a clipboard with what appears to be a very ambitious training schedule.

Rick Hull sits on a folding chair, arms crossed, watching Harv with the expression of a man who already regrets every decision that led to this moment.

Harv Norris: Right! RIGHT! So here's the thing, Rocket. We been doin' Canadian training our whole lives, aye? And where's that got us lately? We LOST to the Vanguard! We lost the titles! So I figured it out, b'y. We need AMERICAN training!

Rick Hull: American training.

Harv Norris: EXACTLY! See, Americans, they train different! They got all them fancy techniques and motivational speeches and… and… montages! With music!

Rick Hull: Harv, that's from movies.

Harv Norris: Movies are based on REAL LIFE, Hully! Now come on, first thing on the list!

He consults his clipboard with great seriousness.

Harv Norris: It says here that Rocky Balboa used to drink raw eggs for strength! So I got us some eggs!

He produces a carton of eggs from behind a chair and cracks one into a glass, the yolk plopping in with a wet sound. He holds it out to Rick.

Harv Norris: Here ye go, b'y! Drink up! American champion fuel!

Rick stares at the glass of raw egg like Harv just handed him a cup of poison.

Rick Hull: No.

Harv Norris: What d'ye mean "no"? This is TRAINING, Rick! This is how we get better!

Rick Hull: I'm not drinking a raw egg.

Harv Norris: But Rocky did it!

Rick Hull: Rocky's fictional.

Harv Norris: Well… well… fine! More for me then!

Harv raises the glass dramatically, closes his eyes, and attempts to drink it. The moment the raw egg touches his lips, his face contorts in disgust. He manages to swallow about half before gagging and spitting the rest into a nearby trash can.

Harv Norris: (coughing) That's… that's DISGUSTING, b'y! How did Rocky drink like six of those?!

Rick Hull: Because Rocky's not real.

Harv Norris: (wiping his mouth) Right, okay, bad start. But that's fine! We got more American training techniques! Next up… MEDITATION!

Rick Hull: Meditation?

Harv Norris: Aye! Americans are always talkin' about "finding their center" and "inner peace" and all that! So we're gonna meditate and visualize our victory over the Vanguard!

He sits down cross-legged on the mat and gestures for Rick to join him. Rick reluctantly gets up from his chair and sits down across from Harv, looking deeply uncomfortable.

Harv Norris: Right, now close yer eyes and think peaceful thoughts! Think about… about calm lakes and… and gentle breezes and… and…

Rick closes his eyes. Harv closes his eyes. There's silence for about five seconds.

Harv starts to snore.

Rick opens one eye and sees Harv sitting there, mouth open, already asleep while sitting cross-legged.

Rick Hull: Harv.

No response. Harv's head lolls to one side.

Rick Hull: (louder) Harv.

Harv Norris: (jolting awake) WHAT?! I'M MEDITATING!

Rick Hull: You were snoring.

Harv Norris: That's… that's DEEP meditation, b'y! That means it was workin'!

Rick Hull: You were asleep for ten seconds.

Harv Norris: (defensively) I was visualizing! I saw us beatin' the Vanguard! Very clearly! With… with… dropkicks and… stuff!

Rick just stares at him.

Harv Norris: Okay, FINE! Meditation's harder than it looks! But I got one more thing. The most important American training technique of all!

He pulls out a laptop and sets it on a chair, opening it to reveal paused footage of a Last Vanguard match.

Harv Norris: TAPE STUDY! Americans are always studyin' tape! Watchin' their opponents, learnin' their moves, findin' weaknesses! This is gonna be what gets us the win!

Rick actually looks interested for the first time. He moves closer to look at the screen.

Rick Hull: This might actually help.

Harv Norris: See? FINALLY! Some real American training! Now, Roy would usually do this part, but how hard can it be? We just watch 'em wrestle and figure out what they do wrong!

He hits play on the video. They watch for about thirty seconds in silence.

Harv Norris: So… what d'ye see, Rick?

Rick Hull: (pointing at the screen) Thunderwolf favors his left knee. After big moves, he adjusts his weight.

Harv Norris: Right, right! And Corey?

Rick Hull: Fast. Technical. Targets the arm for submissions.

Harv Norris: Good, good! See, we're learnin'!

They watch for another few seconds.

