Season Break
EP: 012
DATE: 2.23.2026
ARENA: THE PINNACLE
The camera pans across a packed Pinnacle arena in New York City before settling on the announce table where Jason Johnson and Eryk Masters sit ready to call the action.
Jason Johnson: Welcome, everyone, to Zenith 012! I'm Jason Johnson alongside my broadcast partner Eryk Masters, and folks, we have got one hell of a night lined up for you.
Eryk Masters: That's right, Jason. The war between the Grappler's Guild and The Empire continues tonight with TWO huge matches. Jamie Johnson teams with Avalanche Anderson to take on Mike de los Huesos and Golden Burkhalter. And in a match with major implications, Spinebuster Island battles The Moonshiners for #1 Contendership to the Pantheon Championships.
Jason Johnson: After what Spinebuster Island did to Cromwell Yarbury and Muratagi Hanzo at Zenith 011, you have to wonder if The Moonshiners are looking for payback on behalf of their allies, or if they're just focused on earning that title shot.
Eryk Masters: And in our main event, The Darkspade makes his first defense of the Empire State Championship against Vito Valentino. The Darkspade shocked the world when he defeated Johnny Napalm for that title, but Valentino is hungry and he's not going to make this easy.
Jason Johnson: We've also got Holden Nobody taking on KATSUMI, and Josiah Hudson facing Aiden Vanity in what should be hard-hitting singles competition. Plus, with the Master of the Mat tournament on the horizon and Reckoning Day looming, everyone's trying to make a statement tonight.
Eryk Masters: Let's not waste any time. We've got a full card and it's time to get this show started!
The camera cuts to the entrance ramp as the opening match prepares to begin.
As soon as the introduction is over we expect the opening contest to begin, but the feed gets interrupted with digital distortion then the Pinnacle goes dark. The screen comes on and we see sitting in a chair the former Empire State champion, Johnny Napalm. His head is down and we see both red and purple smoke coming from both sides, then the purple disappears bathing Napalm in full red. We also see some whiffs of black appear on screen as he grabs for a baseball bat covered in barbed wire. His outfit is all red now. SHOOT faithful knows what this means. But the air in the Pinnacle turns cold and vindictive.
Johnny Napalm: I would have let this go, but now this has gone far beyond that. Darkspade did beat me, I won't hide that fact, but what happened after sent my blood into a boil.
Napalm slams the baseball bat down on the floor letting the sound echo at a bit of a higher volume than many expected.
Johnny Napalm: Someone who decided to wait and take this chance to bypass facing me one on one. Then the news broke with what happened. You have my sympathy Vito as much little worth it is for you at this moment yet, you had your chance to take this vendetta against me and stepped up. Yet you hid and did nothing. I was more than content to let you sulk in your own fear.
Again Napalm slams the bat against the concrete.
Johnny Napalm: Yet, you waited. Waited for me to lose the Empire State title then jump in like a hyena seeing fresh prey for the taking. Then everything turned to shit and Darkspade did that. I will not let this stand. He awakened something that should have been left buried, now you will both have to face the whirlwind.
The red on the screen deepens.
Johnny Napalm: Darkspade, you may be right on your dark assessment. But you don't know shit about me. I have done the dark, brooding shit before. I have done this since you were a kid and yet you want to dig your grave even deeper. You will be shown no mercy. And I do have a tendency of reclaiming belts that I lost. But what I got planned for you? Is going to be far worse than these ones.
Scenes cut into some of the most violent and destructive scenes in Napalm's long career. Napalm dragging Donovan King across broken glass. Dropping Johan Dietrich through a pyramid of chairs from the top rope. His wars with Chronos Diamante for the Iron Fist title and that one sickening Napalm Bomb from the top of the ramp through two tables. Then it cuts back to the area Napalm is in as everything starts turning black.
Johnny Napalm: Do not aggravate something if you don't fully understand, Darkspade. For it will lead to your downfall. There are people here with a side even darker than your unholy empire, and guess what Darkspade, one of them just woke back up.
Once again the bat slams down as things turn even darker.
Johnny Napalm: This farce must die, and I will kill it. At Reckoning Day I will be that wrench in your plans, Darkspade. And Vito, we will have our fight like it or not and I will reclaim my title. You will both bleed, some more severely than others, and I will fucking love it. You woke up the God of Violence. My duty is to destroy evil and send them back to hell where they belong.
Johnny Napalm: Vito. Darkspade.
Napalm one final time slams the bat down on the floor as he leaps up looking at the camera, his face painted red, rage in his eyes, and says one final line.
Johnny Napalm: IT'S TIME TO PAY YOUR PENANCE, IN BLOOD!
After the logo pops up it stays there for a moment then the screen goes to static, then order is restored as the lights come back on.
Standing at the door of the locker room stands a gentleman around 5 foot 4 inches. His girth can be seen stretching the limits of the brown-plaid polyester jacket that covers his upper half. In his left hand is the type of long, pencil-thin microphone that one would see Bob Barker holding while gleefully shouting for a lucky audience member to "COME ON DOOOOOWN!"
There is no gleeful expression on the face of this man, however. He seems nervous. Sweat beads at his rather large forehead. Wispy strands of very obviously dyed jet-black hair drapes over what can only be described now as a "five-head." His left hand adjusts his Aviator-style clear framed glasses. The weight of the thick lenses pulls the frames down his face, digging nose-piece shaped indentions into each side of his nose. Noticing the camera, he adjusts the thin-mess of hair on his head, attempting in vain to cover the rather large bald spot on the top of his head.
The camera focuses on his face. The speckled gray of stubble on his face and chin betrays the illusion of the "Just For Men" black in his bushy mustache.
Chunk Suckley: Good Evening Folks, I'm Chunk Suckley, coming to you LIVE from the Pinnacle courtesy of the SHOOT Project. I am joined tonight by possibly the greatest Tag Team in the History of professional wrestling with an exclusive interview!
The camera pans out to show the full width of the locker room. Standing together in the center of the room is Curtis Rose and Alex Vaka. They both are wearing street clothes, neither having been actually booked on a show in quite some time. Curtis, for his part, seems extremely excited at the opportunity for an interview. Vaka, while not quite irritated, carries an air of cautious curiosity as to the nature of this request for an interview.
Chunk Suckley: We have been flooded with requests over the past several months for an interview with the greatest Tag Team in the history of SHOOT Project, Fear and Loathing. Well folks, I am here to tell you that today we are finally able to deliver what the people actually want. I'm here with Courageous Curtis Rose and The Axe, Alexander Vaka. Together they are the most influential and decorated Tag Team in SHOOT Project History Fear and Loathing!
At this point, Alex is no longer curious. Having spent as much time with Curtis as he has over the years, he is well aware as to where this is going. Curtis is beaming from ear to ear with the type of proud smile that would cover the face of a father whose son just won the world series. He is, at least by the looks of him, very pleased with himself.
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: Chunk, I gotta say, the honor is all ours. If you had told me when I was just a tiny Rosebud that I would have the distinct honor of being interviewed by the greatest investigative reporter that SHOOT Project has ever seen I would have told you that you were a fool. But here we are and I just have to tell all the kids out there that yes, Dreams do come true.
Chunk puts the microphone towards Alex who simply raises his right eyebrow and slowly shakes his head.
Chunk Suckley: And that's why he is a killer folks, "The Silent Axe" is as deadly as ever! Curtis, back to you. Tell me how it feels to be Number One contenders for the Championship that you guys have basically defined over the years, the SHOOT Project Tag Team Championship?
Alex furrows his brows and narrows his eyes, looking directly at Curtis now.
Alex "The Silent Axe" Vaka: Curtis…we aren't number one contenders and we have literally never won the…
Curtis raises his hand, putting a finger to the mouth of Alex.
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: Well let me tell you something, Chunk. Every Day that the SHOOT Project Fear and Loathing Memorial Tag Team Titles are not around the waists of the most devastating Tag Team alliance in all of Professional wrestling history is a day that the world is deprived of seeing the truest example of Tag Team Mastery that SHOOT Project has to offer. I could go on about how the Champions are simply holding onto the belts until they are forced to step into the ring with the true champs, but I honestly couldn't even tell you who the champions are. That's how forgettable they are, Chunk.
Curtis is speaking in the most expressive way that he ever has, moving his arms up and down with every word, truly speaking with his hands as it were. For his part, Alex has completely removed himself from the conversation. He still stands next to his partner, but seems to be extremely agitated with this very obviously staged farce of an interview.
Alex "The Silent Axe" Vaka: Before you make this any worse than it already is, it's the Pantheon Championship and the Champions are the Empire. You know…that federation spanning stable that we used to be in before you got us removed?
Chunk Suckley: Speaking of the Empire, Curtis, Everyone out there wants to know just how difficult it was for you to look Joshua Breedlove in the eyes and tell him that the Fear and Loathing Empire was no longer in need of his services before your well documented firing of him and all of his associates?
Alex "The Silent Axe" Vaka: Oh you have got to be fucking…
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: Well Chunk, as you know it's never easy cutting the chaff as it were, but sometimes it's just a thing that has to be done. Sometimes in order for a Rose to grow into it's true form, you have to prune back a few of the dead branches. After pruning those branches I am happy to say that our Empire is finally thriving and ready to bring the people what they truly deserve.
