Zenith 016

Pyro erupts across the Pinnacle stage, gold and black banners cascading from the rafters as the SHOOT Project Faithful hit their feet. Cameras pan across a sea of homemade signs, championship replicas, and a building that’s been buzzing since doors opened. Down at the booth, Eryk Masters and Jason Johnson are already on their feet.

Eryk Masters: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! We are LIVE from the PINNACLE in New York City for ZENITH ONE-SIXTEEN! I’m Eryk Masters, alongside the inimitable Jason Johnson, and Jace, in TWO weeks we crown a Master of the Mat…but tonight? Tonight is the last stop on the road there.

Jason Johnson: And what a stop it is! A six-pack challenge main event with both Master of the Mat finalists, Arthur Pleasant and Jamie Johnson, in the same ring as Yorinobu Sakai, KATSUMI, Empire State champion Johnny Napalm, and the always-terrifying Darkspade. Premier Championship contendership on the line. World championship intrigue. And our opener? The World Heavyweight champion himself, Corey Lazarus, teaming with Ricky Tenet against The Empire.

Eryk Masters: The road to Master of the Mat ends tonight. So let’s get to it.

We cut backstage to Michael Draven, dressed in a "SHOOT Project" T-shirt and gym shorts. The crowd cheers for the former legend, as Eryk Masters speaks.

Eryk Masters: Michael Draven, first of all, congratulations on your victory at our last event, and for making it, along with X-Calibur, to the finals of the Masters of the Mat Tag Team Tournament. We were told you’d requested this time?

Draven nods, running his hand over his bald head.

Michael Draven: Thank you, Eryk. That’s correct, although it’s not the tournament I’m here to talk about — there will be plenty of time for that. Tonight, I want to address Madison Seton.

The crowd boos, which sparks a laugh out of Michael.

Michael Draven: Wow, they actually agree! The bottom line is Madison, you’ve been yip-yapping and running your mouth since the moment I showed up here. First you want to fight me, then you want to fuck me, then you want to bitch about me supposedly attacking you. The bottom line is, I never laid a hand on you. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to convince you of that. I thought about talking to your sister about it, but then I realized what’s the point?

Michael Draven: I have a better idea.

Michael Draven: Masters of the Mat. Michael Draven is going to pull double duty, because after the World Warriors defeat 16 Chambers, Maddie, I really hope you’re ready to find out exactly what it is to take a pounding — oh, wait, we all know you’re more than familiar with that feeling…

A big crowd pop for the joke from Draven.

Michael Draven: You’re going to find out exactly what it’s like to stand across from the ring, if you have the courage to accept. Michael Draven vs Madison Seton, one-on-one.

Eryk Masters: And that’s quite the challenge just laid out by Michael Draven! We’ll try to catch up with Madison Seton tonight and see if she accepts! Let’s go back to the ring in the meantime!

Referee Austin Linam has just raised X-Calibur’s hand and the Pinnacle is still buzzing…but the cameras don’t cut away. They stay on the ring. Because Chad Kyle hasn’t gone anywhere.

Chad pushes himself up off the mat, slow but deliberate, and rolls into the corner. He drops onto the bottom turnbuckle, rests his elbows on his knees, and just…sits there. Catching his breath. Staring at the ramp.

Jason Johnson: Eryk…is he…is Chad Kyle just staying out here?

Eryk Masters: It looks like it, Jace. He’s not going to the back. He’s not getting checked on by the medical team. He’s just…parked in that corner.

A trainer leans over the apron, gesturing toward the curtain. Chad waves him off without even looking up.

Jason Johnson: Look, the guy just went the distance with X-Calibur, a former World Heavyweight champion. He’s gotta be running on fumes. He’s also got tag team action coming up next with Pigpen Matsumoto against the Moonshiners. The smart play is to get to the back, get an ice pack, get a few minutes off your feet.

Eryk Masters: The smart play, sure. But that’s not Chad Kyle, Jason. That’s a man with something to prove. He’s saying he’s got that dog in him. He’s saying he doesn’t need a breather, doesn’t need a curtain to hide behind. He’s gonna sit in that corner, get his wind back, and be ready when Pigpen’s music hits.

Kyle slowly rolls his neck, cracks the knuckles on each hand one at a time, and finally raises his head — eyes locked dead on the entrance ramp.

Jason Johnson: The Moonshiners are gonna have to come THROUGH him just to get in the ring. Aaron Dearinger and Josh Kaine are about to walk down that ramp and the first thing they see is a guy who just took an L and decided he wasn’t finished for the night.

Eryk Masters: Tag team action is up NEXT and Chad Kyle isn’t moving an INCH. Stay tuned, folks.

We cut back to the ringside booth. Eryk Masters is shaking his head, a half-empty can of Voltz Energy in his hand. Jason Johnson is still picking through his notes.

Eryk Masters: Folks, if you’re just tuning in — first of all, where have you been? — you have already missed an absolutely STACKED night of action here at the Pinnacle. We opened the show with World Heavyweight champion Corey Lazarus teaming with Ricky Tenet against The Empire. Then Chad Kyle trading hands with X-Calibur in a singles bout that lived up to every bit of the hype.

Jason Johnson: And we just watched Planet Motherfucker and the Moonshiners beat the absolute hell out of each other. That tag division is heating up at exactly the right time, Eryk, with Master of the Mat right around the corner.

Eryk Masters: Speaking of which — coming up next? Premier Championship contendership on the line. Vito Valentino, the longest reigning Premier champion in SHOOT history, against the co-holder of the UWA and Resistance World championships, Holden Nobody. Winner walks into Master of the Mat with a shot at "Kamatayan" Izzy Sia’s belt.

Jason Johnson: And then in our main event, the Master of the Mat Showcase — Jamie Johnson, Arthur Pleasant, Yorinobu Sakai, KATSUMI, Empire State champion Johnny Napalm, and the Darkspade all in one ring. Six-Pack Challenge. The last preview of Master of the Mat before we crown the winner in two weeks.

Eryk takes a long pull from the can in his hand and slaps it down on the table, gesturing at it.

Eryk Masters: And speaking of going the distance, Jace? Tonight’s broadcast brought to you by Voltz Energy. Two hundred milligrams of clean caffeine, zero sugar, and a kick that’ll keep you on your feet for every second of action. The official energy drink of SHOOT Project.

Jason Johnson: Whatever’s in that thing, I’m gonna need one before this Six-Pack Challenge.

Eryk Masters: Stay right where you are, folks — we’re going BACKSTAGE.

We head backstage, where we find the Moonshiners finishing up in the locker rooms after their hard fought contest against Planet Motherfucker. Josh Kaine is just now shutting his locker door, his gear packed up in a duffel bag, as Aaron Dearinger exits the showers in nothing but a white towel, his orange leathery skin still glistening with wetness. Kaine nods to him as he heads for the door.

Josh Kaine: Great match tonight, partner. We’ll get at it again here soon.

Dearinger nods, clearly bushed from the earlier contest.

Aaron Dearinger: Have a good night brother.

Dearinger says the words with a weight in his voice, clearly still sad from being separated from his family…but Josh doesn’t pick up on it. As the younger man exits, Aaron slowly lowers himself onto a metal bench, his knees clearly bothering him. He sits there with a towel over his balding head, trying to gather his energy for a moment before he eases himself back to his feet. That’s when he notices it.

A manilla packet is wedged in the crevice of his locker.

Aaron Dearinger: What the hell…

He looks around but there’s nobody else in the locker rooms. Just him. Confused, the wrestling veteran limps over and grabs it out of his locker door, tearing the top off and reaching inside. The camera can’t quite catch just what it is that he’s looking at…but Dearinger’s entire demeanor switches. His hands are trembling…his breathing gets heavy, and he falls to his knees, the packet to the floor.

There appears to be a stack of photos, though we can’t quite make out exactly what they are of.

Aaron Dearinger: …no…God dammit, NO. NO!

