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At the XWF: Relentless all-access fan interactive event, the fans are treated to Clutch Cassidy rolling up to the parking lot in her throwback muscle car and doing burnouts. She made her presence felt last Warfare when she dropped a dope debut segment with Steve Sayors in the parking lot, so fans know her already, and they converge around her.

She hops out, stands on the hood, and smashes two cans of White Claw together before chugging them down in record time. The Tennesseeian soaks in the cheers and starts running her mouth.

“Aight, ya’ll. Tomorrow in that there battle royal, every cotton-pickin’ opponent and every person in the back are gonna find out why I’m called Clutch. It ain’t no damn gimmick. It’s my whole damn identity. See, I thrive when the pressure’s redlining. Just like a driver down to their last lap with fumes in the tank, I punch that sum-bitch into another gear when everyone else is sputterin’. In rasslin’ terms, I’m that gal who never stalls in crunch time, who locks the fuck in and delivers when it matters most. I’ll prove it right now.”

She sets her wristwatch.

“I’ll mention all my opponents in less than 500 words seconds.”

She presses start.

“Mini-Morbid and Ari have reverse-legends contracts: no bios, get booked once every few years, but nobody gives a hoot. Last seen trying and failing for the 24/7 title years ago. Ain’t even a novelty act, just a pulse to stack in a match. Shit, at least Jamaican Jimmy is consistent: shows up precisely once every five years on the dot.”

“I’d lump Liam Roberts in there, but I like the fella. He looks like that badass chick from the movie The Craft. Y'all know the one.”



“And ole Liam was a Heavymetal champion, so how am I supposed to hate on that? After I dump his ass over the ropes and win this thing imma smash some White Claws with him at the club.”

“Hixx, bitch, you’re a junkyard ride. All flash paint and no engine under the hood.”

“Bing-Bong Twinz y'all have two brain cells combined, and they’re battlin’ for third place in shit river without a paddle or a boat.”

“Razor Blade, you’re the male Hixx, except you’re more like bald tires in the rain. Ain’t got no grip, no traction, and no chance.”

“Ace Skye, brother, your ring style is banger so mad respect, but holy shit, you’re basically John Blade if John Blade’s parents hadn’t built him a swingset facing a brick wall.”

Clutch eyes her watch. Time’s running out.

“Saved the best for last. Reggie, much love. You like low riders and peeling out; you know your cars. But, vato, you couldn’t handle me on a straightaway, much less when I start driftin’ corners, and you ain’t gonna handle me in this shindig. None of ya are 'cause when I drop the clutch, there’s no hittin’ brakes.”

Boom! Done. With seconds to spare.