Warfare kicks off with “The Gentle Art of Making Enemies” ripping through State Farm Arena.
BG: THE KING IS HERE!
JC: Wow, okay, settle down, Brodie. I guess here we go! I'm Jacuinde, this is Brodie—welcome to Warfare!
Dressed in slacks, boat shoes, and a loose-hanging button-down shirt, Kieran King steps out onto the stage. But the most striking part of his attire is the crown of the XWF sitting atop his head—his to claim through trial by combat, and yet rarely seen over the past few weeks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the REEEIGNNNNING and DEFENDED King of the XWF, the GREATEST TOURNAMENT PERFORMER IN XWF HISTORY, the GREATEST WRESTLER ALIVE TODAY, and the alleged NEXT UNIVERSAL CHAMPION…”
King looks clearly perturbed by the word ‘alleged’ being used in the script he definitely handed to the ring announcer. The announcer continues on with their job anyway.
“KIIIIIIIIING… KIIEEEEERRRAAAAAN!!!!”
His walk to the ring is deliberate—slower than normal but not to a crawl. He doesn't mug for or jaw with the crowd. Instead he keeps a laser focus on the ring, and strides up the steps before taking centre stage.
All the showmanship he needs rests upon his head, glimmering as lights from above dance off his crown in a magnificent splendour.
Even when the lights stop, the regal radiance is undeniable.
Yet King's face carries none of its usual pomp and circumstance.
King Kieran: There is a problem in my kingdom. Well… actually… there are two. But if there are any problems in my kingdom, then there are problems in YOURS too.
He gestures madly out to the crowd.
King Kieran: One of those problems is a naïve twenty-three year-old IDIOT holding onto the thing that I've been waiting FIFTEEN YEARS to reclaim. But this kingdom… OUR kingdom… will be rid of the Dolly Waters problem not long after Relentless, when she FAILS her little side quest and YA BOI here runs away with the Universal Championship.
Buuuut… a funny thing happened on the way to Miami to kick Dolly Waters's ass. And that funny thing was the idea that somehow Charlie Nickles deserves to breathe the same air as me. Now don't get me wrong… I'm a fan of his wanton waylaying of our dear Universal Champion. That's the kind of freedom that this land is all about, you know what I mean? But where I draw the line is if someone exercising THEIR freedoms gets in the way of ME and MINE. Namely… my reclaiming of the Universal Championship. So… if I'm going to solve the Dolly issue at Relentless, and yet Charlie keeps rearing his head… then I figure I should solve the Charlie Nickles problem right now.
He beckons to the back.
King Kieran: CHARLIE NICKLES… YOU ARE HEREBY GRANTED AN AUDIENCE WITH YOUR KING. Get your ass out here.
JC: Those are some big words from the King of the XWF!
BG: Show some respect! That’s the back-to-back, REIGNING, and DEFENDED King of the XWF you’re talking about!
JC: Well either way, I’m not sure it’s the wisest idea to call out Warfare’s Acting General Manager like this! That Nickles guy is known for having a few coins loose!
THE CORPORATION’s theme song blares through the speakers as King Kieran waits inside the ring with a snarl. A burst of pyro shoots off from the stage, but no one steps out from the back to meet it. The crowd watches with hushed confusion.
Kieran King: Come on, Chuckie! Don’t you know that it's unwise to make a King wait?
Suddenly, the X-tron COMES TO LIFE!
A burst of static appears on the X-tron, and then, we see CHARLIE NICKLES LIVE ON SCREEN!
The Acting GM is dressed in a full-black suit, with a loosened tie to match and a light gray shirt that’s unbuttoned around the collar. And he’s seated next to the window on an airplane, with a designer suitcase in the chair beside him.
Charlie Nickles: Oh my God, I am so sorry Kieran! This is so unprofessional of me.
Charlie places the back of his hand on his head, feigning dismay.
Charlie Nickles: I know you wanted to have some little shindig at the start of the show, but frankly, I’ve just gotten so busy with running the company you claim to be King of- that I’m still on my way out to Atlanta!
I was stuck out in beautiful, sunny California all week! Boy, how time flies when you’re not living in some shithole state!
And my flight to the shithole is about to touch down…
Charlie looks down at his diamond-studded watch, then back to the camera with a smirk. The crowd boos vigorously when Charlie calls their shithole state a shithole state.
Charlie Nickles: In about ten minutes, so we gotta’ make this quick!
JC: Wait, what the hell was the Acting General Manager doing in California?! He’s supposed to have a match tonight!
BG: Well you heard him! He said he’s been busy running the corporate side of the XWF’s operations!
JC: What are their operations doing out in California?!
BG: Well, you know….operating!
The crowd boos vigorously as Charlie Nickles is seen flying into the Atlanta metropolitan area up on the X-tron. If you squint your eyes and look closely at the background, you can make out the shape of the State Farm Center on the ground!
Charlie Nickles: I was in and out of meetings with hot super model babes all week, but nevertheless Kieran, I did want to take some time out of my busy schedule to speak with you personally, just 1-on-1 about what happened between us last Warfare.
JC: Wait, does Charlie think he’s on a private call with Kieran?!
Charlie leans forward as he addresses Kieran personally, moving his designer suitcase out of the way so he can more clearly ‘face’ him.
Charlie Nickles: The way you worked alongside my Corporate Associates to stomp Dolly Waters into the mud was a thing of beauty. You looked so great alongside Matthias Syn and The Corporate Titans. Honestly? It was picture perfect, watching you and “The Grok” fight side-by-side. You were so in sync with that chatbot, I couldn’t even tell who was who half the time!
It took me a while to come to grips with it, but upon deep reflection…
I think you’d be a perfect candidate to join The Corporation!
As a JUNIOR Associate, of course….we already have another Senior Associate slated for onboarding at Relentless, you know how these things work.
The crowd boos at the offer as Kieran King steps back, equal parts offended and disgusted by the lowly proposition.
Charlie Nickles: And Kieran, everyone knows that I love making deals.
So to sweeten the pot, as if just being beneath my glorious banner of leadership was somehow not enough for you-
I’m willing to offer you the chance of a lifetime.
Well, YOUR lifetime at least.
If you sign your name on my dotted line…..
I’ll let you headline night 3 of Relentless against Dolly Waters, as The Corporation’s chosen pawn!
FUCK!
I mean, Chosen -ONE-!
So whaddya’ say, Kieran?
Do we have a deal?
The Nickleman bares a cocky smirk as he sticks a hand out towards the screen, clearly attempting to ‘shake’ Kieran’s hand through the X-tron, while flying a thousand miles overhead.
Just then, a smile cracks onto Kieran's face.
Kieran King: Sure!
The life is sapped out of the arena and the crowd falls into a stunned silence.
Even Charlie is confused!
Kieran King: …On one condition. Charlie Nickles hereby resigns from the XWF in all capacities - in front of the ring and behind the scenes. And every new signee, especially those under a mask or who have otherwise hidden their identity must stand before ME—in public—to prove they're not Charlie Nickles. If Charlie Nickles ever returns to the XWF, he will be forced to commit whatever the dishonourable version of hari-kiri is and nobody will ever be bothered by him again.
Sound like a fair deal?
Charlie throws his hands up on the screen, spiraling into a fit of rage inside his airplane!
Charlie Nickles: Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?! That’s a low-ball offer if I’ve ever fuckin’ heard one!
FINE!
You want to turn your nose up at me and my Corporation? You want to keep-on-keeping on, just playing ‘make-believe’ King?
Then I’m going to have to show you who REALLY runs the show!
The Nickleman leans back in his seat with a wild-eyed grin. He snaps his fingers once…
And then suddenly, a swarm of XWF security appears on stage! Led by the XWF’s Head of Security, Tommy Gunn!
Charlie Nickles: Get him, boys! Shove that Burger King crown straight up his ass!
Kieran King steps back as the XWF security personnel charge down the ramp and slide into the ring, with Tommy Gunn at the front of the fray!
JC: The XWF Head of Security is about to go 12-on-1 with the King of the XWF! Our ‘dear leader’ seems to be making a habit out of getting himself into situations like this.
BG: Tommy’s leaning in for the first blow- oh no, wait a second…
JC: Oh my god! The XWF Head of Security is BOWING to Kieran King!
The audience goes crazy as the XWF security team take a knee in front of Kieran King, with Tommy Gunn dropping down first, and the rest of the guards dropping down one-at-a-time right after.
Kieran King steps forward as he stares into Charlie’s eyes on the X-tron, a glorious smirk plastered to the King’s face as Charlie is driven to hysterics by the sudden betrayal of Warfare’s security team! The Nickleman rips out the tray from the seat in front of him!
Charlie Nickles: You worthless pieces of shit! All of you! All of you are getting fired when I touch down in Atlanta!
SO BE IT!
If my security refuses to get rid of you, then I’ll just do the damn job myself!
And if our ‘King’ refuses to win the XWF Universal Championship back for The Corporation at Relentless...then he can sit this Relentless out, just like he’s sat out every other show for the last 15 years!
AND I’LL WIN THAT MOTHERFUCKIN’ BELT MY DAMN SELF!
The feed on the X-tron quickly cuts to static as The Nickleman bashes the camera in with the airplane’s food tray!
JC: Wait a second, did Charlie Nickles just book himself into the Main Event of Relentless Night 3?!
BG: That’s what it sounds like, and as the Acting General Manager, who can even stop him?!
Back inside the ring, the XWF security team slowly rises back to their feet as Kieran King releases them from their kneeling position.
JC: Well Brody, I think I know one person who’s going to try!
Kieran King stares a burning hole into the center of the X-tron, right where Charlie’s beady eyes were just plastered a moment ago. With the XWF security team by his side, Kieran King’s theme music kicks on once more as he gracefully exits the ring.
BG: We have to cut to a quick commercial break, but don’t go anywhere folks, because WARFARE is going to be right back with our BANGER of an opening match….DICKIE WATSON VERSUS COREY BLACK!
JC: Now that’s a match you won’t want to miss!
JC: Folks, we’re just about to kick off with our first match of th-
Sarah Wolf appears as she turns a corner.
JC: …Wait, what’s this?
A New Orleans Saint’s cap fit snug to her head elicits a reaction from the crowd who is seeing this on the live feed. In her hands is a black box with a dark red ribbon wrapped about it neatly. Sarah walks into an office, and finds a frail woman with a clipboard and files in her arms. She tries to excuse herself, but Sarah remains in her path despite the directions she chooses.
“Do you work for Warfare? Or do you also work at Anarchy?”
“I’m a-”
“That’s an explanation. Not what I want. Do you or do you not go to both locations?”
“I do.”
“Good. You know who 36 is?”
“He’s one of th-”
“Perfect. Give him this. Tell him it’s from me. No strings attached. For now, obviously.”
Sarah pushes the box into the woman’s chest, almost causing her to drop all of her files, and etc.
“What’s in here?” the woman asks, clearly concerned about safety.
Sarah stops in the doorway, looking back over her shoulder, a smile easing across her face, and a glint in her eye. “A choice.”
JC: Folks, welcome back! Lots of mysterious goings on! Lot of excitement going into Relentless, but it’s finally time for our first match of the ni-
Before we’re treated to the first match…
JC: OH C’MON!
We return from a commercial break to a locker room in the back. The camera pans the faces of several notable stars. Some standing with crossed arms, others seated in silence. Some look curious, others indifferent, a few are clearly skeptical… but all are listening.
The camera turns…
…and lands on one person, standing calmly, quietly.
It’s the Universal Champion, Dolly Waters!
We can hear the audience erupting with applause through the arena walls.
Her expression is cool, almost serene… like the festering eye of the storm. But when she speaks?
There’s a fire raging in her tone.
We just watched the acting “General Manager” of this company shoehorn himself into the main event of Relentless.
We just watched a man who viciously attacks, berates, and belittles every single one of you in this room tonight be offered a title shot… not because he believes he’s earned it, he could care less about earning anything… but because he believes he and he alone has a right to rule this company. To rule each and every one of you.
And because he’s playing nice with the powers that be? He’s been granted that.
This is what we’re fighting against.
She scans the room, letting the words hang,
Now I didn’t claw my way back from concussions, torn ACLs, and a decade of disrespect just to sit quietly while people like Charlie Nickles spit in our faces and call it a ‘business decision’.
