(THUNDER) KNUCKLE SALOON TAKEOVER! 08 - 07 - 2025 LIVE! FROM OUTSIDE KNUCKLE SALOON STURGIS, SOUTH DAKOTA NEW RIDER MATCH MARISOL VILARO - vs - LATOYA HIXX Singles Winner to receive a brand-new(ish) Harley-Davidson and a matching helmet! Then sent out on the town! (Gas sold separately.) TURF WAR (LUMBER-GANG) MATCH MICHAEL SAINT - vs - PRESTON VANDERLAY ESQUIRE Saint and PVE may invite their "gangs" down to the ring to enforce the outside! (Lumberjack Match Rules) STURGIS BAR FIGHT SUMMER PAGE - vs - REGGIE ESTRADA - vs - THIAS WATTS Triple Threat Bar Room Brawl We'll cut to the inside of the Knuckle Saloon where these three will duke it out with no disqualifications until one of them is declared the winner by pinfall or submission! BIKE BONEYARD MATCH CELESTINE GALE - vs - INQUISITION Taking place in a nearby scrapyard, this no disqualification match can only end when one combatant buries the other under old, rusty bike parts! Winner will be declared when a standing ten count cannot be reached! (Last Person Standing Rules) BIKER CHAIN BRAWL ATARA RAVEN - vs - AIDEN COLLINS Raven and Collins will be tethered to one another at the wrist by a 12-foot length of solid steel biker chain! Winner must touch all four turnbuckles in succession to secure victory. (Strap Match Rules) PATCH-IN CO-MAIN MR. OZ - vs - XXXVI Oz defends his claim to the Revo #1 Contendership against XXXVI! Falls count anywhere, and we're starting this match in the parking lot itself, in the center of a circle of bikes! (Parking Lot Brawl) REVOLUTION CHAMPIONSHIP THUNDER KNUCKLE SALOON MATCH THUNDER KNUCKLES © - vs - MATTHIAS SYN The ring ropes will be replaced with STEEL CHAIN and the turnbuckle pads replaced with STUDDED LEATHER. No disqualifications, only Anarchy in its purest form! Singles

Plumes of Blue and White pyrotechnics shoot out from tubes around the makeshift entry ramp on the stage and mark the start of our show! On this momentous occasion, the XWF has set up camp in the Parking Lot of the Knuckle Saloon for this High-Octane edition of Thursday Night ANARCHY!!! Hundreds of fans surround the ring on this warm South Dakota evening, some making their way in and out of the nearby bar to re-up on refreshments. Even still, there are hundreds, nay, millions more who are watching and x-streaming LIVE from their homes!!!

As soon as the pyros finish, "Lithium" by Nirvana hits over the speakers, officially welcoming XWF fans to yet another edition of their favorite syndicated full-contact wrestling show, which we lovingly refer to as "The A-Show".


TODD: Ohhh yes — now *that’s* how you start a show.

BAMA: Hell yeah it is! Ain’t nothin’ like Nirvana blastin’ through the speakers to let the neighbors know it’s Anarchy time.

The Anarchy announce team is at ringside, preparing for a night filled with action!!  With "Lithium" still playing over the speakers the cameras pan around to those few lucky and avid members of the Anarchy faithful from all ages, races, creeds & colors screaming on the tops of their lungs, proudly wearing their XWF Merchandise and holding up signs for their favorite (or least favorite) stars:

DOLLY! DOLLY! DOLLY!

BLACK RAINBOW BIKER CLUB

LARRY IS THE GREATEST #TACTFACT

ADIAN COLLINS IS MY SPIRIT DEMON

TK ISN'T GOING TO BE OK

15/15

DON'T F*CK WITH OZZY

MICHAEL IS NO SAINT

WELLNESS CHECK ON FRANCES? PLEASE?

I ONLY CAME TO SEE ATARA!

THIAS 3:16

SOMEBODY START A SEB CASH-IN COUNTDOWN

WE MISS YOU JAMES SHARK!!!

The fans both sitting and standing in this unique venue are murmuring and ready to get this SEVEN match card of XWF’s Anarchy underway! Many have been waiting patiently for the start of the show for quite a while, but on the nearby street, there are motors revving and bikes flying down the highway. There's black leather, copious amounts of alcohol, and cigarette smoke as far as the eyes can see and the nose can smell.

The hard cam pans around the ongoing rally catching glimpses of the constant motorcade.

TODD: That’s right! A little "Lithium" to set the tone, a couple kegs on standby, and a ring surrounded by Harleys and chaos — welcome, everyone, to THURSDAY NIGHT ANARCHY, live from the parking lot of the legendary Knuckle Saloon in beautiful STURGIS, SOUTH DAKOTA!

BAMA: The beer is cold, the leather’s hot, and my chihuahua Sassafras already bit two camera guys — we’re off to a great start, Todd.

TODD: Folks, if you see a two-pound blur of fury running around the tech tent, do not attempt to pet her. She's working.

BAMA: She’s security certified. I laminated a badge and everything.

TODD: You’re a treasure, Bama. And listen — I just want to say how thrilled I am to have you back here at the desk. I mean it. You’re a legend, and this show is better with you on it.

BAMA: Hell, I appreciate that, brother. Always a pleasure to ride shotgun on a night like this.

TODD: And thankfully, Jimmy Stars is nowhere in sight. For those wondering — no, he hasn’t been fired (unfortunately), but he has been suspended without pay after being caught selling a “Hall of Legends” induction spot to Preston Vanderlay Esquire.

BAMA: Lord have mercy. That man would sell the moon if he thought he could get a T-shirt deal out of it.

TODD: He’s lucky we didn’t let Sassafras settle it in the parking lot.

BAMA: She was ready! I even got her one of those little "Legend" robes from the merch tent.

TODD: She deserves it more than Preston does. But anyway — tonight is about carnage, titles, and the smell of gasoline and hubris. We’ve got scrapyard brawls, bar fights, biker chain matches... it’s like someone let the apocalypse book the show.

BAMA: And thank God they did. Ain’t a damn thing out here tonight that ain't pure XWF. Let’s light this powder keg.

TODD: We’re kicking things off with the New Rider Match — Marisol Vilaro vs. Latoya Hixx. Winner gets a brand-new(ish) Harley and a matching helmet — gas sold separately.

BAMA: No gas, no problem. Vilaro’s probably gonna try to livestream herself riding off, but Latoya’s been hangry lately. Could be a short trip if Marisol hits a speed bump named HIXX.

TODD: After that, things escalate fast with a Turf War — Lumber-Gang Rules. Michael Saint vs. Preston Vanderlay Esquire, and they’ve both handpicked ringside muscle.

BAMA: You ever see a legal team and a motorcycle club square off at ringside? Me neither. But I brought popcorn and a tire iron just in case.