He’s fighting tears…his teeth are clenched. The camera man backs up, suddenly aware that he may be intruding on a VERY private moment, and Dearinger immediately notices. He stands up and leans against his locker, shaking.

Aaron Dearinger: …no…FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!

Dearinger opens his locker room door and grabs his own duffel bag, SLAMMING it repeatedly. Over and over and over again. We’re witnessing some sort of mental break. The camera man continues to back up until he’s left Aaron to his own devices in the locker room. Even as the scene fades we can hear Dearinger down the hallway.

It’s a gurgled cry…a sound a dying animal would make.

Eryk Masters: What a night of action that we’ve seen so far, Jason, and can you believe it’s only going to get hotter?

Jason Johnson: That’s right, Eryk. We still have the Six-Pack Challenge main event to look forward to, and coming up next? It’s the battle to determine who is going to challenge Izzy Sia at Master of the Mat for her Premier title, as the longest reigning holder of that championship, Vito Valentino, takes on the co-holder of the UWA and Resistance World championships, Holden Nobody.

Eryk Masters: And before we get to that, Abigail Chase is in the back with Holden Nobody to get his thoughts on this match-up. Abigail?

The cameras cut to ABIGAIL CHASE backstage, standing before the SHOOT banner just a few steps away from gorilla.

Abigail Chase: At this time, I’m being joined by the co-holder of the UWA and Resistance World championships, Holden Nobody.

The camera zooms out a little to reveal HOLDEN NOBODY standing beside her, hands on his hips. As usual, he looks worn, but not out. Where he gets the energy from could be anyone’s guess, but there is still a deep passion behind the bags under his eyes. The lights might be flickering, but they have not gone out.

Holden Nobody: Here we are again, Abigail. I guess management heard our chat last week and decided to put me to the test. Then again, of course they did. All I do is get tested, right?

Abigail Chase: I mean, you said anyone, anywh—

Holden Nobody: I know what I said, and I don’t regret saying it. Not yet, anyway. I’m actually stoked to face Vito. Big Meat Veet is a workhorse, a blue-collar guy who hits hard and takes harder. He’s had a rough patch recently, and taking my shot at the Premier Championship is a big opportunity for him to climb his way back to the top. He’s the type of guy I really want to be testing myself against, because I can relate to him. Vito is a fighter, a warrior, and he puts the work in for this.

Abigail Chase: So, you finally found an industry veteran that you can respect?

Holden rolls his eyes.

Holden Nobody: Y’all keep thinking I don’t respect people. I give the respect I am given. Vito hasn’t done anything to me to bring my disrespect. The only salt and disrespect I show is to those stealing the spotlight from younger, hungrier guys and gals, those who think they can ride off of wins from years ago. Just like billionaires around the world, I have no respect for those that cannabilize the industry so they can keep their own bellies fat. That’s not Vito, I think, and I’m excited to test myself against him. Now, as lovely as these conversations are Abigail, I’m going to go get warmed up for—

Ricky Tenet: Hey, Holden! I’m glad I caught you!

RICKY TENET walks up behind Holden, drawing attention to him.

Ricky Tenet: I just wanted to make sure I wished you good luck tonight with Vito! He’s, uhh…he’s pretty tough, you know? And he’s, like, really mad at just about everything right now.

Holden Nobody: Yeah man, he’s going to be a mountain to climb, but—

Holden smirks.

Holden Nobody: I got my climbing boots on. I appreciate you, dude.

Ricky Tenet: Yeah, don’t mention it. Or whatever.

Abigail Chase: Ricky, while I have you here, could you answer a few questions?

Ricky Tenet: Sure…if that’s cool?

Tenet looks to the UWA World champion for approval, getting a shrug.

Holden Nobody: Our conversation was over, anyway. I don’t think she cares for me too much.

Abigail scowls a little at Holden, but she remains professional, returning her attention to Ricky.

Ricky Tenet: Yeah, go ahead.

Ricky tilts his head in, accidentally blocking the shot of Holden’s face. Nobody barely hides a sigh as he steps to his side, the camera framing him tightly between Abigail and Tenet.

Abigail Chase: First, is there any truth to the rumors about you signing a deal with Pro Wrestling NEO out of Chicago?

Holden sternly turns to Ricky as "the Iron Saint" blushes, clearing his throat.

Ricky Tenet: Uhhh…yeah. Those rumors are true. I’ve been on a bit of a hot streak recently, aside from Jamie Johnson a couple of weeks ago, and I just felt like I could use the experience. Maybe we’ll even see me and Holden face off for the UWA World championship, if the cards align. That would be pretty cool, right?

Ricky playfully backhands Holden in the chest, immediately pulling back as he sees Nobody letting out a minor huff.

Ricky Tenet: …right?

Abigail Chase: And second…last week, the Empire State champion Johnny Napalm issued a warning to the other five participants in tonight’s Six-Pack Challenge, but he also extended it to you if you’re planning to cash in your title shot at Master of the Mat. Is that your plan?

Tenet pauses, trying to laugh off the idea, but Holden nods and takes the microphone for him.

Holden Nobody: Johnny Napalm’s a mean son of a bitch, but Ricky not only put down Arthur and Dark Man or whatever, he’s also had Napalm’s number. My dude doesn’t need a warning from some cowboy with a chip on his shoulder and an itchy trigger finger.

Ricky stares at Holden in disbelief for a second, taking the microphone for himself.

Ricky Tenet: Well, yeah, I’m cashing in my shot, because why wouldn’t I? Napalm’s so synonymous with that title, though, and if history repeats itself then…yeah, Abigail. I’m letting Johnny and everyone else know that I fully intend to challenge for the Empire State title at Master of the Mat. Anyway…!

From out of nowhere comes the SHOOT Project World Heavyweight champion himself, the one and only COREY LAZARUS, carrying a briefcase in one hand.

Corey Lazarus: Good evening, boys! I’m sorry for interrupting this little soiree of yours.

Holden stares a little blankly at Corey, a hint of annoyance shining through.

Corey Lazarus: Well, Black Hold Sun, I have good news and better news. Which do you want first?

Holden Nobody: I don’t…the Chris Cornell song?

Corey Lazarus: Fine. Better news first, it is! See, the L-A-Z has a few words to get off his C-H-E-S-T, so I’m headed down to the R-I-N-G for a little do re mi, dig?

Holden Nobody: And…that’s good new for me…because?

Corey snickers and puts his arm around Abigail, taking her by surprise.

Corey Lazarus: What a precocious little scamp he is, right Abs? Straight to the point, no bullshit. I can dig it, tiger, but you need to think in the fourth dimension a little more, because what does that leave you with? It leaves you with the good news, which is that you’re getting a few extra minutes of prep time before you get out there and square up with Vitolicious.

Holden rolls his eyes as Ricky whistles, himself struck by his father’s arrogance.

Corey Lazarus: So I’ll see you all from the ring…and Holden? No matter what happens out there tonight, slick, just remember that you’ll win some and lose some, dig?

Lazarus tousles Ricky’s hair and pinches Holden’s cheek, drawing a grumble from his son and a swatting away of the hand from the Resistance World champion.

Corey Lazarus: I’ll catch you boys later.

Corey marches toward gorilla, grabbing a microphone from the table. Holden shakes his head and turns to Ricky, whose face is buried in his palms.

Holden Nobody: Man…these fucking ‘legends’...so fucking rude....

Ricky winces a touch at the obvious quotation mark tone that Holden said ‘legends’ with, but he brushes it off quickly. Holden holds out a fist to Ricky, and Ricky quickly pounds it before the two go their separate ways.

Jason Johnson: The excitement continues on later tonight, as we still have the Master of the Mat Six-Pack Challenge to look forward to in the main event! Take a look at who’s involved.

A graphic rolls across the screen, a banner reading "LATER TONIGHT" below it, showing the six contestants scheduled to main event the evening.

Jason Johnson: We have Yorinobu Sakai, an incredible young talent that’s already made his impact across the SHOOT Project locker room, and the ever-dangerous KATSUMI.