This company has been built by the wrestlers who bled for it… not spoiled, absent Kings and absent executives who booked their vacations while ducking the fight.
You wanna know what The Union is fighting fer?
It’s fer’ *us*. All of us.
The ones who’ve worked ourselves to the bone while the same handful of corporate-picked poster children pass championships around like designer drugs and party favors.
The ones who don’t get multi-million dollar contracts and corporate lawyers.
The ones who ain’t “invited” to the table unless they come crawling.
She gestures to the wrestlers in front of her.
We don’t need a King.
We don’t need a God.
And we damn sure don’t need a Corporation to tell us who’s worthy.
We ain’t just the talent of the XWF… We’re the goddamn foundation.
And if they want to keep building up glass towers on our backs, it’s time we start shaking the ground.
She steps forward, pacing slowly. Looking into the eyes of the XWF roster who has assembled before her.
I ain’t asking for loyalty to me. I’m asking for loyalty to each other.
Because if we don’t stand together…
…we get picked off. One. By. One.
Dolly takes a breath. The crowd of wrestlers looking on, uneasy. Some inspired? Others clearly uncertain.
There’s a beat.
And then they begin to leave. Some quietly. Some with glances. A few offer nods of solidarity.
But eventually, the room empties.
Dolly exhales, alone now.
She picks up her Universal Title from a bench beside her. She slings it over her shoulder and when she turns to leave…
Tommy Gunn is standing in the doorway.
Behind him?
Nearly a dozen members of King Kieran’s newly loyal XWF Security forces. All in riot gear.
Yer’ kidding me, right?
Tommy just smirks
“No ma’am. Orders from the top. The King isn’t a big fan of sedition.”
The security team storms forward.
Dolly swings first, dropping one with the title.
But she’s quickly overwhelmed.
Dragged down. Kicked. Beaten. Boots landing on her back and arms and knees.
A baton smashes down on her ribs.
JC: What in the hell is this?! That’s OUR Universal Champion! What kind of message is this company sending?!
BG: Looks like the King’s law is in effect, Jackie! And right now, sedition is a crime!
Tommy Gunn crouches down beside Dolly, blood running from her mouth.
“King says you might be walking into Relentless…
…but you won’t be walking out.”
The feed abruptly cuts.
Back to commercial.
JC: Folks I’ve been assured… PROMISED EVEN… by the production team, that the next thing you’re going to see is our first match of the night!
Dickie Watson emerges from his dressing room, ready for the opening bout against Corey Black.
JC: And there he is! Dickie Watson, in our first match will be f-... Wait…
Sarah Wolf appears from behind him, watching him as he walks away. She ducks into his dressing room as Dickie turns a corner. Left with the choice between following Dickie and seeing what Sarah is up to, someone makes the wrong choice and follows Dickie on his way to the ring,
JC: …Mysterious.
JC: Folks, this next match we’re going to see a rematch between two of the finest competitors in the wrestling world, who went toe-to-toe at Smashed 2 in Barcelona!
BG: They battled to a time limit draw, but they put on a SHOW-STEALER, Jacko! But, if you wanna see this tie broken, I’ve heard personally from XWF Warfare GM Principle’s desk… No time limit! Tonight, we WILL have a winner!
State Farm Arena is on the verge of a riot. The match hasn’t even started and there’s already a dueling fan chant!
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
The lights die without warning. Not a fade, but a full blackout that sucks the air out of the arena like the calm before a fire. Then, a strobing light, lime green, flares beneath the metal of the floor. Another, quicker and sharper. A third, holding longer now. Long enough for the crowd to catch a glimpse of the static forming on the screen overhead.
The distorted bass of “DEATHLIST” by Code: Pandorum and GHØSTKID blares across the arena’s speaker system low, grinding and industrial. It doesn't start like music, but more like a warning. Like the hum of something broken beneath concrete.The speakers rattle, and with them the crowd begins to stir as the opening continues to play, rhythmic and angry. Noise from the crowd rolls through like a cold draft in a sealed room, a few cheers, a few chants. But mostly unease.
"Do I love you? Or do I hate you?
Can I trust you without failing you?
Gonna tell you what the secret is...
You're number one on my DEATHLIST."
Whispered, the lyric doesn't rise above the crowd but cuts under it, precise and personal. The music drops out completely, not a fade, and not a glitch, just the same as the lights as they die out entirely. But then, detonation as the bass slams back in without warning, twisted and violent, louder than before. Strobe lights erupt in a manic wash of toxic green, casting sharp, flickering shadows across the sate. It's disorienting, like a spotlight wielded as a weapon. Motionless in that moment, Dickie Watson stands framed in light. No grand pose, no war cry, hair falling in his face and shoulders loose like man who doesn't need to prove he belongs here -- he already knows he does.
JC: Last time Dickie Watson was on Warfare, he was in the main event, waging WAR with Universal champion, Dolly Waters!
BG: And the man they once called THE UNDERDOG™ very nearly took the win over the Union leader!
JC: But after Dolly was beaten down post-match by the Corporation AND Kieran King… Dickie signed the Union’s petition… He’s said he finds himself in this battle because Dolly shed blood for him!
BG: Well, I guarantee his opponent tonight is gonna be lookin’ to spill his fair share of blood tonight!
He holds this, eyes floating over everyone, and then moves a beat later. Not with urgency, not with showmanship. Just steps forward like the rest of the world is moving slower than him. He doesn't look to the sides, doesn't soak it in. He's not here for the moment, he's here for the thrill. Every movement is precise, like a blade being unsheathed. Quiet, measured. He walks down the ramp towards the ring, eyes still glancing off to the side, turning his head slightly to acknowledge fans and enemies alike. At the barricade, he reaches out and slaps a few hands not necessarily out of respect, but more of obligation. These are the people who kept him alive for so long, and what he does this for.
He rounds the corner to right, bypasses the steps, and jumps, both feet hitting the apron in one clean lift. Without grabbing the ropes, without pause, he slings himself over the top and lands near the dead center of the ring, bent knees taking the brunt of his leap. He circles the ring once, loose-limbed, cracking his neck slightly, and stops. Near the far corner, he crouches with his elbows on his knees, fingers dangling in between as his music fades.
…
The lights in the arena fade slowly to black. The opening tones of "I Would Die 4 U" by Prince and The Revolution blast from the PA, sending the crowd to their feet. They scream out the lyrics as Corey Black emerges from the back, walking out onto the stage with intent, bathed in a white light while purple ones circle the arena. He is wearing a hooded dark denim vest that has metal band patches all over it and a large Pantheon logo back patch. Corey stands at the top of the ramp, looking out into the frenzy of dancing and singing attendees, nodding his approval. He makes his way down the ramp, taking his time to survey the landscape around him and get himself a good look at the ring before him.
JC: Speaking of the Corporation… Charlie and Syn absolutely STOLE a match from Corey Black last Warfare, beating him down when he had the match in hand!
BG: Black seemed none too pleased with the Corporation… or the XWF at large for letting those two run roughshod on him!
JC: Black has something to prove here tonight! And he might just punch straight through Watson to ensure that point is proven!
As he reaches it, Corey slides in under the bottom rope and pops to his feet, unleashing a roar and throwing the devil horns into the air toward the hard cam. He takes the vest off and drops it to ringside before heading to his corner and crouching down, waiting for the match to begin.
…
DING DING!
Dickie Watson
- vs -
Corey Black Singles
The moment the bell rings, the two begin circling…
JC: Black taking a more intentional, measured opening than in Barcelona… What do you think the thought is there, Brody?
BG: Watching back the tape from Spain, Black’s strategy of comin’ out the gates with two fists a-swingin’ only played into Watson’s hands, as Dickie clipped him with quick kicks! Black’s decided he’s better off choosin’ his moments!
Corey exhales through his nose, eyes narrow. It’s clear this strategy is much less his preference, but he maintains his guard, steps measured, testing distance, trying to use footwork to sneak into grappling distance…
In response, Dickie drops his stance lower, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes scanning Corey’s hips, working to keep Corey moving.
JC: Corey obviously took notes on how Dickie managed to frustrate his offensive efforts in Barcelona… But, there’s virtually no one in the industry better at frustrating opponents than Dickie Watson!
Corey finally shoots forward, collar-and-elbow!
Dickie catches his arms and the two jockey for control!
JC: Here we go! We started with striking in Barcelona, we’re going straight to grappling in Atlanta!
Corey’s jaw tightens, arms flexing as he tries to bully Dickie backward. Dickie grimaces, his ribs compressing, as the larger Black drives him backward toward the corner!
But instead of twisting free, he suddenly drops weight, his face flashing focus, and pulls Corey down into a rolling crucifix pin.
ONE!
T-NO!
Corey’s eyes go wide, brows leaping in shock. He kicks free just after one, scrambling up with a scowl. The crowd pops — Dickie nearly stole it in seconds.
Corey slaps the mat with his palm, then smirks, lips curling like he almost respects the trick, before resuming the circling… But faster!
Both Watson and Black stand eye-to-eye with one another, barely inches apart.
Black shoves Watson, who reels back to the ropes!
Watson rushes back, ducking a clothesline from Black!
Watson off the opposite ropes, and Black goes low for the back body drop!
Watson somersaults over Black!
No!
Black stands, catching Watson!
Watson with a head-scissors take down to Black!
Black rolls through with the momentum, and comes to his feet!
Both competitors pivot and face each other, giving pause to counter the other!
BG: Listen to this crowd, Jackie!
JC: It's unreal, Brody!
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
Watson rushes Black!
Black with a hip toss, sending Watson to the mat.
Watson back to their feet, but Black throws another hip toss!
Black with an elbow drop, but Watson rolls out of the way
Watson to their feet, and Black rises. Watson with a spinning wheel kick to Black!
Black absorbs the blow, and when Watson is back to their feet, Black with an elbow strike to Watson!
Watson with a knee lift to Black
Black with an elbow to Watson
Black follows up with vertical suplex
Black with an elbow drop that lands
Black to the top rope
BG: High risk offense coming from Corey Black!
JC: Watson has it scouted!
Black leaps, but Watson raises both knees
Black landing on the extended knees of Watson!
Watson to their feet, and takes to the top rope!
THE ECHELON!
Watson with the cover!
1…
2…
Black kicks out!
Watson back to their feet, feeling the impact of the huge corkscrew moonsault
Black rolls out of the ring
JC: Corey Black isn't showing cowardice, Brody.
BG: No, he's taking a minute to get his bearings, perfectly normal.
Referee “Lost Count” Luis Gonzalez begins his count
1…
2…
Black slaps the apron, and rolls back into the ring
Watson is on Black quickly
Black back body drops Watson over the top rope
Watson lands on their feet on the apron!
Black grabs Watson and pulls them by the skull to a ringpost, smashing Watson's cranium into it!
Watson retaliates by mashing Black's head into the top turnbuckle!
Watson hooks Black, looking to suplex him to the outside
Black slips out after being hoisted and lands on his feet on the apron beside Watson, keeping the head-and-arm hook in while snagging a leg
Fisherman brainbuster onto the apron!
Watson falls to the floor as Black lands feet first outside
“Lost Count” Gonzalez begins his count!
1…
2…
Black brings Watson to his feet…
3…
4…
Black braces Watson against the apron, and hits and overhand elbow to Watson!
…”Lost Count” Gonzalez notices a light is out, potentially an infraction of the XWF rules.
Black slams Watson's head into the apron.
“Lost Count” Gonzalez resumes his count!
1…
2..
JC: Official Luis Gonzalez hasn't completed a ringside count out in the 13 years he's been officiating.
BG: This one may as well be no count-out, Jackie! And, for once, the referee’s incompetence may be what the fans prefer tonight! They don’t want a double count-out! They want a DEFINITIVE WINNER!
Black drags Watson to the corner post, and leans them up against it
Black in with a Kenka kick to Watson!
No!
Watson ducks, and Black's leg slides onto the mat and around the post!
Watson with a thigh kick to Black!
…8
…9
“Lost Count” Gonzalez realizes his shoe laces are too loose, and has to retie his shoes!
Watson rounds the ring post, grabbing Black's exposed and vulnerable leg draped submarine style under the bottom rope and over the corner
Watson with another leg kick to Black, sending him keeling backwards onto the floor
Watson locks in a figure four grapevined around the corner post!
JC: I have never seen this, Brody!