TODD: Then it’s into the Sturgis Bar Fight — Summer Page, Reggie Estrada, and Thias Watts in a triple threat taking place inside the Knuckle Saloon itself.

BAMA: You can smell the bourbon and blood already. Somebody’s going through a bar table, guaranteed. And if Thias starts throwing shots, that don’t mean tequila.

TODD: Then we take a short trip to a long night in the Bike Boneyard Match — Celestine Gale takes on Inquisition in a Last Person Standing fight... with a twist.

BAMA: That twist being you gotta bury your opponent under a mound of busted motorcycles. It’s like a scrapyard funeral with steel toe boots.

TODD: Then we’ve got a chain-wrapped classic — the Biker Chain Brawl between Atara Raven and Aiden Collins. Tethered at the wrist, steel between them, and four turnbuckles to win.

BAMA: Atara might not have the bulk, but she’s got fury and footwork. Collins better watch that mouth — she might just wrap that chain around his teeth.

TODD: From there we move to our Patch-In Co-Main Event: Mr. Oz defends his #1 Contendership against XXXVI — and this one starts in a circle of bikes in the damn parking lot.

BAMA: It ain’t a match, it’s a biker brawl with a ref. Winner gets a future shot at the Revolution Title. Loser gets tire tracks on his spine. And I don’t think Oz really wants a piece of TK if he wins — but that's dependent on if TK wins...

TODD: Which brings us to the main event: Thunder Knuckles defends the Revolution Championship in his own backyard — the Thunder Knuckle Saloon Match. Chain ropes. Studded leather turnbuckles. No disqualifications.

BAMA: TK’s home turf. Home rules. But Matthias Syn? He was our longest reigning Revolution Champ for a reason. That boy don’t blink. He’s like a rattlesnake hiding under a Bible. You mess up once, he coils.

TODD: And don’t forget — if Syn wins, the entire landscape changes. The Revolution Division could find itself in darker hands than ever before.

BAMA: That’s the beauty of it, Todd. We don’t know how it’s gonna shake out. But whatever happens, it’s gonna hurt.

TODD: Seven matches. One wild night. And we’re bringing it to you live from the heart of 85th Biker Rally in Sturgis!

BAMA: Let’s crack some skulls and raise some hell. Sassafras just howled — I think that means we’re ready.




The crowd pops as current reigning Anarchy champion, ‘Micheal Graves’ (allegedly) is seen walking through the corridors of the XWF backstage area…

He makes it outside the office door of Anarchy GM…

Taped over the door, it reads…

My Office is Locked while I’m appealing my unjust suspension! DON’T TOUCH MY STUFF! I LEFT IT WHERE I MEANT TO!

…

”Alright. I toldja…” ‘Graves’ exhales, almost like he knew this would happen, as he reaches for his ankle. ”What did I say would happen if you weren’t in your office, Jimmy?”

“THIS would happen.” ‘Graves’ pulls out a bottle of alcohol with a rag in it….

”And what is ‘this’? Your office getting burned d-”

”*ahem* Mister… ‘Graves’?

‘Graves’ turns around. Who’s behind him… But long-time XWF news correspondent Steve Sayors!

”Oh. Hey, Steve-O.” ‘Graves’ grins ear-to-ear in a friendly manner as he reaches into his other pocket for a lighter. ”You might wanna step back! Bet that Axe body spray you douse yourself in is HIGHLY flammable!”

”Uh, before you do that! I have a message!”

”...Message?”

”From Mister Stars! He’s immensely regretful his suspension has prevented him from opening his office to you… But, he wanted to offer you the opportunity to talk on the air!”

”...Talk? About what?”

”Anything! Air your grievances! Talk up your reign, the longest-ever in Anarchy championship history! We’ve got the set ready…”

…

‘Graves’ looks at the ingredients to a molotov cocktail in his hand… Reeeeeeeally weighing his options.

…

Sayors sweats… What if ‘Graves’ is right about the Axe?

…

”Yeeeeeeeeeeeah, fine. Lead the way, Steve-o-lution.”

Sayors lights up and the two disappear down the hall.

TODD: Looks like Jimmy found a way to avoid his office getting torched! Later tonight, we’ll see an exclusive interview between Steve Sayors and the Anarchy champion, ‘Micheal Graves’ himself!

…

TODD: Allegedly.


TODD: Folks, our opening match tonight promises to be an absolute thrill ride!

BAMA: And one of these women is going home with a brand spankin’ new(ish) Harley Davidson! And this match is sponsored by Black Hills Harley-Davidson®.  Your full-service Harley-Davidson® dealership in Western South Dakota! Every day, the fine specialists at Black H-

TODD: Why don’t we save the ad reads for the commercial breaks, Bama?

BAMA: I am a professional, Toddrick! And I was told if I don’t do the whole ad-read, Jimmy’s gonna take it outta my paycheck.

…

BAMA: so, *ahem* Buy Harley-Davidsons!

By ringside is a (nearly) brand new Harley Davidson chopper!

TODD: Neat!






TODD: Latoya Hixx! One of the strongest women in the wrestling world! One of the most incredible physical specimens to ever grace the squared circle!

BAMA: She’s more than big, Todd! She’s large!

TODD: Every week, Hixx promises this is the week she turns it around. This week, she’ll take the first step to securing her first bit of gold in the XWF! She’s got the physical gifts, she just needs to fine-tune the mental game. Can she start on that road tonight towards championship gold?


…

The synthesized beat of Shake it Off By Taylor Swift begins to play over the public address system, as the opening lyrics soon begin, as the fans boo and flashes going off, people are waiting for the arrival of the Fitness Queen herself.

I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm

As a spotlight is on the entrance ramp and the lights dim, first stepping out is none other than the legendary  Snarktopus Nessa Wall, who smiles brightly before trash talking the fans as she smiles, before ordering a couple of stage hands to come out they each have a mirror in hand they face the entrance ramp, as soon out from the back steps La Marvillosa herself Marisol Vilaro.

I go on too many dates
But I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm

Marisol stops to admire herself in each mirror posing and showing off, what her hard work has given her and mouthing about how she’s the inspiration these out-of-shape people need. After a few moments of posing she brushes right past, giving her manager/mentor a hug before they head off with Nessa leading the way taking the time to give the fans at ringside a hard time for even trying to touch them.

But I keep cruisin'
Can't stop, won't stop movin'
It's like I got this music in my mind
Sayin' it's gonna be alright

TODD: Here she is, Marisol Vilaro! The Queen of VilaroFit was already dominating Thursday nights before her recent joining with the dark cloud looming over all of the XWF, Black Rainbow! Now, she and her manager, the Ambitchous One, the “Snarktopous” Nessa Wall, are poised to take over the entire XWF!

BAMA: You ain’t kiddin’, Todd! Mari… sorry, what was that you said?

TODD: Poised to takeover the ent-

BAMA: Before that.

TODD: …Dark cloud looming ov-

BAMA: After that.

