The camera sweeps across a sold-out Pinnacle arena in New York City. The crowd is electric, signs waving everywhere. Pyro erupts from the stage as the Zenith theme hits hard, and we settle on the announce table where Jason Johnson and Eryk Masters are ready to go.
Jason Johnson: Ladies and gentlemen, WELCOME to Zenith ZERO-ONE-FOUR! I'm Jason Johnson, alongside my broadcast partner Eryk Masters, and we are LIVE from The Pinnacle in New York City! Eryk, we are coming off one of the most chaotic episodes in Zenith history and tonight promises to be no different.
Eryk Masters: That's an understatement, Jason. Zenith 013 left a trail of destruction. Laura Seton knocked off Holden Nobody. Ricky Tenet stunned the world by taking down The DARKSPADE. And Vito Valentino put Mike de los Huesos away in decisive fashion. The landscape of SHOOT Project has shifted, and tonight we see the fallout.
Jason Johnson: Speaking of fallout — tonight's card is absolutely loaded. We've got a family affair when Laura Seton goes one-on-one with Madison Seton. Both women are coming off huge wins at Zenith 013. Laura toppled one of the most dominant forces on the roster in Holden Nobody, and Madison dispatched Ignatius Albert Martin with surgical precision. Now they collide. Blood is thicker than water, but this IS The Pinnacle.
Eryk Masters: And what about this one — Yorinobu Sakai, fresh off defeating the Premier Champion Izzy Sia at Zenith 013, now has to deal with 'The GODSEND' Arthur Pleasant. Pleasant is coming in hot after dismantling KATSUMI, and you KNOW he's got his eye on the bigger picture. These two are dangerous in completely different ways, and I honestly don't know how to call it.
Jason Johnson: Then you've got Empire State Champion Johnny Napalm defending his momentum against Ricky Tenet. Tenet just pulled off what many considered the upset of the year, beating The DARKSPADE at 013. Does that momentum carry, or does Napalm remind everyone why he's holding that gold?
Eryk Masters: And in our main event, Jamie Johnson takes on Vito Valentino. Jamie has been on an absolute tear, and Valentino just sent a message to the entire locker room with that win over de los Huesos. Two men trending in the same direction, and tonight one of them gets knocked off course.
Jason Johnson: It's going to be a WAR, partner. Let's not waste another second — Zenith 014 starts RIGHT NOW!
The camera cuts to the entrance ramp as the crowd roars.
While in the back, cameras spot Johnny Napalm in the locker room putting his gloves on, his gear ready. He sits there with the Empire State Championship beside him, looks down at his gloves, makes sure they are properly fitting on his hands. After that he sits there. Focused. Almost a little too focused as he then sees the camera. He slaps his own face a couple times, then looks composed. He knows what is on the line — a title shot if Ricky Tenet wins, the semi-finals if he does. But his look shows more determination than it ever has.
Johnny Napalm: I have struggled to get where I am for over twenty years, and in those years I have seen legends get their moments and their props, while I have struggled cause I am not what they consider a star. I am a person who has done the grind in this business to claim even a small amount of success I can. I don't kiss ass. I don't take shortcuts. What you see out of me is what you get. When I want to achieve something, I don't just dive headlong into a wall expecting it to break. If there is any time to put my name into people's mouths, this is it. Master of the Mat — last time I got in this tournament I lost in this round to a wrestler who was better than me, but I never made it easy for my opponent, and I am sure as hell not going to stop now.
Napalm puts his Empire State Championship around his waist.
Johnny Napalm: Tenet, don't expect me to go easy on you. Many will say why isn't this man considered a legend. Simply, I don't bend to the norms around here. I have rubbed people the wrong way on more than a few occasions, then came all the losses in my career.
Napalm stretches a little and he definitely looks ready.
Johnny Napalm: I am not perfect, nor do I claim to be. But tonight in that ring you get me at one hundred percent, because I will be that true test. All this week I have been working on being better in that ring, to be stronger than I was even for one match. I always had dreams to be a World Champ, but each time I would be stuck in the damned weeds. Now, I get a chance to earn that title shot — not given, earned, like I always have done. This belt around my waist was earned, and I have the longest reign with this belt over three separate runs. Now, tonight you're looking to advance in both tournaments.
Johnny Napalm: A little advice, Ricky Tenet — and I know your father is watching this as well. You got one hell of a career ahead of you. But tonight, you have shown you have it these past few Zeniths. Now you face someone who is more focused to win this tournament than ever before. Then there is you tagging with Holden Nobody, and honestly, I don't need to explain how much young talent is in that tag team. You beat Darkspade and that's not an easy feat. Tonight, however, you're in two matches. I do hope you know what you're doing — X and Draven are no joke, their reputations in numerous companies will tell you that, and I should know. Just remember Tenet, you got me first and I don't pull punches. I will put your body through pain, because I don't just need this tournament, I crave it. I can feel it every time I remember all the setbacks, all the bullshit I have dealt with in my career just to falter now?
Napalm looks closer into the camera.
Johnny Napalm: That isn't happening unless they cart me out on a stretcher. I am the top ranked wrestler in the bracket after Izzy lost and it's time I proved it — not just to the fans, but to anyone who thinks I'm a flash in the pan. Master of the Mat, this is my best chance, and I am going to make you work for it Tenet, because I am done being the laughingstock. I will show you that tonight, and soon everyone else will. You're walking out there to take on an almost seven foot giant ready to stomp over anyone who tries to stop me. Let me see you try tonight, Tenet. I am ready for this.
Johnny Napalm: See you out there, kid.
Napalm walks past the camera as he heads to the ring.
We cut backstage to Real Deal's office, where a seething NC-17 and his con-artist manager Johnny Vignochi stand in the doorway flanked on either side by AEGIS security agents. Needless to say, the temperature of the room is HOT. Dressed for action in his radioactive puke green wrestling tights and tassels, the mohawked menace is leering and growling while his handler shakes a frail, impotent fist, the security detail slowly escorting them out into the lobby.
The two are clearly being ejected from Real Deal's office, and Johnny Vig is none-too-pleased about it. The diminutive talent agent hollers back through the doorway as AEGIS push and hassle them out, still desperately trying to be heard.
Johnny Vig: You and I both know NC-17 is the most credible challenger for the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship! There's nobody else! You're gonna regret this! Do you know how much money you're leavin' on the table?