BG: Watson and Black are hanging like tomatoes on the vine!
JC: Watson is shredding Black's ACL as they dangle!
Having done some vicious damage, Watson releases the hold as Black rolls on the arena floor, clutching at his MCL (actually).
Watson peers under the XWF ring.
BG: What is Dickie doing?
JC: Dickie does as decided duelly dude!
BG: …what?
Watson pulls a bag out from under the ring!
JC: This could be thumb tacks, Brody!
BG: This could be a snake for crying out loud!
JC: Oh, it's the XWF Shinobi!
The ninja that lives under the XWF ring skulks out, and drops a smoke pellet!
It grabs the mystery bag and absconds through the crowd!
JC: And one lucky fan is taking home a souvenir tonight!
BG: Lots of lucky fans are taking home souvenirs, they sell them here, ONE lucky fan is taking a wild ninja home!
Watson steps out of the smoke cloud, and “Lost Count” Gonzalez sees wrestlers ringside and begins his count!
1…
2…
Black is feeling under the ring, slowly getting to his feet after the devastating corner assisted figure four.
He pulls out a pillow, and frustrated, throws it out to the crowd.
JC: COREY BLACK JUST THREW A NINJA'S PILLOW INTO THE CROWD…
…I did not expect to ever say that, Brody, I think I had too much coffee.
Brody is out in the crowd, trying to get that pillow because he wants to sleep like a ninja.
Black to his feet, favoring his right leg, and sees Watson!
Watson dives, going for a submarine DDT!
Black counters, holding the bottom rope, and hangs on to Watson
Black lifts Watson, dropping them with a snake eyes onto the apron!
Black rolls Watson into the ring, leaving their head on the apron itself
Black climbs onto the apron, and drops a knee onto Watson!
Black recoils, sitting on the apron, clutching at the knee
Watson recoils, rolling further into the ring.
Black stands, and hits a slingshot body splash, making the cover!
1…
2…
Watson kicks out!
JC: Fans, this opener has been a barn burner!
Black pulls Watson to their feet
Watson fights back!
Watson with a superkick to Black!
Watson with the cover!
1…
2…
Black gets a shoulder up!
Watson brings Black up, and now Black with a superkick!
Black reels back, leaning on the top rope, slapping his right leg, trying to get more circulation going to it
The crowd is going wild for the action!
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
*WE WANT WATSON!*
*CO*REY*BLACK!*
Watson slowly gets to his feet
Both men throw superkicks!
Their feet lock, and then both swing around, nailing simultaneous roundhouses to the jaw!
Both competitors crumple to the mat!
JC: Both competitors are down as they crossed the streams with superkicks!
BG: It was like Harry and Voldemort shooting wands at each other!
JC: I don't know, Brody, that's J.K. Rowling, and she might be problematic, or not, it depends on which city we go to!
BG: Can we respect the art, not the artist? Like Michael Jackson.
JC: Michael was never convicted!
BG: Don't you think it's time we listened to the victims?
JC: When they're white males?
BG: Stop you sassy bitch, there's a match going on!
“Lost Count” begins his count since both competitors are down!!
1…
2…
3…
4…
5…
6…
7…
8…
Um…
Shit…
6?
Yeah, 6…
7…
No, I already did those…
Damn it…
ONE…
Both competitors are up after a one count by the referee!
Watson and Black are shaking the cobwebs out following the mutual roundhouse destruction.
They both approach each other with intent
They set a collar-end-elbow tie up!
Black sets in a top wrist lock
Pressing his size advantage, Black arches Watson back into a bridge
Watson powers back, showing core strength, and counters into a hammerlock
Black with a back elbow, and a counter into a hammerlock of his own
Watson with a drop toe hold, and they rotate into a front chancery lock
Black maneuvers from the chancery into a grounded arm wrench
Black to his feet, holding the torque on the wrist
Watson posts into a one handed hand stand and flips forward to his feet, and counters into an arm whip
Black rolls through the whip and is to a knee, and he pivots setting in an arm wench
Black with an elbow to the torqued shoulder of Watson, then a leg drop
Black goes for a LaBelle lock!
Wataon rolls through, sending Black's shoulders to the mat!
1…
2…
Black kicks out!
Black transitions into an armbar
Watson rolls out of it, though, and both competitors are to their feet!
Suddenly, the XWF Shinobi hops the guardrail with his pillow!
The XWF Shinobi rushes the ring, and takes their mask off…
…revealing…
MARK HARMON!
JC: OH MY GOD, BRODY, IT’S MARK HARMON FROM NCIS!
BG: …
and?
JC: I FUCKING LOVE NCIS!
Mark Harmon grabs his pillow and returns to his home beneath the ring.
…
The two competitors both storm forward!
Corey swings wild with a lariat — but Dickie ducks, eyes flashing. He plants a kick into Corey’s gut, doubling him over.
Dickie hooks Corey’s head under his arm, his expression a mask of fury and exhaustion. He lifts — twisting sharply — and spikes Corey down with…
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
The arena erupts.
Dickie sprawls across Corey, eyes shut, every muscle straining just to hold the cover.
A second official makes the count because “Lost Count” Gonzalez has been sacked.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
WINNER: DICKIE WATSON
Dickie Watson, covered in sweat and still out of breath from his fight against Corey Black, swings open the door to his dressing room, only to find it covered in images of himself. Eyes crossed out with red paint. Words like ‘failure’ and ‘unlovable’ are written across his face in black, runny ink. In the middle of the floor, a flame dances in a pasta pot. The source of the flame is a FIGHT NYC Dickie Watson action figure. The eyes of which have been carved out of its head.
JC: Folks, I don’t think you could pair two more different stars across the ring from each other than these two competitors you’re about to see face-off!
BG: One’s a legendary technician older than the hills, the other is a physical specimen still finding her footing in wrestling!
JC: It’s pure strength and youth versus pure technique and… experience!
BG: ‘Sperience, good way to put it, Jackie boy. I was gonna say ‘being old as HELL’![/blue]
The lights went dark!
The sound of thunder Ker-ACKS throughout the arena!
Over the PA system, a woman laughs…
A Storm…
Is…
COMING
Suddenly, the lights turned blue! Rain falls from the rafters above as Latoya Hixx walks out at the top of the ramp, flexing her muscles!
[white]TODD: Latoya Hixx is, genuinely, the strongest person… not woman, the most PHYSICALLY imposing individual on the XWF roster!
BAMA: But she’s lacking that one thing that turns pure physicality into unstoppability… and that’s experience!
TODD: Well, she’s about to get a lesson in mat wrestling from possibly the greatest mat wrestler still working today!
The lights return to their default settings as Hixx walks straight down the aisle and she slaps a few hands of wrestling fans! As she walks by the chopper, she points at and pantomimes revving the engine!
Hixx climbs up the steel steps, then enters the ring…
The lights dim and she flexes her muscles one final time!
…
"In the Face of Evil" by Magic Sword reverberates over the PA. Row after row, aisle to aisle, fans rise from their seats throughout the arena and cheer, knowing one of their workhorses is about to appear!
As the second, third, and fourth chords of the theme reverberate, three spotlights shine down, one over another: A green circle, a gold triangle over it, and a crimson line intersecting the other two. On the Tron, his monikers cycle through one after another:
TACTILIZING ONE
GAME CHANGER
LIMIT BREAKER
From there, the beat triggers the house lights to illuminate the figure of Larry Tact standing on stage. He's looking down as he hones in for the battle ahead.
JC: Larry Tact! TPW Hall of Famer! Multiple time World Champion!
BG: And one of the best mat technicians to ever run dem ropes, Jacko!
JC: Absolutely, Brody! Larry came inches… INCHES from ending the undefeated streak of ‘Micheal Graves’ and ending his historically-long Anarchy Title reign! The closest ‘Graves’ has come to dropping the belt up to this point!
BG: But now he’s back on Warfare! And Larry is famous for re-tooling his game… After two decades in the business, it’s amazing how often he’s adding new tricks and moves to his arsenal.
JC: The greats are never satisfied with simply being great! And Larry is one of the greats! But can he overcome the inhuman strength of Latoya Hixx tonight!
After a few seconds, Tact whips his head up and trudges to one side of the stage, firing up the fans by pointing towards different sections. He goes to the other side of the stage and beats his chest with a hand before opening his arms to the reaction of the crowd. "THIS IS YOUR SPOTLIGHT!" Larry bellows as the audience hoots and hollers back. He returns to center stage and points to either side of the crowd. The lights cut out except for green, gold, and crimson spotlights highlighting the audience in attendance. Larry makes his way down to the ring, pounding fists with some fans at ringside before hanging onto the middle rope and pulling himself up onto the apron.
Facing the stands, he opens his arms up and puffs his chest out to receive the feverish energy of his supporters. Wiping his boots on the apron, Tact proceeds into the ring. He climbs a turnbuckle and again holds his arms out. “BEST GAME WINS!!!” he exclaims to another pop before descending and making his final preparations for the match.
JC: Here we go, folks! Larry Tact, the ultimate ring general, the Tactiliizing One! Against the sheer powerhouse Latoya Hixx!"
BG: Don’t let that 'ring general' flim flam talk fool ya, Jack-o! Larry’s a killer for sure, but it’s only gonna take ONE of Latoya’s tree-trunk arms swingin’ in the right direction, and ol’ Larry boy’s legacy gets smeared into the mat like a bug on a windshield!
The official signals to the timekeeper!
DING DING!
LATOYA HIXX
- vs -
LARRY TACT Singles Match
Larry Tact circles Latoya with calm confidence, his expression one of quiet calculation. His shoulders are relaxed, his lips curled in a small smirk as though he’s already two steps ahead. He raises his hands for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, beckoning her with a nod…
JC: Larry offering to start things off with a little catch-as-catch-can!
BG: Which, if you asked Latoya what ‘catch-as-catch-can’ is, she’d probably say it’s a brand of cat food…
Latoya, chest heaving with anticipation, bites her lower lip nervously before puffing herself up, widening her stance like a bull ready to charge. Her brow furrows — determination drowning out hesitation — and she lunges into the lock-up.
The two jockey for control! Hixx bends Tact’s spine, twisting his torso backwards!
JC: Oh, Hixx showing off that raw strength! Tact’s gonna have to maintain the pace if he doesn’t want to get mauled early![/blue]
Tact immediately senses the raw strength pressing against him, his face tightening just enough to acknowledge the force. He dips low, twisting his hips with veteran precision, and in one smooth motion rolls Latoya’s wrist under his arm, torquing into a snug wristlock!
[white]JC: There we go! The technique! Tact turns all that raw power into a liability in a heartbeat!
BG: Impressive.
JC: Would you say… ‘Tactilizing’?
BG: No, I would not.
Latoya’s eyes go wide, her mouth parting as she grimaces in confusion. She stomps her boot down hard on the mat, yanking and jerking her arm like a trapped animal…
But, her panicked, twisted jerking motions, only give Larry the slack to make the wristlock tighter… To elevate the wrist higher and shove Latoya’s head lower towards the mat!
JC: Latoya’s gotta slow down and think! The panic in her movements is only giving a tactician like Larry more opportunities to put her in deep trouble!
BG: Shake it off, Hicksie!
Larry’s smirk returns as he cranks the wrist further, tilting his head like a teacher scolding a child. Hixx flexes her arm, trying like a bear punching through a wicker basket to break Larry’s grip!
BG: Here we go! Latoya might just be about to brute force her way out!
…Suddenly, with effortless grace, Tact spins beneath the arm and transitions into a hammerlock, pressing Latoya’s own arm high up her back! The crowd applauds the showing of technical mastery!
JC: Nope! Once more, Tact nimbly transitions into another move! He’s making basic chain wrestling look like magic out there!
BG: Oh, shuddup, Jacko! That ain’t no magic! That’s just cheatin’ a rookie outta her God-given strength! Let her swing, Larry — see how fast you’re countin’ stars!
Latoya hisses through clenched teeth, her face scrunched in pain. Her feet stomp anxiously, searching for footing to shove Larry off… but Larry manages to twist and change his footwork as she bends and steps to keep her from having a position to push off of!
JC: Larry slowly but surely bringing Hixx down to the mat… Like a man landing a very angry hot air balloon!
Hixx feels her knee nearly make contact with the mat… Her eyes panic, knowing she’s in trouble!