Alex is now massaging his temples, clearly irritated with the constant shenanigans of his hetero-life-mate Curtis Rose.
Chunk Suckley: It's never an easy thing getting rid of dead weight, but you don't get the nickname "Courageous" without being forced into making the tough decisions from time to time. So tell me: What is your plan to win back the Fear and Loathing Pantheon Belts and bring them back home to all of the kids out there wanting to see their heroes victorious?
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: Well you know, Chunk it's always a tricky business getting out there with competitors that you know are below your level. Even being as good as we are, it is an outside possibility that we can be too confident out there and be the victims of an errant loss here and there.
Alex "The Silent Axe" Vaka: The way we've been going the last two years I would more say an errant win…
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: So in order to avoid that terrible fate of an accidental loss that would destroy the undefeated streak that we have been fostering since 2014…
Vaka is unable to hold it in anymore and lets out the type of deep belly-laugh that fills the room. Curtis elbows him swiftly in the stomach causing Vaka to shoot him a look of warning that could chill even the bravest of souls towards his partner.
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: We're just going to have to go out there and treat every opponent with the type of respect that they give us. Maybe not the same reverence they give us, but the type of respect that tells them: "We know that there is a slight possibility that you can get the better of us tonight, so we are going to take you as seriously as you deserve." And we can just hope that they show up with enough skill and fire in their bellies to make the match something worth watching. No one wants to watch a pre-destined result. They want to make sure that the underdog at least has an outside chance of winning.
Chunk Suckley: They should call you "Charitable" Curtis Rose. You are the type of benevolent role model that only comes around once every few generations. Truly, you are a man of the people and we are lucky to just be able to witness the type of tag team that only comes around once a century or so. As we wrap this up, I was hoping that there was a chance that we could get just one helpful tip from the single greatest Tag Team Wrestler in the history of SHOOT Project to all of the other tag teams out there that are hoping to get to the top of the industry where you have been all of these years?
"Courageous" Curtis Rose: Well Chuck, that's just not possible. But on the off chance that one of them is able to be in the same ring as us I would just say this. Stand back, make sure that you take good notes on all of the ways that me and Axe surgically take you apart, and hopefully you'll be able to take that lesson and apply it when you face other, less awesome tag teams. After you've managed to implement those lessons you've learned from getting beaten by Fear and Loathing, you may be able to come back and give the people the type of match with us that really puts you in the history books as "Closest to ever beat Fear and Loathing." And really, being the runner up to the greatest tag team in wrestling history is its own special kind of reward isn't it?
Alex's head is completely buried into his hands now. At this point it's hard to tell how much of his own hype that his partner believes, and how much of it is posturing. But still, being supportive of his best friend has always been Alex's greatest super-power.
Chunk Suckley: Not only is he one half of the most fearsome tag-team in history, but he's also giving back to the division that he has made by offering a seat in the runners-up position. Truly he is a man of the people. Well folks, that's all the time that I am willing to take from these incredible men today. For all of us here at SHOOT Project, I'm Chunk Suckley, and this has been Fear and Loathing!
Chunk and Curtis look into the camera for a second until they both believe that the feed has been cut. Alex has turned his back on the two men and is starting to get his things together to leave for the night. Curtis is celebrating his incredible interview while Chunk is adjusting his tie, seemingly nervous about having a necessary conversation with Curtis.
Chunk Suckley: Hey, Curt. Look I have no problem being your personal interview guy, and you know I'll say whatever you want me to, but we agreed that I would get paid every two weeks and the check that you wrote me yesterday bounced. I was just kind of hoping that you could pay me in cash moving forward? Not that I don't trust you, but I mean…having these suits dry-cleaned isn't cheap and I really need to get the driver door on my pinto fixed. It's still cold as fuck in New York and the wind rushing past the broken seal is really messing with my hair.
Curtis Rose: Chunk my man, I will write you another check. Cash just really isn't my bag. And I don't know what you're so worried about. I think the wind-swept look really suits you.
Alex, bag thrown over his broad shoulder, notices the red light still blinking on the camera. Laughing, he taps Curtis on the shoulder and gestures up to the camera. He continues to chuckle as a panicked Curtis rushes towards the cameraman, shoving Chunk Suckley to the side as the feed cuts to black.
The city is alive with the voices and movements of thousands of people. Snow dusts the heads of the people hustling from one place to the next. Most don't even look up and acknowledge any of the people they are surrounded by.
On the sidewalk, the silent hand-to-hand pass that has been going on in the city since the early 80s continues. No matter the year, the game never changes, never evolves. Perfection has no need to improve. Police stand at hot dog carts, getting a quick second of culinary relief from the nightmare that is their day to day. A finger in the dyke of the true heartbeat of the city.
The players rule the night, not security.
Pushing forward from the center of the camera's view is a man, shoulders hunched, hands into the pouch of the front of his hoodie, hood pulled above his head. The camera can barely make out the faintest hint of his dreads pushing through the black fleece of the hood, orange highlights glistening in the neon bath that bears down on the streets like the glow of the sun.
He got to the city for the first time eight months ago. Every night he made the same journey up the avenue, breathing in the air the city exhales with every breath. At this point he knew every corner, every alley, every pit, every step that would be a normal man's last. It wasn't the city you saw on television. It wasn't the street that SHOOT Project would show on their bi-weekly shows. No, that block was illuminated by flashbulbs, not the neon invitation of the bodegas. Both blocks gave opportunity. The block with the Pinnacle gave the chance at a life in the spotlight. One that would bring money, power, whatever your heart could ever ask for. This block was rife with the promise of riches for those willing to hustle in a different way. Kids bump into men, lifting wallets from their back pockets. Women on their last chance, leaning into the driver's window of cars backed up into traffic. Prosperity by any other means is still prosperity. The king of the gutter, for all intents and purposes is still a king.
This was the New York that Ignatius Albert Martin walked through. A cliche of a New York that MSN would have you believe died in the 90s but was still very much alive. Maybe if he'd walked into the Pinnacle eight months ago he would have never seen this place. If he'd taken the trip when everyone else did he may not have had to spend his time in the flop-house on 142nd that he'd been living in. Maybe his floor wouldn't be stained from the leak in the ceiling below the upstairs neighbors kitchen sink. Maybe if he'd managed to stay on top he would have had a bigger say in the comings and goings of the company. Maybe he'd still be lounging in a Vegas Suite instead of taking a shit 20 feet from his bedroom in a 400 square foot hovel.
Maybe he never would have met HIM. Maybe he never would have been out here grinding every night, just trying to keep the lights on and the wolves at bay. Maybe he'd still be champ. Maybe he'd be someone.
Iggy had made this walk every night since the Pinnacle cut their ribbon and opened the doors. He always stopped just on the other side of the street. He watched the cars pull up to the front of the building, staff opening the back doors to allow the crowd to safely make their way into the pinnacle for shows on Zenith night. Other nights he'd watch the talent, some he knew, most he didn't, make their way in with bags thrown over their shoulders, ready to train for whatever battles they were facing.
There was no training available for the battles Iggy had been waging. There was no preparation, just survival. He was making it, but it was starting to wear on him. His shoulders slumped further down into his frame every time he made the walk. Inevitably, every night would end the same. He would take a long, wishful look at the Pinnacle before he would adjust the hood over his head, turn back towards his neighborhood, and take the long walk back to 142nd.
Every night he would tell himself that it would be different. Tonight is the night. Tonight will be different. They'll remember. They'd have to.
Tonight the lights from the Pinnacle cut especially bright, reflecting on the snowflakes as they fell the pavement, blending with the steam from the sewer grates. Ignatius came to his usual stop on the other side of the street from the Pinnacle. Tonight was Zenith. Tonight was a busy show night with all of the bells and whistles of promotion that you would come to expect from the Johnson family. Iggy stood on the curb, toes barely hanging on, keeping him from walking across as usual. He always managed to find the one spot of shadow on the sidewalk that would keep him just outside of the view of the security at the front door.
He slips.
Stumbling, he catches his balance, both feet on the street. Before he knew it one foot was in front of the other. His moves, not his own, were carrying him directly to the promised land, hoping the gates would still be open for him.
As if by pure instinct, Iggy moves the hood from over his head, his tight braids unfurling down the back of his hoodie. He weaves in and out of the parked traffic, horns blaring. As he makes his way to the front door, the guard puts a hand on the bar of the glass door.
Security: Mr. Martin, we've been waiting on you.
He stops for a moment, the contents of the other side of the door obscured from the camera outside by an otherworldly bright light coming from within. Iggy takes a moment, looks back down the street where he came, before he lifts his shoulders back up. He takes a deep breath and is consumed by the light as he makes his way inside the Pinnacle.
Eryk Masters: Two matches in and we're just kicking this show into another gear.
Jason Johnson: Yeah, that was some—hey, wait a second, I know that face!
All of a sudden, the camera pans out to show former EWA Warrior, former EWA World Heavyweight Champion, and all-around legend in professional wrestling, Michael Draven.
The camera fixates on him sitting in the front row, enjoying some concession goodies, when the SHOOT production team creates a "Michael Draven" name plate for him. The fans pop hard for him, realizing his presence marks the first time he has ever been shown on a SHOOT Project broadcast. Acknowledging the acknowledgment of his presence, Draven stands up and waves at all of the cheering fans who recognize and respect him.