Eryk Masters: Don’t forget the Empire State champion, Johnny Napalm. The former Empire State champion, the Darkspade. Two men that are certainly no strangers to one another, and you have to believe that the Darkspade’s daughter, the Charon of Death, may make her presence known.

Jason Johnson: And to top it all off, Eryk? You have both Master of the Mat finalists involved, with Arthur Pleasant and Jamie Johnson getting to test the waters against one another leading into their big 1-on-1 bout in two weeks to determine who will get a shot at the World Heavyweight championship.

A trio of drumrolls blasts over the PA system, Slayer’s cover of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" drawing a roar from throughout the Pinnacle.

Jason Johnson: Well, speak of the devil.

Corey Lazarus comes out from behind the curtain with a slow, deliberate swagger. He’s still in his ring gear, barring the addition of a white Resistant Culture tee bearing the artwork for the Welcome to Reality album, and he pauses atop the ramp with his Trademark Devilish Grin on full display. The SHOOT Project World Heavyweight championship belt rests comfortably around his waist, a microphone in one hand and a black hardshell briefcase bearing the SHOOT helmet in silver in the other.

Eryk Masters: What does he have in that briefcase?

Jason Johnson: One second, this is my favorite part…

Corey jogs down the ramp and pops onto the corner of the barricade, singing along with the crowd.

"PLEASE"
"TAKE MY HAND!!"

Lazarus hops off and climbs onto the apron, quickly stepping into the ring and turning to face each corner of the Pinnacle. He chuckles and shakes his head as he stands in the center of the ring, placing the briefcase on the mat before raising a hand, bowing his head, and lifting the mic to his face.

Corey Lazarus: …if you’d please…

"In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" dies down as the Pinnacle echoes with fanfare.

"L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!!"

Corey Lazarus: …it’s funny, isn’t it? For most of my time on this planet, I have called this ring my home, whether there was a SHOOT Project logo right there…

Lazarus points down at the SHOOT logo beneath his feet, sighing as memories of everywhere else he’s competed flood to the forefront of his mind.

Corey Lazarus: …or any other initials stenciled onto the canvas, some inevitable acronym that held only as much weight as the front office was willing to fight for. I’ve been to the top of the mountain in so many locker rooms, from pits filled with staph infections to the largest stadiums that man has ever been able to construct, and there have only been three — count ‘em, THREE — times that I’ve been able to hold something as beautiful, as prestigious…as this belt.

Corey raises his head up high, slapping the center plate of the World title.

Corey Lazarus: When that suckerpunching piece of rat shit stole this from me, it made me question quite a few of the decisions the L-A-Z has made over the years, babe. How I’ve made it a point to raise the collective blood pressure of every office that’s ever offered me a contract, not a single one of them performing their due diligence and reading the fine print that the incomparable Gregory Price always included in the riders. How my loyalties were only ever questioned by the would-be "brothers"...

He forms the quotation marks with his fingers, smirking as he knows this little "shoot from the hip" moment is going to land with the right person watching from home.

Corey Lazarus: …who’d just as soon spit in my face as they would shake my hand. Most importantly, though, and this goes out to all of the keyboard critics that like to think of themselves as insiders and taste makers, how my own belief in my abilities and talent, how willing I’ve always been to speak my mind no matter the consequences, has robbed me of so many opportunities to even catch a faint whiff of this kind of prize, because the pencil pushers that like to squeeze blood from stones are always so risk-averse that they’d rather stick to the well-trodden path instead of putting their chips behind a shit-stirrer like me, but let’s face it, folks!

Lazarus points to himself, scoffing at the idea that what he’s about to say could be anything but the cold, hard truth.

Corey Lazarus: Corey FUCKING Lazarus is the surest goddamn thing this sport has ever seen! And yes, I certainly AM going to trademark that!

He pauses for a moment to offer a shrug, a chuckle, and back on the road. The Pinnacle crowd tries to start a chant, but Lazarus cuts them off right away, directing their full attention to his every word.

Corey Lazarus: And when I got this belt back, chief, and I had it deep cleaned once, twice, three times a lady to get rid of any ounce of stink that some bizarro Guy Fieri rubbed into its every corner through osmosis alone, nevermind the countless horrors that it’s undoubtedly been witness to that chipped away at whatever soul it has left. All I could think about was…how right NC-17 was.

Confusion falls over the Pinnacle as Corey steps around, wiping his mouth as he nods in begrudging approval.

Corey Lazarus: Because NC-17 did win the Master of the Mat tournament. Because NC-17 did earn a shot at the most glorious prize this sport has to offer. And yes, he pissed it all away, running off to hide in some dark alley for a quick fix instead of doubling down on the shred of talent he finally started to show when the pressure got too hot, but he, as much as I hate to admit it, earned that shot.

Corey runs a hand over his hair, his thumb dragging along the strap of his eye patch for a moment longer than usual.

Corey Lazarus: That’s when I thought about all of the greats who’ve called the SHOOT Project ring their home, and how many of them never got to be where I am. About all of the true, verifiable legends who have never had the opportunity to hold this title before. When I think about how long that list is? I sit back and hang my head at all that I’ve received and they never did. I think about names like Osborne Kilminster and Lennox Ferguson, two of the pound-for-pound toughest sons of bitches that this sport has ever seen. About someone like Isaac Entragian, who’d treat everyone within a five-mile radius like they were cheap hors d’oeuvres, gobble them up, and then spit them on the floor because he got sick of the taste. I think about Jaime Alejandro…

The crowd cheers louder than Corey expected for Alejandro’s name, causing the World champion to pause for a moment. He tongues the inside of his lower lip, nodding as he lets out a snicker.

Corey Lazarus: I think of him and all he sacrificed for this business and how he never got his shot. I think of a good friend of mine, the dearly departed Jonathon "Nightmare" Wehali, and every single time that he came within inches — INCHES — of getting into contention before some scum-sucking piece of shit like Dan Stein would pull a powerplay and fuck him over!

Some boos reverberate around the building, and Lazarus holds up a hand.

Corey Lazarus: Okay, yeah, I get it. He’s an alright guy these days, but take it from the Hollywood Kid. That guy used to be a major tumbling dickhead, babe. But hey…I digress.

Corey offers the camera a wink (more like a blink due to his eye patch) and shrugs.

Corey Lazarus: I think about all of those names, and so many more, that could have, should have, and would have been able to put this belt around their waists…if only the chump motherfucker holding it wasn’t such a scared little bitch.

Lazarus steps closer to the cameraman standing on the ring apron, the lens inches from his face. Vitriol hangs off every syllable as he carefully, previously, chooses each word.

Corey Lazarus: And then I think about you, NC-17.

The crowd swells as Corey takes a beat, his good eye burning a hole through the camera and the television screens of all watching.

Corey Lazarus: I think about the pathetic little underhanded tactics you’ve tried to pull. About how you stole what wasn’t yours instead of giving those minuscule sandbags between your legs a quick tug and facing me like a man. About how you refuse to earn your seat at the table again, resting on laurels that expired years ago as if they still mean a goddamn thing to "the Premier Attraction." I’ve said it so many times over that the words have almost lost meaning, but I made a promise the moment that I had this belt in my hands once JJ Creampuff took his ball and ran home after he realized who was next in line, and that promise, once again, is this…

He backs away from the camera, undoing the World title from around his waist and holding it up.

Corey Lazarus: …that I am now, as I’ve always been, and as I’ll always be, a FIGHTING champion. A promise made not only to myself, not only to the Faithful that fill these seats around me and the millions more the world over, but to each and every man and woman that has come before and will follow after. That there is only one way, the VANGUARD way, to be THE MAN in this great sport, and right now? With the gods and these people as witnesses? I am offering you the deal of a fucking lifetime.

Corey chuckles, shaking his head as he lowers his World title. In an instant, he snaps back to attention, focusing up the ramp. Focusing on someone backstage.