Harv Norris: Although… wait, is this even called "tape" anymore? I mean, it's digital now, right? So is it "video study"? Or "footage analysis"?

Rick Hull: Does it matter?

Harv Norris: Well, Roy would know! Roy always knows the proper terms for things! Remember when he spent twenty minutes explainin' why it's called a "turnbuckle" and not a "corner pad"?

Rick Hull: (sighing) Yes.

Harv Norris: I miss Roy, b'y. He'd know what to call this. And he'd probably tell us we're watchin' the wrong match, or we're sittin' at the wrong angle, or our eyes aren't properly calibrated for tactical analysis or somethin'.

Rick Hull: We're getting distracted.

Harv Norris: Right! Right! Focus! Let's watch more… tape? Video? Whatever we're callin' it!

They watch for another ten seconds before Harv speaks again.

Harv Norris: But seriously though, if there's no actual tape involved, why do we still call it tape? That's like callin' a cell phone a "telephone" when there's no phone line! Language is weird, b'y.

Rick Hull: Harv.

Harv Norris: And another thing! Why do Americans call it "film" when they're watchin' digital video? There's no film! It's all computers now! Should we be callin' this "server study"? "Cloud analysis"?

Rick Hull: (standing up) That's it.

Harv Norris: What? Where ye goin'?

Rick Hull: This isn't working.

Harv Norris: What d'ye mean it's not workin'? We're doin' American training! Raw eggs and meditation and tape study!

Rick Hull: You almost threw up from the eggs. You fell asleep during meditation. And we've spent five minutes arguing about what to call watching video instead of actually watching it.

Harv Norris: Well… when ye put it like that, it sounds bad.

Rick Hull: Because it IS bad, Harv.

Harv looks down at his clipboard, then at the laptop, then at the glass of remaining raw egg, then back at Rick.

Harv Norris: So… yer sayin' the American training isn't gonna work?

Rick Hull: I'm saying we're Canadians. We should train like Canadians.

Harv Norris: But we LOST trainin' like Canadians!

Rick Hull: We lost because Roy wasn't there. Because we weren't focused. Not because our training was wrong.

Harv sits down heavily on the mat, looking deflated.

Harv Norris: So what do we do then? Just… just go out there and hope for the best?

Rick Hull: We go out there and do what we do best. Hit hard. Work together. Fight like we're from the Great White North.

Harv Norris: No fancy American techniques?

Rick Hull: We're not fancy. We never were.

Harv Norris: (thinking) Aye… aye, yer right, b'y. We tried to be somethin' we're not. We should just be US.

Rick Hull: Exactly.

Harv stands up, takes off the ridiculous Rocky headband, and tosses it aside.

Harv Norris: Right! Screw American training! We're CANADIAN! We don't need raw eggs and meditation and… and proper terminology for watchin' video! We just need to go out there and beat the hell outta the Vanguard like we should've done the first time!

Rick Hull: Now you're talking.

Harv Norris: (getting fired up) We're from Newfoundland and Northern Ontario! We grew up fightin' in hockey rinks and parkin' lots! We don't need some Hollywood training montage. We just need our fists and our pride!

Rick Hull: And maybe Roy back.

Harv Norris: (deflating slightly) Aye, we definitely need Roy back. But until then, we work with what we got! Which is YOU and ME and a whole lot of Canadian stubbornness!

Rick nods in approval.

Harv Norris: Tonight, we face the Vanguard. And we're not gonna out-American them. We're gonna out-CANADIAN them! We're gonna show them that fancy techniques and big words don't matter when two hockey goons from the Great White North decide to beat ye senseless!

Rick Hull: Better.

Harv Norris: (looking at the training area) Although… what do we do with all this American training stuff now?

Rick picks up the glass of remaining raw egg and walks over to a trash can, dumping it without hesitation.

Rick Hull: Garbage.

Harv grins and starts gathering up his ridiculous training materials.

Harv Norris: Ye know what, Rocket? I think we're gonna be just fine.

Rick Hull: We'll find out tonight.

Harv Norris: Aye. Tonight, the Vanguard gets a reminder of what happens when ye mess with The Punch Line. American training or not, we're still the best damn tag team that ever came outta Canada!