TODD: …Uh… she and her manager, Ambitchous One, the “Snarktopous” Nessa Wall?

…

STARS: Huh. AmBITCHous.

…

TODD: Uh… anyway. Point being, Marisol is climbing to even higher heights in the XWF! A victory tonight would see her have an even stronger claim to the top of Anarchy’s echelons!

Marisol herself takes the time to pose some more showing off her muscle, and trying to sell them on the VilaroFit mission, and how they need it to improve themselves, As the devious duo soon make their way toward the ring side area Nessa soon goes up the ring steps and takes the time to bark orders at the referee, showing him exactly how lower the ropes for herself, and her client, after being lectured by the Ambitchous one, the referee complies doing it exactly as Nessa demanded enters the ring and motions for Marisol to go up the steps, as she climbs up the steps she takes each moment to keep shilling her products, which doesn’t endear her to the fans, as she soon enters the ring under the rope and soon she rudely brushes past the referee as Nessa presents her to the booing fans as she raises her arms high in the air soaking in the boos, and catcalls.

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break
And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)

TODD: …Two VERY game competitors with two… VERY… long entrances, huh, Bama?

BAMA: I’m on the PHONE, Todd. Yes, US Trademark office? Could you check if anyone owns the rights to put ‘Ambitchous One’ on t-shirts?

Marisol then does a series of poses once again before turning around and gracing the other side of the area raising her arms high in the air and then doing a similar series of poses showing off her physique and how in shape she is. While Nessa claps her client before they head into their corner, and Nessa is getting Marisol psyched and going over the game plan…

TODD: This is a matchup of raw power versus… precision cruelty. Latoya is one of the strongest women in the game—but Mari? She’s not just strong. She’s disciplined. And that might be the difference tonight.

BAMA: Disciplined, dominant, dangerous—this is why she’s the face of the Black Rainbow. The Thursday night flagship of the franchise, some might say.

TODD: When you say ‘some might say’... did Jimmy Stars tell you to say that, Bama?

BAMA: …I need the money, Toddy boy. As the youths say, ‘stop blowing up mah spot.’

Latoya Hixx paces in her corner, bouncing on the balls of her feet, jaw set tight. Her nostrils flare, muscles tense beneath her tank-like frame. Her eyes burn with indignation—she sees Marisol across the ring, not just as competition, but as audacity. A smaller woman daring to stand across from her.

Nessa gives her client a thumbs-up before ducking between the ropes to the outside… Marisol Vilaró, expression calm but eyes electric, adjusts her elbow pad with a slow, deliberate motion. She smiles—but not warmly. Her lips curl at the corner, like she already knows how this ends.

DING DING!

NEW RIDER MATCH MARISOL VILARO - vs - LATOYA HIXX Singles Winner to receive a brand-new(ish) Harley-Davidson and a matching helmet! Then sent out on the town! (Gas sold separately.)

Latoya explodes forward, shouting as she charges for a lock-up, lips curled in a sneer, arms wide.

Marisol doesn't meet her in kind. Her eyes flick up in amused surprise, then narrow as she smoothly ducks low and pivots, stepping around Latoya’s flank like a matador.

Latoya stumbles forward off-balance, blinking rapidly, momentarily unsure how she didn’t just overpower her.

TODD: Ole! Latoya came in expecting a shove-fest. Mari didn’t even offer one.

BAMA: That’s what separates the elite from the ELITE of the elite, Toddrick! Mari’s not going to wrestle Latoya’s match—she’s going to make Latoya wrestle hers.

Latoya spins around in the corner, ready for another attack…But Mari calmly paces around the ring, keeping that matador energy…

TODD: Mari, clearly looking to exploit Latoya’s brash, explosive energy, looking to let herself tire her out and let her elite-level conditioning carry her to victory!

Latoya’s face flashes anger. Her jaw clenches, and she slaps her own chest, growling. She turns with her arms raised again—this time slower, calculating. She stalks Mari with her shoulders hunched forward, attempting a feint to bait her in.

Marisol's brow arches—not mocking, but as if she’s seeing a toddler pretend to be a tiger. She obliges the approach, stepping in, only to instantly catch Latoya's arm…

Twist! Spinning wrist lock sprawls Latoya down the mat!

TODD: WOW! Latoya is genuinely one of the strongest competitors on the roster! And Vilaro just dropped her on her front effortlessly!

BAMA: #VilaroFit, baby!

Latoya grits her teeth, eyes going wide as her arm’s wrenched unnaturally into a hammerlcok behind her back. Her face scrunches—not just from pain, but confusion. She knows she’s stronger. How is she stuck like this?

Mari lets her lock sink in deeper, dragging Hixx lower and lower to the mat, as if Hixx was sinking in quicksand!

TODD: Hixx has to make a move now or this one could be over in record time!

Hixx grits her teeth!

With the unique grunt starkly close to that of a Bulgarian tennis player, Hixx grunts, whipping her other arm across in a wild back elbow!

…Mari whips her head back, barely being grazed by the elbow! Mari releases the hold gracefully, pirouetting back a step.

TODD: That elbow was VICIOUS! If Mari hadn’t released the hold, her head might have gotten knocked into the third row!

Hixx spins around, having been freed from the hold…

…Mari flexes one arm casually—demonstrating control—then smirks, clearly inviting Latoya to try again.

TODD: Despite her near-decapitation experience, Mari looks completely in control!

BAMA: Like a shepherd guiding a lamb to a slaughter, Todd. Mari seems to know everything Latoya’s gonna do! It’s like she’s got Hixx working off a script is how deep Mari is in Latoya’s head!

Latoya growls through her teeth, face beet red. She rushes again…

Mari backs up!

TODD: Oh my! Possible miscalculation by Mari! She’s cornered!

Marisol’s shoulders are against the corner! Her eyes widen!

Hixx dives! Stinger Splash!

…But Marisol somersaults under, to the center of the ring! She springs to her feet, opening her hands, beckoning applause…

But Hixx caught herself on the ropes! She remains on the middle-rope!

TODD: Oh my! I think Mari thought Latoya would ram her skull into that turnbuckle like a bull! For once, Latoya put on the brakes and Mari has no idea!

BAMA: Wow. Maybe a dumb dog can learn a trick or two!

Latoya, not used to aerial maneuvers, slowly rotates to put herself in position to fly from the middle rope…

Mari turns around…

Hixx Leaps!

CROSSBODY!

TODD: Hixx connects! Possible major upset here!

Hixx hooks both of Mari’s legs with everything she’s got!

The official drops to count!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-NO! Mari finds the wherewithal to force the shoulder up

Latoya springs out of the pin from Mari’s kickout. She holds up three fingers? The official shakes his head, holding two in reply.

TODD: Hixx thought she had it there…

BAMA: But she’s still got the advantage for the moment! She can’t let it slip!