Corey Lazarus: Because you don’t get to be on the level of the Last Damn Icon by being a chump motherfucker, and what I have in that briefcase right there is an open contract. The fine print on my contract clearly states that I have that privilege, and Teen? All you need to do is put the rock down for a few minutes, stumble your way out to this ring, and sign on the dotted line. If you do that, slick? If you decide to finally own up to whatever bit of potential you haven’t snorted away at this point? Then you get the chance that so many never did, and that’s to dust off the 27th gimmick of the month, book your appointment at the Halcyon Days Inn, and get your yeast-afflicted taint out here…to go ONE! On ONE! For the WORLD! HEAVYWEIGHT!! CHAMPIONSHIP!!!

Lazarus drops the mic as the crowd ROARS. He holds the title high over his head again, turning to face each corner of the Pinnacle once more before his gaze turns back to the entrance curtain.

Eryk Masters: The World Heavyweight champion is laying out the challenge! Is NC-17 even in the building tonight?

Jason Johnson: I have no idea, Eryk, but I saw Johnny Vignocchi trying to flirt with one of the caterers earlier today.

No music. No pyro, no hullabaloo. NC-17 walks out from the back as Johnny Vignocchi rushes out after him, trying to stand between Teen and his march toward destiny. Vig is frantically pleading with 17, their current legal woes clearly at the forefront of his agenda.

Johnny Vig: C’mon Teen, don’t do it! Think of the deposition! Your co-defendants! Teen, PLEASE! I’m beggin’ ya!

But NC-17 looks like the roid rage has taken hold. He’s sneering and nodding, eyes and veins bulging, mouthing "You wanna go?" while spittle flies out of his mouth. He looks like he wants more than a pen and a paper. He looks like he wants a scrum.

Corey Lazarus: No, no, no, Johnny! Your best pal right there wants to be the man? Then let him in and sign! I want it, he wants it, and all these fine people in the Faithful want it!

17 keeps swatting away at Johnny V, trying to get a straight line toward the ring.

Corey Lazarus: Here, tiger. I’ll make it easy on you!

Corey picks the briefcase up from the mat and opens it, pulling out the contract and a marbled black, gold, and silver ballpoint pen. He pops the cap off and holds the ropes open, resting the briefcase on his lap and laying the contract over it.

Corey Lazarus: Your name, right here at the bottom, and you get your shot! You get a second chance, buckaroo, and all you need to do is show up!

NC-17 stops at ringside as Johnny drops to his knees, begging and pleading with him. Teen laughs, grabs Johnny by the back of the head, and thrusts his crotch directly into his manager’s face!

Eryk Masters: That was definitely more insult than injury!

Jason Johnson: Johnny knows where Teen’s been!

Johnny V rolls away, spitting on the ringside mat and clawing at his tongue. He reaches up and steals a cup from a front row fan, taking a sip…only to WRETCH and spit out the bubbled saliva as the fan belly laughs, holding up his can of Zyn pouches.

Corey Lazarus: Oh holy shit…

Corey laughs and rises, turning away from the ropes…

Corey Lazarus: …that can’t be the worst thing he’s ever had in his mout-!!

…only to turn around just after NC-17 rolls into the ring, tackling the World champion down to the mat!

Jason Johnson: AND IT’S ON!!

Teen drops fist after fist while Laz fires back from underneath. AEGIS Security rushes down the ramp, halted temporarily as Johnny V runs in front of them.

Johnny Vignocchi: Hey, guys! Just let my guy do what he’s gotta do, huh? What Whattya say?!

Lazarus drills a headbutt that forces NC-17 off of him, leaping to his feet and squaring up an elbow just as AEGIS hits the ring.

"LET THEM FIGHT!!"
"LET THEM FIGHT!!"

The prime security force separates the two, pulling Lazarus away as Teen keeps tapping his chin, begging Laz to hit him.

"BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

Jason Johnson: The Pinnacle is DEMANDING they see these two go at it!

Corey pushes forward, forcibly restrained by two guards. 17 looks down and focuses on the pen and contract lying on the mat, quickly glancing between the champion and the documents that cement him as the challenger. Without further thought, Teen grabs the contract and the pen, signing his name on it.

Eryk Masters: It’s official! At Master of the Mat, NC-17 will challenge Corey Lazarus for the World Heavyweight championship!!

Teen grimaces as Lazarus nods, shouting vulgarities that get drowned out by the roar of the crowd. NC-17 hocks one onto the contract, licking his lips before swiftly, viciously, grabbing his crotch and rolling out of the ring. AEGIS back away from Corey and maintain a barricade between the two, exiting the ring themselves as 17 starts to head up the ramp.

Jason Johnson: Both men are going to have their wa…what the hell…?

The lights in the arena flicker for a second and…cut to black.

A moment of silence. Then, a single, piercingly bright spotlight snaps on at the entrance ramp.

The GODSEND himself, Arthur Pleasant, steps into the light, wearing a pristine white suit with gold trim. He has a calm, almost condescending smile on his face. He carries a gold-plated microphone with a scratched out Roman Soldier helmet, replaced with the words "THE LIE" in blood red.

The GODSEND: My dearest Faithful... my glorious DeMONSTRance... I apologize for—

The entire Pinnacle is screaming "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" before he can even utter one more word.

The GODSEND: So as I was saying. I apologize for—

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!

Lazarus stands up, holding onto the top rope with a smile on his face while Arthur holds still, somewhere between basking in the "adulation" and showing his level of annoyance. Keeping the rhythm, Corey waves his hand up with each round of applause, goading the Pinnacle even further.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap!

Even NC-17 finds himself clapping along with the chant!

Finally, pleased with themselves, the Pinnacle all cheer raucously over forcing Arthur Pleasant to actually shut the fuck up and listen to them.

The GODSEND: Good now? Feeling useful, are we? Splendid. As I was saying, I apologize for forcing you to suffer through that theatrical, utterly predictable sermon from a man whose shelf life has long since expired. It was a performance, wasn’t it? A desperate, rambling attempt at relevancy from a man facing the existential terror that his reign, his final gasp in the main event spotlight, is about to be violently seized by someone TRULY deserving.

His grin widens for a moment and then simply…disappears. A frightening look of coldness, of lack-of-humanity etches itself across Arthur’s face as his tongue nearly salivates at the microphone from a few inches away.

The GODSEND: Corey, you stand out here and weave a tragic tapestry of revisionist history and self-pity. You speak of ‘legends’ and ‘sacrifices,’ of ‘inches’ and ‘opportunities.’ You wax poetic about former soldiers who have long since been buried into the ground of THE LIE, rotting beyond its cemetery gates. Yet, in your grand, self-congratulatory speech—a speech, by the way, that seems less like a challenge and more like a very public meltdown—you conveniently omit the single most important name in the history of that World Heavyweight Championship.

If everyone hasn’t by now, they’ve certainly begun to quiet down after that.

The GODSEND: It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? The subconscious mind, seeking to protect the fragile ego. You can’t even bear to speak the name of the man who defined what that title means. The man who cast the mold. The man who is, quite simply, the greatest wrestler to ever walk this earth: my own blood, my FATHER, X-Calibur.

There’s a hushed whisper amongst the crowd as their surprise lingers in the air.

The GODSEND: You left him out, Corey, because to acknowledge X-Calibur is to acknowledge a legacy so vast, so pure, so untouchable, that it renders your entire career... well, cute. You’re a footnote in the history he wrote, and I am the living, breathing, Godsend-manifested testament to his genius. I am his son. And that, Lazarus, makes that World Heavyweight Championship not a prize to be pursued, but a birthright to be claimed!!

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

The GODSEND: Now, let’s address this pathetic little Master of the Mat fiasco. You see, NC-17 didn’t win it. He was awarded a technical victory after he melted down under the pressure. It was a failure of nerve, a failure of spirit, and an abdication of a title that should have been mine all along. NC-17 is a cautionary tale, a footnote in my Gods be DAMNED story!