Eryk Masters: How great is it to see some of the old guard, even in promotions outside of SHOOT, just showing up and enjoying professional wrestling like this? His contributions to the landscape of professional wrestling cannot be ignored.
Jason Johnson: When I was running things here as the CEO in the early 2000's, this guy was creating records with the NYSWF World Television Title by holding it five times. He's always been a guy I wanted to see "jump ship", if you will, to SHOOT Project. What a pleasure it is to see him ringside!
Eryk Masters: Wait a second…what the hell is this?!
Just as his name appeared on the banner for everyone watching at home and on the brand new, state of the art SHOOTron, none other than SHOOT Project Security shows up and surrounds him.
Eryk Masters: Can you—I'm getting word that… okay, that doesn't make any sense.
Jason Johnson: What's going on, Eryk?
Eryk Masters: Ladies and gentlemen, there seems to be some kind of issue going on right now with Michael Draven and SHOOT Security. Perhaps a miscommunication? I'm not entirely sure, to be honest.
Michael Draven looks furious as the security guards close in on his personal space and audibly demand him to get up from his seat. Both heavily armored guards grab an arm and practically drag him out of his seat and away from his section.
"BOOOOOOOOOO!!"
"BULLLLSHIT!! BULLLLSHIT!! BULLLLSHIT!!"
Jason Johnson: Yeah, this is crazy. Folks, we'll try to keep all of you updated with this developing story. (Into his microphone on the headset) Cut to an ad.
We cut backstage to a nondescript locker room that has been assigned to the Moonshiners though we only see one of the competitors. Josh Kaine sits on the bench, lacing up his boots as he glances up to the doorway. The footsteps that have drawn his attention were not those of his tag partner, but of his birth mother, Jada Kaine.
Jada Kaine: Where the hell is your partner?
Josh Kaine: He's here gettin' his family settled, saw him earlier.
Jada Kaine: And will he be--
Josh Kaine: He'll be ready, Ma. Don't worry so much about it.
Jada Kaine frowns, clearly having some doubts about this partnership her son has gotten himself involved in but keeps the criticism to herself for once. She steps further into the room, moving to take a seat next to the younger Kaine.
Jada Kaine: Just worried about you, kiddo.
Josh Kaine: Don't be, Ma, I can handle this. You gotta stay worried about yourself and that interview series you're doin' with Marjorie.
She heaves a long-suffering sigh, shaking her head.
Jada Kaine: I hope you can, Josh. I sincerely hope you can. You're up for the #1 Contendership for the tag titles and--
Josh Kaine: Ma, told ya, we got this.
And as she glares at her son, we cut back to ringside.
DING DING DING
Spinebuster Island has done it. Joe Quinn "The Anvil" stands over Aaron Dearinger as the referee counts three. Dan Richards "The Hammer" keeps Josh Kaine at bay on the outside. The Grappler's Guild theme hits as the referee raises their hands in victory.
Samantha Coil: Here are your winners, and the number one contenders to the Pantheon Championships… JOE QUINN and DAN RICHARDS… SPINEBUSTER ISLAND!!
Eryk Masters: Spinebuster Island with a hard fought victory, and they're heading to Reckoning Day to challenge The Empire for the Pantheon Championships!
Jason Johnson: The Moonshiners gave them everything they had, but the Grappler's Guild's precision and teamwork was just too much tonight.
But Spinebuster Island isn't done. Instead of celebrating, Quinn and Richards exchange a cold glance and nod to one another. They turn their attention back to The Moonshiners.
Eryk Masters: Wait a minute. The match is over! What are they doing?
Quinn pulls Dearinger to his feet and drives him into the corner with a brutal spinebuster. Richards grabs Kaine on the outside and whips him into the steel ring steps with a sickening crash.
Jason Johnson: This is completely unnecessary! They won the match! They're the number one contenders!
The crowd boos as Spinebuster Island continues their assault. Methodical. Calculated. Machine-like. Quinn stomps down on Dearinger's knee. Richards does the same to Kaine.
"Everything Burns" by Tom Morello hits the speakers and Jamie Johnson comes sprinting down the ramp.
Eryk Masters: Here comes Jamie Johnson! He's trying to stop his own guys!
Jamie slides into the ring and gets between Quinn and Dearinger. He's shouting at Spinebuster Island, gesturing for them to stop. Quinn and Richards pause, looking at their leader with cold expressions. Jamie points to the back, telling them to leave. Reluctantly, they step back and exit the ring, walking up the ramp as Jamie checks on The Moonshiners.
Jason Johnson: Jamie Johnson trying to restore some order here, but the damage has been done.
Suddenly, the music cuts. The lights in the Pinnacle shift and Eddie E., SHOOT Project's Interim COO, appears on the entrance ramp with a microphone. Spinebuster Island stops halfway up the ramp. Jamie turns his attention to the stage.
Eddie E.: Hold on. Hold on just a damn minute.
The crowd buzzes with anticipation as Eddie E. steps forward, his expression stern.
Eddie E.: I've been watching this for weeks now. The attacks. The hospitalizations. The chaos. And I'm here to tell all of you right now that we're restoring order in SHOOT Project. Actions will have consequences.
Jamie shakes his head in the ring. Spinebuster Island stands motionless on the ramp.
Eddie E.: Spinebuster Island, you won your match tonight. Congratulations. You earned a shot at the Pantheon Championships at Reckoning Day. But you couldn't just walk away, could you? You had to go for the extracurricular activities. Again.
He pauses, looking down at The Moonshiners being helped up in the ring.
Eddie E.: So here's what's going to happen. At Reckoning Day, the Pantheon Championship match will NOT be Spinebuster Island versus The Empire. No. At Reckoning Day, it's going to be a three way match. The Moonshiners versus Spinebuster Island versus The Empire for the Pantheon Championships!
The crowd erupts! Jamie looks furious in the ring. Spinebuster Island stares daggers at Eddie E. The Moonshiners, battered and bruised, look shocked.
Eryk Masters: What a huge announcement! The Moonshiners are in the title match at Reckoning Day!
Jason Johnson: Eddie E. just changed the landscape of Reckoning Day! Spinebuster Island's attack just cost them their one on one title shot!
Eddie E.: Actions have consequences, gentlemen. See you at Reckoning Day.
Eddie E. drops the microphone and walks to the back as Jamie stands in the ring, furious. Spinebuster Island slowly makes their way up the ramp, emotionless as always, as The Moonshiners realize they just got a championship opportunity they didn't expect.
Another scene crossfades into existence. The timestamp is from February 11th, 2026.
"The SmashShow" Vito Valentino drives his brand new custom pink and black 2026 Dodge Ram 1500 into the parking garage of his apartment building. It is evening, approximately 6:10 pm, and the day is at its end. It's a time to relax and have some dinner with Sarah, who should be home at any moment after a long day down at the NYSE.
Vito exits his truck, stretches his large, tan, muscular arms, and cracks his neck. He closes the driver's side door with a relieved sigh. Telltale signs of a man who worked hard throughout the day.
A few minutes later, Vito is exiting the elevator to his penthouse. With his thumb, he presses it onto a small scanner. It beeps, unlocking the door to his residence, and he makes his way through.
Home sweet home.
He walks into the kitchen area and tosses a gym bag he had been lugging with him, as well as a 60oz Yeti that was nearly empty, on a large, marble-top island. He opens the refrigerator door and pops out a cold can of CRITICAL! Energy (Pigpen Papaya) ready to kickstart this relaxing moment into overdrive. With that, Vito waltzes into the adjacent living room, barely noticing that his Smart TV's screen is on.
Vito Valentino: Uh, what the hell?!
His voice echoes throughout the penthouse with more than a smattering of concern. It is replaying a cryptic message from none other than The Darkspade.
Over and over again, with the Wraith of War telling Vito that he was "sexy-hot" and could not be his Valentine. The repeated messages, permeated with The Darkspade's voice and determination, heightened this sense of dread. Vito stops and looks closer at the screen, every fork-tongued word coming from The Darkspade's mouth.
Vito Valentino: Seriously? Now we're hackin' into my personal shit? My HOME?! When is this fuckin' goth asshole gonna realize he's fuckin' with the wrong guy?!
Muttering to himself, Vito opens his laptop seated in front of him on the glass coffee table. Turning off the TV, he decides his best course of action, at the moment, is to ignore it.
"Don't feed the troll!" He tells himself.
He has a fair amount of things to do. One is making arrangements for a fan expo at the Pinnacle next week and getting his booth booked. Like all the times before, he knew there would be a great amount of fans looking for him to sign various memorabilia and he didn't want to disappoint by not being there. Another is to make reservations at '4 Charles'—THE best steakhouse in all of New York City—for his Valentine's Day dinner with Sarah.
Finally, he wanted to check in with SHOOT Project's PinnacleBets. He wasn't entirely sure about the matches for Zenith as each and every one of them seemed like it could be a close encounter. He also intends on digging into the online community and see what his fans thought about his recent challenge to Darkspade on Spitter and keeping an eye out for how the projected PinnacleBets are showcasing the current odds.