Tact raises that hammerlock, driving Hixx closer and closer to a position face-down on the mat…
…Hixx’s eyes go wild with helpless desperation!
…But just ahead, she sees the ropes!
just a few feet away. With a surge of determination, she charges forward awkwardly, dragging Tact with her until she slaps a hand onto the ropes.
JC: Close call, but Hixx manages a rope break!
BG: Phew! Alright, let’s get ‘em in the second half, Hicksie!
The official starts counting for Tact to break the hammerlock!
ONE! TWO!
Larry releases smoothly, raising his hands as though to say, "No harm done." He even pats Latoya’s shoulder with a veteran’s condescension before stepping back…
JC: …Friendly, if… arguably condescending gesture from the Tactilizing One! I’m sure Latoya won’t take it the wrong w-
The gesture makes Latoya’s face twist into a humiliated fury.
JC: …Oh dear!
Hixx lets out a guttural yell and charges blindly…
WILD CLOTHESLINE!
…Nope! Larry sees it coming a mile away.
His eyebrows lift in amusement, and with a pivot on his heel, he ducks under the arm and slides behind her! Before Hixx can even surmise where her opponent disappears to With a veteran’s precision, Tact wraps his arms around her waist aaaaaand…
He snaps her backward!
RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX!
Hixx gets LAUNCHED, sprawling across the mat.
JC: Picture-perfect! Larry Tact is wrestling a masterpiece tonight, Brody — this is a clinic in how to outmaneuver raw power!
BG: Gal darn it, Hicksie! I’m begging ya, ONCE! JUST HIT HIM ONCE! Tact’s so old, getting Hixx’s fist in his fist, he’s gotta melt into sand and Werther’s Originals!
Latoya rolls to her knees, blinking hard, her jaw slack in bewilderment at how quickly she was thrown. She shakes her head, pounding the mat with a fist as anger builds in her chest. Her breaths become heavier, her eyes narrowing to burning slits as she stares across the ring at Tact, who simply motions for her to come again with a calm, knowing nod.
Fueled by a mix of embarrassment and rage, Latoya suddenly explodes forward again! Her teeth grit, and a guttural roar escapes her throat as she throws her whole weight into a…
SHOULDER BLOCK!
…The quick sprint time catches Larry off guard! IT CONNECTS!
The collision sends Tact crashing flat onto his back, the veteran gasping for air as his arms instinctively wrap around his ribs.
JC: Whoa! Hixx just flattened Larry Tact like a runaway train! Even after Larry waved for her to come at him!
BG: Sometimes, the most surprising move is actually the most predictable move! Hixx out-thought ol’ Larry by NOT THINKING AT ALL! CHECKMATE!
JC: …I think it’s something of an overstatement to say ‘checkmate’ after landing a shoulder block! But, it IS true, Hixx has stepped into the driver’s seat!
Larry Tact lays on the canvas, wincing and clutching his ribs as he sucks in deep breaths. His lips curl into a grimace of irritation…
Across from him, Latoya stands tall, her chest heaving like a furnace, a wide grin cracking across her face. She pumps her fist on her chest and bellows, soaking in the crowd’s reaction, her confidence swelling with every cheer!
STORM IS CO-MING! *clap clap clapclapclap*
BG: YES! It’s happening! Latoya Hixx is finding her footing here! You can feel the energy shift — she’s smelling blood! Old, ooooooooold blood!
JC: …Little too much showboating here for my taste, personally!
After a few more seconds of celebratory taunting, Latoya stomps toward Tact with fire in her eyes. Her nostrils flare, her lips curled in a snarl as she swings down heavy…
AXE-HANDLE STRIKES across Tact’s back!
A second!
A THIRD!
Tact groans, his body buckling, his face contorting in pain as he tries to cover up… crawling and latching a hand onto the middle rope!
The official gets between Hixx and Tact, getting Hixx to back off while Larry’s in the ropes…
JC: Tact using that veteran knowledge to go for the ropes, buying himself a breather!
BG: Don’t do it, Hicksie! He’s literally on the ropes, go for the knockout!
Indeed, while the official counts to two, Latoya bares her teeth, side-stepping past him and unleashes a flurry of clubbing forearms, her whole body trembling with adrenaline.
BG: Get ready, ump! Call for a knockout!
But Larry’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing with grim determination... He absorbs the punishment to his back, inching his way to a knee…
Then suddenly shoves Latoya back to create just a sliver of distance!
JC: …I think Larry’s mad. He gave Hixx the courtesy of a rope break. I think Latoya violated some courtesy rule of Larry’s!
BG: Oh big deal! Keep swinging, Latoya![/blue]
Latoya snarls and lunges again, looking to secure a front-face lock!
…But, Larry dips low, pivoting his hips — and with veteran grace he slips free of her grasp, twisting behind her!
LEG SWEEP TAKEDOWN!
To the camera, it happens so quick, it seems like Hixx zips from her feet to the mat!
[white]JC: WOW! Tact once again redirects Latoya’s blind fury into a seemingly effortless counter! This is like watching a master class in the art of wrestling!”
BG: Master class, my foot! Larry’s just runnin’ away from a fight! Stand toe-to-toe, you coward!
JC: He’s literally in front of Latoya, his toes facing her toes fighting her!
BG: Doesn’t count! STAND STILL AND GET PUNCHED, TACT!
Frustration wells inside Latoya, from the mat… Though, it’s also clear exhaustion is staring to set in for Hixx as well.
Larry leans forward, grabbing Hixx by the scruff of her ne-
Suddenly, the Storm STORMS forward!
Before Larry can slip aside again, she suddenly clamps her arms around his midsection. Her eyes bulge wide, veins straining in her temples as she squeezes, lifting him clear off the mat!
BEAR HUUUUUUUUUUUUUG!
The crowd pops as Latoya latches on her signature bear hug!
JC: Whoa! Bear Hug! Latoya has the Bear Hug locked in, dead center of the ring!
BG: YES! Hixx is gonna forever be able to claim she outwrestled Larry Tact!
Larry’s mouth opens in surprise as his body jerks upward, dangling in Latoya’s crushing BEAR HUG!
His legs flail instinctively, his teeth grit, and his face twists with genuine alarm, as The Storm crushing his body!
JC: She might just have him here! Hixx has Larry Tact in her clutches — and she’s squeezing the air out of him!
BG: Yes! YES! Pop ‘im like a zit, Hicksie!
Larry gasps, eyes darting, his arms flailing!
…Is he preparaing to submit?!?
No! His expression changes — from panic to calculation.
He reaches down, snatching at Latoya’s arm, wrenching it sideways with precision.
Latoya’s grin falters, her brow knitting in confusion as she feels her own arm being dragged away from its anchor point!
JC: What’s this?!! Tact is going for one last counter?!?
Hixx shakes her head, teeth gritted, trying to power her arm out of Tact’s grip — but Larry twists violently, contorting her shoulder backward.
In a heartbeat, the veteran has dragged himself down to the mat with her Hixx’s trapped, locking her into a shocking…
KIMURA LOCK!
JC: Kimura! Kimura Lock! Where did this come from?! Larry Tact has pulled a brand new weapon out of his arsenal!
Brody Goodman: …What?! New moves?’! That’s cheatin’! That’s sorcery, Jack-O! HE’S A WITCH![/blue]
Latoya’s face contorts in agony, her mouth opening in a shriek, eyes wide and desperate…
She thrashes, kicks her legs, shakes her head violently…
but the pain is too much!
Her hand slaps frantically against the mat!
Winner: Larry Tact
[white]JC: It’s over! Latoya Hixx taps out! Larry Tact has shocked everyone by pulling out a Kimura Lock to win the match!
[white]Brody Goodman: I don’t believe it… he just tricked everybody! Latoya had him dead to rights, and this sly old fox conjures up a move nobody knew he had? That ain’t right, Castillo!
Larry releases the hold smoothly, sitting back with a satisfied grin as he adjusts his wrist tape. His eyes glimmer with veteran pride…
The scene cuts into the parking lot where we see Steve Sayors with the tool of his trade next to his lips. He has an excited expression and thumbs behind him, though what’s going on needs nobody to point it out. The cameraman has already done his duty, picking up a panning shot of rows of muscle cars. Hoods are up. Engines are revving. Some high-tempo music is playing in the distance, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out Steve’s voice.
STEVE SAYORS: Hotlanta, Georgia, apparently one of the Atlanta car show expos has moved their event to right here at State Farm Arena’s parking lot.
He moves through the lot, nodding and waving at jubilant, cheering fans who’re looking at the cars and taking pictures.
STEVE SAYORS: Looks like muscle cars and wrestling go good together, like peanut butter and jelly! And I do believe my journalistic nose has caught the scent of someone who might be in the know about this little car show.
The interviewer magnifico approaches a woman with her back to the camera. She’s sporting denim cut off shorts and a denim jacket with the XWF Anarchy logo airbrushed across the back. The trunk’s open on her throwback late 60’s era red and black muscle car. The crowd around her cheer as the woman smashes two cans of White Claw together like Stone Cold used to do his beer, and she guzzles them both down as the crowd around them hoots louder.
STEVE SAYORS: Excuse me, excuse me. I do believe I caught wind of your contract signing on XWF’s website this week. I’m gonna take a guess and say you’re Clutch Cassidy?
The blonde haired woman spins toward Steve and the camera, tossing the empty cans aside and wiping the residual from her lips.
CLUTCH CASSIDY:That’s mah name, don’t wear it out, sugar!
She throws an arm around Steve’s shoulder as if they’re pals and throws a cool girl nod at the camera. He looks happy that someone is being cool with him, since it doesn’t happen alot.
STEVE SAYORS: Oh I won’t! Trust me! I take it you know what’s going on here?
She nods and winks.
CLUTCH CASSIDY: I sure as hell do. I’ve cut my teeth on dirt tracks and dragstrips since I was knee high, and I figured if I was gonna be blessed with getting signed to the most majorest promotion in the world, XWF, I’d use it to my advantage and get a lot more eyes on these fine folks sporting their cars. So I invited them over.
STEVE SAYORS: Oh wow! I’m not sure if our acting GM, Charlie Nickles, will like that. I mean, not getting this cleared by him, and sporting an Anarchy shirt on Warfare might irk him.
CLUTCH CASSIDY: That man’s got bigger fish to fry, sugar. I don’t think he’d fault me for using Warfare to get some more eyes on Anarchy since Warfare does bring in a lot more views. Isn’t he a bidness man now? He knows the deal.
Steve looks around nervously for a moment, as if saying Charlie’s name might instantly summon him. After a moment of no Charlie sightings, he nods.
STEVE SAYORS: Good point. Smart on your part too.
CLUTCH CASSIDY: Thank ya kindly, good man. Annnnd since I have you here, I want to tell all the fans out there to tune in to Relentless for my debut match. I dunno who it’ll be yet, but they stand a damn good chance of getting a Pit Stop from me, haha. You can also catch me on Anarchy’s go home show from College Park on September 4th… I’m not booked but I’ll be there to have some fun. Now if you’ll excuse me, Steve-o, I’ve got fans to entertain.
She returns to the group of fans around her car and escorts a kid and his parents to the driver's side. She lets the child hop into the driver’s seat, and with aid from her, he excitedly revs the engine over and over again, his eyes wide with joy!
Isaiah King is already in the ring, a scowl on his face as he paces around the ring.
BG: Gotta say, Jack, Isaiah doesn’t look too focused tonight for this match. You would have thought that he’d be bringing it.
JC: Well, looks can be deceiving, Brody. After all, there may not be anything on the line in this match, but you better believe that a tag champion versus tag champion match is going to be drawing all the eyes and ears here tonight on Warfare!
BG: Maybe that’s the case, Jack, but you gotta bring your A-game tonight…
The lights in the arena go deep blue as smoke fills the air. Pink and silver laser lights cut through the smoke and it looks fucking rad.
BG: …to survive against that man.
As Bobby's music blares throughout the arena, slowly walking out onto the entrance ramp is Bobby Bourbon. He looks out at the crowd in the arena, cold and stoic, surveying his surroundings. He stops and raises his fists at 45 degree angles, and continues his deliberate plod towards the ring. He raises both arms outward, accepting fives, slaps, daps, knucks, and touches as he does. He looks on into the ring, feeling the energy of every fan he makes contact with. He stops, and begins stomping in place, with the utmost joy to be in front of the XWF crowd. He stops a camera.