The office door shuts, leaving us staring at the nameplate on the door: Real Deal. The AEGIS heavies start getting aggressive. Johnny throws his hands up defensively, trying to step back and away from the hired muscle.
Johnny Vig: Whoa fellas, no need to get handsy! We're just havin' some civil discourse ovah hea, nuttin' to get excited about!
AEGIS Agent: Mr. Johnson's asked you to leave. We're not going to ask you again.
NC-17 looks like he's about to throw down, but Johnny clamors to get in front of him, patting him on the chest in an attempt to sedate him.
Johnny Vig: C'mon, Teen, fuck it! Can't win a World Championship in a jail cell.
Somehow the slimy used car salesman manages to get "The Cream of Obscene" calmed down and out into the hallway, where NC-17 begins to vent his frustrations, pacing back and forth. He is the picture of douchebaggery with his jailhouse tattoos and villainous eyebrows, and those hideous cartoon sperm wrestling trunks.
NC-17: I don't get it, Vig! I figured if we put Thunderwolf outta commission, Real Deal would HAVE to honor my 2024 Master of the Mat title shot! I mean who the fuck else is there to challenge for it, huh?
Johnny Vig: Well, Johnny Napalm. He's pretty dominant.
NC-17: Yah yah, okay, besides him.
Johnny Vig: The Setons.
NC-17: Okay yah, they're pretty good too.
Johnny Vig: Don't forget Vito Valentino. Izzy Sia, there's another one. Oh, and Jamie Johnson—
NC-17: Alright already, maybe I shoulda thought this one through a little more. FUCK. Who do I gotta blow around here to get my God damned World Title shot?
Suddenly a familiar and jarring voice replies from further down the hallway. The camera pans out to reveal none other than Arthur Pleasant. His frame expands as he shouts down from the other end of the hallway, his voice reverberating through the space.
The GODSEND: Teeny, Teeny, Teeny. Oh, do we EVER have SOOOOO much in common right now. But you're smart enough to know that already, I'm sure. Amirite?
Johnny Vig frowns and steps towards Arthur, almost as if he's annoyed there's somebody other than him trying to manipulate his client.
Johnny Vig: Cool story bro, but nobody asked ya. Now fuck off.
But NC-17 holds up a hand, signalling that he wants to hear what Arthur has to say. An angry vein appears in Vig's forehead as Pleasant continues.
The GODSEND: I, too, was a victim of the 2024 Master of the Mat! I carried a dead weight partner through an entire tournament and WON. And what did I get? A Tag Team Title match… which I won anyway, despite deserving something more. I did it all on my own, with a partner who might as well have been a ghost. No, no, you see. I… (Mocks getting emotional, even drumming up a lone tear in an Oscar worthy performance) …should have been given equal stature as NC here and given a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship for all the strife I endured. To claw and bleed my way through handicap match after handicap match… en route to the ultimate payback to those who knew the albatross I carried: sweet, sweet victory.
Johnny rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips and tapping his foot.
Johnny Vig: Okay pal, that's great and all, but story time's ovah. C'mon Teen, we can figure this shit out somewheres more private.
But Seventeen looks…surprisingly interested in what Arthur has to say.
NC-17: Hold on a second, Vig. *to Arthur* So whaddya suggest I do? From one aggrieved challenger to another?
Pleasant places a friendly headlock around Johnny Vig, laughing as he gives him a noogie.
The GODSEND: Corey Lazarus is in the building tonight. With the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship. Your SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship. Or, perhaps dare I even say my SHOOT Project World Heavyweight Championship.
Arthur places his hands up as if to say, "just sayin'."
The GODSEND: Don't you think you should do something about that? I know I just might. But, from one aggrieved challenger to another, in the spirit of sport and friendly competition, I would rather you do something first.
For a brief second, "The Cream of Obscene" looks like he's actually considering Arthur Pleasant's words. He even smirks to himself…as if Arthur just gave him a Eureka moment.
NC-17: Ya know what Artie? Most days I wouldn't trust you around a bottle of Elmer's Glue, but every now and again? You do make a good point…even if it's an obvious one.
Seventeen slaps Vig in his skinny bird chest. Hard.
NC-17: Ain't I paying you to think of this shit? C'mon, Vig, Artie just gave me some inspiration.
The blow knocks the wind out of Johnny. He takes a second to gather his composure, casting an evil eye at Pleasant before following his client off-camera.
The GODSEND (whispering to self): Am I good or am I good? Whew. Praise be… praise ME!
Pleasant grins and wiggles his fingers together like Mr. Burns as the cameras fade.
Backstage. Maybe deeper than backstage—because this is a place with many large industrial pipes, ducts, vents, and steam. The real guts of an industrial space, the beating heart of the SHOOT Project.
And across the sky there's a haze. A particular haze. A Seven Stars Cigarettes haze.
Pigpen Matsumoto is seated, legs wide, leather jacket on, smoking a cigarette with the type of impressive lungfuls that only the habitual can maintain. He looks "good", or as good as he can—we're only looking at old scars, burns, and blade marks, not new. And he's smiling, for what may be the first time ever. A mouthful of grey teeth. At least the ones that are still there.
Pigpen: Everyone say, 'Look at Pigpen Matsumoto. King of Death. Heart break like some loser.' Fuck!
He spits.
Pigpen: No pain ever keep Pigpen away. Pigpen lord of all pain, Pigpen fuck pain and make baby in pain and then kill his child with pain. Besides, Pigpen have student. Pigpen student get beat half to death by Demons of Cyber-Roppongi, and he still breathing. Because Pigpen student now balls deep in pain. Pigpen student make pain say 'please, Chad-uh, no more!' Ha! Fucks, fucks, fucks. Now domino falls. Now everyone else become pain and we become hard.
Off camera, a voice chirps out.
Chad: So uh…is that my cue, or…?
At this Pigpen growls and snatches the cigarette from his mouth, before throwing it as hard as a small cylinder of tobacco and paper can be thrown. He explodes with machine-gun Japanese, which is a stark contrast to how measured and stilted his (very much improved) English sounds.
Pigpen: Kono kuso baka yarō ga! Oretachi ga dorehodo kataku, dorehodo ijiwaruna chinpo de, ketsunoana no 'itami' to iu gainen sonomono o okashi tsukushite yaru ka tte hanashi o shi teta toki ni, haitte ko itte ittadarouga! Sore mo, kotokomaka ni, da zo! Kuso~tsu, Chado…ano toki, omae no kurumaisu o gake kara tsukiotoshite okubekidatta! Kono inu no ketsu ana yarō ga!!