He even thought about putting some bets on his own chance of winning over The Darkspade, even if it in bad form to bet on oneself for monetary gains. That's when he decided he would bet one dollar. Just to make a point rather than be greedy or overconfident about it.
He navigates to his personal portal when all of a sudden he realizes that his balance is not only not there, but that he actually owes a whopping ten grand! Vito's eyes budge from the realization that he might have been hacked out again. First the Smart TV, and now his PinnacleBets account?
Vito Valentino: You GOTTA be FUCKIN' K—
Before he can even react, the number dips further down, adding another zero to his outstanding balance, making it one-hundred thousand dollars.
Vito Valentino: What the fuck?!
The screen distorts for a moment, and with the faintest of moments, he can see The Darkspade logo float across his screen, with evil laughter coming out of the speakers.
Vito freezes. Not entirely sure what to do, Vito looks at his phone, and dials out to one of his "favorited" contacts—Real Deal.
Vito Valentino: Josh. Hey. Look, I know you already got a lot of insane shit goin' on from a lot of insane people, but, man, we got a major problem here. Looks like someone decided they were bored or something and actually hacked into my PinnacleBets. Because I did NOT place a hundred—
The screen distorts again, changing to one-million dollars in the red.
Vito Valentino: —wait, it's changed again. I did NOT, under any fuckin' circumstances place a million dollar bet on Johnny Napalm at Zenith 11.
Cut to backstage, where we now see former EWA Warrior Michael Draven surrounded by a horde of security officials as they walk him towards the exit of the arena. Draven isn't putting up any resistance, but he's extremely confused at the less than stellar reception he's received at tonight's event.
Michael Draven: Is this how you treat all your guests here? (silence from the SHOOT Sec officers) You do understand the meaning of that word, right? Guest? Because at this point I feel more welcome at a Big Ed Johnson family gathering…hey! Helloooo?!
Just as the security team opens the door leading out of the Pinnacle, everyone stops in their tracks.
???: What in the actual fuck is this?
The camera does a 180, panning around to show none other than X-Calibur, an EWA Warrior in his own right, standing in the path of security, a scowl on the face of the SHOOT Project Hall of Famer.
X-Calibur: (looking angrily at SHOOT Sec) Okay, so, real quick. Who gave the order to take Mr. Draven here out of the arena?!
SHOOT Sec all look at each other in confusion.
SHOOT Sec Guy: Uhh actually, we're not sure. We were just wondering who gave the order ourselves. Draven looked suspicious.
X-Calibur turns into a Justin Timberlake meme, while Draven shrugs his shoulders, a bewildered glance on his face.
X-Calibur: He looked… suspicious? Why? Because he's a middle aged white guy sitting by himself? Are you fucking with me right now? Tell me you're fucking with me right now. Cause that would be the only plausible explanation for someone to be removed from—
X looks at Draven. Then he looks at SHOOT Sec.
X-Calibur: You guys are ICE, aren't you?
Draven has a look of "You guys just fucked up.." on his face, knowing what is coming next.
Cracking his knuckles, neck, and back, X sighs.
X-Calibur: Thank you.
SHOOT Sec look at each other, confused.
Other SHOOT Sec Guy: Thank you? For what?
X has a devilish grin on his face as he looks back at his old rival, Michael Draven.
X-Calibur: For giving me a reason to do what I'm about to do. You see, I've had a lot of pent up aggression lately after falling just short of winning my third SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Title…again… and I haven't really figured out where to direct it. Until now.
He looks over at Draven.
X-Calibur: You're welcome, Mikey.
X goes bat shit crazy on the SHOOT Security team. Every bit of frustration he's withstood for the past few months all comes out at once.
Michael Draven: X! No! It's fine! I'm not looking to cause any- ah shit. Here we go.
X-Calibur: You stupid (boot to head) mother (another boot) fucking (and another) pieces (annnnnd another) of (boot) SHIT!!
At this point, SHOOT Security has been laid out with the exception of one.
X-Calibur: Come on. Give me a reason. Give me a fucking reason you Tron-Cosplaying little shit. End of fucking line.
The security guard puts his hands up and walks slowly away from X and Draven, leaving the two former rivals staring at one another. A long silence ensues, with Michael finally breaking it.
Michael Draven: So…what gives?
X-Calibur doesn't respond, instead just raising his eyebrows in the former EWA Champion's direction. Draven chuckles, shaking his head.
Michael Draven: You don't write, you don't call, you don't send Christmas cards…but you'd think we were best friends for life the way you handled that. We've never been friends…in fact, we've mostly been on the opposite sides in the past. I show up here, deep into retirement, just to watch a show, I get kicked out of the building which is odd enough, and…it's you, of all people, that stops it? What's the deal?
X, breathing heavy, shrugs his shoulders and puts his arms up as if to say, "Fuck if I know!"
X-Calibur: I'm sorry. I really meant to stay in touch all these years later. Especially after my EWA exit.
He shakes his head in disgust.
X-Calibur: I dunno, man. This place is really starting to get to me. You got crazy cultist monster squads to the right, virgin-ass grapple dorks proclaiming they're unstoppable to the left, fucking wanna be world-changer white, unquote empires right up the middle, and… just endless amounts of chaos in between.
I guess you could say I'm tired, I'm hurt, and I work with fucking children.
He looks at Draven and throws his hands up exasperatingly.
X-Calibur: And someone decides to throw YOU out?! The first time you've ever shown your face in SHOOT Project's illustrious history? Goddamn. That doesn't sit right with me, Mikey.
Draven nods, understanding exactly what X means.
Michael Draven: I mean, I'd expect this kind of reception if I was an active competitor, but shit. Maggie's on a business trip, I came out to kill some time and catch a show, and I get the cold shoulder like I was Chris Kage running down SHOOT for all these years. This is a strange place, brother.
X thinks on it.
X-Calibur: Fuck it. What are you doing in two weeks?
Michael Draven: Probably what most men do at my age during retirement. Ice my knee, watch reruns of the Fresh Prince, stay up until at least 9pm…exciting shit. Why?
X-Calibur: We should team up and beat the shit out of a couple guys. Hell, maybe even make a go for the Pantheon Championships.. Could you imagine, with our collective knowledge and experience, how good we would be together and how embarrassing it would be for some of these little fucking children running around here like they know dick about shit?
Draven laughs, nodding.
Michael Draven: Honestly, I'm flattered, but…I don't think so, man. My leg's never been the same since Indrid Calder…
Michael hesitates before trailing off, clearly bringing up a traumatic event from his past, unsure if X is even aware of what happened towards the end of the EWA's run, before he finally won the World Championship for the first and only time.
Michael Draven: …on top of that, when I got out, they said I couldn't go back. Something about getting whacked too many times in the head, and–
X-Calibur shakes his head, interrupting Draven.
X-Calibur: Don't be a pussy. You're still good. I can see it in you. You're a little more salt and pepper and a lot less raven-haired, but I can see the same bad ass motherfucker that took me to the limits throughout my career. From NYSWF, to EWA, to—
Michael Draven: Arby's?
They both share a cackle over their legendary fight inside of an actual Arby's restaurant.
X-Calibur: Fucking eh, man. ARBY'S. No one will ever top that "brawl". Ever.
After a silent moment between the two, X pats Draven on the back.
X-Calibur: I'm serious, though. This place… it's going to hell, man. I feel like it could use an injection of some Old School to teach everybody a thing or two about what made our era so special.
Michael Draven: "Old school". I remember when we made fun of the old school, and now we're part of it. Fuck, man. I mean…I've been watching from home. I may have been gone for the past eight years now, but I keep my eye on things. I've seen the shit going on with your boy, Arthur Pleasant. And those DeMONSTRance fucks? Makes my blood boil, just like I used to feel about those fucks in HATE. I'd definitely be up for cracking some heads in a perfect world…No offense meant, of course.
X laughs, as if he would have the desire to piss on his bastard asshole cult-leader kid if he were on fire.
X-Calibur: No offense taken, dude. Kid's a lost fucking cause. I'd love to see you put him down. But yeah, can you imagine us, after all these years, teaming together? Perhaps winning gold together? It's too delicious to not at least give it some thought.
Draven lets out a long sigh. You can see in the retired star's face that he's picturing it in his mind…the glory, the thrill of the fight…all while likely wondering how he'll ever convince his wife that this is a smart move. And yet…
Michael Draven: I've got three kids now, man. My one regret in my career is that we started after I was done. It was because Maggie was still wrestling, of course, but I wish they could've had the chance to see me in the ring….
X-Calibur seizes the opportunity, cutting Draven off.
X-Calibur: Right on, man. So, once I talk to Real Deal and, uh—
X looks around at the security guards all laid out.
X-Calibur: —pay a couple of fines, I say we talk this through. I'm sure there's a team out there that thinks a couple of old lions like us couldn't maul a couple of young hyenas.
Michael Draven: I just…fuck. So I've never had a match at a SHOOT event, never even so much as sniffed one, and you want the first to be at 46 years old, eight years after retirement? I mean, I'm flattered, really. And like I said, I'd love for the kids to…ah, fuck. I just don't know if I've still got it, you know? It's been, like, eighty four years…
X-Calibur: 46? I just had my 50th, asshole.
They share another chuckle.