"I'm a bad, bad man, but like my home, the XWF, I have plenty of bad, bad fans!"
BG: Bobby’s looking particularly mean tonight. I think that loss against Maraeth last Warfare might have really gotten to him.
JC: It was a hard-fought battle to be clear, but yes. I think Bourbon is looking to try and make a statement tonight, and King has to be on-guard against anything he’s going to try to do here.
Bobby climbs the steps, then climbs the nearest ring post half way and raises his fists at 45 degree angles. The lights go back to normal and the music stops. The fans in attendance all echo their sentiments for the match.
Bobby acknowledges the crowd. They roar. Bobby looks back at his opponent.
The referee takes a minute to look over both competitors, making sure they’re ready to go. As they nod back to him, the referee motions to the outside for them to ring the bell and get this contest underway!
BOBBY BOURBON
- vs -
ISAIAH KING Singles Match
DING! DING! DING!
JC: Here we go! No titles or contenderships on the line here tonight, but there’s a lot of pride and bragging rights that’ll be sure to go into this match. Bobby Bourbon! Isaiah King! One-half of both Anarchy and Warfare’s tag champs are meeting in the center of that ring to find out who the better champ is, and who the better brand is!
BG: You know me, Jack. I’m a Bourbon fan at heart, it’s true. But I just hope we can get some pride going for our own brand, you know? Warfare IS the flagship brand of the XWF, after all!
JC: It’ll sure to be a hard-fought mountain to climb for both of these men, but that’ll be sure what to make this a barnburner spectacle to watch!
King raises his fists, moving into his trademark boxing stance as he moves towards the center of the ring, looking to take control of the center. Bobby sneers at King, before slowly raising his hands and trying to meet him in return.
King measures his distance with a jab, but Bobby quickly slips the punch before it lands. King tries to measure it again, but this time Bobby swats the punch away. King tries for a third jab - but it’s caught in Bobby’s grasp!
A beat passes. King and Bobby stare at each other. King tries to wrench his hand free from Bobby’s grip. But Bobby responds by lunging forward to knock King between the eyes with a sharp headbutt!
JC: Big headbutt there from Bobby has King’s eyes watering! King, of course, very seasoned boxer and has used that strategy to great effect here in the XWF, but if there’s any man who can take a punch and stay standing in this company…
BG: You better believe it’s Bobby Bourbon. And he’s about to go on the hunt.
King takes a step back, trying to shake out the cobwebs, but Bobby is already on top of him! A HUGE knee to the gut has King doubling over, heaving for air as he falls back into the corner! But he doesn’t get a second chance to breathe as Bobby darts forward - CORNER CLOTHESLINE!
The fans are wincing at the immediate carnage on display in the ring, and it doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon! Bobby claps both hands around King’s neck, looking towards the opposite side of the ring as he moves across with him - BEALE THROW!
JC: A Big Boy Toss from a very big boy in the ring there! King got thrown around like a ragdoll!
BG: See what I told you before, Jack? King just isn’t focused out there, and he’s getting picked apart!
JC: King’s taken worse in the ring, but it’s definitely not a promising start for him, I can tell you that much!
King quickly rolls out of the ring, looking to try and recuperate. His eyes are slightly glassy, and he sucks in a deep breath. As the camera focuses in on him in his wounded state, King glares towards the cameraman, brushing him aside as he tries to pace outside of the ring.
JC: King looks to be emotional, but you can hardly blame him. When you’re fighting for bragging rights like these two are, it’s easy to get swept in the details of the moments here.
BG: Bobby isn’t gonna let him sulk forever, though!
Just as Bobby steps over the top rope to bring the fight to King, King is a beat faster. He grabs Bobby by the heel, yanking his stance out from under him as he takes a hard fall onto the ring apron! Bobby winces as King continues to lay some heavy punches on him, but he quickly comes back to life! He shoves King across, sending him into the metal barricade!
BG: Well, this sure didn’t take long for the chaos to spill out of the ring! Bobby just couldn’t wait to get his hands on King here!
JC: Both competitors have to be mindful of the count here, though. The referee isn’t going to let them sit forever out there.
Sure enough, the referee leans over the outside as he begins to count.
ONE!
TWO!
Bobby comes over towards King, but King manages to land a hard body hook. He takes Bourbon by the neck, looking to bash him into the guard rail!
But Bobby catches himself in time! He drives a sharp elbow in retaliation to King’s chest, giving him the chance he needs to drive King’s skull instead into the metal! King walks off, holding his nose as a gush of crimson spurts out!
JC: Uh oh… folks, it looks like Isaiah King’s just broken his nose out there, and you can see he’s shaken up. You’d hardly be able to breathe with how much blood he’s gushing out, there.
BG: Scars of war, Jack. It doesn’t look like there’s going to be any rest for the wicked, though.
THREE!
FOUR!
As King tends to his busted nose, Bobby continues to take the initiative, hitting King with a heavy double axe handle to the back. King doubles over, but Bobby takes him by the throat and holds him up high! He runs to the metal ring post -
BEFORE CHOKESLAMMING KING RIGHT INTO IT!
BG: And if you need a reminder on what equation that was, that was EMC squared! King learning right now just how much of an impact can give Bobby the energy he’s needing here!
JC: It’s like King’s hardly having a chance to breathe. Bobby’s making good on his promises right now, but you’ve gotta wonder if there’s a chance King could scrape his way back into this.
FIVE!
SIX!
Taking notice of the referee’s count, Bobby huffs while looking back at King. He delivers a sharp boot to his busted nose, causing King’s face to scrunch in pain and discomfort. Bobby hoists King back up, only to roll him right back into the ring, with Bobby soon following inside.
King takes a minute to get back onto all fours, with Bobby stalking King like he’s prey. A boot to the side sends King onto his back, holding onto the ropes as he desperately gets back up, trying to cling to life in this match.
A goliath stands before him.
King grimaces, before delivering a punch to Bobby’s gut! And another! And another! Each shot tries to send the big man back, heaving with each blow! He begins to circle around, looking for a huge Discus Punch!
BUT BOBBY CATCHES IT!
JC: Oh no! Isaiah King had to be looking for his Royal Verdict, and we’ve seen before how that Discus Punch could turn the tide of the match at an instinct!
BG: Bobby had that move well-scouted, Jack. He’s playing no games tonight with this match. And that means…
A headbutt to the broken nose has King doubling over once more as he holds at it! But Bobby places his head between his legs!
Lifts him up high!
AND PLANTS HIM RIGHT BACK DOWN WITH A BOBBYBOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!
JC: VICIOUS Bobbybomb there! King might have been lifted to the rafters there with how high Bourbon had him!
BG: Never mind the height - did you see the landing? Bobby might have dropped him on his head!
Bobby plants himself down atop King’s carcass as the referee counts the pinfall!
OOOOOOOOOOOONE!
TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
WINNER: BOBBY BOURBON!
BG: Game, set and match. King’s done some great things in the XWF, no doubt about it, but he couldn’t bring his A-game tonight against Bourbon.
JC: Make no mistake, folks, Bourbon went into this match looking to send a message, and he did just that. He’s got a high-profile tag match come Relentless against the Corporation, and Bourbon and Thunder Knuckles alike aren’t looking to be backing down any time soon!
Bobby gets his hand raised high by the referee, and he takes a minute to bask in the cheers and jeers alike as he gives a smug smirk, before walking off towards the back.
BG: The Bastards and the Corporation… why do my favorite teams have to collide against each other like this?
JC: Regardless, King’s going to have to come back to his senses soon, since he and Sebastian Everett-Bryce will also be defending the titles come Relentless! But be sure to stay tuned, folks, for this Warfare is rolling on!
"Dethrone" by Bad Omens plays throughout the arena. The lights go out. Once the beat drops, a spotlight shines on the entryway, where Solomon Kline appears inside the light, clad in a black hoodie over his ring gear and kneeling on his right knee. As the lyrics come in, he stands, removes his hood and surveys the crowd as sparks rain down around him. He grooves his way toward the ring, and high fives fans along the way. He circles the ring and slides under the bottom rope. He continues rocking out to the song and goes to the turnbuckle to let out a primal scream, singing along to the lyric, "Here am I, take me to the pearly gates, so I can look you in the eye when I spit in your face!"
He returns to the ring and readies himself for the match.
JC: And here comes the son of one of the XWF’s most favorite legends!
BG: Hopefully Solomon doesn’t pull a ‘Raja Jackson’ in the ring tonight!
JC: I don’t even know why you’d say that!
BG: Because I get the feeling that this match is going to be a BLOODBATH!
The lights fade out suddenly. As her theme begins. the lights flicker on slowly and steadily, until they maintain a muted version of themselves, which Sarah stands in the middle of the entrance way. The lights follow Sarah as she slowly makes her way to the ring. On either side of her are no hands outreached, no fans trying to gain her attention. Just angry faces and concerned looks. Sarah steps into the ringside area, and moves to the ring area, rolling in, and rolling to her feet. She positions herself in the corner of her choosing, and waits.
BG: It’s our reigning, defending, and absolutely stunning TV Champion! Sarah Wolf!
JC: Sarah has been on an impressive tear in the Television division, finally bringing some stability to that belt!
BG: What was once a hot potato, is now a prize of gerat prestige firmly situated around the waist of the Wolf-woman!
JC: The only question is…will that belt be leaving on her waist, or will Solomon Kline pull off the upset?!
The opening bell cuts through the arena, sharp and commanding, and immediately Sarah Wolf slinks forward with a crooked smirk. She doesn’t look interested in locking up. Her eyes darted to Solomon Kline’s left knee, like a predator drone locking in on a precise target. Solomon, meanwhile, stands tall in the center of the ring, legs planted like oak trunks, waiting for the champion to come at him. The crowd’s buzzing with excitement, they’ve been waiting weeks for this match up!
Sara Wolf circles her challenger, her head tilted, as if examining Solomon’s weak points with great precision.
JC: This match is off to a slow-start here! Both competitors are just feeling each other out!
BG: Feeling each other out?! Buddy, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed: but Sarah Wolf has just given Solomon Kline a full ocular patdown! If Solomon doesn’t act quick, she’s going to make mincemeat of him!
Sarah Wolf strikes first, closing the gap cautiously as she moves in on the big man. Kline extends his arms for the collar-and-elbow, but Wolf ducks under, snapping a quick low kick to the inside of his knee. He grunts but doesn’t drop. She smirks, feints in again, then delivers another sharp kick: this one higher, as if it were a slap to his face!
Solomon lunges forward to swat her away, and she slips out of range, wagging a finger at him as she taunts the big man.
JC: Sarah Wolf had better be careful here! I wouldn’t want to rile Kline up if I were her!
BG: Why? Will he get angry? Will she not like him if he’s angry? Listen to yourself when you talk. This is a wrestling match, not a marvel movie!
Kline doesn’t bite on Wolf’s mocking gestures. He just steadies himself, waiting for her next move. When Wolf suddenly darts in and tries to clinch, Kline is prepared to swat her aside like a gnat! The big man shoves her halfway across the ring!
JC: I told you, Brody!
Wolf lands on her hip, arches her back, and then rolls up to her feet with a scowl. The audience pops for Kline’s raw power, but Wolf doesn’t let the frustration stew for long: her expression quickly settles back into cold malice.
BG: I think you’ve got things backwards! I think Solomon’s about to find out what happens when Sarah Wolf gets angry!
Wolf lunges for his knee again, but this time Kline’s ready. He catches her foot mid-swing and yanks her forward. Wolf stumbles chest-first into his arms, and Kline clamps down, swinging her up with a thunderous overhead belly-to-belly suplex! Wolf crashes hard on the canvas, the ring shuddering from the pure impact.
Kline doesn’t let up! He storms forward as Sarah tries to escape, scooping Wolf onto his shoulder, and slamming her spine-first into the turnbuckle in a running powerslam variation. Wolf arches in agony, hands grasping the small of her back, before collapsing forward onto her knees.
Solomon drops down to cover her!
1!
KICKOUT!
BG: Not even close!
JC: But he’s getting in some early offense! If Sarah Wolf isn’t careful, the next pin’s going to be a 2, and then the one after that will be her downfall!