Sheepishly, a figure emerges from the darkness. The first thing the camera notices is the bright orange mustache that adorns the newly chiseled jaw of Chad Kyle. Although he emerges from the shadows sporting new, more defined biceps and a set of abs to die for, he still carries the less than confident face that we've all come to know from Chad.
Chad: I understand literally no words of what you said, but I'm going to assume more than half of them were bad.
Pigpen continues to shout in the background.
Chad: Pigpen is right about a lot of things. Everything hurt. Sometimes everything still hurts. I don't enjoy it. I don't like being left behind. I don't like being so terrible that my ex goes so far as to leave the company. I don't like the idea that everyone thinks that I'm nobody special. The Cyber Donkeys didn't think about me at all when they were tossing me around the ring like a ragdoll. I was just somebody that they could run through to get back on top.
Chad is starting to get a little more fire in his eyes. The more he talks about the various wrongs done to him in the past, the more fired up he gets. Pigpen stops shouting and begins to listen. He cracks what appears to be the best imitation of a smile that Pigpen can muster as he lights another cigarette.
Chad: You know what? That's right. Ria burned me. But I'm still here. Where is her fine ass now? Not here. The UCA beat me like a rented mule. They did everything they could to show just what a badass tag team they are but where are they? They sure as hell ain't in the Tag Team Master of the Mat. That's right. Chad is. Jacob Mephisto bloodied my awesome face and tried to end my life. Well. I'm here. Where's Mephisturd?
Pigpen slams his fist on a nearby table, embers from his cigarette falling over his face like stardust.
Pigpen: You fuck pain, tell them! Who fuck pain, Chad Motherfuck Kyle?!
Chad: Me! I do! I'm Chad mother-fuckin' Kyle. And Pigpen has shown me how to take all of that hurt, all of that disrespect and turn it into something real. Something that everyone can feel. I'm not a joke anymore. I mean, I still like to joke. But I'm tired of everyone laughing at me. Unless…you know, they think I'm funny and they're laughing at my jokes. You know, like a good natured…
Chad is visibly losing his ferocity with every word. His posture starts to slump a little. Pigpen will not have it. He rises from his seat, getting very near to Chad's face.
Pigpen: Listen. Shh, shh, listen. Hear that?
With a swift motion, he cheek slaps Chad so hard we can see a red outline of his mangled, gnarled fingers.
Pigpen: They laugh. Everyone laugh. Because you are stupid clown baby. They think you walk out in big cocksucker shoe, honka honka, make balloon penis and go fuck yourself with it. But they are wrong, Chad. They are wrong. Because Pigpen Matsumoto not seeing a clown. Pigpen looking at man.
The moment was fleeting. Chad, again finding his footing, continues.
Chad: I AM a man! I am THE man! I'm sorry to Fear and Loathing. I like them a lot. Curtis Rose is kind of an ass, but Vaka is good people. I'd be happy to have him at my next Chadstravaganza. But this isn't about him being good people. This is about winning our way to the Tag Team belts. This is about Planet Motherfucker showing the world that we are no one's bitches!
Pigpen stumbles forward—the only motion he really has when he's not got the adrenaline of the fight going through him, full WWF Attitude stilt motions. He pops another cigarette between his cracked lips, offering one to Chad, who refuses. After all, wouldn't want to desecrate the temple his body has become. The King of Death fires it up, grinning a mouthful of rot and break.
Pigpen: You put this against anyone. Demon, monster, shitbag, big cocksuck samoan, sissy boy, champion, loser—PLANET MOTHERFUCKER kill them all. You busy looking cool and being cool and thinking all the pussy you get—all we ever think about is war. And war never fucking sleep.
He drags his thumb across his throat.
Pigpen: First murder in serial of murders. The rest of teams? Piss yourself.
He hobbles off, leaving Chad MF'n Kyle to flex his biceps for the camera briefly before scurrying along himself. The camera cuts away from the industrial area.
The SHOOT Project World Heavyweight title belt. An accolade so prestigious that only a select few within the sport of professional wrestling have been able to claim it. The center plate takes up the entire focus of the camera, the set lights glimmering and shining off of the polished gold and gems. A man clears his throat…
Corey Lazarus: Hey…my eyes are up here, slick.
On cue, the camera pulls back to reveal the World title belt around the waist of — who else? — Corey Lazarus. He flashes his trademark devilish grin, adjusting the collar of his open black and gold waistcoat that covers a white tee with the cover of the Exploited's Beat the Bastards printed across the torso. His hands hang from around the center plate of the belt, his thumbs tucked behind it, and takes it in for a moment.
Corey Lazarus: Hello there, ladies and gentlemen and they-persons of all shapes, sizes, color, creed, and flavor. At this time, I'd like to address a little something that's been making the rounds over the past week, regarding just who, exactly, is going to have their life changed forever when they get the opportunity to step into the ring with the man…the myth…the Last. Damn. Icon.
Corey pushes his silver-rimmed Ray Bans up over his head, clearing his throat.
Corey Lazarus: Now, far be it from me to ever cast any shade at potential opponents…
Wink.
Corey Lazarus: …but there's one little detail that's being conveniently left out of the conversation, and that's regarding what the Realiest of the Dealiest shared with the world when he referenced my "right to reasonable refusal."
Lazarus forms the quotation marks with his fingers, checking the time on his platinum Rolex and tut-tutting.
Corey Lazarus: Given that the L-A-Z has places to be, folks, I'll make this one on the briefer side, but that little nugget has been stretched, distorted, and bent over the hood of a used '97 Corolla so much in such little time that I feel the need to address it.
He cracks his neck to the side.
Corey Lazarus: Now, while it is true that my contract contains a clause for turning down potential challengers, there exists a little wording that reads "within reason," meaning that if, say, they wanted to give some no-chinned stagehand named Kev a shot at my World Heavyweight championship on one of the biggest shows of the entire year? Why then, of course I'd say no! You, the Faithful, deserve MORE than that kind of shortsighted buffoonery, and quite frankly? I'm hoping that the cryptobro wearing his grandfather's old suit in that conference room is escorted out of the building by the fine people at AEGIS Security just for suggesting such a lowbrow publicity stunt, because no, folks, this is NOT just some other piece of tin that gets passed around like a box of tissues at a goonfest, this? THIS?
Corey unbuttons the World title and holds it up to the camera, bringing it close to his face.