X-Calibur: Well, you know what? There's only one way to find out.
X extends his hand out to Draven. Draven pauses, hands on his hips, staring down at X-Calibur's outstretched hand.
Michael Draven: Fuck. Maggie's gonna kill me.
X-Calibur: Oh yeah. That's a given.
Draven extends his arm out. And like Dutch and Dillon…
Draven and X at the Same Time: You son of a BITCH!
The scene opens on Eryk Masters sitting at the announce table, exhausted. His head is down, notes scattered everywhere. He looks up at the camera, clearly drained.
Eryk Masters: You know, calling the action for SHOOT Project isn't easy. Two hours of non-stop wrestling. Drama. Chaos. By the time we hit the main event, I'm running on fumes.
He reaches down and grabs a can of VOLTZ Energy. The electric blue and silver can gleams under the lights.
Eryk Masters: But with VOLTZ? I stay locked in from bell to bell.
He cracks open the can. The sound echoes. He takes a drink and immediately straightens up, eyes sharp, energy returning.
Eryk Masters: Zero sugar. Maximum energy. And a taste that doesn't make you regret your life choices. Whether you're calling the biggest matches in wrestling or just trying to get through your day, VOLTZ keeps you charged.
The camera zooms in on the VOLTZ logo as Eryk holds up the can.
Eryk Masters: VOLTZ Energy. Stay electrified.
Available now at select retailers and online at VOLTZ-Energy.com
Backstage, and while we aren't at a time directly tied to a fracas, the atmosphere is heavy with the possibility of one.
Jamie Johnson is with his compatriot in the Grappler's Guild, the mountain of a man known as Avalanche Anderson. Though the smaller of them is doing his best to hide it, the keen observer can see that his eyes are flitting about: checking blind spots, corners, shadowy alcoves, clearly expecting a sneak attack of some sort. Anderson, for his part, keeps rolling his shoulders, keeping himself limber should they need to strike hard. And looking at the smirk on his face, it's clear he's hoping that they'll have to.
As they turn a corner to where the lockers are, a voice cuts through the din of activity. New York born and read by his Dominican family, it's inescapably one man and one man only.
"Ay yo, Baby Deals!!"
Down the hallway, full gunfighter standoff, is Mike de los Huesos, still geared out from their match. Behind him is a skinnier mountain, the sneering form of Golden Burkhalter. Jamie and Avalanche stiffen their postures, bringing their bodies to subtle crouches, coiling themselves like springs. The Empire…calmly walk. And as they do, Mike can't help but talk.
Mikey: So I got to thinking back here about like, how hard I was gonna try and snuff your ass back here, right?
Waiting for a response, they keep walking.
Jamie: Sure.
Mikey: And I figured, let's get Burkhalter here involved. Y'know, me and you, even enough of a fight, but bringing Pike's Peak himself out? Now you're getting stomped like a yard fight. Pour your gatorade all over your back, bust a few ribs up. But that's kinda sus in it's basis, right? Cause you got a mountain of your own. So then it's just war of escalation, and I truly, truly believe my steel is scarier than yours.
Getting closer, the diminutive jokester shrugs, smiling his mouthful of gold teeth.
Mikey: Problem is all my guns gotta get here, and I'm sure you rolled in cliqued up with your crew of whatever they are—Wrestling Buddies? Tussle Tykes? Can't remember. So swinging on you, sad to say, is just a losing proposition.
Jamie rolls his eyes.
Jamie: Yes. That's… that is a recap of how these things generally play out. You are correct. But I guess… where I'm struggling is that you seem to think you and I are the same. That your "guns" and my "wrestle buddies" are the same. What you've got?
He scoffs.
Jamie: What you've got is… what? Pike's Peak? And what else? Some phonecalls? Hopes and dreams? That's not gonna get it done, and yeah… you got the win tonight, but if we were like some of the other slop in this organization and decided that we didn't do wrestling matches and instead brawled like idiots… you'd be done.
He quickly cuts his hand across his throat.
Jamie: You and Pike's Peak. Fortunately for you, our goal is to do business in the ring. I failed at that goal at Zenith 11, but I won't fail in that same way tonight. So my recommendation? Take your earned win, celebrate with Dad Bod Burkhalter, and get to work because at Reckoning Day it's just you and me and while you're good? And I know you're good…
Pause.
Jamie: I'm the benchmark.
Avalanche Anderson and Jamie walk off, letting Mike de los Huesos and Golden Burkhalter watch. Burkhalter turns to Mike, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
Burkhalter: 'Pikes Peak'? You can't just call someone by their name, once, ever?
Mikey: Suck my dick from the back, White Wemby.
This makes Joey chuckle in earnest, and he claps Mike on the shoulder.
Burkhalter: Cmon, Huevos. Probably need to get your training up. Not cause he's better than you, mogging aside, but…
He looks down the hallway, his eyes narrowing.
Burkhalter: …he's hungrier than you.
We cut away…
The camera is tight on a pair of black and pink, laced-up wrestling boots, stomping rhythmically on the concrete floor of The Pinnacle's backstage area closest to Gorilla. The sound echoes, the only noise besides a distant, muffled roar from the arena. Nobody at "control" says a word.
The SmashShow rounds a corner. He's wearing his signature gear, but the usual swagger is gone. He moves with a purpose that is less confidence and more raw, barely-contained violence.
His face is a roadmap of recent trauma. His right eye is a swollen, ugly violet, ringed with black, the whites intensely bloodshot. A thin, scabbed scrape runs across his temple. He is livid, a muscle ticking violently in his jaw as he stares straight ahead, seeing nothing and everything all at once.
"This motherfucker," he thought in his head.
One of the producers tosses him a water bottle and he takes a swig, then dumps the rest of it across his bald head, watching it cascade down his leather trenchcoat.
There's a wince. A chink in his armor. It revealed a bruised and scraped chest—road rash and contusions are dark against his skin. His arms are similar, patches of raw skin and purple marks where he took the impact.
He says nothing.
But with every heavy step, the image of twisted metal flashes in his mind. The sound of shattered glass. The high, keening sound of the ambulance siren, replacing the cheers of the crowd. He sees her face, still and pale, and the sight of her in the neck brace is a fresh blade twisting in his gut.
His gut.
He was the one driving.
He was the one who swerved.
The accident. The accident he walked away from with a few cosmetic scars, while she…
His fist clenches, the knuckles white. He brings his head up slightly. The anger on his face is no longer just frustration. It's a terrifying, focused self-hatred that he is channeling into one singular objective: a fight.
He jogs in place for a moment, preparing for the fight ahead. Despite his superficial injuries, he plans on taking that Empire State Championship. He had to. The war was brought to him, and he needed to end it quickly with a decisive win.
Part of him thinks about getting disqualified and just taking out his anger on Darkspade's face with the cold, unforgiving harshness of a steel chair. Or a steel chain.
No.
He wanted that Empire State Championship.
He needed that Empire State Championship.
A stagehand tries to give him a towel. Vito doesn't even look at him, simply brushing past the outstretched hand.
He runs a thumb over the fresh cuts on his arm. His fiancée's pain has become his fuel. He's a walking catastrophe, a disaster that's about to enter the ring.
He looks past the curtain and into the lights.
Tonight, The Darkspade isn't just an opponent. He's a punching bag. He's a conduit for the rage, the guilt, and the pain Vito Valentino can't articulate.
He takes one final, ragged breath, shoulders squared, and disappears through the curtain.
It's fuckin' go time.
The camera focuses on the ring, its canvas covered in a red carpet upon which two desks sit at 45-degree angles to a single podium bearing the SHOOT helmet in the middle, the desk to the podium's left hanging a banner with the logo of COREY LAZARUS, and a banner on the desk to the right that bears the logo of THUNDERWOLF, behind each a black leather roller chair emblazoned with the SHOOT helmet logo. At the podium stands REAL DEAL, carefully watching as a dozen members of the Pinnacle security team flank around the ring, their backs against the apron.
Eryk Masters: Fans, at this point in time, we'd like to welcome you all to bear witness to the official contract signing for our Reckoning Day main event, where the winner of the 2025 Redemption Rumble, Dustin "Thunderwolf" Kelser, will be challenging the World Heavyweight champion…none other than his long-time partner and close friend, "The Premier Attraction" Corey Lazarus.
Jason Johnson: There's been a series of heated exchanges between the two over the past few months, Eryk. With what the DeMONSTRance did to Dustin's daughter, Fiona, at Redemption? With what they did to Corey's son, Ricky Tenet, just a few weeks ago on Zenith? These are two brothers that each have everything to lose going into Reckoning Day, and it's only a matter of time until whatever professionalism they may display during the match fades into personal animosity.
Eryk Masters: Thunderwolf has, of course, taken Corey Lazarus to task for focusing on his own personal gain rather than their families.
Jason Johnson: And Corey has made it clear that, in his own views, the World Heavyweight title is the key to getting the justice that they've both been seeking since last December.
Eryk Masters: These are two men that trained together. That broke into the sport of professional wrestling together. They have been friends, like brothers, for over 25 years, and in all of that time? They've only competed once against one another.
Jason Johnson: And it came to a time limit draw, Eryk. I was there in St. Louis when it happened, watching from the stands. For each attack there was a counter, for every strike a parry, and they've only grown wiser in the years since.