NC-17 takes a step up the ramp as Johnny V hugs his leg, still squealing away to plead some reason into Teen’s mind. Corey, meanwhile, looks on, offering a shrug and a nod as he turns and steps a few feet away from the ropes.

The GODSEND: You bring up the Master of the Mat tournament, and yet, you fail to mention the man who made the entire concept relevant. You failed to mention my name, Arthur Pleasant. To do so, would be to forget it was Adam and Eve who were cast out of the Garden of Eden, frightened by a waiting serpent—ME. And now it’s that serpent’s time to coil itself around the entire tree and lay claim to ALL of Eden.

The fans are astonished at Pleasant’s words. Either with indignation or reverence of his articulated words.

The GODSEND: You see, you bring up Master of the Mat by uttering its name, but I was the driving force of the whole operation. I carried the entire tournament on my back, a divine burden of skill and intelligence. I was the one who elevated my own partner, Jeffrey James Roberts. I took that wide-eyed, talentless lump of clay, I molded him, I sculpted him into a recognizable figure... and then, when he was standing on the precipice of my magnificent design, I did what any true artist does: I signed the final work, and I pushed him off the cliff. That fall, that betrayal, that creation—it was all for the sake of art. It was all for the sake of the only prize that matters.

Arthur steps forward, bile gurgling with each salacious word.

The GODSEND: I am the real Master of the Mat.

"BOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

The GODSEND: And in two weeks, when I stand across the ring from Jamie Johnson, the so-called "Benchmark", I won’t just defeat him; I will re-validate my claim. I will offer Jamie Johnson to The DeMONSTRance as yet another proof of concept. I will beat him because, unlike you, Corey, and unlike everyone else, I don’t need a cheap contract in a briefcase to be validated. No, I "need it" because I am owed what I already earned.

NC-17 kicks Johnny V away, stepping further up the ramp as Pleasant points a crooked, sinister finger toward both champion and would-be challenger.

The GODSEND: You… you motherless, inconsequential, kaleidoscopic puddle of FUCKING afterbirth!!

"OOOOOOOOOH"

the audience shouts, as Corey’s eye goes wide with a fury unlike anyone has ever seen.

The GODSEND: You wave that open contract around like a peace offering, like you’re granting a boon, but I see it for what it is: a desperate plea for a stay of execution. You want to control the narrative. You want to choose your opponent. You want to face a broken, predictable man you think you can easily conquer. But you don’t get to choose your destiny, Corey.

Pleasant speaks in a thunderous calm, inching his head forward as if it were almost detached from his neck.

The GODSEND: I do.

NC-17 pauses halfway back up the ramp as Arthur’s attention turns to him. They lock eyes, neither man budging from their positions.

The GODSEND: And my destiny, the destiny of my congregation, The DeMONSTRance, demands that belt. Not because of a tournament technicality gone unspoken by all who oppose my validation, but because I am the superior being. My claim is not a challenge; it is a foregone conclusion. Get used to that, and get used to it QUICK.

Pleasant finally starts walking down the aisle, slowly.

The GODSEND: You, Corey Lazarus, are a placeholder. A warm body keeping my birthright alive in this frozen tundra of LIES. You’re trying to give a chance to a man who RAN from it. Well, I’m here now, and I’m not ASKING for a chance. I am DEMANDING.. you hear me, BABE?!! I am DEMANDING the satisfaction that is due to the son of X-Calibur.

At this point NC-17 has heard enough. He makes a motion like he’s going to bolt up the ramp, but Johnny clocks it and JUMPS on 17’s back.

Eryk Masters: Johnny Vig is doing EVERYTHING in his power to keep his client from committing an assault, Jace. It’s low-key embarrassing…

NC-17 spins around in a circle, trying fruitlessly to get his manager off of him. At this point the crowd’s picked up on it and there’s some jeering to accompany them in their awkward dance.

The GODSEND (ignoring NC-17 and Johnny Vig): You talk about being a "FIGHTING champion"? Prove it. Don’t hide behind a drug-addled former contender. Face the man who is the truest, most complete vision of this sport’s future. Face Your GODSEND. Bring that briefcase. Bring that contract. But know this, Corey: when I sign that dotted line, it won’t be because I need your permission. It will be because I am signing the final, irrefutable death warrant on your fabricated legacy. I am Arthur Pleasant, my family is the DeMONSTRance, and that World Heavyweight Championship… is coming home.

With each step, Arthur callously reaches toward the fans along the barricade, uncaring toward their collective recoil and the barrage of obscene gestures.

The GODSEND: You were simply a temporary custodian, Corey. You just don’t have the clarity to realize it yet.

Pleasant finally drops his custom-made microphone onto the ramp, as he and NC-17 meet halfway down. Johnny Vig is finally tossed off of 17’s back and off the ramp into the aether, and the crowd roars as Pleasant and Teen meet in chaotic fashion!

Eryk Masters: And now it’s ON! Despite Johnny Vig’s best attempts, Arthur Pleasant and NC-17 are exchanging blows!

The two are swinging for the fences, but 17 looks to have a fresh batch of mother nature’s finest HGH flowing in his veins as he somehow manages to get the upper hand!

Jason Johnson: Seventeen has Arthur on the rocks!

The Cream of Obscene’s eyes are bulging out of his head as Arthur succumbs to a heavy blow! And another! And ANOTHER! Until Arthur is up against the barricade, fans now grabbing at both of them! Arthur goes for a desperation lariat but he doesn’t have enough momentum! Teen COUNTERS it by scooping him up and…HE THROWS ARTHUR INTO THE CROWD!

Eryk Masters: Seventeen has THROWN Arthur into the audience!

Like a fat lady attempting to crowd surf, everybody clears out of the way, causing Pleasant to hit the ground with emphasis! 17 swings a leg over the barricade to go after him, but AEGIS has reached the brawling superstars! They grab the cream of obscene with reckless abandon, kicking and spitting up the ramp while Arthur regains his composure.

Jason Johnson: But Arthur isn’t done! AEGIS has their hands full with NC-17! He’s hopped the barricade and heading for the ring!

Eryk Masters: This has gotten out of control!

Pleasant rolls into the ring, cackling as he rises to his feet. He points at NC-17, frothing at the mouth as AEGIS drags him to the back, and turns…

Jason Johnson: COREY LAZARUS WITH THE END CREDITS!!

…directly into the signature roundhouse enzugiri from the World Heavyweight champion, knocking him down to the mat!

Eryk Masters: Arthur didn’t see it coming!

Corey rolls to his knee on instinct alone, his gaze affixed to the pen lying on the canvas. Lazarus tilts his head while Arthur stirs, the GODSEND pulling himself to the ropes.

Eryk Masters: What’s…what’s Corey doing…?

Lazarus picks up the pen and brings it closer to his face, slowly reaching up and feeling the patch over his left eye. Corey turns to Arthur, twirling the pen between his fingers as he tongues the inside of his lower lip.

Jason Johnson: That look in his eye, Eryk. He’s got that look…

Eryk Masters: Oh my…SOMEONE SEND AEGIS RIGHT BACK OUT HERE!!

Jason Johnson: Is it going to be an eye for an eye?!

Lazarus keeps looking between Arthur, slumped over on the mat as he struggles against the ropes, and the pen in his hand. He looks out to the crowd, blood boiling within his veins, and nods as he stomps with intent toward the GODSEND.

Eryk Masters: AEGIS is back out! AEGIS is back out!

Four members of AEGIS haul down to the ring at top speed, one nearly tripping over his own feet, but it’s too late. Corey wraps Arthur’s long hair around his hand, yanking the leader of the DeMONSTRance away from the ropes and to the center of the ring, holding the pen…and then smirks as he sees the look on Pleasant’s face. For a split second, the sadistic elation slips into cold, hard DREAD.

Jason Johnson: I can’t watch…!

Lazarus rears the pen back…

Eryk Masters: Don’t do it, Laz! Don’t sink to his level!