The crowd applauds the kickout, but Kline doesn’t look discouraged. He gets back to work quickly, hauling Wolf up by her hair, the difference in size between them almost comical. He whips her into the ropes, and when she rebounds, he ducks low, launching her into the air for a massive back body drop!
Wolf soars through the air, before finally crashing down to the mat!
BG: Oh my God! I’ve never seen a wolf fly so high!
JC: Solomon Kline is every part of 6 foot 6 inches, and he’s chok-full of muscle! If anyone could make pigs and wolves fly: it’s gotta’ be him!
Sarah Wolf rolls instinctively out under the bottom rope, clutching her spine, trying to buy a much-needed timeout!
Kline follows, stepping over the ropes to pursue, but by the time he gets onto the apron Sarah Wolf’s already laying in wait. She grabs the edge of the apron, yanks it down, and drives her elbow into the back of his knee, causing Solomon to collapse on the apron! Kline roars, buckling, clutching the leg. Wolf doesn’t waste a second! She shoves him back-first into the ring post, then wraps his knee around the cold steel with a sickening twist. The referee leans out, barking warnings at the TV champion, but Wolf just shrugs, feigning innocence as she releases Kline’s leg!
JC: A dirty trick followed by a dirty move! The champion is pulling out all the stops here tonight!
BG: She’s just doing the hard work that needs to be done if you want to keep your championship! This is why Sarah Wolf has been such a dominant TV champion: because she’s willing to do whatever it takes to retain!
Solomon rolls back inside the ring, clutching his leg as the referee chews Sarah Wolf out.
JC: There’s still ten minutes remaining in this match…I don’t even want to think about what damage Sarah Wolf could do to that knee in the next ten minutes!
BG: Think about it? You don’t have to think about it! We get to watch it!
Sarah slides back into the ring, stalking Kline’s knee relentlessly. She stomps at it, bends it sideways, and finally drops into a spinning toe hold. Each crank draws a grimace from Kline, but he shakes his head furiously when the ref asks if he wants to quit. Wolf leans down, snarling, almost whispering in his ear as she torques harder, like she’s trying to seduce him into surrendering to the pain.
But Solomon refuses!
BG: Sarah Wolf is going to rip that boy’s leg clean-off if he doesn’t just give up! She’s like a dog with a bone in there!
JC: Solomon Kline’s not going to quit, Brody, you can always count on that! But maybe, maybe just this once he should consider it! He still has to wrestle for the Tag-Team Championships alongside “Blizzard” Collins at Relentless, but he won’t be able to do that if Sarah Wolf breaks his leg tonight!
With the crowd chanting behind him, Kline fires back, clubbing Sarah with heavy fists, until she’s forced to release his leg. He tries to scramble upright, but Wolf dives low and dragon-screws him back to the mat!
She slides atop of him for the cover!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!
BG: She almost had him dead to rights!
JC: She sure did! Solomon Kline is going to have to dig deep if he wants to fight his way back into this match!
Wolf scowls, raking her nails down Kline’s face in frustration, earning yet another warning from the referee. The crowd boos the blatant heel tactic, but Sarah pays them no mind. She just snaps up, drives the sole of her boot into Kline’s knee again and again, then yanks him by the ankle over to the corner. With a nasty little flourish, she drapes his leg over the bottom rope and drops down, hyperextending the joint! Kline groans, gripping the top rope, but still shakes his head defiantly when the referee asks if he quits!
Wolf taunts, throwing up five fingers in the ref’s as though mocking his countdown. She pulls Kline out from the ropes and into a single-leg Boston crab, wrenching back with violent jerks. The pain tolerance that defines Kline is on full display: his teeth grit, sweat pours, and yet he drags himself forward. Inch by inch, until his hand finally snags the bottom rope once again!. The ref orders the break. Wolf doesn’t release until four, glaring at the official the entire time. Then, she finally steps back: but only after feigning a bite to the referee’s face! The champion gets a chuckle out of the referee’s startled fright.
JC: If Sarah Wolf’s not careful, she could get herself disqualified here!
BG: Disqualified?! Look at how scared that referee is! There’s no way he has the guts to DQ our precious Dollface!
The damage on Kline’s leg is mounting. When Kline tries to rise, his leg buckles under him. Wolf circles like a shark, licking her lips in anticipation of the kill. She moves in for another chop block, but this time Kline meets her with a desperate clothesline from his knees! The impact nearly decapitates her! Both wrestlers crash to the mat, sucking wind.
JC: Talk about a momentum swing! Kline was swinging for the fences there, and I think he just hit a home-run!
BG: He just derailed the champion’s train of thought, that’s for damn sure! He might’ve just given her a concussion, the jerk!
Kline’s the first up, hobbling badly but alive. He drags Wolf into a corner, unleashing rapid-fire European uppercuts, each one snapping her head back with vicious power. He hoists her up onto the turnbuckle, climbs gingerly after her, and with a roar, brings her crashing down with a superplex that rattles the ring! He drapes an arm over her chest as the referee drops down to count the pin!
1!
2!!!!
KICKOUT!!!
JC: He almost had her! I thought that was it!
BG: Solomon Kline is bigger than Sarah Wolf, stronger than Sarah Wolf, and damn it, I think he might even have more heart than Sarah Wolf! I hate to say it, but I think she’s in trouble here! This could be the end of her reign as we know it!
JC: That may be so, Brody- but that clock is ticking! And Kline only has 5 minutes left to get the job done, or Sarah Wolf will retain by default!
The crowd can’t believe Wolf kicked out. Kline slaps the mat, frustrated but not broken. He forces himself upright, waiting, motioning for Wolf to rise as the crowd chants his name in unison. Sarah stumbles forward, dazed and confused, as Kline scoops her onto his shoulders. The pain in his knee nearly gives, but he grits it out, roaring as he drives her down with a massive fireman’s carry slam in the center of the ring!
He hooks the leg!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!!
The arena shakes with disbelief. Both wrestlers are visibly exhausted. Kline limps around, motioning for another big move, but Wolf rolls to the ropes, trying to crawl away. Kline drags her back, only for Wolf to rake her nails across his eyes- but this time, the referee doesn’t see! Kline reels back, blinded, and Wolf pounces, hitting a chop block that folds his leg underneath him.
Wolf wastes no time following up. She twists him into a vicious inverted STF, grinding across his face as she leans back. Kline howls, clawing at the mat. The clock ticks down from four minutes to three and a half. The audience stomps and claps, begging Kline not to give in. Summoning every ounce of strength, Kline pushes up, drags them both across the ring, and reaches the ropes for yet another ropebreak. Wolf lets go at four, seething, her hair wild around her face as the referee practically has to force her off of Solomon Kline.
BG: This match is going down to the wire! Or should I say, down to the ropes! Because Sarah Wolf would’ve had this match won if it wasn’t for those pesky ‘rules’!
JC: That may be so, but there’s only 2 minutes left on the clock! She’s going to win this match by default if she can just survive from here on out!
Both wrestling are staggering now, exhausted and battered beyond belief. Kline hobbles up, throwing desperate haymakers, trying to knock out the champion. He connects with one, two, three in a row, staggering Wolf into the ropes and busting her forehead wide open! Blood sprays all across the canvas as Solomon Kline whips her across the ring, then he limps forward, and nearly decapitates her with the ASHES TO ASHES!
A MASSIVE POP-UP FOREARM SMASH TO THE FACE!
He covers her for the pin!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!!!!
Kline pounds the mat, his temper flashing as the champion somehow kicks out! Solomon looks up to the X-tron and sees the timer ticking down. He quickly drags Wolf up, but she collapses on him, playing possum. As he stoops down to grab her, she springs up with a sudden headbutt to the bridge of his nose! The crack echoes! Blood trickles instantly!
The crowd erupts in boos as Wolf smiles through her crimson mask.
BG: THERE’S ONLY ONE MINUTE LEFT, BUT THIS MATCH IS FAR FROM OVER!
JC: Far from over?! Are you hearing yourself?! These wrestlers BOTH need medical attention, you’re not supposed to be able to do this much damage in 15 minutes!
With just one minute left, Wolf circles Kline’s back, hooking him for a backstabber—but Kline shrugs her off and plants her on her ass with a spinebuster!
BG: SPINE BUSTER! SPINE BUSTER!
JC: This could be all she wrote for Sarah Wolf!
Kline rises, blood running down his nose, as he drags Sarah Wolf up by her hair for one last slam.
JC: There’s only 30 seconds left!
BG: But Kline’s about to end it all right here!
Solomon lurches with all his might, his legs wobbling, as he picks Sarah Wolf up for the powerbomb…
But when Kline lifts Sarah up onto his shoulders, she spits a mysterious chemical into Kline’s eyes! It stings his eyes before foaming to cover Kline’s entire face! Solomon’s face starts to burn as wretches and gags- but the referee doesn’t see any of it, because Sarah Wolf’s body is covering his view!
JC: WOLF’S BLOOD! She just spit the Wolf’s Blood into Kline’s eyes! That dirty, good-for-nothing scoundrel!
As Kline stumbles, Sarah slithers onto his back like a snake, locking in a rear naked choke. She cinches it in, her forearm braced across his windpipe. He thrashes, his long arms flailing. The crowd screams at him to hold on as the Wolf’s Blood spreads across the entirety of Kline's face, mixing with the blood from his nose as it foams.
JC: She cheated! Sarah Wolf just cheated, but the referee didn’t see it!
BG: All’s fair on Love and Warfare!
Kline staggers forward, trying to smash her into the turnbuckle, but she rides his back like a parasite, tightening the chokehold!
Kline drops to one knee, his arm raised, trembling. Wolf squeezes tighter, her face twisted with sick delight.
Kline’s arm falls once…
The referee grabs Kline’s arm, but it drops twice…
The referee lifts it a third time….
And Kline’s arm drops, lifeless.
The referee calls for the bell!
Winner and STILL XWF TELEVISION CHAMPION - SARAH WOLF
Sarah Wolf lets Kline drop like a sack of bricks after the bell rings. The champion looks down at her fallen challenger with scornful contempt before the referee hands her the XWF TV Championship. Wolf stops staring daggers into Kline only once the gold is back around her waist!
The crowd boos with righteous indignation as the referee raises Sarah Wolf’s hand up for the world to see.
JC: This was a screwjob! Solomon Kline had her beat fair and square, but Sarah Wolf bent the rules like she always does, and now she’s walking out of the ring with a title that should’ve been his!
BG: EXACTLY! SHE is walking out of here with the title belt, and at the end of the day, that’s all that matters! Sarah Wolf did exactly what she needed to in order to retain here tonight, and there’s nothing anyone can say about that.
JC: Oh, there’s a whole lot I can say about that! But Brody, you know we don’t have the airtime for me to dive into every dirty trick and tactic that she used in her “victory” here tonight. We have to get to tonight’s Main Event!
The crowd rises to its feet to boo as Charlie Nickles appears under the XTron…
JC: Alone? And in his old ring attire, Brody?
BG: You heard the bossman this week, Jackie. He said he was going to give the world one last taste of Classic Charlie here tonight. And he’s living up to his word.
JC: I guess he is… and I guess I’m wondering now which one is more dangerous? Afterall, it was ‘Classic Charlie’ who captured the Universal Championship in the first place. The man who made a career out of maiming his opponents.
Charlie’s face is without expression. He marches straight down to the ring and finds himself a spot seated by the turnbuckle, rocking back and forth.
B L A C K.
The speakers erupt with distorted violins and a droning, percussive march—less music, more migraine. It gnaws at the eardrums, drawing out a wave of panic-screams and jeers from the crowd before the vocals even begin.
And then—
MARAETH’S voice splits the void:
"…NOW WE BECOME DEATH…"
"…THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS…"
♫ GO BACK TO SLEEP! ♫
CUT TO: THE STAGE.
A Perfect Circle’s Counting Bodies Like Sheep floods the arena, rhythm like blunt trauma—unyielding, brutal, hypnotic. Strobing white light bleeds through clouds of machine fog. Smoke billows like a fire waiting to engulf. A lone spotlight punches down, center stage.
♫ Don't fret precious, I'm here ♫
♫ Step away from the window
♫ And go… BACK TO SLEEP ♫
FROM BELOW—
MARAETH.