Ghost's "Lachryma" cues up over the PA as a mist falls over the entrance stage.
Samantha Coil: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, please welcome the number one contender for the SHOOT Project WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP…!
From behind the curtain steps DUSTIN KELSER, his salt n' pepper beard glowing in the soft blue lighting that overtakes the Pinnacle. Kelser stops halfway down the ramp and looks around, taking in the unanimous admiration of the audience.
Samantha Coil: …DUSTIN…THUNDERWOLF… KELLLLSERRRR!!!!
"THUN-DER-WOLF!! THUN-DER-WOLF!!"
Dustin nods and marches into the ring, sliding under the bottom rope before walking to the desk bearing his banner. "Lachryma" is cut as an old fashioned, black and white film countdown cues up on the VideoWall, the thunderous drum roll beginning Slayer's cover of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" pumping through the Pinnacle.
Samantha Coil: And now, hailing from New York City by way of Hollywood, California…
COREY LAZARUS walks out from behind the curtain, a brand new World Heavyweight title hung across his chest like a bandolier, and pauses. He drops to a knee with an exaggerated stage bow, pumping his fists at the same rhythm of the crowd's chanting.
"L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!!"
Samantha Coil: …he is the current reigning, and defending, SHOOT Project WORLD Heavyweight champion…!
Corey jumps to his feet and uncharacteristically wastes little time with fanfare, hastily making his way to the ring. He pauses after scaling the steps, holding onto the top rope…
Samantha Coil: …COREYYYYY LAAZZZZAARRUSSSSS!!!!
…and then flashes his trademark devilish grin, stepping into the ring and marching right over to his Last Vanguard partner. Corey unbuttons the World title and holds it high over his head, leaning over Dustin's desk to blow him a kiss as "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" dies down.
Real Deal: Please, gentlemen, take your seats.
Lazarus smirks as Dustin fans himself, the champion backing up and sitting on the desk proper rather than in the chair behind it.
Real Deal: On Monday night, the 9th of March, the SHOOT Project will be hosting its annual event, Reckoning Day. The two competitors that sit in this ring with me will be facing one another, with the winner leaving the event being recognized as the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight champion. To my left is the challenger, winner of the 2025 Redemption Rumble, Dustin "Thunderwolf" Kelser. To my right is the defending champion, "The Premier Attraction" Corey Lazarus. Gentlemen, in my hand…
Real Deal raises up a clipboard holding a document adorned with the SHOOT helmet, presumably the contract in question.
Real Deal: …is the official, legally binding agreement for the terms of this championship bout. There will be one fall to a finish, there will be a 60-minute time limit, and the only way for the championship to change hands will be through pinfall, submission, or referee stoppage due to TKO. By signing this contract, you both agree to adhere to the rulings of the SHOOT Project officials as they pertain to the match within their discretion and, in doing so, agree to the terms and conditions for payment therein.
Deal steps away from the podium and hands the contract to Thunderwolf, whose eyes barely leave Corey's as he produces a pen from his pocket.
Real Deal: Mr. Kelser, please sign here.
Dustin goes to sign his name and pauses, looking over again at Corey. The Hollywood Kid removes his silver-rimmed Ray Bans and cocks an eyebrow as he finally takes his seat, beckoning whatever thoughts race through Thunderwolf's mind as Kelser calmly requests the microphone from Real Deal.
Thunderwolf: It's like…you know…
The older crowd, specifically those fans of Thunderwolf's from years ago, eat it up. A knowing surge of applause scatters about the Pinnacle, appreciating the reference to a pivotal figure of Thunderwolf's past.
Thunderwolf: In this sport, game, hobby of ours - whatever you want to call it - things never seem to go as planned. I came back to what I love after years of being pinned down by a god awful contract decision, and the truth is - I just wanted to wrestle. To fight. To prove who the better man is night after night within a specific framework…
A deep breath in through his nose and put through the mouth.
Thunderwolf: …to wrestle alongside my best friend, for the first time in twenty-five years. To share the ring with my children. To prove that I still had what it takes to compete at a certain level against people half my age. And for the most part? I did all of that and so, so much more…
He looks around the arena, glassy-eyed.
Thunderwolf: I was able to put old demons to rest. I was able to reunite with the love of my life, Misty Starks, and right so many of the wrongs that I committed there. I was able to not only wrestle alongside my best friend…
The fans pipe in with a 'you-still-got-it' chant, growing by the second, but Kelser only pauses for a few seconds. He smiles, touched by the show of admiration, and continues on.
Thunderwolf: …I was able to, if only for a couple of hours, win tag team championship gold with him. And no one can ever take that away from us… brother…
"Last-Damn-Van-Guard!!!"
*Clap* *Clap* ***Clap, Clap, Clap***
"Last-Damn-Van-Guard!!!"
*Clap* *Clap* ***Clap, Clap, Clap***
"Last-Damn-Van-Guard!!!"
*Clap* *Clap* ***Clap, Clap, Clap***
Thunderwolf: …and perhaps best of all? I won the goddamn 2025 SHOOT Project Redemption Rumble!
"THUN-DER-WOLF!!!
THUN-DER-WOLF!!!
THUN-DER-WOLF!!!"
Thunderwolf: On some level that brings us to now. And in the words of one, Mr. Freddie Mercury? "It's been no bed of roses, no pleasure cruise." I've been beaten down, crucified, had my ribs broken on not one - but two occasions. At the hands of my own children no less. I was forced to watch my love get her bell rung, which had some unexpected consequences - both a bane and a boon in our personal life. My best friend almost lost an eye! And perhaps, worst of all, I was forced to watch my daughter have both of her arms unceremoniously snapped in the middle of the ring. And while sitting at home… recovering… Misty and I were dealt some rather terrible news. This is neither the time nor place for that… but my point remains that everything has come full circle one way or another.
One more deep breath, in and out, before his eyes shoot daggers through Lazarus. Corey sits up and takes notice as the mood, for all intents and purposes, changes.
Thunderwolf: It all comes back to you, the snake eating it's own tail, Corey ROGG N FUGGIN ROLL Lazarus. Somehow, someway - the ugly parts of my life always revolve around you.
He stands up, leaning towards Lazarus.
Thunderwolf: Plans get broken. I get that. Narratives get rewritten. I understand that. But when it comes to the sum of all things, Corey Lazarus and his stupid fucking ego always take precedence over everything. Call my fiancee a whore, gallivant around here like my daughter wasn't in the hospital, win some gold and all of a sudden I'm second rate trash who hasn't 'beaten' you…
Dustin stands up and walks around his desk, crossing in front of Real Deal's podium to get just a few inches away from Corey's face.
Thunderwolf: I never had to, Corey. I never needed to prove that I was better than you, because it was already established. While I was winning World titles, taking everyone in OUR community to task, you were slumming it out in the ghettos, because oh yes, I do remember Death Row. While I was building a legacy, you were always one bump away from your next rehab stint. I was headlining shows while you were doing what you do best, being a B-List celebrity whose name was only ever relevant past a certain point BECAUSE I, yes, I, kept it that way. Do you think for a second that you'd have the career that you've had if it weren't for me? For my father? For Cliff Young? For Gregory fucking Price? We made you, dumb ass, and you're just too "blind" to fucking realize it.
He mockingly covers one eye as he takes the mic down from his lips.
Thunderwolf: And that's been it since Day One, Corey, you've been too blind to see past your own ego, that you've been chasing my coattails since we first stepped into that gym our first lesson. Congratulations, you finally get me again, one-on-one. Not in my prime, not at one-hundred percent, but you… get… ME. And every bit of hurt that comes along with it. Old, broken, but still the most reliable horse in the whole goddamn stable.
He leans back in one final time, drawing a bit of joy from watching his would-be "brother" desperately try to restrain himself.
Thunderwolf: And the fact of the matter is? No matter the outcome? You still will never be happy. Chasing another woman, chasing another title, chasing after someone else's dream. If I win? You fade back to second place, just like always. If I lose? I walk away, lick my wounds, and realize I came back from injury too soon. I take time to spend with the ones I love. I can't lose… no matter what happens…
Dustin tried to punk Corey out, shoving his forehead against the World champion's. Lazarus slams his fist on his desk, but it's all too late as Kelser casually walks back to his side, taking a seat as he doesn't even offer a glance to his partner.
Thunderwolf: But for you, Corey Lazarus? There is no "winning" situation here. So say your piece, get it off your chest, and let's get down to business.
Dustin drops the microphone and signs the contract, slamming the pen down onto the desk. RD examines the signature, picks the mic back up, and walks over to Lazarus.
Real Deal: Mr. Lazarus, please sign…!
The L-A-Z snatches the microphone from Deal, holding on for a moment before offering RD a casual and dismissive wink as he sits back down, clearing his throat and forcing out as casual and dismissive a smirk as he can.
Corey Lazarus: As the kids say, RD? "Lawl-jay-kay."
Corey runs a hand through his hair and leans back, kicking his feet up onto the desk.
Corey Lazarus: Dusty, Dusty, Dusty…where the hell do I begin…
Lazarus playfully taps his chin, stroking his beard as he "ponders."