…and cups it into Arthur’s hand. Pleasant’s face twists in confusion as Corey rips the contract from the mat behind him, slapping it down before Arthur and forcing the GODSEND to sign it.

Eryk Masters: What the HELL is he doing?!

Corey tears the contract away and releases his hold of Pleasant, walking around to face him eye-to-eye. AEGIS rushes around the ring as Lazarus kneels down. Arthur starts to cackle, the Hollywood Kid holding the spit-stained contract signed by all three men — Arthur Pleasant, NC-17, and Corey himself — in stern defiance.

Corey Lazarus: You…are…FUCKED…

Pleasant howls his wretched cry of joy, his body rumbling with laughter, before Corey hooks him in and drags him to his feet…

Jason Johnson: He’s got him! He’s got him up!!

"L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!!"

The four AEGIS guards dive into the ring as the Last Damn Icon hoists Arthur up onto his shoulders in an Argentine Rack, turning to face each side of the Pinnacle.

Eryk Masters: HE’S GOING TO HIT THE MERCURY DRIVER!! HE’S GOING TO KILL ARTHUR PLEASANT!!

As Laz is in the process of readying Arthur for the drop into the belly-to-back Tombstone from the Argentine Rack, the AEGIS guards rush in. Two rip Pleasant off of Laz’s shoulders as the other two rush the World champion into the corner, trapping him against the turnbuckle pads.

"BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

Jason Johnson: An unpopular decision with the Pinnacle crowd, to say the least.

Eryk Masters: He had him for the Mercury Driver, Jason! It’s something that’s ended careers!

Corey holds his hands up, the Trademark Devilish Grin beaming wide as he peers over the shoulders of the two AEGIS guards restraining him. Arthur is pulled out of the ring as he comes to, quivering from laughter as the pair of AEGIS guards force him back up the ramp. Lazarus is released, the full AEGIS quartet forming at the bottom of the ramp as a barrier.

Eryk Masters: Does this mean that the World Heavyweight championship is going to be defended in a Three-Way Dance?!

Corey fires off a pair of fingerguns to Arthur before grabbing his World title belt and the contract from the canvas, holding both high over his head.

Jason Johnson: If what Lazarus said is true about that contract, Eryk? It’s safe to say that NC-17, Arthur Pleasant, and Corey Lazarus will meet in the middle of that ring in two weeks at Master of the Mat.

Pleasant brushes his hair out of his face, sneering with a sick sense of symbolic subjugation over the situation, and backs up to the curtain. He slowly applauds, laughing, as Lazarus rolls out of the ring, daring Arthur to walk back down. AEGIS swarms the World champion, standing by in case any further action breaks out, as the fans chant once more…

"L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!! L-A-Z!!"

Loud clattering echoes from behind a closed door. The cameraman opens the door, revealing the sound of the clattering. Holden Nobody is slamming his head against a locker. As he turns to see who has walked in, we see a trickle of blood rolling down his head. His eyes are wild, bloodshot, and the bags under his eyes make his wide-eyed appearance seem insane.

Holden Nobody: Hey dude, just…just not right now, please.

He headbutts the locker once more.

Holden Nobody: FUCK!

???: Do you mind? There’s a number of us that still have matches tonight. There’s a number of us that’ll shut you up and think nothing of it.

Laura Seton walks into the room, the complete opposite appearance of Holden. Her blonde hair flowing gently, draping over her left shoulder. Her skin glowing. Even her quarter-sleeve tattoo appears shinier and richer than usual. Her eyes narrow before she speaks.

Laura Seton: Maybe if you were someone anyone’s heard of? You could go on with your little show of… whatever stupid stuff you’re doing. Or maybe it’s okay you play knucklehead right now. Then we can all have well wishes for uh… uh…

She gets a look of trying to think, then getting to a point of giving up and snapping her fingers.

Laura Seton: Well… you know… you. "That guy." The guy who’s "just a guy."

Holden gets quiet for a second, his wide-eyed look going from insane to confused. He smirks as his eyes narrow and he focuses.

Holden Nobody: Alright Miss Hall of Fame…how about this? I’m on the downswing quite a bit, but…so are you, right? You don’t really have anything to do at Master of the Mat, right? I mean, since your last title reign, you’re about as far from another title shot as me.

Laura scowls, looking offended. She seems like she’s about to say something, but Holden continues.

Holden Nobody: I’m going to do you a favor…let’s get you a paycheck for Master of the Mat. Let’s run our match back. You and me. If I’m so nothing, if I’m so easy to beat, should be an easy night for you, right? No brainer, get that PPV check for no work. What do you say, Laura? Holden Nobody vs Laura Seton…hell, Laura Seton vs Holden Nobody, we’ll defy alphabetical order and make you the head of the marquee.

Laura Seton: Dude, I’m closer to another World Heavyweight Championship reigns today than you’ll ever be. You wanna go a second round with me? Good luck, bud.

Suddenly, the lights cut out…

The entire SHOOT Universe exploded in an uproar at the arrival of one of the hottest enigmas to ever grace The SHOOT Project… surrounded by mythology…

Eryk Masters: Ladies and gentlemen… it’s HER!!! She is Death by name…

Jason Johnson: …Charon of Death!!!

Once the camera ceased its slow crawl against the floor — as the eerie lime-light submerged the atmosphere — Charon shocked everyone as she exited the back in a mini-tank!!! And, in her right hand was her infamous nailgun — she shot volley after volley of nails into the air, and at a point they EXPLODED in the air signaling her awe-inspiring arrival!!!

The fans were screaming, unglued, at her presence; they clearly supported her and what she has already done… what she is about to do now is anyone’s guess…

Eryk Masters: Holy shit she’s literately driving a mini-tank to the ring… Okay. I am a fan!!!!

Jason Johnson: She’s both sexy and kick’n ASS!!!! Is it too late to ask her out on a date?! I can’t believe that she’s actually Darkspade’s daughter…

Eryk Masters: Speaking of… him… we have not heard a thing from her dad. Not a peep. No five minute monologue with voodoo effects even…

Jason Johnson: True. That’s unlike "The Unholy One"… I think Charon was right, she is the one to finally silence him. SHOOT… give this gurl a freak’n contract!!! HELL YEAH!!!!

By this time, Charon leaves her nail-gun close by the ring post and whips into the ring showing her unparalleled athletic prowess, leaps with ease on the side turnbuckle, makes hand gestures, and then whips back into the center of the ring, in which a microphone was present for her to pick up… she grabbed it… her entrance music decreased ever so slightly to silence — but not the fans… OH HELL to the NO… the fans overwhelmed the arena, screaming HER name… it was as if this was a celebration of overcoming EVIL…

Charon smiled back at all of the fans and made more gestures — she held the mic in her left hand, went over to her nail-gun and picked it up, and then raised it high… the fans screamed so loud, it made everyone’s phone signal for an obsessive sound environment, and she fires off volley after volley… it was unprecedented support for her!!!!

Charon placed the nail gun back and took the mic to her lips…

Charon of Death: I have some THRILLING news, MY FRIENDS… I AM now a part of this great sport… See, Spadey, you cannot deny the inevitable… you cannot tuck your tail and coware away into the void… err.. The Unholy Darkness… You may think I am a mistake — ouch — but let me fill you in on some reality checks… dad… who’s cheering for who now? I not only stop your momentum — I TOOK ALL OF YOUR CREATURES!!! Not bad, eh? Now I…

Again, the lights cut out!!!! This time, it was a little longer left in the darkness… when suddenly… the eerie, haunting sounds invaded the airways… the camera then focuses on the stage entrance… the feeling was dreadful… a cult-like chorus then was heard… followed by a shocking view of…

The monstrous form of The Unholy One sliced through the everlasting eternal damnation that is… The Unholy Darkness… cloaked in a long ceremonial garb… Many fans were divided in cheering or booing this man… it was evident that there were a massive support from his Creatures still… screaming out loud, "THE DARKEST HOUR… THE DARKEST HOUR… THE DARKEST HOUR…"

Jason Johnson: Damn… The Darkspade looks even more sinister than before…

Eryk Masters: Is his eyes pitch black? I am feeling the jitters…

A different title flashes across the screen as he makes his way toward the ring… "The Unholy Cardinal." The Darkspade looked very different — he had not even shaven, sporting a long twisted sinister goatee.