Mari is already rising off the mat, looking furious she was even briefly outthought by Hixx..

Latoya grunts, pulling herself up to her feet. As Mari rises back to a vertical base, Hixx throws a desperate…

HAYMAKER!

…But Mari ducks under! As Hixx’s fist sails by, Mari delivers a…

BOOT TO THE STOMACH!

TODD: Oooooof, I think that one went so deep, it hit Hixx in her jejunum!

Hixx doubles-over, collapsing to one knee…

As Mari hoists her into a front-facelock!

VILAROIZER!

TODD: Wow! The Vilaroizer! That’s gotta be it!

The official drops to count…

ONE!

TWO!

TH-...

Mari wrenches Latoya off the ground, holding the front-facelock…

TODD: Whoa! …Wait, I don’t think Latoya kicked out!

BAMA: Nope! I think that counter pissed Mari off! And she’s sending a message to Latoya! Next time, take your beating quietly!

Latoya’s arms dangle. Her mouth is open, tongue slightly out, eyes unfocused.

Mari heaves her through the air!

SECOND VILAROIZER!

TODD: Another picture-perfect suplex from Marisol! That’s gonna do it!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-...

…Once again, Mari heaves Latoya’s shoulder off the mat, holding her front-face lock!

TODD: Oh c’mon! This is unsportsmanlike! This is depraved!

BAMA: This is the Black Rainbow, Toddy! They don’t just want to beat their opponents! They want to sap the will to fight on from each and every member of the roster…

Latoya groans… Her feet struggle to support her weight, as she drops to one knee…

Mari finds the hard camera and stares into it, as she holds Latoya…

…

TODD: …Creepy.

THIRD VILAROIZER!

Pin. Hooking the leg deep.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

Winner: Marisol Vilaró

TODD: Three straight Vilaróizers. I think Latoya Hixx went into this match she’d out-muscle Marisol. Instead, she just got outclassed.

BAMA: Hixx got creative and got a lucky strike on Mari! And on a different night, maybe with a tighter pin? She could’ve stolen the victory! But facing an opponent like the Queen of #VilaroFit! She’s not gonna give you a second chance to put her in the ground if you miss the first one! She looked absolutely DOMINANT! And to the victory go the (basically) brand new spoils!

Mari creeps out the ring down the stairs, guided by her manager, the Snarktopus…

The two hop on the (allegedly) brand new Harley Davidson and drive up the ramp to the back!

TODD: Huh! Guess there was some gas in there! Welp, can’t wait to see Black Rainbow dip that Harley in black goo next week!

BAMA: You know who I bet could clean off that black goo that stains the cosmos itself? The good people at the service department of Black Hills Harley Davidson! For over twenty ye-

TODD: Please just go to commercial.



The camera cuts through the crowd gathered outside the Knuckle Saloon. Rows of motorcycles line the streets. Bikers, fans, and locals pack shoulder to shoulder, chanting, drinking, and waving signs that read things like “I CAME FOR THE VEGGIE PLATTER AND STAYED FOR THE TITS” and “ANARCHY RULEZ”. Pyro shoots into the sky as the XWF logo flashes across the big screen mounted on the stage.

TODD: Sturgis, South Dakota, home to the biggest biker rally on the planet and tonight, home to XWF Anarchy! We take you outside the Knuckle Saloon where we have a very special talent showcase.

The crowd goes nuts as the sound of a motorcycle revving. Two motorcycles burst through the entrance and they slide to a stop near the stage. Them No Good Bastards have arrived, they dismount their bikes, and walk on to stage, Thunder Knuckles wearing his half of the Anarchy Tag Team Championships around his waist, Revolution Championship slung over his shoulder, and has a megaphone in hand. Bobby Bourbon also has his Anarchy Championship around his waist, but he has the Xtreme Championship slug over his shoulder. TK raises the megaphone and yells over the wild crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, degenerates and deviants, welcome to the first-ever Bastard Wet T-Shirt Showdown! Brought to you by Anarchy, Industrial road goop, and the XWF’s lack of a human resources department!"

Bobby Bourbon is twirling a foam #1 finger, smirking, TK hands him the megaphone.

"That’s right, we told management we wanted a ‘talent showcase,’ and they gave us a blank check! Nothing says talent, real solid talent, than a Midwestern wet t-shirt contest!"

The crowd goes wild.

"Now, here’s how this works. Six contestants, one bucket of water, one t-shirt, and two judges who’ve been banned from judging anything in 48 states. ME and the big bad of big bads, your Xtreme Champion Bobby Bourbon!"

"We have very specific criteria; originality, enthusiasm, congeniality, some questions where the contestant can say something about world peace, and… uh… let's be honest, the less that shirt’s doing its job, the better your score!"

TK is grinning like the devil himself.

"Alright, Anarchy! Let’s get this party fuckin' started! These ladies are about to show us why wet t-shirts were invented in the first place. I’m talkin’ pure talent and by talent, I mean titties!"

Bobby Bourbon begins to chuckle, pointing the foam finger to the crowd.

"Hey now, TK, it ain’t just about the titties. These women are good people with big hearts, big dreams, and yeah, chesticles so chestacular you forget to care if they have a booty or a nass."

The crowd of bikers cheer for boobies. The first contestant, Mandi, steps up and gets soaked. The crowd pops, and TK leans forward with a giant smile on his face.

"Now that is championship level cleavage right there! Mandi, you’re a ten outta ten in my book."

"She’s a wonderful competitor, man. You can tell she’s got spirit, confidence, and yeah. Those are top-tier tatas. She should definitely take the stage again."

Thunder Knuckles nods, eyes scanning the lineup.

"Yeah, but you gotta give Courtney a chance, Bobby."

Courtney steps up, looking nervous, it doesn’t look like she’s packing much heat indeed her white t-shirt. TK shrugs. Bobby Bourbon starts encouraging Courtney.

"She’s got a big heart, TK. This is her moment."

Thunder Knuckles half-hearted not seeing anything special in Courtney.

"Bro, Courtney might not have what it takes here..."

That's when she's splashed with the water. Her shirt clings perfectly, the crowd explodes for Courtney’s perfect tits! TK's eyes widen.

"Holy shit...nevermind, those tits were deceiving! Courtney, goddamn girl!"

Next up, Glady takes the stage, a 72-year-old woman with confidence to spare. Before the water hits, she removes her dentures, winks at TK, and gives his own signature jerking-off motion by her mouth, much like Syn did in his promotional material against TK. The crowd loses it while TK looks horrified and takes a step back. Bobby Bourbon starts laughing, taking a step back too.

"She's all yours, TK."

"Fuck no."

Gladys gets splashed anyway, proudly raising her arms to a mix of cheers and laughter. Bobby wipes his eyes from laughing.

"Look, I’m taking Mandi and Courtney to get ice cream after this. You… you can figure out what to do with Gladys."

TK shaking his head, chuckling.