They bump fists as the camera pulls back, showing the abandoned "American training" materials scattered around. The empty egg carton, the discarded Rocky headband, the laptop still playing Vanguard footage that nobody's watching.

"Some things can't be taught. Some things are just Canadian."

The Pinnacle crowd is booing as King Homewrecker gets to his feet, raising his baby-oil slick arms in victory. A barrage of pyros fire off while Aaron Dearinger still lies on the mat, trying to register what just happened. Outside the ring, Laney Dearinger looks like she's trying to hide how distraught she is. She quickly ascends the steel steps into the ring to check on her husband, drawing the misfortune of King Homewrecker's attention.

Eryk Masters: What a tough, tough loss for Aaron Dearinger.

Jason Johnson: Yeah, I'm not gonna lie…I was sorta rooting for him. I don't think anybody wants a King Homewrecker harassing their family.

Eryk Masters: And now Laney Dearinger is getting in the ring. Oh man, this can NOT end well.

Homewrecker looks at her from head to toe like she's a Little Debbie snack, before calling for something from ringside. An official throws him an object; a red "Make Lainey Moist Again" hat, and he puts it on over his mask and turns to Laney, spreading his arms as if to say, "Feast your eyes on THIS."

Laney looks PISSED. She's saying something, we can't quite hear it, and now her and Homewrecker are jawing back and forth. Meanwhile, Aaron has begun to pull himself up using the ropes. He seems cognizant of what's going on and is desperately trying to get right so he can defend his wife.

Eryk Masters: Looks like Aaron is finally coming to, and I'm sure he's not happy with what he sees.

Jason Johnson: I mean, would you be?

Now Aaron is barking at his wife to get out of the ring. King Homewrecker doesn't appear to be paying him any mind, at least not until Aaron goes after him with an attempted clothesline. But Homewrecker ducks under and latches Aaron in a uranage! Aaron hits the mat with an emphasis and Laney screams out! Homewrecker is laughing and pointing at Aaron before he puts his arms behind his head and starts to seductively gyrate his hips at Laney.

Eryk Masters: Oh wow. This is a humiliation.

Jason Johnson: A complete humiliation.

Homewrecker reaches into his tights and for a moment we all get nervous….he's not gonna pull his hog out on national television, is he?

No, he does one even better; somehow, like an erotic magician, he manages to remove his thong underwear. Much like his pre-match "shirt", they're nothing but black mesh. He tosses them right in Laney's face! The crowd goes WILD. Homewrecker slowly begins a berserker walk towards Laney.

The Pinnacle is LOUD right now! BUT WAIT! "Them Bones" by Alice in Chains hits the PA system! It's Josh Kaine! Josh Kaine is running down the rampway with PURPOSE.

He slides into the ring and jumps to his feet to meet Homewrecker, blocking his first punch and raining down his own. ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. Kaine clobbers the "Make Lainey Moist Again" hat right off of Homewrecker's head and the crowd is going WILD.

Eryk Masters: It's Josh Kaine! It's Josh Kaine to the rescue!

Laney Dearinger helps her husband roll out of the ring while Kaine handles business! FENRIR'S BITE! FENRIR'S BITE! Kaine hits Homewrecker with the flying armbar and he's got it locked in!

Jason Johnson: HE'S GOT HOMEWRECKER IN TROUBLE!

But there's too much baby oil on Homewrecker! Just when it looks like his arm might snap, he wiggles out and beats a hasty retreat outside of the ring! The Pinnacle is in an UPROAR as Josh stares Homewrecker down! Homewrecker does a slow jerk in the air and throws the imaginary fruit of his loins all over Kaine. He repeats the gesture at Dearinger. He then blows a kiss to Laney.

Laney continues to wail as Kaine rolls out the other side of the ring to escort Aaron Dearinger and his wife back up the ramp!

Eryk Masters: And there you have it folks! Aaron Dearinger may not have won the battle, but he may yet win the war!

Jason Johnson: Josh Kaine with a HUGE save here, and I've gotta believe that's gonna leave a bad taste in Homewrecker's mouth.

The cameras cut backstage where Emiko Fujimoto is walking down a hallway with her manager and handler, Austin Anderson. She is as graceful as she is beautiful; you wouldn't even know she was in a fight earlier in the evening.