There’s no hesitation… no theatrics wasted. He ascends the steel steps with the cold familiarity of an unholy ritual, like he’s done a thousand times before. Then… SUDDENLY — he THRUSTS his hands upward, locking them into the ominous "Spade formation."

The arena lights snap back to life in an instant. And at last… he stands in the ring. Charon of Death. And her father.

Face to face.

No words. No movement. No emotion.

The crowd roars, with an endless, deafening storm of energy crashing around them… but inside that ring, there is only silence. A suffocating, unbearable silence. The tension isn’t just thick… it’s suffocating… This isn’t something you could cut with a hot knife. This is something you feel in your bones. Whatever you want to label this… whether it be a void or plain family drama… it was all before THE SHOOT PROJECT to bare witness…

Charon of Death: Right. Hi dad.

The Darkspade just glared at her… said not a dam thing to her.

Charon of Death gives several looks at his attire, tilts her head to the left, then brought the mic to her lips again…

Charon of Death: Nothing to say? To those watching this, this is my dad’s next level, he calls this, The Unholy Cardinal… this means he is serious… **rolls eyes** Urgh. I have a suggestion. Why don’t you call yourself "The the"? Even I lost track of how many titles you give yourself… could also save on branding costs while you’re at it, now that I’m thinking about it…

The Unholy One clenched his right fist so tightly that several drops of his own blood emerged and dripped to the mat’s floor.

Charon of Death: But dad… you’re still the same underneath all of that darkness. I am here to take you home. We can stop this right now — stop being so stubborn… leave these peo…

The Darkspade makes a quick gesture with his right hand and the mic from Charon was removed from her hand and it swung into the air and intro his hand… this shocked everyone watching!!! Something that NO ONE seen before… was it a trick or real?

The Darkspade: …Master of the Mat. We conclude this once and for all… Do you accept?!

Charon is smiling like a Chester cat while nodding… she then swung her right hand and THE MIC AGAIN FLEW out of her dad’s hand and rejoined hers… she answers…

Charon of Death: You’re on, dad.

The Unholy "Cardinal" just stares her down… slightly nods… and then turns slowly around to exit by the middle rope…

Charon of Death: …and when I defeat you, to the Wicked World you go…

Charon flings the mic and twirls around in the ring in celebration… The Unholy Cardinal stops midway between the ropes… but then re-enters the ring… watching his daughter celebrate… THEN SUDDENLY… he tears off his cardinal robes revealing an attached black baseball bat to a belt around his waist — the fans are SCREAMING at Charon to turn around… but she perceived it as them cheering for her… Charon turns around and IN A SHOCKING HEINOUS DISPLAY… HER OWN DAD STRIKES HER MID-SECTION WITH THE BAT!!!

Charon drops down like a ton of bricks… holding her stomach in intense pain… he then circles around her like a vulture… clenching his left fist sending more droplets of blood to the mat — and he then strikes her again while she was down in a fetus position trying to defend herself…

Jason Johnson: HOLY CRAP…

Eryk Masters: UM… WHERE’S AEGIS SECURITY!?!

The Darkspade was met with boos from Charon fans, but cheers from his followers… he throws the bat down and then swiftly exits under the ropes… he throws up the apron and takes out a table… and slides it into the ring… Charon, in the meantime, was inching up… The Darkspade, growling, re-enters the ring and sets up the table… then methodically approaches his daughter… Charon attempted to land some punches on his father’s stomach. Still, it did little to no good… he instead POUNDED his boulder-like arm down the small of her back and then forced herself vertical — with his hand gripping the back of her black hair ensuring she is looking at him — so that she’s literately face-to-face with the Unholy One…

The camera executed an extreme closeup of the two… with Charon gritting her teeth with The Darkspade growling infront of her… then the next thing everyone bares witness to… the sickest display… The Unholy One slaps her across the face — she backs onto the top of the table… Darkspade walks around it… and climbs on top of the table… he THRUSTS the "Spade Formation" into the air before SWIFTLY HOISTS HIS OWN DAUGHTER UP INTO THE FINAL GUIDANCE DRIVER!!!!

A few seconds…

AND THEN DOWN… DECIMATING THE TABLE DID CHARON’S SPINE DRILLED INTO IT… HER HEAD BOUNCES UPON IMPACT… BLOOD SPAT FROM HER MOUTH… WITH THE UNHOLY ONE LAID NEXT TO HER BODY IN THE DEBRIS… HE SAT UP… STARING INTO THE VOID… THEN WITH A SINISTER GRIN HE SMILED…

The lights suddenly cut off as AEGIS security with a medical team and a gurney emerge… the lights returned… The Unholy One was gone… but Charon was in a pool of her own blood with the broken table around her… The fans, the announcers, the commentators, everyone was left in shock and silence… even as Charon was placed on the gurney and rolled out of the arena… WHAT THE FUCK just happened… how SICK and TWISTED is The Darkspade!!

[Jamie doing an interview with someone before the main event]

Following Jamie Johnson’s mere mention of Arthur Pleasant, there’s a loud clapping sound out of the camera’s view.

The GODSEND: Hi, Benchmark!

Jamie Johnson: Arthur.

The GODSEND: Oh, come on now! Is that really the proper greeting to give a fellow second generation colleague?! Where’s the love, my dear Jamie?

Jamie Johnson: You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not really a "love" kind of guy. You’ve got my attention, though, so that counts for something.

The GODSEND: I was just wondering if you wanted any pointers for our match. Not tonight, of course. Nobody can really prepare for a hundred-way, thrown together mess like this. Gotta hand it to THE LIE for showcasing a bunch of losers and two winners. Not even our legendary fathers could’ve prepared for that.

Pleasant snickers, his highfalutin, sickeningly disingenuous tone laid on thicker than tree sap on a treehouse.

The GODSEND: No, I was wondering if you wanted some pointers on how to survive our match in two weeks at Master of the Mat? Being a Master of the Mat winner myself, and soon-to-be two-time Master of the Mat winner, I felt this…obligation? Yeah, let’s go with that. Obligation, as benevolent a person that I am, and for our respective family lineages, to make sure I do a good enough job of… letting you survive. Thoughts, my dear, DEAR friend?

The bait he laid down was indisputable.

Jamie Johnson: You know, I appreciate the offer. Sincerely. I know that generosity doesn’t come naturally to you, so the effort and outreach is noted.

Jamie pauses, studying Pleasant’s face the way a mechanic studies an engine that’s making a weird noise.

Jamie Johnson: But… I think I’ll pass. I know we’ve got more in common than most people realize. Instant Heat and all of that… I grew up hearing stories about your dad and mine raising hell in places that don’t exist anymore. So I’m not going to stand here and pretend I don’t respect where you come from, because I do. Pedigree recognizes pedigree.

He folds his arms.

Jamie Johnson: But here’s where we differ. You’re in the finals of the Master of the Mat tournament and you’re standing here playing games with me instead of preparing. I’ve not won it yet, so for me, every round is do or die. Every moment is one step away from being eliminated and out. That’s not a knock on you. That’s just a difference in philosophy. You think you’ve already got this figured out. I think the moment you stop preparing is the moment you get caught.

A beat.

Jamie Johnson: So at Master of the Mat, we’ll find out whose approach holds up. No tricks needed. No pointers. Just two second-generation guys with something to prove, and a ring. I think our dads would’ve liked that, actually.

Pleasant looks at Jamie and the smirk just…fades. No snicker. Nothing.

The GODSEND: I see. So, you think I’m playing…games? You haven’t seen the games I want to play with you yet.

Another beat. Suddenly, Jamie looks up after stretching and checking his boots one last time.