Corey Lazarus: This is the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight fucking championship, babe, and I'll be DAMNED if I see it disgraced like that! I'm not some paper tiger that likes to stack the deck in my favor, padding that win-loss record with soup cans and a small army of the best talent money can buy at my disposal, oh no, sports fans.
He drops the belt over his shoulder, flashing a smirk.
Corey Lazarus: I searched all over the world for the best possible competition so that I could show every single person in the Master of the Mat tournament just what they're going to need to prepare for. I personally spent the last two weeks scouring every clip available of potential opponents, from the most ultraviolent pendejos in the scrapyards of Mexico to the catch masters throughout central Europe. I've looked at every single person here in the Pinnacle tonight, I've studied each person dedicated to proving their worth throughout the UWA…and one name stood out from the rest.
Corey steps closer to the camera, holding up a single finger.
Corey Lazarus: One name that I know would give me the fight of their life. That I know would lay it all on the mat, bite the pain, and keep pushing forward, because I AM the reigning, defending, and FIGHTING champion that I always promised I would be, and god dammit, the Hollywood Kid is a man of his word!
He takes a breath, letting it out slowly with that ever-present smirk front and center.
Corey Lazarus: So at Master of the Mat, you're going to see what we, in this great sport, often refer to as a genuine classic. At Master of the Mat? It's going to be "the Premier Attraction," YOUR World Heavyweight champion, putting the belt on the line against…!!!
Before the name can escape his mouth, a fist flies from off-screen and connects flush with Corey's jaw. Lazarus scrambles as the camera steps back, its focus shifting all over while stagehands clear the set, and the scene focuses on Corey getting to a knee…
…and eating a boot across the face from none other than NC-17!
The self-proclaimed "Cream of Obscene" lays in a couple stomps before hurriedly turning to address his partner-in-crime, Johnny Vignochi, who has scampered onto the set behind him.
NC-17: Vig, get the door!
The sleazy talent agent stands frozen like a deer in the headlights, trying to find something…anything to barricade the door with. First he tries to push a giant speaker in front of it but…isn't strong enough. The speaker doesn't move an inch. He grabs a nearby over-flowing trashcan and pushes it against the door instead, but it's hardly an effective blockade. Seconds later and the door erupts against it, a gang of AEGIS security agents on the other side. Johnny puts his full weight…all one-hundred-and-twenty pounds of it against the door.
Johnny Vig: Hurry up! There's too many of them!
Meanwhile NC-17 has grabbed the SHOOT Project World championship up off Corey's prone body and fastened it around his own waist. He stands there for a moment admiring it…almost as if he's in awe…before looking up at the camera and cackling a weasel's laugh. He hurries out of the camera frame with it…then scurries back into it like he forgot something.
Johnny Vig: What are you doin'? Ya got the belt, amscray!
Teen swipes Corey's silver-rimmed Ray Bans off the ground and puts them on. Then he undoes the platinum Rolex on Corey's wrist, sticking his tongue out at the camera as he attaches it to his own, mockingly checking the time and scurrying out of frame again. A second later and the door bursts open, sending trash everywhere and Johnny flying. AEGIS has arrived, but just a moment too late! Johnny frantically points in the opposite direction of NC-17's exit, as if he wasn't just holding the door shut a moment ago.
Johnny Vig: He went that-a-way!
The scene is chaos as some AEGIS agents stoop to check on Corey, some run off after NC-17, and some run off in the direction Johnny pointed.
Corey Lazarus: …ucking son of a bit…!
The camera zooms in on our prone champion as he lies groaning on the ground…no watch, no sunglasses…and no championship belt.
We fade into a shot of The Empire's arguably least-censored member, the one and only Madison Seton, as she stretches in the back, preparing for her huge match with older sister Laura Seton tonight as part of the Master of the Mat tournament. Maddie looks focused, determined and prepared for what is sure to be an epic battle. The sound of a door slamming open is heard, and Madison looks to her left. A smirk appears across her face, and as she straightens up, she comes face to face with the man who she's been in a bit of a social media war with as of late, the debuting former EWA World Heavyweight Champion, Michael Draven.
Madison Seton: Someone best alert The Smithsonian. One of the fossils got loose again.
An audible cheer is heard from the crowd at Madison's remark, and Michael shakes his head, chuckling with his hands on his hips.
Michael Draven: Cute, kid, real cute. You're just full of these age jokes that aren't even funny, aren't you?
Madison starts to answer, but Michael puts his hand up, cutting her off.
Michael Draven: Listen, I'm not here to go round and round with you once again. I just wanted to reiterate this to your face, since you continue to prattle on to the world on social media. You're cute, okay? In another life…you never know. But it's not going to happen, Maddie. I'm not going to sleep with you. I'm not going to have a threesome with you and X. And I'm definitely not going to be in a threesome with you and Maggie. You're just not her type. No offense, but…
Michael brazenly looks down at the younger Seton's chest.
Michael Draven: We're not even convinced you've hit puberty yet.
The crowd lets out a collective gasp in the background, and Madison wears a shocked look of indignation on her face…before reaching back and pistoning her arm forward to slap Michael Draven once again! Only this time, Michael catches her by the wrist! Madison, not missing a beat, lights up with a seductive grin on her face, reaching out to run her other hand across the chest of the veteran…
Madison Seton: If this were 15 years ago? Or, heck, if I wasn't married with a kid? I'd let this go on…
Draven leans in, until he's inches from Madison's ear, practically whispering the next line…
Michael Draven: In your fucking dreams, kid…
Madison's voice also drops down to nearly a whisper, while never losing that smile…
Madison Seton: You know, it's too bad whichever team I sign with won't have a "Fuck Madison Seton" night. I'm sure you'd have your ticket already…
Michael Draven: I'm sure you wish they'd run that promotion. Now listen here, you little bitch—
Draven SLAMS Madison Seton into the locker, eyes blazing with anger and fury. Madison shows zero fear, and instead seems very interested in what he has to say…
Michael Draven: You might be used to play-fighting with other children here, but you're dealing with someone from the time when it meant something to be a professional wrestler. To be a warrior. We used to cripple people who fucked with us, Madison. Don't fuck with me again, or your WNBA career might just end before you kno—UNGH!
The breath suddenly goes out of Draven, and he slides to the ground as Madison Seton knees him directly between the legs! Very satisfied with herself, she smirks down at the fallen Michael Draven…
Madison Seton: Run your mouth at me again… and you will be… eliminated.