"I’m gonna need fuckin' therapy after this shit, man. If James Shark didn't flunk out, maybe I coulda got his therapist's number."

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BASTARDS DOING?!”

The party vibes inside the saloon suddenly come screeching to a halt. The saloon doors bust open, and out walks the one and only NICKLEMAN. The music scratches as everyone turns their necks to face the embodiment of the XWF’s Corporate Authority.

Charlie walks past a gaggle of horned up bikers, sneering at them with disdain. Once Charlie passes through enough of the debauchery to reach TK and Bobby, he grabs his suitjacket and gives it a fierce tug before addressing them.

“Whatever this is, it ends now!”

The Nickleman yells at TK and Bobby as he looks around the Wet T-shirt contest, which is packed to the brim with drunken, horned-up bikers.

“Who the hell is paying for this syphilis show?!”

TK bears a shit-eating grin as he pulls out the ‘Talent Showcase’ check, which is hand signed by Charlie Nickles.

“Well…you are, Charlie!”

Charlie’s mouth drops and his eyes go wide as TK hands him the blank check, complete with Charlie’s signature. A comically sized bead of sweat drips down Charlie’s forehead.

“This check was for an XWF Talent Showcase! This isn’t a talent showcase, this is a god-damned AIDs party!”

The Nickleman rips the blank check up into a million little pieces, throwing them at the feet of Them No Good Bastards.

“You Bastards lied to me on your paperwork to get funding for THIS?!?!”

“We promised a talent showcase, Charlie! We didn’t fuckin’ lie!”

“Yeah, what TK said! Are you on drugs again, Charlie?”

Nickles wipes a speck of white powder from his nose as he sniffles through a retort.

“What?! No, of course not!”

“Well…do you want to be?”

TK pulls a handful of drugs from out of his pocket. A few marijuna nugs, a few pills, you know, the usual stuff! Charlie swats TK’s hand away.

“Let me guess: Corporate Dollars paid for those, too?!”

Them No Good Bastards share a no-look fist bump as Charlie flies into a rage.

“You Bastards have no respect for this company, no respect for this brand, and no respect for ME, your Acting General Manager AND Official XWF Corporate Liaison!

But don’t you fucking worry, boys…because I know lessons can only be learned the hard way in this company.

And ohhhhh boy Teekz, do you got a fuckin’ lesson coming your way tonight.

Matthias.

Syn.”

Charlie lets the name linger in the air like a hot knife, slicing through the silent tension.

“252 days, Teekz.

Syn held that belt longer than you’ve ever held anything in your fucking life.

Well, except for that crush on Bobby.”

“Four years and counting.”

TK rolls his eyes and gives his often imitated jerking off hand gesture.

“If Matthias Syn wants that belt back, Tee-Kay, he’ll take it back- that’s not even in question. But your greasy little fingers have already defiled that title, so tonight’s Main Event isn’t about your Revolutionary trinket anymore.

Tonight’s Main Event is about one thing, and one thing only, my Bastardly Brothers:

Tonight, Matthias Syn is teaching all you Revolutionaries backstage a god-damned lesson in RESPECT!”

The Nickleman has worked himself into a panting lather, breathing hot and heavy as TK and Bobby just look at each other with bemused bewilderment.

“So this little biker shindig you two were throwing on company time?

Consider it over!

And as far as your Revolutionary hopes and dreams go?

Consider them dead in the damn water!

You Bastards can sit and worship at the altar of Chairwoman Waters all you want, but The Corporation will NEVER let you Revolutionary sycophants turn the XWF into some sorta SOVIET DIDDY-PARTY!!!

NEVER!!!!”

Charlie turns away from TNGB, and starts shutting down the entire party! He gets extremely aggressive with the attendees, pushing and kicking them towards the exit like literal cattle. The gathered crowd slowly thins out as Charlie goes up to everyone and screams in their face that if they don’t “GET THE FUCK OUT”, then they will “FIND THE FUCK OUT!”.

"The fuck are you even talking about Charlie?"

TK, puzzled, looks over at Bobby.

"Bro, I really think he’s on drugs."

Well, bro, I think it's time we had a come to Bastardly Father moment. I have been in the Revolution with Flynn, A.L.G.,  and Schism since day one. I kind of put them on hold to go win the Anarchy tags, but it's why you keep seeing us hang out.

TK shrugs because both things could be true.

”I’m not in the Revolution am I?”

”No, no, I don’t think you are? Doesn’t matter, Syn’s doomed no matter who he’s affiliated with.”

”Facts.”

Bobby addresses the thinning crowd.

”Alright, everybody, Charlie sucks and is going to just make a ton of noise here until we stop and doesn’t wanna see top tier boobies. So, I guess, this whole segment is over.”

Bobby looks over at Mandi and Courtney.

"Are you ladies ready to get some ice cream?”

Both of the ladies cling to Bobby’s arms, Glady heads their way but when she gets close TK shoves her old ass down. The Revolution, Xtreme, and Anarchy Tag Team Champions walk to the locker room, one to lay it down, and the other to lay Matthias Syn down.

TODD: Well... if you had 'Glady gets shoved' on your Anarchy bingo card, congratulations — you just hit a row.

BAMA: Man, I came here for the ribs and ended up seein’ the revolution get motorboated. Only in Sturgis, baby.

TODD: But now that the foam fingers and foam cups have been cleared away, it’s time to shift gears. Coming up next — no ice cream, no spray bottles — just pure violence.

BAMA: Time for a little bit of a Turf War!


TODD: This next match features two of the newest additions to the Anarchy roster! Two explosive personalities looking to take Thursday Nights by storm!

BAMA: Two very bright futures, Todd! And one of them is already an XWF Legend!

TODD: Oh Jesus, Bama,you can’t be serious?!?



The opening riff of Save Yourself hits the PA system and crimson lighting casts over the arena.

A few moments pass by and Saint steps into a spotlight with his head lowered and his arms outstretched like a martyr, he welcomes his disciples to stand beside him.

Both the Angels of Malice and Valerie Morgan stand behind him, their shadow silhouetted on the ramp before him. Hoods mask their faces as they escort Saint to the ring.

TODD: “Midnight” Michael Saint, self-described as “Your Savior”... He claims he’s here to rid wrestling of its filth and disease rotting it from within! And he made crystal clear his opinion on his… “opponent” tonight. Calling him cowardly and ignorant, trading suffering for spectacle! He’s promised to personally inflict the suffering that his opponent has managed to avoid up to this point!

Morgan hops onto the apron and separates the ropes for Saint and bows her head in his presence. Saint gets into the ring and sits on the canvas in the corner while his disciples disappear into the darkness before the lights come back on. Valerie Morgan takes a seat at ringside in her black chair, staff in hand.



“Paper Planes” by M.I.A. hits the speakers. The arena blacks out completely as a cold robotic voice echoes:

“Please stand by for a priority broadcast from the office of Preston Vanderlay Esquire… Wrestling’s Wealthiest Winner.”