Eryk Masters: I've got word there's an altercation backstage, Jason, but uhhh…unless I'm missing something, looks like it's just Emiko Fujimoto leaving the arena.

After a hard fought contest with Ultimo Muerte II, Emiko's got her gear in a duffel bag and it's time to call it a night. She exchanges a goodbye with Austin, who appears to be staying behind.

Austin Anderson: Emiko, magnificent work out there tonight. You met fire with fire and matched every ounce of brutality with brilliance. I've still got a mountain of administrative drudgery ahead of me, but you? You've earned your reprieve. Go, rest, recover. You did beautifully.

Emiko bows her head in respect as Austin turns around to head back. She pushes through an exit door, leading to a sprawling New York City parking garage.

Jason Johnson: Yeah, I'm confused as well, Eryk. I wonder where this is going.

She meanders past the rows and rows of cars in the pristine Pinnacle garage to an elevator and hits the call button. After a moment or so we hear a "DING" and the doors open for Emiko to step in. There's light jazz music playing on the speakers overhead. When the doors close, we switch to grainy security camera footage.

Eryk Masters: Do you think Ultimo Muerte II is up to something? I mean, the two did just compete. Wouldn't surprise me if he was haunting the parking garage.

Jason Johnson: I dunno, but I gotta say, Eryk…that is one well maintained parking garage. SHOOT Project spares no expense.

At this point, the audience has got to be wondering why we're watching Emiko's departure from the Pinnacle.

When the elevator doors reopen, we have a clearer answer.

Emiko suddenly becomes alert.

The parking lot lights on her level are flickering. In the distance, her car is shrouded in darkness.

Eryk Masters: Uh oh. This doesn't look good.

The crowd in the Pinnacle come to life…not with boos or cheers, but with a "Don't Do It" horror movie type buzz. We've all seen the movies…we know what happens next.

Jason Johnson: Turn around, Emiko! Go back to the security kiosk!

But if the "Crimson Valkyrie" is scared, she doesn't show it well. In fact, she does what every hero does…walks out of the elevator and enters the darkness to confront whoever or whatever is out there, horror movie monsters be damned.

She drops her duffel bag in the center of the garage, anticipating an attack, arms raised in fighting position.

Eryk Masters: Emiko's no dummy, Jay. She knows something isn't right. Something's afoot and she's not going down without a fight!

But no attack comes.

Slowly she makes her way to her cherry red 2025 Lexus RC. She unlocks the driver's side door and opens it…

…and nothing happens. There is a collective sigh of relief…from Emiko and from the audience.

Jason Johnson: Well…looks like we were mistaken, Eryk. Nothing to see here after all. Yeesh, thank GOD. I don't know if my blood pressure can handle any more spooky attacks.

Satisfied that there's no danger, Emiko walks back out to her duffel bag and bends over to pick it up.

VROOOOOOMMMM!

Eryk Masters: EMIKO! NO! LOOK OUT!!!!

At the last second, Emiko looks up, BUT IT'S TOO LATE!

CRUNCHHH!!!

Jason Johnson: OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! EMIKO FUJIMOTO HAS JUST BEEN HIT BY A CAR! Somebody call the police! Call security!

Eryk Masters: CALL SOMEBODY!

The sound of metal being dented and glass cracking precedes Emiko TUMBLING up over the hood of a beat-up purple box Chevy before she lands on the cement ground with a wet smack! The Chevy screeches to a halt, the windshield completely splintered, and the driver's side door swings open.

NC-17: Ya wanted my attention bitch, you got it! Hope it was worth it!

Eryk Masters: IT'S NC-17! NC-17 IS THE DRIVER! THAT SONUVABITCH! THAT SONUVABITCH!

NC-17 LUNGES on top of Emiko and starts PUMMELING her with his fists! Emiko is flailing, trying to regain her composure, but her face quickly becomes a mask of sticky, crimson blood. Blood quickly gets everywhere; it's on Seventeen's hands and arms, it's splattering on his face, it's on the cement!

Jason Johnson: We've GOT to get somebody out there! PLEASE, this is out of control!

The damage is done.

Once it's clear Emiko's unconscious, Seventeen gets back to his feet, chuckling to himself. He stands over Fujimoto, breathing hard but clearly satisfied with his handy work.