Corey Lazarus: …oh, I know, how about asking you just where the HELL you get off about your OWN fucking ego?
He lowers the microphone and, casually, takes his feet off the desk.
Corey Lazarus: "Oh, I was someone big before, I did the impossible until I came here, woe is me, my kids hate me and my best friend did something before me and" just fucking spare me, dig? Spare me that same sympathy farming bullshit that you've always pulled the moment anyone - ANYONE - ever dared to speak the truth.
The World Heavyweight champion stands up, finally removing the title belt from over his shoulder and placing it on the desk.
Corey Lazarus: The fact of the matter, Dustin, is that yeah, plans change. Plans always change, especially when YOU get involved with them. If we're bringing up people that only the folks old enough to need a prostate exam are going to remember, then let's look at I-V, let's look at Acheron, and let's see what they have in common. YOU taking every opportunity to take the spotlight away from ME. I defy the odds and have the World title within my grasp, and what does the man they call Thunderwolf do? I take the unbeatable and break them in the center of the ring, in front of the gods and everyone with a pulse, and what does the man they call Thunderwolf do?
Corey lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his good eye from beneath his Ray Bans.
Corey Lazarus: He makes sure the rug gets pulled out from underneath me, that the folks in the office have second thoughts about giving the Hollywood Kid the same opportunities granted to Dalton's little step-bastard. He gets our agent, the man that I brought into this business, to negotiate a Tag Team title shot while you were still covered in rust, because - and you said it yourself, babe - you don't feel like you have anything else to prove. He walks into a match with partners at his side, ignoring his best friend calling for the tag when things are getting hot, because Dustin fucking Kelser needs to be the hero.
Lazarus sits on the desk, swinging his legs around the front of it. He emphatically points at Wolf, hammering home his piece.
Corey Lazarus: He turns and cries about family, about how horrible a bastard I am because Fiona Kelser was attacked…but who brought her to the show, Dustin?
Dustin clenches his teeth behind tightened lips, trying his best to contain the seething that grows within him.
Corey Lazarus: Who told her to sit in the front row instead of in the press box? Hell, let's dig a little deeper, tiger…WHOSE SON AND DAUGHTER DID IT?
Lazarus hops off of the desk, walking over to Wolf's, as Kelser had done just minutes before. Corey leans in, inches from the face of his partner, his challenger. Lazarus smirks as he notices Dustin's hands clenched into fists, trembling as his adrenaline pulses.
Corey Lazarus: Exactly. Exactly, you arrogant prick. You want to bring our kids into all of this? Then let's do that. Let's talk about how I told you, point blank, that we couldn't trust Chance. How MY SON nearly BROKE HIS FUCKING NECK defending YOUR DAUGHTER, but somehow he isn't "good enough"...!
As Lazarus forms the quotation marks with his fingers, Dustin has heard enough, smacking Corey so hard that his Ray Bans fly off his head and out of the ring. The crowd "ooh"s as Lazarus turns and takes a step, laughing at himself.
Eryk Masters: What's going on between them? They're supposed to be best friends! Supposed to be like brothers!!
Corey seethes and balls his fist as he turns back around, shaking with fury that grows with each step.
Corey Lazarus: That. Was. Perfect.
Lazarus shakes his head and smiles, stepping closer to his partner once more as he rubs his cheek.
Corey Lazarus: Beautiful, even, because Dusty? That right there, right fucking there, THAT is the fire I'd expect from you. THAT is the kind of piss-and-vinegar attitude that I've been waiting on, the sign that yes, sports fans, Thunder-fucking-wolf really DOES have something left to prove! THAT is…
Wolf and Real Deal's attention snaps to the entrance curtain.
Corey Lazarus: …the man that I called my brother, not the sorry-ass piece of…?
The World champion's words trail off as he turns to meet the focus of their concern, drawing full attention to the emergence of ARTHUR PLEASANT.
Jason Johnson: Oh dear God…
The cacophony of hisses and jeers that fills the arena draws a gleeful grimace from the GODSEND. Arthur casually walks to the edge of the stage, slowly applauding the events unfolding in the ring. Real Deal yells at the security staff, who slowly - cautiously - make their way toward Pleasant, forming a human barrier between him and the ring.
The GODSEND: OhooooOOooOo!! This is just too delicious!! Hahaha. Do you even hear yourselves?! My poor little babies, all broken and beaten up by each other's problems. Yeah, broken, beaten… and BOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIING!!
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
The GODSEND: Oh, okay. That's to be expected. Go ahead. Waste your energy booing me just like Corey and Dustin here are wasting their energy by giving everyone a rebooted pilot of the Jerry Springer Show! (Looks at Corey). I mean, I knew you were the Hollywood Kid and all…buuuuuut I didn't have a clue that you were at the bottom of the barrel with the rest of the D-Listers!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
Pleasant takes a step down the ramp, and the entire "securi-tage" follows in unison.
The GODSEND: I hate to break it to you two, but nobody cares about your past. Hell, nobody even cares about your present if we're all being honest out here! The only thing anybody in that locker room or out there in the Pinnacle cares about is how hard the mighty are falling. Thunderwolf, a name that inspired awe and sold out arenas worldwide, reduced to the role of an old man getting one more shot at glory.
He pauses.
The GODSEND: (looks out to the fans) Didn't we literally do the same thing last year with Austin Anderson after his sixty-year old self won the Redemption Rumble?!
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
The GODSEND: Oh, come on now! Isn't it too funny? Too hilarious to ignore? (Makes a face saying "whoops" and covers his mouth with his hand) Well, I think it is!
Corey and Dustin look absolutely ready to punt Arthur's head out into the Pinnacle, but Real Deal reminds them both to keep it civil and security has Arthur contained.
The GODSEND: You better hope history repeats itself, Corey, and the challenger fails miserably again. But anyway…why was it that I, your benevolent Godsend, came out here in the first place? Was it to interrupt this fine example of Cringe TV? No… no I don't think so. Hmm. OH!
FIONA!
The crowd OOOOOHs at the mere mention of Ricky's fiancée/Dustin's daughter, knowing how touchy of a subject it is considering what he and the rest of the DeMONSTRance did to her at Redemption.
The GODSEND: Is she still walking like Molly Shannon on that episode of Seinfeld or has she made a little progress since our last check-in?
Jason Johnson: Oh God. WHY?
Eryk Masters: Just another low blow from the absolute asshole that is Arthur Pleasant.
Pleasant takes another step, and like last time, the whole barrage of security, ready to pounce at a moment's notice, moves with him.
The GODSEND: Ricky, my child? If you're listening? Which, I know you are. But in the off chance you're not thanks to your Dad being the black hole of viewership, I ask anyway. If you ARE watching, Seinfeld was a TV show in the 90s. You're welcome.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
The GODSEND: Wow. TWO of those? I must be hitting a nerve with your precious Princess Fiona and Prince Tenet. Hehehe. But see, that's the point, my children, victims of The LIE. The LIE…has assimilated itself onto you. Wrapped its coils around your bones and tethered itself to your very beings. You've essentially become…exactly what I said you'd become. More checkmarks on the history of this company. The more I get to you, the more I peel back that veneer of heroism in you all. LOOK AT YOU, COREY. You're practically oozing Villain of the Year, 2026, right now!
Laz is pacing at this point, the murderous glare on his face matched only by Thunderwolf's equally malicious gaze.
The GODSEND: And - !!
Thunderwolf: Oh would you just shut the fuck up for a second, you ugly bastard?!
The fans cheer loudly, if only because Arthur does, indeed, halt his speech.
Thunderwolf: You and your message, the Lie this, the Lie that. It's been past the point of ridiculousness since you started all of this DeMONSTRance shit! It's one thing if I say what I said to Laz, because I've had to put up with it for most of my life, but not you. NEVER you. Not a disgrace to the gene pool like you. And my daughter? The one that you CACKLED at while her arms were broken? You're STILL laughing over it?! That's fucking IT! I have had enough of this bullshit, so why don't you…
Kelser starts to step out of the ring, surging the crowd behind him, but halts as Corey lays a hand on his shoulder.
Corey Lazarus: Dustin, hold up, and I'll let you finish because I'm a gentleman, but Artie here? He has something of a point.
Wolf looks at Laz with confusion, as do most of the Pinnacle crowd. Corey holds up a finger, drawing out a dramatic pause for just a beat longer than expected.
Corey Lazarus: Seinfeld was a TV show in the 90s.
"Polite applause" barely describes the mostly silent response. "Collective groan" may work better. Corey takes a brief moment to flash his trademark devilish grin and starts to bow, halted by Thunderwolf's finger jabbed into his chest.
Thunderwolf: And this is still all just a game…
Corey Lazarus: No no no, my good man, it's so far from a game that it fucking hurts.
Corey points up to Arthur, his eye still locked on Dustin's.
Corey Lazarus: More importantly, though, is that the two of us? We don't need to prove SHIT to him! And if we step out of this ring, tiger, and we walk up that ramp and do what we know is going to feel oh so amazing to him? HE wins, Dustin.
Thunderwolf cautiously steps back into the ring, placing his hand on Corey's shoulder.
Thunderwolf: Are you trying to tell me that marching up there and pulling out every crooked tooth in that rat bastard's mouth with my bare hands isn't the right move?