A massive golden “V” lights up on the titantron. Suddenly, the curtain parts, not for Preston, but for two identically dressed male attendants in tuxedos, who roll out an absurdly long red carpet lined with gold trim, leading all the way to ringside. They are followed by a fog machine team in full uniform, blasting synthetic mist infused with a $700 designer cologne.

The beat drops, and the words “Take your money” pulse with the lights, right as a custom-built gold-plated luxury mobility throne rises from beneath the stage. Reclining in it like a Roman emperor is Preston Vanderlay Esquire, draped in a white silk trench coat with golden lapels, his sunglasses gleaming with his initials etched on them.

BAMA: And here he is! PRESTON. VANDERLAY ESQUIRE. XWF LEGEND!

TODD: Oh shuddup, Bama! The fact this rich idiot was ‘given’ a spot in the XWF Hall of Legends before he’s even competed in a match is demeaning to the accomplishments of every ACTUAL legend in there!

BAMA: …Jeez. Tell us how you really feel, Todd! Look, as a manager and talent seeker, sometimes, you have to roll the dice. Sometimes you see an unopened treasure chest and you take a chance on the contents being astounding. In the long run, perhaps Jimmy Stars will be recognized for seeing Preston Vanderlay Esquire for the legend that he is before anyone else ever did!

TODD: Jimmy doesn’t have the power to decide who does or doesn’t go in the Hall of Legends!

BAMA: Semantics!

PVE’s not alone. Flanking him on each side in slow, synchronized choreography are his disciples Briggs Wellington, Dashford Luxe, and Regan Vale.

Briggs Wellington stomps down first, arms crossed, cracking his neck, dressed in an emerald suit-vest over tactical gear. Dashford Luxe flips onto the ramp out of nowhere, striking a pose midair before moonwalking partway down like he’s dancing through stock options. Regan Vale walks while cracking knuckles that are clad in black leather gloves. Her eyes are wild and yearning.

As Preston’s throne glides forward on a hidden track, attendants throw faux stock certificates and shredded cease-and-desist orders into the crowd like confetti. Gold sparks rain from the ceiling while a voiceover plays:

“Introducing the undisputed architect of all victory… Wrestling’s one true trust fund tactician… PRESTON. VANDERLAY. ESQUIRE.”

At ringside, a plush ottoman step unit is rolled into place. Preston stands, slowly removes his jacket, and hands it to an assistant like it’s a crown jewel. His disciples form a loose triangle behind him as he ascends the stairs one step at a time, pausing on the apron to scan the crowd with visible disdain.

TODD: Not only did Preston Vanderlay Esquire install his own shrine in the XWF Hall of Legends… He also opened a poll as to which Legend should be REMOVED so he can take their spot. And when two legends tied… He destroyed them both! Both James Raven AND Lee Stone have had their spaces destroyed by PVE!

BAMA: You know what it takes to be a legend? Audacity! And Preston Vanderlay Esquire has it in spades! He’s not hampered by respect or awe for the men and women that came before him… Only the possibility of what he can bring to the ring!

TODD: He’s not even getting in the ring, Bama! He’s sitting outside and one of his three lackeys is going to compete for him!

STARS: Innovating the game in a whole new way!

Inside the ropes, Dashford lounges in the corner like a smug hype man, Briggs looms with arms raised and flexed, and Regan paces slowly in a circle like a predator. Preston raises one hand to his temple, smiles like he just closed a billion-dollar deal, and steps to the center as fireworks go off indoors.

After a few more seconds of the crowd booing the fuck out of him, Preston activates his Freebird Rule clause and selects one of his three student-diciples to fight for him… Regan Vale!

BAMA: Regan won the poll, and Preston is nothing if not a man of the people!

Saint stares daggers as Preston who carefully shimmies down from the apron, flanked by his two disciples not actively competing… As Regan smiles sadistically, daring him with her eyes to keep looking at her boss rather than her.

DING DING!

TURF WAR (LUMBER-GANG) MATCH MICHAEL SAINT - vs - PRESTON VANDERLAY ESQUIRE Saint and PVE may invite their "gangs" down to the ring to enforce the outside! (Lumberjack Match Rules)

TODD: Here we go, the debut of Michael Saint and the… “debut”... of Preston Vanderlay Esquire, by his proxy, Regan Value!

BAMA: You couldn’t have two more opposite competitors! A walking cautionary tale for the industry—and across from him? The definition of controlled aggression: Regan Vale, handpicked and battle-hardened by none other than Preston Vanderlay Esquire.

Inside the ring, Saint and Regan lock eyes.

Saint’s stare is cold, steady, calculating. Regan’s posture is loose but deadly—like a fuse waiting to spark. They circle once—twice—and then engage in a tight collar-and-elbow tie-up.

TODD: They’re locking up with a collar-and-elb… Whoa, Saint with the early leverage—waistlock… Into a standing switch by Regan! Beaut- wait, Standing switch back! Saint has it!

BAMA: These two are moving so quick through the chain-wrestling sequence, Todd’s getting tongue-tied trying to call it!

Saint transitions from a rear-waistlock, bullying Valee into a side headlock—tight and snug—Regan grits her teeth and slips backwards out of Saint’s grip, grabbing a wristlock! Saint nods slightly as if approving, recognizing a fellow competitor of the industry he’s here to save…

TODD: A fascinating difference here… I think Saint truly admires the wrestlers in PVE’s employ… but he hates PVE for refusing to get his hands dirty himself!

BAMA: Close minded, Toddy baby! Won’t someone think of the hard work PVE does orchestrating this trio of top-tier talent! If Regan wins tonight, PVE was the architect of the victory! Of course he deserves the win!

TODD: And if Saint pulls itself, the XWF “Legend” will have an XWF record of 0-and-1!

In a flash, Saint spins out, traps Vale’s arm, and slides her down into a hammerlock. Regan grits her teeth, flipping over to reverse the pressure and grab a headscissors!

TODD: Wow! These two are trading tit-for-tat, every exchange, the other is mounting a counter for!

BAMA: This is what I’m talking about! Michael Morgan, before his transformation, was one of the best talents in the entire wrestling industry! And look at Preston Vanderlay Esquire, holding his own!

TODD: …REGAN VALE is holding her own, Bama! Preston is standing outside the ring!

BAMA: Architecting his disciple toward victory!

Saint kips out—fluid—and BAM! A spinning backfist straight to Regan’s jaw!

TODD: Wow! That a strike might have knocked a screw loose in Regan’s noggin… If she had any screws in the correct spots from the get-go! She is immensely in the ring, but may also be deranged!

Regan hits the ropes, dazed, and tumbles over the top rope and straight outta the ring—landing at the feet of the Angels of Malice and Valerie Morgan

TODD: Uh-oh. Regan Vale’s in dangerous territory now!