The audience in the Pinnacle is at a fever pitch of boos.

NC-17: "Crimson Valkyrie" huh? Well…they got the crimson part right.

Seventeen gets back into his car and slams the door shut. He puts it in reverse, before screeching out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell!

Eryk Masters: We need EMT's out in the parking garage, STAT. I don't know if we should even be showing this on live TV, are we able to cut the feed Jay?

Jason Johnson: Is she breathing? I can't tell if she's breathing.

The camera zooms in on Emiko's prone, bloody body. She's breathing, but she's unconscious. You can still hear the booing all the way from inside the arena! Slowly the camera zooms out, the parking garage lights acting as a sort of tragic spotlight.

Then the scene fades to black.

All four men rise, standing across the ring from one another. Harv stares at Corey, Rick stares at Wolf, and they approach one another. Thunderwolf holds his ribs and looks to Lazarus, the pair nodding in agreement…and extending their hands to the Punch Line.

Eryk Masters: Two sets of former Tag Team champions, two of the top teams in the entire sport, and they've laid it all out again tonight for a shot at the gold.

Jason Johnson: Nobody can argue that they haven't earned their shot at the Collins Twins after tonight.

Rick and Harv raise the arms of the Last Vanguard, Thunderwolf recoiling from the sudden movement. Corey checks on him as the Punch Line pull back, nodding in approval. In respect.

The Punch Line bail out of the ring and make their way back up the ramp, passing through the curtain as Corey helps Thunderwolf to his feet.

Eryk Masters: Still to come, folks, we have tonight's main event. The Empire championship is on the line as Izzy Sia defends against Johnny Napalm.

Jason Johnson: And after the Premier title match earlier tonigh…!

The lights die. Blackness washes over the Pinnacle as the crowd murmurs and screams.

Eryk Masters: What's going on now?!

The lights return to find Thunderwolf and Corey Lazarus in the middle of the ring…surrounded by SAMMY ROCHESTER, DEPRAVITY, and ARTHUR PLEASANT.

Jason Johnson: Oh my God! They're…they've surrounded them!

The Last Vanguard don't have time to think before their attackers pounce upon them. Sammy promptly tackles Corey as DEPRAVITY boots Wolf in the midsection, knocking him to his knees. Sammy slams his fist into Corey's face again and again, Lazarus desperately trying to cover up, as Lou drills Dustin with more kicks to the ribs before clawing at his face.

Arthur Pleasant, meanwhile, leans back. Enjoying the show. He produces a microphone from his pocket, brushing hair from his face.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Lazzy Boy. Thunder Guy. You both take us for fools. It's as etched in your faces as history is in time. You call yourselves the LAST Vanguard because you believe you're what's going to save SHOOT Project. Because you're the last line of defense in the looming war.

I'm here to tell you, right now, in front of the world…

Arthur crouched next to Lazarus, clutching his head carefully in a fatherly manner.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: …you are the farthest thing from it. When I think of a vanguard, I think of great leaders on the battlefield like Alexander the Great. Richard The Lionheart. Napoleon Bonaparte. Names who commanded respect from their armies for their tactical brilliance.

Pleasant drives a headbutt right down between Lazarus' eyes. The sickening thud of skull meeting skull silences the crowd. Pulling his head up, Pleasant finds himself bleeding, and yet, smiling. Blood drips down into his mouth as he smiles wide. It cascades onto his tongue as he cackles at the predicament the Last Vanguard have gotten themselves into.

Lifting Lazarus' face, Pleasant lets the blood of himself ooze down into his eyes, nose, and mouth. The gags from parts of the front row echo out into the expertly placed boom mics hidden all around the ringside area.

Eryk Masters: Please, GOD someone stop this!

Jason Johnson: (audible gag) I feel like I'm going to be sick. Th-this is just too damn much.

The crowd is STUNNED at the level of violence being inflicted upon two legendary figures in professional wrestling. Pleasant holds a hand over Lazarus' face, forcing him to swallow his blood.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: That? That is the taste of tactical brilliance, my child. That is the deliciousness of perfection. That is the flavor of what a vanguard truly is.

Arthur rises to his feet, stepping over Lazarus, making his way to Thunderwolf. Like he did with Laz, Arthur crouches down next to Dustin Kelser.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: You are NOTHING but scabs on the kneecaps of SHOOT, trying to grow your regenerative agenda and heal the wounds left behind courtesy of THE LIE.