Corey Lazarus: Dustin, old friend…
Lazarus returns the gesture, his hand now on Kelser's shoulder.
Corey Lazarus: …I'm saying there's a time and a place for everything, chief. You and I will be right here, in this very ring, in just two weeks. And we'll settle our differences the RIGHT way. The way that we said when the ink had dried on our contracts, just like the professionals we are!
Dustin chews it over, a little smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.
Corey Lazarus: And that spineless, yellow-bellied, gutless wretch of gray matter up there?
Thunderwolf: Do you mean the walking talking garbage bin of disease-ridden DNA right there?
Corey Lazarus: Yes sir, the pigeon-hearted, callow, pussy-ass motherfucker right there!
The Last Vanguard share a laugh, nodding to each other.
Thunderwolf: After we settle our differences, Arthur…
They both turn to face Pleasant, his growing frustration evident.
Corey Lazarus: …you're fucking next.
Without skipping a beat, Corey and Dustin swing their arms toward each other, clasping their hands firmly together in a rigid Predator-style handshake. Pleasant shakes his head, wagging his crooked finger in admonishment.
The GODSEND: Well that wasn't very nice, you two! Tsk, tsk, tsk. But hey, congratulations on being friends again, because that's going to make this part even more fun.
Arthur holds up a hand and slowly waves it to either side, causing the security force to part like the Red Sea as they collectively turn around, glaring mindlessly at both champion and challenger.
Real Deal is STUNNED. For the first time maybe EVER, realtime panic sinks in as he realizes he has no control over this security team.
Eryk Masters: What?!
Jason Johnson: The Fuck?!
Eryk Masters: Just happened?!
The GODSEND: You didn't think it would be that easy did you, Joshie? To keep your believers in The LIE safe from me, The Keeper of Truths? Goodness gracious, I feel like a magician just completing his finest act.
Arthur holds up a hand.
The GODSEND: The road to Reckoning Day is always paved with the bodies of lost children in the world of The LIE, but this time I'm making sure to add a couple more on the way. As YOUR Keeper of Truths, it is my job, my misfortunate duty, my cross to bear to ensure it.
Pleasant snaps his fingers and all twelve guards rush the ring, feral beasts yearning to take down their prey.
Eryk Masters: It was all a ploy! This sick bastard!
One guard slides in and is immediately met with a soccer punt to his face from Kelser, another desperately tries to charge through the ropes and eats the microphone courtesy of Lazarus.
!!POPF!! !!POPF!! !!POPF!!
The rest of the guards rush in, flanking the Last Vanguard as Real Deal barely makes his way to the floor. Dustin fires off shots and plants a few down with rights and lefts as Corey nails elbows and face-chops to others, all to the wicked delight of Pleasant as he casually makes his way up the ring steps. The numbers overcome both champion and challenger, however, as boots and fists bring them down to their knees. Kelser fires off whatever shots he can, managing to make enough room to pull off a Folha Seca kick from somewhere far beyond, but his resurgence is short-lived as one of the guards STOMPS on his knee.
Thunderwolf: SONUVA-!!!
Other guards jump in, laying boots to Thunderwolf in the knee and ribs before both men are fully restrained, their arms held aloft and heads held up with fistfuls of hair.
The GODSEND: Don't worry, Joshua. I made a sacred vow to not lay a finger on either man, but I cannot help that my TRUTH is spreading as wide as the universe and as quick as the inevitable Earth-shattering meteor. The stars have aligned! FINALLY!
Pleasant pulls out a pair of scissors from the pockets of his sheer white Holy Robe and hands them to the guards.
Arthur leans in close to Dustin…
The GODSEND: Praise be, my child.
…and then to Corey.
The GODSEND: Praise..(he opens his mouth, acting as if he's going to bite him, but closes them instead)…ME.
Arthur steps back and holds his hand up, slowly curling his claw-like fingers into a balled fist. Pleasant lets the tension linger for a moment longer, raising his thumb before turning it over.
Jason Johnson: NO!! NO!!
The guards ready their attack…
LIGHTS OUT!!!
Eryk Masters: What the hell is going on?!
Jason Johnson: I have no idea!
The heat lingers throughout the Pinnacle for the seconds that it's cast into darkness, flashlights from phones scattering among the crowd. Brief flashes from ringside illuminate the ring in nanosecond bursts, hinting at a figure entering the ring.
Jason Johnson: Who the hell…?!
The lights come back on, revealing an extra body now in the ring.
"OOOOOOOOOHHHHHEYYYYYYY!!!!!"
The crowd comes unglued at the sight of the man to the rear of the GODSEND, perched upon the top turnbuckle. Arthur slowly turns, a rare look of shock on his face as he locks eyes with RICKY TENET.
Eryk Masters: RICKY TENET!! RICKY TENET HAS RETURNED!!
Before Pleasant can make any other move, Ricky soars off the top with an avalanche spinning heel kick, taking the GODSEND down. Tenet immediately pops back up and fires off shots to the DeMONSTRance guards, forcing them to release their holds on Lazarus and Kelser.
"TEN-ET!! TEN-ET!! TEN-ET!!"
Jason Johnson: RICKY TENET IS BACK AND HE IS CLEARING HOUSE!!
Each guard steps forward to strike and gets met with a punch, an elbow, or a kick that sends them reeling. Ricky parries around their attacks toward him, sweeping one's leg before floating over them to boot one in the chest and send them falling out of the ring. Buying enough time for his father and future father-in-law to regroup, Tenet catches a guard's arm and spins him around…
Eryk Masters: SENTINEL SUPLEX INTO THE PODIUM!!!
Thunderwolf and Lazarus join the ruckus, dumping phony guard after phony guard out of the ring. Ricky turns to spy Arthur rolling to the floor, his expression somewhere between fuming with rage and a sick, sinister sense of hilarity.
Jason Johnson: The Last Vanguard has been left standing tall!
Dustin and Corey back into each other, turning with fists cocked at the ready. They start jawing at one another, words flying a mile a minute between them before Ricky stands in between them. Tenet pushes them apart, drawing a confused stare from both champion and challenger alike at his audacity, before Ricky raises a microphone.
Ricky Tenet: Arthur…fucking…Pleasant…
The crowd erupts with the notable change of tone in Ricky's voice. No hesitation. No humility. Just righteous indignation dripping from every breath.
Ricky Tenet: For three long months…you have been terrorizing my friends…victimizing my family…and you've tried to put me down for good…
Tenet climbs the ropes, leaning over them so he's barely an arm's length away from the GODSEND.
Ricky Tenet: …BUT I'M STILL STANDING, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!
Arthur lets out a laugh at Ricky's outburst, nodding with excitement. Almost a respectful "touché", if you will. Tenet backs away from the ropes, his attention focused solely on Pleasant.
Ricky Tenet: One month ago, Arthur, you told me that the sins of the father must be visited upon the son…do you remember that, Arthur? Do you remember when you said those words?
Pleasant nods, his smile like a great white shark moments before it chomps upon its prey.
Ricky Tenet: Good, Arthur. Good…because it's high time you either live up to what you promise or waste away in the fucking lies you spin…no more hiding on a loading dock…no more hiding in the shadows…
Dustin and Corey look to each other before their attention focuses on Ricky, the younger man laser-focused on Pleasant as he stands on the ramp.
Ricky Tenet: Just you…and me…in this ring…IRON FIST RULES!!
The crowd erupts as Arthur's facade breaks, his lower lip quivering in fear if for only a brief moment. Lazarus and Kelser try to calm Ricky down, both legends pushed aside as Tenet marches back to the ropes, leaning over them once more as he smiles wide - sadistically - at the GODSEND.
Eryk Masters: There's the challenge! At Reckoning Day, Ricky Tenet wants to go 1-on-1 with Arthur Pleasant in an OLD SCHOOL Iron Fist match!
Jason Johnson: That's a bold move from him. The "old school", or OG Iron Fist Matches were knockout only, having to force your opponent to stay down for a full 10-count, and Arthur Pleasant is a former Iron Fist champion.
Eryk Masters: My God, that's right. Who can forget Arthur Pleasant and Azraith DeMitri's blood feud five years ago?! Wheeew!! But Corey Lazarus is also a former Iron Fist champion, Jason, and we'd have to imagine that he's taught his son a few tricks over the last year!
Jason Johnson: I really hope Ricky didn't just step right into Pleasant's trap, here. Tenet is a fighter with the heart of a warrior… but Arthur? When it comes to no rules and just maiming your opponent? He is a fucking MENACE to the highest degree of evil imaginable.
Eryk Masters: He's got his Dad's penchant for fighting off his enemies, that much is for sure!
Jason Johnson: I guess we'll see what happens live on Pay-Per-View in two weeks, Eryk! What a crazy turn of events this is!
Pleasant, looking shell-shocked, continues staring down at Ricky. But soon, the facade is rebuilt. Or perhaps visible once again. He stares down at Ricky Tenet, mouthing the words, "I accept, my child.", giving the frightening Jack Torrence stare in Ricky Tenet's direction. The final scene before Reckoning Day is a split screen.
Arthur Pleasant.
Ricky Tenet.
Dustin "Thudnerwolf" Kelser.
The SHOOT Project World Champion... Corey Lazarus.
Fade to black.