And with that, Seton leaves the locker room, leaving a furious Draven looking up at the direction of the door…
Michael Draven: You'll fucking pay for that…
And with that, we fade to ringside.
Yorinobu Sakai sits alone inside the locker room, already dressed to compete. His boots are laced, knee pads secured, and his hands loosely wrapped in white tape that hangs unfinished at his wrists. The room around him is quiet. The distant arena noise barely slips through the walls. A small duffel bag rests at his feet. His eyes remain closed, back straight, hands resting gently on his knees as he breathes slowly, deliberately, centering himself before the fight ahead.
Sakai: When I began my training, I was taught that victory is the most dangerous moment for a wrestler.
He inhales slowly through his nose, unmoving.
Sakai: After victory, your heart becomes loud. Your confidence grows. Your thoughts begin to run faster than your feet. You start to believe the path ahead will be easier.
His fingers tighten slightly against his knees.
Sakai: Last show… I defeated Izzy Sia.
A small pause follows: not pride, but reflection.
Sakai: Many people call it the greatest upset in the history of the Master of the Mat Tournament. The number sixteen seed defeating the number one seed. An undeniable superstar in SHOOT Wrestling, its Premier Champion, falling to a young lion far from home.
He lowers his head a fraction.
Sakai: I am proud of that victory. I am grateful for that victory. Truly grateful. Izzy Sia is a great wrestler… and she pushed me farther than I believed I could go.
His breathing steadies again.
Sakai: But gratitude is not the same as satisfaction.
He slowly opens his eyes, his gaze calm but focused somewhere beyond the room.
Sakai: In my training, we are taught that yesterday's victory is a lesson, but does not guarantee further successes. While I honor my last win and respect its significance, my focus is on tonight.
He begins wrapping the loose tape around his wrist, each turn precise.
Sakai: Tonight I face another challenge. Across the ring stands Arthur Pleasant.
He nods once, acknowledging the name with respect.
Sakai: Arthur Pleasant is a fierce competitor, one that has bled and sweat for years in professional wrestling. I know him. I respect him.
The tape pulls tighter around his wrist.
Sakai: He has fought in battles that change wrestlers. Hardcore fights. His muay thai strikes break skin and bones alike. He is a fighter that mixes violence with discipline. He is a veteran and he is… dangerous.
He flexes his taped hand slowly, contemplating.
Sakai: A victory against this man will not come easily. If I am to succeed tonight, I will need to once again push myself further than I think I am capable.
His voice lowers slightly.
Sakai: Arthur Pleasant will test me.
Yori leans forward, elbows resting briefly on his thighs, thinking carefully.
Sakai: After defeating Izzy Sia, many people look at me differently. They speak my name louder. They expect another miracle.
He shakes his head gently.
Sakai: I do not believe in miracles.
A quiet beat.
Sakai: I believe in preparation. I believe in endurance. I believe in standing up one more time than your opponent can.
He rises slowly, rolling his shoulders as if already feeling the coming battle.
Sakai: Arthur Pleasant will strike fiercely. He will try to slow me. Hurt me. To test my spirit. To see if last show was luck.
He looks directly toward the unseen camera now.
Sakai: That is fair.
A calm determination settles over his expression.
Sakai: Because tonight, I must prove something not to the audience… not to the tournament… but to myself.
He tightens the final wrap of tape and presses it into place.
Sakai: A young lion does not become stronger by defeating one great wrestler. He becomes stronger by surviving the next challenge… and the one after that.
He bows his head briefly, a quiet ritual of respect.
Sakai: Arthur Pleasant… I respect your experience. I respect your battles. And tonight, I will meet you with everything I have learned on this journey.
He straightens fully, composure complete.
Sakai: I carry gratitude for yesterday… but my spirit belongs to today.
Yori picks up his towel, drapes it over his shoulders, and walks toward the locker room door. The distant roar of the crowd grows slightly louder as he exits, meditation replaced by readiness.
The camera settles back on the announce table as the crowd buzzes, still processing the action they've witnessed so far tonight.
Jason Johnson: Folks, if you're just tuning in, you have picked one HELL of a night to watch Zenith. We are halfway through Zenith 014 and this show has already delivered in a massive way.
Eryk Masters: Let's run it down. In our opening contest, Ricky Tenet defeated the Empire State Champion Johnny Napalm to advance to the Master of the Mat semi-finals. Jason, Napalm came into that match with more fire than we've seen from him in a long time, but Tenet just would not be denied.
Jason Johnson: And that's Ricky Tenet advancing past a man who told us tonight that he'd have to be carted out on a stretcher before he'd lose. That kid has ice in his veins, Eryk. He beat The DARKSPADE at Zenith 013, and now he's knocked off Johnny Napalm. That is a statement.
Eryk Masters: Then we saw Planet Motherfucker—Pigpen Matsumoto and Chad Kyle—take down Fear and Loathing in the first round of the Tag Team Master of the Mat. I'll be honest, Jason, Chad Kyle looked like a different man out there tonight. Whatever Pigpen has been feeding that kid, it's working.
Jason Johnson: Pigpen told us earlier tonight that this was going to be the first murder in a serial of murders, and honestly? I believe him. Planet Motherfucker is on a mission, and Curtis Rose and Vaka found that out the hard way.
Eryk Masters: And most recently, Arthur Pleasant defeated Yorinobu Sakai to advance in the Master of the Mat. Sakai gave it absolutely everything he had—this was the young man who pulled off the upset of the tournament by beating Izzy Sia—but Pleasant's experience and brutality were just too much tonight.
Jason Johnson: Sakai has absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. That kid went from the sixteenth seed to the second round and gave a former World Champion everything he could handle. But Pleasant is a different animal, and 'The GODSEND' moves on.
Eryk Masters: And let's not forget what happened backstage—NC-17 attacked World Heavyweight Champion Corey Lazarus, stole the title belt, his sunglasses, AND his Rolex. AEGIS is still searching for Seventeen as we speak. That situation is far from resolved, Jason.
Jason Johnson: The question is—was that all NC-17's idea, or did Arthur Pleasant plant the seed earlier tonight? We all saw that conversation backstage. Either way, Corey Lazarus is going to be out for blood, and god help whoever gets in his way.
Eryk Masters: We've still got Laura Seton versus Madison Seton, Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody taking on The World Warriors, and Jamie Johnson versus Vito Valentino still to come. Folks, do NOT go anywhere. Zenith 014 is far from over.