We are the hands that pick the scabs from the flesh.

He reaches down, lifting Thunderwolf's head up. Before anyone can react, Pleasant DRILLS him between the eyes, just like Dustin's tag team partner. Pleasant's wound opens wider, and more blood pours down from his own forehead. The crimson stains his own white robes as he aims his head down to fill Thunderwolf's mouth, nose, and eyes.

The audience is thoroughly sickened by this point.

Eryk Masters goes to say something, but he coughs and soon the sound of headsets being taken off can be heard.

For good measure, Wolf catches a kick from DEPRAVITY and fires off a right hand, but Sammy rises and swings his chain, cracking Wolf across the ribcage and sending him back down. Corey is a bloodied mess, his face covered in crimson—both his own and The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ's—as he struggles to pull himself to his feet with the ropes.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Right now? As I witness this massacre unfold, as I have previously warned—I just may be the living embodiment of another great vanguard, my stupid, stupid children. His name? Genghis Khan, and if I may borrow a quote from him? It goes something like this: "I am the punishment of God. If you had not committed great sins, God would not have SENT a punishment like ME upon you.". Your sins should be as clear as the night is dark. You… interfered. You had the audacity to think of yourselves as great leaders, willing and ready to win a war.

But you are not…

Pleasant stops speaking and simply laughs. Shaking his head, he sucks his teeth before finishing the thought.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: …and you never will be!

Sammy wraps the chain around Dustin's neck, pulling back tightly. He lifts Thunderwolf off his feet, choking him while Depravity dives in Corey, digging her claws into the open wounds across his face.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: There can be no sin without penance.

Let this be a lesson to all watching.

Because what we are doing now?

It just so happens to be yours.

The fans roar as RICKY TENET charges out from the back, his own wounds from earlier bandaged.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: Ah, but of course! Hahaha. Behold, the return of the prodigal son!

Ricky dives into the ring and goes right after Sammy, throwing STIFF elbows into the back of his head. The impact is enough to force him to release Thunderwolf, turning his attention to Tenet.

Ricky fires off a series of kicks to Sammy's midsection and legs, rocking the giant back, and winds up for a discus lariat…

Eryk Masters: But right behind him…!

…but Arthur, himself, sends Ricky crashing down with the Provocation kick he has been known to put down with. Tenet has no chance to recover as DEPRAVITY flies off the top with the Degradation.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: (screaming into the microphone like an unhinged madman) IS THIS NOT WHAT YOU FUCKING WANTED?! I ASK AGAIN!! IS…THIS… NOT… WHAT… YOU… FUCKING… WANTED?!?!

Arthur rises, in a much more animated manner, and power walks to Thunderwolf in the corner, gasping for air. Dustin looks up at Pleasant with venom burning behind his blood-soaked eyes, Arthur leaning in closer to him as Sammy and DEPRAVITY flank him.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: (still screaming) THE SON SHALL NOT BEAR PUNISHMENT FOR THE SINS OF THE FATHER…

His voice relaxes and a disturbed smile stretches across his face, blood and spittle bubbling between his lips.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ: But the Father? Well-

Pleasant pulls Thunderwolf out from the corner and lifts him up into a fireman's carry, looking for the Calamity Pain.

He walks to the center of the ring as Sammy instinctively begins wrapping his chain around Thunderwolf's head. In particular, his teeth.

Jason Johnson: This is SICK! If Arthur connects with that knee, Dustin Kelser's entire jaw, and all his teeth, could be destroyed! For the LOVE of-

LIGHTS. OUT.

But not from the force of a Calamity Pain knee to the chained head of Thunderwolf. The lights go BLACK.

Jason Johnson: …oh, what NOW?!

The lights come back on to find a figure crouched behind the trio of assailants, one clad in red and black with a baseball bat in his hand. He stands up tall, focusing on Arthur.

Eryk Masters: CHANCE KELSER?!?!

Jason Johnson: What the hell is he doing here?!

Arthur turns, Thunderwolf still up in the fireman's carry being prepared for a Calamity Pain, and senses someone behind him.

He meets the tip of the bat pressing against his face.