Jamie Johnson: Sorry. You said something?

Pleasant looks like he’s actually…angry. Still, no smile. Just nothing.

Jamie Johnson: Well, this has been educational. Time to hit the ring. See you out there, Arthur.

Jamie calmly walks past Arthur. Without even shoulder bumping him, Arthur moved out of the way through pure instinct. Realizing he just "flinched", Pleasant closed his eyes in what can only be described as defeat.

Jamie’s footsteps fade and the camera zooms in on Arthur’s beat up face, his eyes slowly open.

No words, however.

He’s speechless.

Moments after the bell sounds and Pleasant is sitting on his knees with his eyes closed, center ring. Jamie is back up to his feet, keeping an eye on Arthur.

Eryk Masters: I’m not really sure what Arthur is doing here, but after that TENSE exchange with Jamie just before the match…

Jason Johnson: …and, of course, getting absolutely DROPPED by Corey Lazarus AND NC-17 earlier…

Eryk Masters: Yeeeah. Hasn’t been his night.

Jason Johnson: I don’t know what Jamie is thinking but he needs to leave it alone and get out of there.

But Jamie doesn’t leave. He stands there, back to the turnbuckle, looking at Arthur Pleasant on his knees in the middle of an embattled ring. Neither of them say anything, and the crowd is on the edge of their seats. Just waiting for the crescendo.

Hilariously, the Pinnacle, in all their New York Cityness, start chanting.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

It’s as loud as it was earlier on during the contract signing.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

Eryk Masters: Wwwwow. Talk about the fans being relentless tonight! I love it.

Jason Johnson: Not a single word spoken and he’s getting monsooned by the crowd. That’s gotta be rare territory, there. Maybe even uncharted.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

Jamie can’t help but laugh. Seeing Arthur absorbing the Pinnacle’s abuse.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"
Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap.

Jamie goes to walk away, and Pleasant no-hand hops to his feet from his knees, showing that often overlooked athleticism. The crowd immediately stops mid-chant, waiting for the inevitable confrontation turned into a fight.

The Benchmark looks at the ramp and the Grappler’s Guild has emerged, wanting to protect their ace.

But Jamie raises a fist up, signaling them to hold.

They do. But Arthur’s eyes open and his head slowly rolls toward him, meeting Jamie’s. Pleasant’s arms are at his side.

Arthur’s lips open just as Jamie goes to leave.

The GODSEND: Bundled in suffering.

Jamie’s foot is halfway through the middle rope when he stops. He looks back at Pleasant, who stands in the same position he hopped to. His head is turned as far as it will go as his long raven-esque hair drips with sweat, but his body remains in place.

The GODSEND: Bundled…in suffering.

The audience isn’t quite sure what to make of it, and by his confused look, neither is Jamie.

Eryk Masters: What is he saying?!

Jason Johnson: Sounded like ‘bundled in suffering’, to me. Maybe?

Jamie slowly climbs the rest of the way out of the ring, his hands instinctively slapping the apron as he lands on his feet. Turning toward Pleasant, Jamie backs up the ramp, slowly, with his back to the Grappler’s Guild. Clearly not wanting to take his eyes off his opponent for the finals of the Master of the Mat.

Pleasant remains where he is, but continues repeating those three words.

The GODSEND: Bundled in suffering, Bundled… in SUFFERING.

Eryk Masters: Good God. There’s crazy, there’s psychotic, and then there’s Arthur Pleasant. I’d be unnerved by this if I were Jamie, confident or not.

Jason Johnson: Just by how he left the ring and how he’s backing up the ramp, I’d argue that he already is.

Pleasant’s head lowers.

The GODSEND: Bundled in suffering. Bundled in suffering.

His words grow louder.

The GODSEND: BUNDLED IN SUFFERING.

Without hesitation, Pleasant moves like a floating demon over to the ringside area, then stops. Hands at his side again, head down, and hair hanging. Some of the front row shrieks, unexpecting Pleasant to move like that, only to see him stop erratically.

Jamie Johnson stops at this point. Dan Richards pats Jamie on the shoulder, whispering something into his ear. Avalanche Anderson looks out at Arthur, surveying the man who will be testing Jamie’s mettle in just a few weeks.

The GODSEND: BUNDLED…IN…

He looks up, staring a hole into a Mother holding her child close to her.

The GODSEND: …suffering.

Eryk Masters: Yeah I don’t fucking like this. Not one bit.

Jason Johnson: AEGIS better be at the ready right now.

The GODSEND moves closer to the Mom and her child. Pleasant’s face of stone flickers into a widened smile and big bulging eyes for a fleeting moment. It happens so quickly that some might not have even caught it.

The boy starts to whimper.

The Mom clutches her son.

Pleasant moves a few steps closer to them. Clearly, he’s drawn to them for some inexplicable reason.

Eryk Masters: The fact that this terrifying piece of trash could, in all honesty, be the face of SHOOT Project in just a few weeks time… scares the shit out of me.

Jason Johnson: Yeah, let’s not get caught up in this and forget THIS maniac could be the Master of the Mat in two weeks.

Eryk Masters: Or World Heavyweight Champion.

Jason Johnson: Or BOTH.

Eryk Masters: Ugh.

Jason Johnson: Yeah. Pure nightmare fuel. Period. Let’s just all hope he fails. Miserably.

Four members of the AEGIS Security team rush down to the ring, trying to prevent an absolute disaster from happening.

The GODSEND: Bundled in suffering. Bundled in suffering. Bundled in SUFF…ERING.

AEGIS Agent: Move back, Arthur! NOW!!

Jamie is still at the top of the stage area, torn on whether to intervene or leave. His Grappler’s Guild teammates assure him that AEGIS has the situation handled.

Jamie slowly nods his head, agreeing with them. He turns to leave, but not before looking up at the SHOOTron focusing on Pleasant’s disturbed demeanor.

The GODSEND: Bundled in suffering.

Some of the fans surrounding the Mother and child throw sodas and popcorn at Pleasant.

Eryk Masters: Oh this is getting ugly. Someone might wanna—

Pleasant moves like a weightless bird, aiming his attention and screaming at the boy. He reaches out, but AEGIS holds him back.

Jason Johnson: Dear God. Get that kid out of there! Now!

Pleasant’s long, bony fingers reach out in a claw-like manner but AEGIS stops him and backs him up until he’s slammed against the ring apron. Pleasant’s eyes are fixated on the young boy. His mind? Either gone or short-circuiting.

Then, channeling his inner Norman Stansfield from ‘The Professional’.

Eyes wide.

The GODSEND: BUUUUUNDLED… INNNNN… SSSSSSSUFFERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIING!!!!

He starts kicking out and clawing at the air as AEGIS doubles down on their hold.

Eryk Masters: Man. Whatever is going on inside that head of his… I can’t help but be worried.

The GODSEND: BUUUNDDDDDDLLLLLLED… INNNNN… SSSSSSSUFFERRRRRRRRIIIIIIIING!!!!

The boy is crying at this point, tears streaming down his face as Pleasant unleashes his terrifying screams at him.

The GODSEND: BUNDLED… IN…

Jamie finally leaves the stage, shaking his head in either concern, disbelief, or disgrace. Perhaps all three.

Eryk Masters: Well, Master of the Mat is gonna be… interesting.

Jason Johnson: See you then, folks.

AEGIS begins hauling him away. The boy hides his face into his Mother’s embrace while she kisses his forehead, telling him it’ll be okay and that he’s safe.

Arthur breaks free of AEGIS!

Eryk Masters: NO!

Jason Johnson (standing up from booth): STOP HIM!!!

Pleasant dives toward the boy and his Mom, falling to the outside mat. Clawing at the guard rail, he pulls himself up, so that his chin is resting on the steel. His head shakes and saliva seeps out of his mouth, cascading off his chin and the guard rail. His eyes are so wide and bloodshot with intensity that they look like they might burst.

The GODSEND: …suffering.

A simple smile pierces through his psychotic gaze.