Suddenly, without warning, without delay, the entire arena's lights cut—total darkness. A good thirty seconds—at this point it felt as though the power was cut due to some technical issue. But then, an eerie green haze overtook the arena causing shock and shocking silence from the fans… With crossfades showing sections of the arena and the rising fog from ground level, the view of the entrance was seen from the video angles… and on the SHOOT Tron… a new entrance unseen and unheard before illuminated to life… or… was it death?
The camera view then seen was from the ground and looked upward—a woman, shrouded in a long black cape, her face hidden by a cowl; however, her long black hair was seen cutting through its hidden view. The woman stopped at the top of the entrance—again, several different views of the camera—to the side, a confused AEGIS security officer looked through his clipboard, seeing who or what this person was—yet her origins remained a mystery. WHERE DID THIS PERSON COME FROM?!
The woman took her commanding steps down the aisle—effects of lightning struck either side of her at the back and on top of the ramp-way from which she emerged… but her purpose remained a mystery. Was she here for a reason?
The woman stopped in front of the ring but then climbed and rolled underneath the ring ropes to only submerge herself into one of the four corners… another camera angle tried to illuminate her face—again, unrecognizable, buried into the darkness… she then rose…
At this time, the fans were reacting to this person's presence—they screamed in anticipation… this eerie lime-green light saturated the ring. It remained on as she captured a mic laid in the center of the ring… she picked it up, waited a few seconds, then raised it to her lips… she spoke with intention.
????: Right. So. THIS is the SHOOT Project. Me? You will know soon enough—but that is not the most important part. I came here for only one person.
She looks around, her head moving to the right and then to the left as if she was scanning something.
????: Darkspade. Let's make this quick and simple. Your adventuring days are over—it's time to go… C'mon Spadey… I know you're listening. Come out here. It's over.
Nothing.
Not a peep.
No entrance music… no cinematic anything…
The figure sighed, then raised the mic again to her lips. You can hear the frustration in her breaths.
????: Right. I had hoped that it wouldn't get to this point… that you come with me, through the Wicked World, and assume your duty as my father and Guardian of Balance… does any of that still resonate and ring a bell for showing your arse here?
An extreme closeup of the person's face showed some glimpse of this woman—her eyes lit up with a lime-light…
????: Fine. Darkspade. I know what it will take to get you to show up—competition. It's what you thrive for… your obsession, and your greatest weakness… That is why I turn my attention to the SHOOT Management… listen, The Darkspade has been a thorn in your backside for months—accept me as a wrestler—and I PROMISE you I will do what no other has been able to do—put Darkspade in his place… end him for good! What do you say? My card. When you are ready to negotiate, give me a contract.
Charon digs into her cloak and flings a black card onto the canvas floor—the cameraman lowers and zooms in on that card… showing the symbols "CD"…
????: Darkspade… dad… we are DEATH by name… your Charon of Death has arrived at last…
The arena fades slowly back into the darkness—once the lights returned… all that was left of this woman was the black card left in the center of the ring.
The camera catches Jamie Johnson standing with Joe Quinn and Dan Richards—Spinebuster Island—in the gorilla position. Quinn is rolling his neck, Richards is bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Jamie has a hand on each of their shoulders, grinning like a proud older brother.
Jamie Johnson: Alright boys, listen to me. I know what 16 Chambers is about. Ignatius Albert Martin is as technical as they come and Josiah Hudson hits like a freight train. They're not a joke. Nobody in this tournament is a joke.
Jamie taps Quinn on the chest.
Jamie Johnson: But here's the thing—they don't move like you two move. They don't hit like you two hit. Quinn, you're the smartest tag wrestler in that locker room and you know it. Dan, you're a wrecking ball with a game plan. When you two are locked in? There's not a team on this roster that can hang with Spinebuster Island.
Richards nods, jaw set. Quinn cracks his knuckles.
Jamie Johnson: We've been talking about making a statement in this tournament. Not just winning—dominating. Planet Motherfucker already punched their ticket tonight. The DeMONSTRANCE just ran through The Moonshiners. The bracket is filling up with killers, and I need you two to go out there and remind every single one of them why Spinebuster Island is the most dangerous tag team in SHOOT Project.
Jamie steps back, clapping his hands together once.
Jamie Johnson: Go take what's yours. I'll be watching.
Quinn and Richards exchange a look, bump fists, and head through the curtain as the crowd erupts. Jamie watches them go, the smile fading into something more focused as the camera lingers on him for a beat before cutting to ringside.
The camera catches Jamie Johnson in the gorilla position, eyes locked on a monitor. The final three-count echoes through the speakers and Jamie's jaw tightens. Spinebuster Island is done. 16 Chambers advances.
He exhales hard through his nose, running a hand over his face. For a moment, the disappointment is written all over him—Quinn and Richards gave everything they had, and it wasn't enough.
A stagehand approaches cautiously.
Stagehand: Jamie, you're up next.
Jamie stares at the monitor for one more beat. Then something shifts behind his eyes. The disappointment hardens into something else entirely. He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, and turns away from the screen.
Jamie Johnson: Yeah. I know.
He doesn't look back at the monitor. Whatever just happened is already behind him. Vito Valentino is next, and Jamie Johnson walks toward the curtain with the look of a man who has no intention of losing twice in one night.
We cut to the back, where Abigail Chase stands with Holden Nobody and Ricky Tenet. Ricky looks winded and red from his brutal match earlier with Napalm, but he beams with joy, the glow of victory all over him. Next to him, Holden holds his UWA and Resistance World Championships proudly, but he does not have the same elation or confidence on his face. He looks ready, focused, but the bags under his eyes betray his exhaustion.
Abigail Chase: Ricky Tenet and Holden Nobody, your match against the legendary World Warriors, Michael Draven and X-Calibur, is up next and, obviously, this is no small challenge for you, but for at least one of you, this night may feature at least one victory. Ricky, how are you feeling going into this?
Tenet sighs and forces a pained smile, wincing for a moment as he stands up straight. Before he can speak, a hulkish man with tan skin and a bleached mullet walks by, tattoos reaching down to his knuckles from under his black ROAD CREW tee.
[man]: Ricky, 'sup? Good luck out there tonight. Ya gonna need it. The both a' ya's.
Ricky nods and waves…
Ricky Tenet: Thanks…Benny…?
…before he clears his throat. Holden watches the man in the ROAD CREW shirt walk down the corridor, studying him.