BAMA: And here’s where the PVE branding breaks down, Todd—because those aren't just Saint’s allies. That’s a cult. And they don’t do marketing deals… they render JUDGMENT!

The Angels of Malice step forward in eerie silence, arms crossed. Valerie stands still, tilting her head, smiling.

For a moment, it seems like they’re poised to swoop upon Regan… But Saint barks them back!

BAMA: The HELL is Saint doing? Calling off his lumberjacks?!?

TODD: As he said in his promo, Michael Saint doesn’t hate the disciples of Preston Vanderlay Esquire… He pities them. Calls them slaves! What purpose would it serve beating down one undeserving of Saint’s judgment, except a beatdown?

Regan glares up from one knee, no panic in her expression.

From the relative safety of the other side of the ring, PVE barks at Vale to get back in there!

Vale darts back into the ring with no hesitation.

TODD: No fear from Regan Vale. That’s those MMA instincts coming into play!

BAMA: That’s why Preston picked her! AND that’s why the Vanderlay brand is undefeated—Preston Vanderlay Esquire doesn’t recruit. He acquires assets.

TODD: …I think undefeated might be overstating a record when he hasn’t actually wrestled yet…

BAMA: UNDEFEATED. XWF. LEGEND.

The moment Vale re-enters the ring, the two snaps back to their rapid-fire exchange of moves…

Vale tries to secure a front-facelock, but Saint side-steps deliberately—sweeping his foot under her ankle with a single leg takedown, then dropping a knee onto her throat! Regan kicks the mat, momentarily rattled, cradling her larynx!

BAMA: Y’know, kind of a mixed message to call off his goons, then drop a knee to crush Vale’s windpipe!

TODD: That’s Michael Saint’s game. He doesn’t sprint—he constricts. Saint’s suffocating her pace now!

BAMA: Also, just regular suffocating her!

After a few seconds driving his knee into Vale’s throat, Saint peels her off the canvas, lifts her with calm strength…

SNAP SUPLEX!

He floats over into a side headlock, twisting Vale’s neck against his chest…

Outside the ring, Preston Vanderlay is throwing his arms in the air, screaming into the void, demanding Value stop messing around and finish it!

TODD: Look at Preston! That’s a man whose stock is plummeting!

Back inside, Saint hooks Vale off the mat, maintaining his headlock, setting up forMidnight Hour (lifting double-arm DDT)l…

WHAM! Regan ducks low and counters with a picture-perfect side kick to the chest!

TODD: What a kick! And Saint is sent skyward!

Saint crashes over the ropes, flipping to the outside—right in front of Preston.

BAMA: OHHH BOY. That’s not just bad positioning. That’s a hostile takeover waiting to happen.

Preston doesn’t blink. He straightens his tie, points with authority.

Briggs Wellington and Dashford Luxe spring into action, launching pummeling blows and stomps to the back of Michael Saint!

BAMA: Oh dear, it looks like Preston Vanderlay Esquire is not extending the same kindness Saint did calling off his flock!

TODD: But here come the Angels of Malice! Looking malicious as ever!

The Angels of Malice intercept, catching Briggs and swinging wild fists. Valerie sprints in, slapping Dashford across the face so hard the crowd gasps.

TODD: CHAOS OUTSIDE! THE LUMBERJACKS ARE OFF THE LEASH!

BAMA: You wanted Anarchy? THIS is Anarchy!

The outside erupts—

Briggs trades fists with both Angels, roaring but outnumbered.

Dashford spins away from Valerie, only to get pulled back into a forearm.

Preston retreats a few steps, horrified, waving his arms like a man trying to stop a boardroom fire.

In the middle of the wreckage… Michael Saint rises. Face shadowed, eyes locked on Preston, a storm building behind them.

TODD: Saint’s back on his feet—and he’s looking right through Preston Vanderlay Esquire!

BAMA: No, no, no—Preston, baby, get outta there! This man does not do well with personal space!

Saint charges through the chaos, eyes locked on Preston—hand stretching out like he's about to drag a sin from the earth itself…

…

But Regan Vale launches herself through the ropes and smashes into Saint with a low diving shoulder tackle!

TODD: REGAN VALE! SLIDING IN HEADFIRST like Pete Rose at home plate! She just cut him off at the knees!

BAMA: Impeccable Timing! You can’t teach that—well, Preston can.

Both crash hard onto the floor as Dashford Luxe and Briggs Wellington keep Saint’s crew preoccupied, fists flying in all directions. Briggs tanks blows from both Angels of Malice, throwing haymakers back with ruthless rhythm. Dashford and Valerie are practically a blur—flips, elbows, screaming chaos.

TODD: This is a lumberjack match in name only—it’s an outright warzone outside that ring!

BAMA: Anarchy, baby! God I missed it!

Regan rises, grabs Saint by the head, and hurls him under the bottom rope with violent urgency.

She slides in after him—and just like that, Preston is suddenly all cheers and clapping, like he never even ran from the man moments ago.

TODD: Regan Vale setting up now—this could be it!

She pulls Saint upright—hooks the arms, rotates the hips—

BAMA: Here comes The Liquidation Event! Preston’s bread-and-butter!

…

But Saint slips free! A twist of the waist—Regan’s grip breaks—Saint seizes the moment and—

TODD: SNAP GERMAN SUPLEX!!

Regan is folded in half and bounces off the canvas! Saint holds the bridge!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Regan kicks out!

TODD: SHE’S STILL IN IT!

BAMA: That’s Vanderlay durability, baby! Trademark resilience by PVE!

TODD: HE’S NOT EVEN IN THE RING, BAMA!

Saint rolls up to one knee, shaking out the cobwebs. Regan is slower to rise. Saint sees his window…

TODD: Saint setting up for Confessional!

Saint hits the ropes looking for that signature knee lift—

But Preston grabs his ankle from the outside!

TODD: HEY! What the—!

BAMA: Executive intervention! That’s… strategic disruption!

Saint skids to a halt and immediately turns, venom in his eyes.

…Preston is straightening his tie, turning his back, as if accomplishing himself on saving the m-

Suddenly, Saint reaches down over the ropes and grabs Preston by the collar, trying to drag him into the ring.

TODD: He’s got the architect of this whole circus by the neck!

BAMA: Call timeout! CALL TIMEOUT!

PVE is kicking and screaming, like a being dragged into Hell! Saint nearly has him in the ring…

CRACK!

Regan Vale nails Saint from behind with The Market Crash—that snap swinging neckbreaker lands flush!

BAMA: MARKET CRASH OUTTA NOWHERE! And Saint might be out cold!

Regan dives onto the cover—hooks the leg tight—

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

WINNER: PRESTON VANDERLAY ESQUIRE (via his proxy Regan Vale)

Outside the ring, the Angels of Malice are distracted by the bell’s ring… Which give PVE’s lackeys a window to break away with their boss and get back up the ramp!