Their body rises through the haze like something that should not return. Painted in bruised purples and cosmic ash, Their form is muscular, elegant, and uncanny—what appears to be black ring gear clings to Them in jagged asymmetry, though murmurs persist that it’s body paint, applied with impossible precision. Their right side is overtaken by twisted, rootlike textures that resemble armor grown from inside Them. Their grin is too wide. Their eyes—unnatural, glowing—refuse to look away. And at the center of Their chest, nestled just above the sternum, sits a painted third eye, violet and closed. Watching. Or pretending to.
♫ COUNT BODIES LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ LIKE SHEEP ♫
♫ COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP TO THE RHYTHM OF WAR DRUMS ♫
They descend the ramp like a puppet that chewed through its strings—shoulders twitching, head cocked, joints moving in gleefully incorrect directions. One step. A twitch. Another step. A sideways skip. Then laughter—sharp, sudden, wrong. It bursts from Their mouth like They didn’t mean to make it, then keeps coming anyway.
At ringside, They drop to Their belly and slither under the rope, dragging Themself across the mat with lazy fingers, like They’re bored of gravity. Reaching center, They rise to Their knees, then bend backward—slow, too far, too eager—until Their spine curves like a lie told one too many times.
Then They snap forward, mouth wide, throat open, and scream.
It isn’t pain. It isn’t rage.
It’s something older. Something delighted.
And as the echo hangs in the rafters, They giggle softly to Themself—grinning with that Spiral-shaped smile, like They know something you’re too scared to ask. The lights flash. The air clenches. And The bell hasn’t even rung.
JC I’m left speechless everytime they come to the ring, Brody. Maraeth is a spectacle. A phenom.
BG: A FREAK!
JC: A freak who handled business against one of the best in the business last Warfare, Bobby Bourbon. And Maraeth looks as formidable as ever here tonight!
Charlie Nickles
- vs -
Maraeth
Muscles Marianara, our official tonight, gives Charlie a pat down for any foreign objects, he’s squeaky clean, figuratively speaking. He then wanders over to Maraeth, and checks her… finding something?
BG: Would you look at that, Jackie? This Black Rainbow FREAK was trying to sneak in a pair of brass knuckles to this match, can you believe it?
JC: I mean. No? But I guess I’m most surprised to see our official actually doing the right thing in checking these two beforehand. He must’ve been paying attention to the promos this week, because these two made it clear they were out for blood.
At first, Maraeth forefits the brass knuckles, but then smiles and flings something in Muscles face. A clear liquid. Maybe sweat or something. Muscles just stands there blinking before…
JC: Hmm… something looks off with our official here all a sudden, Brody
Muscles Marinara turns away from Maraeth, his eyes turning pitch black. Without looking at her, Muscles simply hands the knuckles back to Maraeth and signals for the bell!
BG:WHAT???
JC:I guess the ref is changing the stipulation here… no DQ?
BG: He doesn’t have the authority to do that!
Charlie’s eyes go wide with rage as he watches Maraeth smirking, sliding the brass knuckles on her fingers.
He charges for her arm, and catches it before she can deal any damage, but a judo kick from Maraeth to Charlie’s knee breaks his balance before
WHAM!
SPINNING BACKFIST!
The brass knuckles connect with Charlie’s temple!
He flatlines, and hits the mat face first.
Maraeth laughs and rolls Charlie’s limp body over, hooking his leg in a suggestive manner
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!
JC: Man I thought this one was over already, Brody!
BG: This isn’t fair, Jack! Someone needs to put a stop to this. Maraeth should be disqualified!
JC: Well, the “acting general manager” is in the ring with her now. If anyone is going to stop Maraeth, it’s going to have to be Charlie.
Maraeth slides off of Charlie’s chest, their smirk twisted with delight. They stand slowly, cracking their neck to one side, then the other. Their fingers flex around the brass knuckles, still glistening red. Blood already trickles down Charlie’s cheek.
Charlie groans, his eyes fluttering like he’s coming to after a car crash. He rolls to his side and spits a tooth. Then he smiles.
JC: That’s the smile of a man who’s done worse… and lived to talk about it.
BG: That’s the smile of a lunatic! He just got KNOCKED THE HELL OUT, and he’s LAUGHING about it!
Maraeth lunges in for another shot, but Charlie grabs the brass-knuckled fist mid-swing!
His eye twitches. He screams through gritted teeth, rising to his knees, then to his feet. His grip tightens.
Maraeth's lips curl, not in pain, but in thrill.
Charlie headbutts them square on the bridge of the nose.
Then again.
And again.
Maraeth stumbles backward, finally letting go of the knuckles as blood sprays from their nostrils.
Charlie tosses the weapon and charges, tackling Maraeth into the ropes and dumping them over the top with a thunderous clothesline. Both bodies slam to the outside turf.
The Atlanta crowd howls as Charlie crawls to the barricade and drags himself up.
He pulls a chair from beneath the ring and folds it closed.
CRACK!
Down it comes across Maraeth’s spine.
CRACK!
Across their arm.
CRACK! CRACK!
A double shot to the shoulder blades. Maraeth buckles to one knee. Their eyes glassy. Their breathing sharp.
JC: Charlie Nickles has snapped!
BG: That chair’s got more dents than a derby car, and Maraeth’s got more bruises than a back alley!
Charlie grabs Maraeth by the hair and rams their head into the steel ring post. Once. Twice. On the third time—Maraeth kicks backward, catching Charlie between the legs!
Charlie yelps like a dog hit with a hose.
Maraeth stumbles away, clutching their ribs, their movements jerky—but their eyes burning.
They grab a table from under the apron and slide it into the ring.
Then they find a second.
A third.
Three tables now rest ominously in the ring.
BUT FROM BEHIND! It’S CHARLIE WITH A BIG BACKBODY DROP!
Maraeth splatters onto the floor. He climbs ontop of her hooking the leg… and though this ref has black eyes as if he’s under the direct influence of the Black Rainbow, he doesn’t hesitate to count!
1!
2!!
NO!!!
Maraeth kicks out.
Charlie climbs back to his feet, and pulls Maraeth up by their hair. He pulls her face into a forearm smash and then whips them toward the barricade. But Maraeth, they halt the momentum, pull Charlie back and whip him right into a knee to the midsection. Charlie folds over and Maraeth muscles him up and over with a gutwrench suplex!
JC: Like her, or hate her, partner.. Maraeth is an absolute specimen!
After catching their breath, Maraeth pulls Charlie back inside, and with raw force, belly-to-belly suplexes him onto the flat canvas. They don't pin. They climb the turnbuckle instead… unstable, shaking… but with a manic glint in their eye.
Charlie’s still down.
Maraeth leaps!!!
FROG SPLASH!!!
ONTO NOTHING!!!!
Charlie rolls and Maraeth crashes chest-first into the mat and bounces with a violent thud.
JC: She may have cracked a rib!
BG: There’s not a bone in the human body meant to hit from that height!
Charlie heaves himself up and roars. He grabs one of the tables and props it in the corner diagonally.
Maraeth tries to crawl away, but they’re too slow.
Charlie pulls them up by the hair again and whips Maraeth into the corner. But Maraeth is able to catch themselves, grabbing the top ropes before crashing into the table. Charlie runs in from behind looking to attack with a clubbing forearm, but Maraeth counters with a back elbow that catches the former universal champion in the mouth. He trunks away, holding at his chops… AND MARAETH!
SHE HAS HIM BY THE WAIST!
GERMAN SUPL- - - CHARLIE HOOKS HIS LEG BEHIND THE CALF!
Maraeth tries to muscle him up, but now it’s Charlie throwing back elbows.
Maraeth is able to dodge one, two maybe, but then he catches them in the cheek.
Charlie grabs them up…
BIG SIDEWALK SLAM THROUGH THE TABLE!
Wood explodes under their weight.
Charlie flops on top of them.
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!
Maraeth wrenches their shoulder off the mat, eyes wide and laughing through blood.
Charlie barks at Muscles Marinara. But he simply stares, unmoving, eyes still black.
Charlie leans back on his knees, panting, spit dangling from his lower lip. His chest rises in ragged pulses. Blood drips from his forehead now. Maraeth’s knuckles have left their mark, and yet, the gleam in his eye is wild and full of purpose.
JC: What’s it going to take to keep either of these monsters down?
BG: We’ve gone past pain, Jack. Past pride. This is down to bone and nerve now.
Charlie drags Maraeth by the wrist across the splinters of the broken table, then heaves them to their feet with both hands buried in a matted clump of hair. He lets out a guttural growl and swings for a short-arm lariat…
BUT MARAETH DUCKS! They spin, and drives a rising knee into Charlie’s gut. The impact lands loud, and deep.
Charlie doubles over.
Maraeth doesn’t hesitate, and grabs him in a front facelock, hooks the tights…
Snap suplex!
Charlie hits with a loud crack, the back of his head bouncing off the mat. But Maraeth doesn’t release… they roll through.
SECOND SNAP SUPLEX!!!
Another roll.
THIRD!
They float over, bridging…
1!
2!!
Charlie powers out with a roar, slapping Maraeth in the ribs as he breaks the bridge.
Maraeth grins.
They roll to their feet and reach out of the ring grabbing a steel chair, a kendo stick, and finally a pair of handcuffs from under the ring skirt.
BG: Wait a damn minute, are those what I think they are?
JC: Looks like we’re going to see Black Rainbow Justice served cold.
Charlie stumbles upright, and Maraeth rushes in, swinging the kendo stick like a sword.
CRACK! Across the ribs.
Charlie howls.
Another CRACK! Across the back.
He drops to a knee.
Maraeth wraps the cuffs around Charlie’s right wrist, and attempts to latch the other to the middle rope…
But Charlie suddenly pulls forward, wrenching Maraeth into the steel post! Their shoulder slams into it at full force, and they reel backward.
Charlie rips the handcuffs off and whips them into the crowd.
Then he grabs the chair, and folds it around Maraeth’s back.
WHACK.
WHACK.
WHACK.
With every blow, Maraeth’s knees wobble, their body convulsing in jerks of pain. Still, they stay on their feet.
That smile returns to their blood-smeared lips.
So Charlie finishes it.
He throws the chair to the floor and…
DDT ONTO THE CHAIR!!!
Maraeth’s skull bounces off the steel with a sickening clang. Their body goes slack.
JC: DEAR GOD!
BG: THEY’RE DEAD, JACK. THEY GOTTA BE DEAD.
Charlie flips them over…
1!
2!!
Maraeth kicks out! Barely!
Charlie doesn’t argue with the ref.
Doesn’t scream. He just breathes harder, blood in his teeth, and pulls Maraeth to their knees by the sides of their face.
Charlie shuffles outside again, dragging the steel ring steps into the ring.
He rolls Maraeth’s body near and sets them up for the Devil Hook Drop.
He locks the arms.
But Maraeth shifts their weight, drops to a knee, and spins into a Drop Toe-Hold!
Charlie’s skull bounces off the steel steps!
He rolls onto his back, twitching.
Maraeth, breath heaving, face a crimson mask, backs into the corner.
They wait.
Charlie stumbles up…
KICK DEMON!!!
That brutal roundhouse kick lands flush on Charlie’s cheek.
His body goes limp mid-air and drops like a dead bird.
Maraeth rolls him into the ring and collapses on top….
1!
2!!
3!!!!!!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Charlie just barely, BARELY kicks out
JC: I don’t even know if he knows where he is.
BG: It’s just instinct. That’s all that’s left.
The two lay on opposite sides of the ring now.
The camera pans between their wrecked bodies.
Both twitch. Both move.
Maraeth crawls to one of the remaining tables, and sets it upright.
Charlie drags himself up with the ropes, barely standing.
Maraeth rushes.
Charlie catches them.
LIFTS….
STEEBENVILLE SCREWDRIVER THROUGH THE TABLE!!!
The crowd erupts.
The ring is a minefield of debris and carnage.
Charlie doesn’t even bother covering.
He just sits next to them, breathing in and out like a dying animal.
Maraeth is twitching.
Charlie turns.
He grabs his belt from off his waist.
He unhooks it slowly.
BG: Oh no…
JC: It’s time. Belt-to-Ass!
Charlie raises the belt…
And Maraeth catches it.
Their eyes lock.
Maraeth grins.
Charlie’s face drops.
Maraeth pulls him forward into a SNAP DRAGON SUPLEX, landing Charlie right on his neck!