Ricky Tenet: Miss Chase, to be perfectly honest with you, and with the entire Pinnacle tonight? I'm not quite sure how to feel. Like you said, I took on a genuine behemoth in this sport earlier, one I'm still hurting from, and in just a few minutes? Holden and I have both X-Calibur and Michael Draven to worry about, so…
Abigail Chase: It can't help but be noted that Holden, you aren't exactly at 100% either. You called yourself the 'most exhausted wrestler' in SHOOT Project. How are you feeling about your chances against the World Warriors?
Holden huffs, reshifting the UWA Championship.
Holden Nobody: We're walking into a match we're supposed to lose. Hell, at our absolute best, fresh and rested, we'd be at a disadvantage because of the experience that the World Warriors bring into this, but…
Holden pats Ricky on the shoulder, drawing a quick wince from "the Iron Saint."
Holden Nobody: You don't get anywhere in this industry by making safe choices. If the World Warriors win, that's just what the world expects. But if we win…
Holden shrugs.
Holden Nobody: Well, maybe parts of the big time start seeing some new faces come up and some old ones go away.
Raucous cursing echoes from a distance not too far, drawing both Holden and Ricky's attention away from Abigail and the camera.
Ricky Tenet: …dad…? Dad, what the hell is going on?
Corey Lazarus marches into frame, his words flying a mile a minute before Chase even turns the microphone in his direction.
Corey Lazarus: …at no good son of a bitch that he is…he stole my fucking belt! Have you seen the bastard?! The last I heard, he came over this way, and…
Ricky Tenet: Hey, we'll get it back, okay? He couldn't have gotten…!
Corey Lazarus: It's the principle of the matter, kiddo! That thieving prick douchebag…FFFFFUUUUUUCK!!!
The microphone glitches out from the sudden LOUD shouting from the World champion, Ricky motioning forward and putting a hand on his father's shoulder as Holden takes a step to the side, unamused.
Ricky Tenet: Pops? RELAX, okay?
Corey Lazarus: And the ratfuck took my sunglasses, too!
Ricky Tenet: You have, like, a dozen other…
Corey Lazarus: AND my fucking Rolex! That was a gift from when I filmed…!
Ricky Tenet: DAD! WE'LL GET IT ALL BACK! NOW CALM DOWN!!
Corey glares at his son and cocks an eyebrow, finding himself besmirched from Ricky's outburst. Holden stifles a laugh as the L-A-Z shoots him a side eye, adjusting the UWA and Resistance titles over his shoulders as he does so.
Ricky Tenet: Now, if you would…please…?
Ricky motions to the camera and Lazarus takes in a deep, calming breath. It may be a bit of a struggle to do it, but the World champion manages, and he pats Ricky's hand as he steps back.
Ricky Tenet: Good, good…hey, while you're here? Is there any, like, advice…or whatever…you could toss our way? Some good strategy, some…!
Corey Lazarus: You want my advice? To the both of you? My real, honest to gods advice?
Lazarus places his hand on his son's shoulder, hanging his head for a moment.
Corey Lazarus: …Ricky, you held your own against Johnny earlier tonight. And you're paying the price for it.
Ricky turns his face away, trying to hide his smile as Holden clears his throat.
Corey Lazarus: And you, Holden? Gold doesn't lie, slick. You earned those, and don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. And the two of you? You're going to be a hell of a team…
Lazarus jabs a finger against his son's chest, drawing his full attention.
Corey Lazarus: …but you aren't at the level you need to be. You aren't a Frontline II TURBO, you aren't a GenCorp, or a Hollywood Hardcore, and you're not a Last Vanguard…
Holden motions forward, ready to take umbrage with the World champion's words. Corey halts him in his tracks, pointing his finger directly in Holden's face.
Corey Lazarus: …YET. I have every reason to believe that you'll get there, and maybe that first step happens tonight, but with X-Calibur? With Michael Draven? You've got your work cut out for you.
The GODSEND: …by GOD! At LAST! Some TRUTH!
The disgust upon the faces of Holden, Ricky, Corey, and Abigail bleeds through in spades as Arthur Pleasant stops mid-step, a carnivorous grin barely hidden as he eyes four AEGIS guards just a few paces away and steps toward the three "heroes."
Corey Lazarus: …what the hell do you want…
The GODSEND: Why, I just want what every other simple creature wants, Lazzy! I just want a little… respect…after all I've done for the three of you! And boy oh BOY have I done a lot through the grace of my benevolence!
Ricky nearly launches himself at Arthur, held back by Holden and Lazarus as the four AEGIS guards step closer.
The GODSEND: Oh, Richard. Calm yourself. Your behavior is unbecoming of a son of a Lazarus. As I was saying, all I want is a little respect, because NONE of you would be where you are if I hadn't opened your eyes. Finally. Like they say, better late than never, I suppose.
It's now Ricky's turn to hold his partner at bay, locking Nobody into a side waistlock as he starts to slide the UWA and Resistance belts from his shoulders.
Holden Nobody: We don't have time for this. Say what you want and get lost.
The GODSEND: Oh, you know? (Sucks teeth with a low growl) Forgive me. I nearly forgot! I also came by to address a rather CRAZY rumor I've heard, but time is a valuable thing. Should never waste it.
Pleasant looks down at his wrist, now adorned with a familiar platinum Rolex.
The GODSEND: Ironically enough, Core Bore, it seems yours is almost up!
Corey Lazarus: …you fucking…!
Lazarus swings at Arthur, only to find his arm caught by one of the AEGIS guards. Arthur cackles maniacally and waves goodbye, vanishing down the corridor as the Hollywood Kid breaks free from the grip of AEGIS.
Ricky Tenet: Dad? Don't.
Corey fixes his black and gold waistcoat and runs his hands through his hair, taking in a deep breath.
Corey Lazarus: Like I was saying? Good luck out there, kids. You'll need it.
With that, the Last Damn Icon departs, his good eye scanning the hallway for the direction where Arthur headed.
Holden Nobody: As we were saying…
Before Holden can even say anything else, The World Warriors walk into frame. Despite the utter hatred held between Corey, Ricky, and Arthur, the tension in the room goes up a few notches. Michael Draven smirks, but there is a coldness as he scans both men. X-Calibur, on the other hand, stares daggers into Holden. Ricky feels the tension, shifting slightly nervously, but to his credit, he does not show fear in the face of these two legends. Holden locks eyes with X, sensing that he's the one with the problem.