Chance shakes his head, holding up a finger and wagging it.

In a blink, Chance rams the bat into Arthur's midsection, which causes him to fold and drop Thunderwolf to the mat. He swings wildly at Lou, narrowly missing her as she dives out of the ring. Sammy releases Lazarus, who he had tried to choke out with the chain while everyone was concentrated on the deadly Calamity Pain, and lurches to Chance. The Prophet quickly turns the bat on him, though, as the fans ROAR in approval!

"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"
"HOLY SHIT!"

Eryk Masters: And he's saving his father?!

Sammy eats shot after shot before he falls to a knee. Thunderwolf crawls over to Corey and Ricky, checking on them both. Chance backs up and swings again, narrowly missing Sammy as Arthur pulls him out of the ring.

The ĠÓḐȘÉṆĎ rubs Sammy's back, whispering to him as DEPRAVITY leans against him, a glimmer of a smile on her sadistic face. Chance stares down at them as his father, Corey, and Ricky pull themselves up.

Jason Johnson: If I didn't see it with my own two eyes…Chance Kelser rescuing Thunderwolf…

Eryk Masters: I've seen it, Jason, and I still don't believe it.

Arthur leads THE DeMONSTRance away, his sinister grin widening as he locks eyes with The Prophet. In the ring, Chance turns to his father, locking eyes with him. Corey and Ricky look on in bloodied disbelief, Tenet holding Lazarus back, as Dustin limps toward his son.

Wolf goes for an embrace, holding an arm out to his son, but Chance just stares at it. He looks back up to meet his father's eyes…and rolls out of the ring.

Eryk Masters: What…why is he just leaving like that?

Jason Johnson: Dustin came to Chance's rescue at a Covenant Combat Club event just last week, Eryk. Maybe this wasn't the reunion of father and son, but just a quick "thank you" and nothing else? Otherwise, I have no idea what this could mean.

Thunderwolf moves to the ropes as he watches The Prophet's back—his son never turning to look behind him while he marches on. Corey, bloodied and barely able to stand, rushes to the ropes, falling over himself and being held back by Ricky.

Chance pauses at the top of the ramp, still as death while security and medical personnel rush past him to tend to the three left in the ring. The Prophet looks straight ahead, thoughts of the past weeks swirling through his mind, before stepping back through the curtain.

The scene opens on a standard SHOOT Project press backdrop. DUSTIN "THUNDERWOLF" KELSER is already seated at the table, glaring into the assembled media. He's out of his gear, wearing a black "LAST VANGUARD" t-shirt and sweats. A white towel is draped over his shoulders. His lip is visibly split and swollen, and a trickle of blood occasionally escapes the corner of his mouth, which he dabs at with another towel. He's clearly holding his ribs.

Beside him, looking calm, collected, yet absolutely furious, is MISTY STARKS. She's dressed in a sharp, black blazer along with a pair of yoga pants and white tennis shoes. She stares down the reporters, her arms crossed.

REPORTER 1: "Thunderwolf, you and Corey Lazarus just went through a war with the Punch Line, only to be ambushed by DeMONSTRance. Can you even describe what happened out there with Arthur Pleasant and that chain...?"

Thunderwolf leans forward, hissing in pain as he puts his elbows on the table. He ignores the provided microphone and just speaks, his voice a low, gravelly growl that silences the room.

Dustin Kelser: (Dabbing his mouth) "I've had my knee reconstructed. I've had ankles snap. I've wrestled thirty minutes with a broken rib. I almost lost my right eye in Tokyo. In twenty-five years... twenty-five years... I've taken beatings that would put most men in a hospital. But not once... not ever... has anyone come for this."

He bares his teeth, showing the blood on his gums.

Dustin Kelser: "This smart-ass, cocky grin? It's kind of my trademark. And that..." (He has to pause, his anger choking him) "...that son of a bitch, Arthur Pleasant, he had his gimp wrap a chain around my mouth and was going to try and kick my teeth into the third row. My... teeth."

He looks right into the main camera.

Dustin Kelser: "Well, you know what they say, Arthur. An eye for an eye... and a tooth for a tooth. Just let me go on record saying that I am so sick of these out-of-pocket, attacks - to the point of wanting to vomit, especially after your little hepatitis B stunt you pulled out there. You want to wrestle? Fine. Name the time and place and I'll pick up whatever scraps are left of you after Laz gets through skullcucking you into the mat. But you just showed your hand. You don't want to wrestle. You want to pussyfoot around and get in cheap shots."