Both bodies are down now.
Neither moves.
The crowd chants: “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”
Muscles Marinara… just stares.
The ref finally begins a count.
1…
2…
3…
Neither moves.
4…
Maraeth’s hand twitches.
5…
Charlie rolls to his stomach.
6…
Maraeth pulls themself to their knees.
7…
Charlie climbs to a table fragment.
8…
Maraeth falls backward.
9…
Charlie STANDS.
Maraeth STANDS.
The crowd, already breathless, comes unglued.
JC: What the HELL is keeping these two on their feet, Brody?!
BG: Nothing human, that’s for damn sure!
They stumble toward each other—no stance, no guard, just magnetized madness. Charlie swings first, a wild right hook, full of hate and history. It lands across Maraeth’s jaw and twists their head—but they spin back with a forearm that splits Charlie’s lip wide open.
Both of them sway.
Charlie spits blood at Maraeth’s feet. Maraeth licks their own blood off their upper lip.
Charlie roars.
He lunges!!!!!
LOW BLOW!!!!!!!!!!!
Maraeth buries a knee into Charlie’s groin and drives him backward into the ropes.
Charlie bounces forward in a daze- - - -
Maraeth hooks him- - - -
FLOAT OVER NORTHERN LIGHT SUPLEX!
They keep it locked- - - -
SECOND FLOAT OVER!
They kick up - - - - THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM!
BRIDGE!!!!!
1!
2!!
NO!!!
Charlie breaks the bridge and scrambles to his side, dragging his leg like it’s no longer working.
Maraeth’s smile falters for the first time.
They crawl to the corner.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And they pull up the last table.
They set it up in the corner.
BG: Oh God… there’s one left?
JC: We are officially in overtime, Brody. And someone’s going through that table, or they’re going to die trying.
Charlie wipes the blood from his eyes, shakes his head, and growls something we can’t hear.
Maraeth hears it.
They step forward.
Charlie steps in.
Another collar-and-elbow? No.
Charlie throws a wild left, misses!
Maraeth ducks behind!
SAITO SUPLEX!
Charlie crashes down awkwardly on his shoulder and neck.
He’s motionless for a moment, then a twitch.
Maraeth drags him toward the table in the corner.
They drag him up by the wrist. Position him.
Backs into the opposite corner.
They scream. Their body tenses like a coiled spring.
They sprint.
RUNNING KNEE!!!!
NO!
CHARLIE CATCHES THEM OUT OF THE AIR!!!
RUNNING POWERSLAM!!!!!!!
NO, WAIT - - - - -
HE TRANSITIONS INTO THE DOUBLE UNDERHOOK!!
JC: NO WAY. HE’S GOT IT! HE’S GOT IT!
DEVIL HOOK DROP THROUGH THE TABLE!!!
WOOD EXPLODES across the ring like a shotgun blast. The table ceases to exist under the combined weight and force.
Charlie stays on top.
Dead weight.
A hand flops across Maraeth’s body.
Muscles drops.
1!
2!!
3!!!
WINNER: CHARLIE NICKLES!
The bell rings but the crowd doesn’t cheer, they exhale.
Charlie doesn’t move.
Maraeth doesn’t move.
Muscles Marinara, eyes seem to falter back to their normal hue, he looks confused but raises Charlie’s limp arm from the wreckage.
JC: Charlie Nickles has done it. Somehow, some way, he’s crawled out of hell with a win.
BG: He survived Maraeth tonight. And I don’t think this is over. Not by a long shot.
Maraeth lies motionless beneath the shattered table, their mouth parted slightly, their eyes rolled into the back of their head.
Charlie rolls off them slowly, dragging his body out of the debris like a creature born from the wreckage.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t gloat.
He just sits upright.
Covered in blood.
Staring at Muscles Marinara like he might rip his head off too.
JC: This match broke every rule. Every body. And maybe… every mind.
BG: Charlie Nickles may have just walked through the Black Rainbow… and out the other side.
Charlie stumbles up to his feet and motions for the mic…
With a microphone in hand, Charlie lays his cold eyes down onto Maraeth who is seen starting to crawl in a different direction now. He lets out an exhausted laugh, wipes away some blood and smiles.
Now where do you think you’re going? Did you really think I’d let you just crawl away from this?
Charlie limps over to her, and grabs a handful of her matted, bloodied hair…
OH BOYS???!!! The Nickleman looks out toward the X-Tron Would you mind helping me clean this roadkill up out of MY ring?
And right on cue…
KIERAN KING’S MUSIC HITS!
BG: THE KING IS BACK!
The Nickleman looks up the ramp in shock, immediately letting go of Maraeth as soon as Kieran steps onto the stage. The King of the XWF smirks at the top of his ramp before he rolls up his sleeves and charges down towards the ring! Maraeth rolls out beneath the bottom rope just as Kieran rolls in from the other side! Kieran quickly rises to his feet, standing toe-to-toe with the damaged Nickleman!
JC: In a strange twist of fate here, I think The King might have inadvertently saved the leader of the Black Rainbow here, despite everything they've put him through.
BG: I don't think it's about that tonight! It's about something bigger! It's about the future of the XWF!
Charlie lashes out with the microphone-
But Kieran ducks beneath it!
Kieran turns around and tries to kick Charlie in the gut-
But Charlie blocks the heel of Kieran’s boot with the microphone!
The stout defense echoes throughout the arena, screeching through the PA system as the microphone breaks apart in The Nickleman’s hands!
But then-
THE CORPORATION’S FACTION THEME SONG BLARES THROUGH THE PA SYSTEM!
Charlie’s Corporate Associates appear at the top of the ramp, one-by-one!
MATTHIAS SYN!
DWYANE “THE GROK” JOHNSON!
And then-
THE CORPORATE TITANS!
OSWALD & THIAS WATTS!
The crowd roars with white-hot hatred as The Corporate soldiers crank their necks and crack their knuckles.
JC: This can’t be good for Kieran King! Charlie’s corporate goons just hit the stage- and by God, they’re charging down the ramp!
BG: The King is outnumbered! Kieran needs to call in the cavalry here, or he might end up in a hospital bed before Relentless!
Charlie’s associates slide into the ring one at a time, right after each other. They all pop up as soon as they get to the ring, and begin forming a circle around Kieran. Charlie takes a step back as a blood-soaked grin curls across his lips- but Kieran doesn’t look afraid.
The King just returns the grin.
JC: The Corporation is going to beat the bloody hell out of Kieran King! This was all a trap! Charlie lured Kieran out here with his declaration earlier tonight, and now, he’s going to make him pay!
BG: But not so fast, Jacko! His Majesty looks like he has other plans!
Kieran King snaps his fingers, and looks toward the stage… but nothing happens?
Suddenly there’s a camera feed appearing on the XTron and we see:
JC: That’s Tommy Gunn and the King’s XWF Security forces. And someone has laid them out!
BG: Some-ONE? Some criminal! Who on earth is responsible for-
JC: DOLLY WATERS! DOLLY WATERS IS HERE!
BG: SHE SHOULD BE IN JAIL, JACKIE!
The Universal Champion is bruised and battered and bleeding, but marches her way onto the ramp. A look of fire raging in pupils, as Ode To Joy crescendos over the loud speakers.
Charlie, and King, and The Corporation all stop and look toward the ramp as
JC: Wait a second! She’s not alone, either!
One by one, Dolly is flanked by The Union:
First Mark Flynn
Then Schism
Then Dickie Watson
Then Centurion
Then Atara Raven
Then Corey Smith
JC: That’s a lot of the XWF who have signed onto Dolly’s vision of the future!
BG: A lot? Yeah… but not quite 60%!
Before Dolly even makes a move, The Union charges the ramp!
The Revolutionaries hit the ring in full-force, two at a time right after each other! The first pair in are Atara Raven and Centurion, who charge right at the big man Thias Watts, sending him flying over the top rope with a double dropkick to the chest! Atara follows it up by diving over the ropes with a suicide dive that takes her back outside the ring! Centurion slides out beneath the bottom rope, helping Atara take the fight to Thias on the outside.
The next Revolutionaries to make it in are Schism and Flynn, but as soon as they hit the ring, The Corporation is on top of them! Oswald charges right at Schism with a huge clothesline, taking both himself and Schism out over the top rope!
Syn charges right at Flynn, but Flynn sees it coming after watching Schism go overboard! As Matthias Syn charges forward with a lariat, Flynn drops down, and pulls the top rope along with him- causing Syn to go flying out of the ring! Flynn wastes no time in going aerial himself, following Syn to the outside with a suicide dive of his own!
Just as Flynn flies out, Smith and Watson fly in!
Corey and Dickie lock eyes with Dwyane “The Grok” Johnson, who instructs them to ‘SHUT THEIR MOUTHS AND OBEY PROTOCOLS!’- but the Revolutionaries don’t listen! They just smirk, then give it the ol’ DOUBLE SUPER KICK TO THE FACE!
The Grok flies out of the ring!
And Corey and Dickie go flying right behind him, with a double suicide dive of their own!
CHAOS BREAKS OUT ACROSS THE STATE FARM CENTER!
The Corporation and The Revolution duke it out in front of the front-row fans, giving them every dollar of entertainment they paid for! Centurion, Smith, Watson, Atara, Oswald and more trade blows just outside the ring as the audience goes berserk!
Meanwhile, DOLLY WATERS HERSELF HAS SLID INTO THE RING!
And the audience blows the roof off the arena!
Dolly, Kieran, and Charlie stand alone in the center of the ring- with all 6 eyes affixed to the ‘Big Gold’ belt slung over Dolly’s shoulder!
Dolly’s face twists with defiance as she marches forward, face to face with Kieran first as she thrusts the championship into the air, mouthing something inaudible. Quickly she snaps her neck around to Charlie, glaring at him with daggers for eyes.
King shoves Dolly away from him and Charlie swings for her head!
The champion ducks and swings back!
Now all three are standing in the center of the ring exchanging blows!
BG: This is pandemonium, Jack!
JC: And this is the unfortunate end of our broadcast!
BG: WHAT?!
JC: Tune into Relentless IX to see how the rest of this story unfolds!
THANK YOU TO…
OUR MATCH WRITERS
“The Bashmaster” Barry Masterson
Peter Principle
Bobby Bourbon
Charlie Nickles
Liam Desmond
OUR SEGMENT WRITERS
Dolly Waters
Charlie Nickles
King Kieran
Sarah Wolf
Clutch Cassidy
![[-]](https://xwf99.com/images/portal2/collapse.gif)
The following 8 users Like Peter Principle's post:
![[Image: HlvHpJ4.png]](https://i.imgur.com/HlvHpJ4.png)
![[Image: jade-cargill-wwe-backlash-2024-v0-a2gyOH...55dd69bd0c]](https://external-preview.redd.it/jade-cargill-wwe-backlash-2024-v0-a2gyOHlkd3k5d3ljMbtwneIZOfvDqBBYgYhDL5XpDmPJISWfl3wAaXjMnycM.png?width=640&crop=smart&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=97b189a5a4bf863dcc08aaf0a59e5655dd69bd0c)
![[Image: jade-cargill-wwe-smackdown-may-10-2024-v...14553f65a4]](https://external-preview.redd.it/jade-cargill-wwe-smackdown-may-10-2024-v0-OWd4Yjd6bGZudnpjMbrIpUJA2m16Vbv5Sz13yCO4b0QIR_9QykcruzqiSvwI.png?width=640&crop=smart&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bbaf840852965948008bc2e83e6b0914553f65a4)
![[Image: jade-cargill-v0-bDdsZzdodXdhYzFkMSOXnGmf...e8b3f56aa1]](https://external-preview.redd.it/jade-cargill-v0-bDdsZzdodXdhYzFkMSOXnGmfXRpI9KFrvcoq4-_bY4p4NtbVSYugozJ99Nmv.png?width=640&crop=smart&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=21abd0de86ae665404a042b7ee2dfce8b3f56aa1)
![[Image: sddefault.jpg]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/D7cptkmLPCc/sddefault.jpg)
![[Image: hqdefault.jpg]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/y85EELaYGps/hqdefault.jpg)
![[Image: hqdefault.jpg]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ZNw6AK-N56g/hqdefault.jpg)
![[Image: 7L3EFp1.png]](https://i.imgur.com/7L3EFp1.png)