Holden Nobody: Can we hel—
Michael Draven holds up a finger to Holden, getting in his face, but not touching him.
Michael Draven: He's got something to say, and you're going to hear it.
Holden Nobody: Hell no, you're not going to shu—
Michael Draven: And you're not going to disrespect us and our legacies, kid. You're over here bitching and whining about what you haven't accomplished, while you—
Michael points to Ricky Tenet.
Michael Draven: —were so worried this week about Napalm kicking your ass that you both forgot that this is my return, and if you think that means I can be overlooked, you've already lost this fucking match.
X-Calibur steps to Holden, getting in the double champion's face.
X-Calibur: You know what, Holden? Check your pulse. You feel that?! You FEEL THAT?! I've been doing that for 30 fucking years. I know what it's like to BE YOU, and be unsure of what the future holds—no pun intended—for myself. Jonny fucking Johnson tore me down nearly every day. Every fucking day I was in SHOOT. Then he'd beat me in the ring. And you know what it did?
Holden goes to speak, but X-Calibur is quick to interrupt.
X-Calibur: No, you listen to me, motherfucker. Papa X is speaking now.
You can hear audible "ooooos" from the live crowd.
X-Calibur: It made me BETTER. It FORCED me into believing in myself. It forced me into BETTING on myself and making X-Calibur a household NAME across the fucking WORLD. It made me a 7-time Tag Champ, 7-Time Iron Fist Champ, and a motherfucking 7-Time WORLD CHAMP. All because someone said something that I didn't like and… let it fester. Let it fucking eat at my very soul. Let it fucking DESTROY my sense of self-worth before I had to scratch and claw and break bones and take thrones all by myself fucking self. You think INSTANT HEAT built my Kingdom for me? Kast barely let me fucking be his shadow, let alone stand for myself, the cancerous sabo-fucking-teur he was.
X is yelling now, and the emotion in his voice, almost on the verge of cracking, surprises Draven and Tenet, but Holden doesn't show anything. He doesn't look away from X, doesn't stop locking eyes with him.
X-Calibur: I see you Holden, not as the next me. But as the first YOU. I'm a fucking HALL of GODDAMN FAMER in every part of the world that fucking MATTERS.
X-Calibur puts his finger in Holden's face, which finally gets a flinch out of Holden.
X-Calibur: And you want to take me to task for a fucking press conference with a man I've wanted to win tag team titles with for decades. A man I've RESPECTED in the same breath as Real Deal, Cade Sydal, fucking PESTALA—
X-Calibur's voice cracks here. For a moment, he turns away, placing a fist to his mouth. Draven pats X-Calibur on the back, strengthening his partner. From the live audience, a moment that feels so scripted it can't be, the crowd chants.
PEST-A-LANCE
PEST-A-LANCE
PEST-A-LANCE
X-Calibur refocuses, but the camera picks up a little moisture in his eyes.
X-Calibur: Well, that's fine. I get it. You're having a tough break, looking like SHIT in your matches as of late. I've been there. You're juggling too much for a glorified young boy. BEEN. FUCKING. THERE. I held OutKast's bags when you weren't even a spurt from your Daddy's fucking DICK.
But now? This is where I ask you, Holden Fucking Nobody. You want to be a SOMEBODY?!
X-Calibur gets right in his face, basically nose to nose. To his credit, Holden does not back down. Ricky looks ready to step in, Draven looks ready to back up his partner.
X-Calibur: Then I'll be your Jonny, bitch.
There is a strange silence for a few seconds; all that we can hear is the breathing of the men on camera, X and Holden very clearly keyed up and ready to go. The slightest touch could ignite a powder keg. Abigail Chase runs off as AEGIS security can be seen on the outer edges, ready to step in and enforce order. All four men notice the large security, and you can feel the body language soften.
Holden Nobody: Alright, rich man. We'll settle this real soon.
Ricky and Holden start to leave, but right before they are off camera, Holden turns back and looks at Michael Draven.
Holden Nobody: If…if the obvious thing happens and you guys win tonight…maybe ask him what happened between him and his last Master of the Mat partner.
X-Calibur's eyes go wide, but Draven puts his arm up to block him, neither man wanting an altercation with security before the match. The scene ends on X-Calibur glaring off camera at Holden Nobody.
Just as Laura Seton's music cuts off, right as the official is about to ring the bell, the lights in the arena go out! We hear the opening chords of Necessary Evil by Motionless In White & Jonathan Davis, and the newest member of the SHOOT Project roster emerges once again from backstage, a towel draped across his shoulders after his battle in the Master of the Mat tournament moments ago…
Eryk Masters: Michael Draven is back out here, and he has a steel chair in hand!
Jason Johnson: We saw earlier in the night that he swore revenge on Madison Seton after their unfortunate encounter, and he looks to get that payback at the worst possible time for Seton!
But instead, Draven stops at the end of the stage, unfolding the chair and taking a seat.
Eryk Masters: Perhaps cooler heads have prevailed for the time being, at least.
Jason Johnson: The only question is, for how long?
As the sisters have a quick handshake in the ring following the hard-fought battle, we cut to the entrance, where Michael Draven stands up, folding his chair…
Jason Johnson: Surely Michael Draven is smart enough to know that taking on two Setons is just asking for trouble! What is he thinking?
Eryk Masters: He's just standing there, Jason. Maybe he's not—
But at that moment, the lights in the arena go out. We hear a static burst of distortion mixed with microphone feedback play throughout the arena—an awful, cringe-inducing sound. The sound continues for approximately 20 seconds, and upon the sound cutting out, the lights return…Laura Seton stands in the corner, a confused expression on her face. Michael Draven remains near the entrance to the arena…and Madison Seton is laid out on her back, presumably unconscious with blood seeping from her mouth.
Jason Johnson: I told you! Michael Draven isn't someone to be messed with, Eryk! Madison should've kno—
It's at this point that Michael slides into the ring, sans chair, and…leans over Madison to check on her? Laura Seton makes her way to him, shoving him aside to check on her younger sister. She turns briefly, audibly screaming at Michael to get away, and Michael…
Eryk Masters: Did you hear that?! Draven is telling Laura Seton he wasn't the one that attacked her!
Jason Johnson: That's nonsense, Eryk! He's a liar! Who else would have a reason to attack her? He had a chair in his hand, he's guilty as sin!
Medics and SHOOT Project officials hit the ring, checking on the fallen Madison Seton, and Michael leaves with a look of apparent confusion on his face, as we fade…