He leans back, the anger turning cold.

Dustin Kelser: "So, before we get to Redemption... before this whole thing explodes... we're going to realign some things. In two weeks, at Zenith, I want everyone front and center. I'm talking a full-on summit. Dan, my brother from another, make it happen. I want DeMONSTRance—Sammy and Lou. I want the Empyrean Forge—Joshua Breedlove and Laura Seton. And yeah... I want the Kelser Covenant, my own blood—Chance and Hannah. I want all of you in one place, at one time, so that I can stop looking out of the corner of my eye for five seconds and actually wrestle a goddamn match, you know, instead of being force-fed another man's blood."

REPORTER 2: "Wolf, speaking of your son... Chance. He saved you tonight. Any comment on that?"

For the first time, Wolf's expression flickers. The rage is replaced by something more complex. He nods, slowly.

Dustin Kelser: "Yes, yes he did. My son Chance returned the favor. Saved the day. Did the right thing. And I couldn't be more proud of him."

He looks back at the main camera, his focus returning like a laser.

Dustin Kelser: "And next week... next week is Chance's chance to prove what kind of a man he truly is. The kind of man he can be. Show us all where the battle lines are truly drawn. Next week, I'm not waiting for Corey and I'm not waiting for Ricky. Next week at Zenith, I'm settling my own score… and I'm not coming alone, if Dan can pull one out of his hat and make it happen."

He gestures to Misty.

Dustin Kelser: "I want to tag with the one person on this planet I trust more than I trust myself. The person who's been by my side since we were kids. The matriarch of the Kelser family. The person who knows my game better than I do. My partner, my soul mate... Misty Starks."

The press scrum erupts. Misty leans forward, taking one of the microphones. Her voice is smooth, professional, and dripping with venom.

Misty Starks: "Hi, boys. More specifically, hi, girls. Let's talk, shall we?"

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Misty Starks: "Lou, you want to put your grubby paws on my people? Want to prove that you're some sort of alpha, dommy mommy, except when you're beta bitching for Arthur Pleasant? Step up to plate, you ugly ass freak. I'll gouge your eyes out and rip your uvula out through your nostrils just for even lookin' at my love with that kind of bloodlust in your eyes. Oh, I've got a personal score to settle with you. You so much as touch a hair on his head outside of a sanctioned match, ever again? And I promise you will be drinkin' the rest of your meals through a feedin' tube so long as you live."

She takes a deep woosah and closes her eyes before continuing - regathering her composure.

Misty Starks: "Laura - you've already proven to everyone in the locker room that you're content playin' second fiddle, but let me remind those keepin' score at home, sugar. Instead of lawyerin' up, hittin' the gym, and deletin' facebook - you became a lackey to someone who's about as interestin' as a damp saltine cracker. I've seen C-SPAN reruns with more personality than that guy. Girl, you had so much promise - so much - and now you're A-OK with drownin' in the mediocrity. I'll be honest, I've got no grudge with you outside of the fact that you have no heart. But Dustin wants to knock that smug look off of Joshua's face so bad that he can taste it. So if it takes me knockin' you down another peg of the pecking order in order for that to happen? Then so be it."

She scoffs, shaking her head.

Misty Starks: "Finally - Hannah. Our sweet little Hannah Banana. That slap was almost as bad as your brother spittin' in your Dad's face, I hope you know that. A complete lack of respect for someone who would take a bullet to the heart for you and has done nothing but love you unconditionally since the day you were born. Now? Now it's time to repent or pay the piper. Don't get it twisted, I love you dearly Hannah Beth, and I don't want to hurt you. You're my baby girl and you always will be. But I will return the favor. You were taught better than that, and you know better than that."

Thunderwolf grabs his towel and stands up, wincing as he straightens his back. He looks at Misty, and they share a look of pure unification. He gestures for her, and she stands, nodding to him, and nodding to the crowd.

DUSTIN "THUNDERWOLF" KELSER: "We're done, for now."

He and Misty walk off the stage together, leaving the press shouting questions in their wake.