TODD: What a travesty! What an absolute joke! Regan Vale took advantage of the distraction by PVE getting involved and… and…

BAMA: Say it, Todd! She got the win! Which contractually means Preston VANDERLAY Esquire won! Which makes him…

TODD: please don’t say it…

BAMA: AN UNDEFEATED XWF LEGEND!

TODD: *sigh* well, this definitely isn’t over between Michael Sant’s crew and Preston VANDERLAY Esquire! But tonight at least, PVE secures victory!


TODD: Folks, this isn’t a match in a regular wrestling ring! We’re going straight to the ol’ Knuckle Saloon for an ol’ fashion barroom brawl!

BAMA: You ain’ lyin’, Toddy! We got three mean, sons a’ bitches, ready to tear each other limb-from-limb to score the ol’ W tonight!

STURGIS BAR FIGHT SUMMER PAGE - vs - REGGIE ESTRADA - vs - THIAS WATTS Triple Threat Bar Room Brawl We'll cut to the inside of the Knuckle Saloon where these three will duke it out with no disqualifications until one of them is declared the winner by pinfall or submission!

The bell rings inside the Knuckle Saloon. The bikers press in from every corner, cheering, heckling, and recording on their phones.

TODD: Summer Page is standing with her arms crossed in the middle of the floor.

BAMA: Reggie Estrada is pacin’ like a man on a mission, hoodie still on, slappin’ his chest and getting in the faces of random fans.

TODD: Thias Watts is just standing there. Towering, unmoving, a seven-foot freak of nature.

Summer throws the first shot. She sprints toward Reggie and nails a running high knee to his chest, smashing him into a bar stool. Reggie flails, taking down a nearby cocktail table in the process.

TODD: The crowd is eating this up!

BAMA: Aaaaaaaand Thias still hasn’t moved. Still as a statute…

Summer turns to him with a smirk. She rushes Thias with a Chick Kick aimed high, but he catches her leg mid-air and hurls her like a sack of designer trash into a booth. Glass shatters and people scatter.

TODD: Summer seems dazed, Jimmy.

BAMA: She looks fine, but she’s not lookin’ WELL, if you catch my drift, Toddrick.

Reggie launches himself off a pool table, nailing a diving crossbody that finally sends the giant Thias Watts stumbling backward, crashing through a high-top table and snapping it clean. Reggie is on fire, screaming, punching, shadowboxing the air, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. He grabs a dartboard off the wall and frisbees it at Thias. WHAP! It hits the big man right in the neck.

BAMA: Thias shrugs that off like a mosquito bite!

TODD: That’s a big man, doing big man things!

Reggie tries a springboard DDT off the side of the bar, but Thias catches him in mid-air like a ragdoll. Thias Gorilla Presses Reggie into the air... and TOSSES HIM OVER THE BAR COUNTER into a rack of liquor bottles.

BAMA: NOT THE LIQUOR!

Thias turns, still breathing slow, it took a lot to throw Reggie like that. Summer Page is already back running across the bar stools. She dives! Tornado DDT to Thias into a bar table! The table doesn't break. It just buckles, making the impact even worse. She rolls off, wincing but fired up. Summer grabs a pool cue and jams the end of it into Reggie’s ribs as he tries to climb back over the bar, knocking him back down.

TODD: Reggie’s down!

BAMA: Summer seems to be comfy as a fox as the henhouse!

Summer points to the crowd, cocky as always. She tries for another strike, but Reggie grabs a bar rag soaked in whiskey and chucks it in her face. The distraction works, Reggie vaults over the bar again and catches Summer with a side suplex onto the bar floor.

BAMA: Spoke too soon, Todd! Is it time for Reggie Estrada to steal another victory?!?

Reggie goes to follow up but Thias is back and he’s pissed. He grabs a full bar stool and throws it like a missile, clocking Reggie in the back and dropping him face-first to the ground. Thias walks over, lifts Reggie with both hands like a parent scolding a toddler, and smashes his head against the bar. Reggie collapses like a dropped sack of bricks.

TODD: That had to hurt.

BAMA: Thank ya kindly, Captain Obvious.

Thias turns toward Summer, who’s crawling up using the bar to pull herself up. He charges like a bull but she moves! CRASH! Thias runs straight into the wall behind the bar, splitting the drywall and shaking the whole damn saloon. Summer pounces, dragging a broken pool cue across his throat while wrenching his arm behind him.

BAMA: That was ugly, mean, and one hundred percent Summer Page.

TODD: OH NO, WATCH OUT!

WHACK!

Reggie blindsides Summer with a kendo stick, ripping it across her back and then across Thias' chest. Reggie turns the stick and jabs it down onto Summer's spine, then leaps from the bar top with a senton across both of them!

BAMA: Bodies are everywhere.

The camera pans over a destroyed dartboard, shattered glass, and splinters of a pool cue still stuck in the drywall. A crowd of sweaty bikers chants “HOLY SHIT!” as Reggie Estrada stands tall on top of the bar, shadowboxing again, face half-lit by a flickering neon “Coors Light” sign.

TODD: I won’t lie, that does look pretty cool.

He leaps off with a Flying Elbow Drop aimed at Thias but the giant catches him mid-air, deadlift style, and spikes him into the hardwood with a thunderous release German suplex! Reggie flips, crashes, and skids through a puddle of beer and blood. Thias stalks forward, calm but dangerous, like a slasher villain in slow motion. Thais eyes lock on Summer, who’s just gotten to her feet using the broken jukebox for support. Thais charges.

BAMA: BIG BOOT!

TODD: No! Summer ducks.

Thias’ boot shatters the jukebox. Summer pops behind him, Tilt-a-Whirl into a Russian Leg Sweep, using Thias’ own momentum to drive him across a beer pong table, which buckles but doesn’t break. She backs up and adjusts her bra strap. Summer grabs a bar tray and frisbees it like a discus into Reggie’s skull as he starts to rise.


CLANG!


She stalks him down and grabs a handful of hair, dragging him near a dart table. Reggie shoves her off, then throws a handful of darts at her feet, like throwing down tacks. Summer instinctively hops up, and Reggie lets loose a Superkick to her in mid-air!

BAMA: WHAT A SUPER KICK! I LOVE SUPER KICKS!

Summer flips over a table, crashing into a biker chick’s lap. The woman cheers and spills her drink all over Summer's chest.

Reggie delivers the ol’ Haliburton choke at the pile of broken table and crumpled Page.

BAMA: I don’t know what’s come over Reggie Estrada, but when he delivers that taunt, he is LOCKED IN!

Reggie doesn’t waste a moment, grabbing a nearby fire extinguisher off the wall and BLASTS Thias with a cloud of white chemicals. Thias stumbles blindly.

TODD: Thias looks like he’s in trouble.


WHACK!


BAMA: He’s definitely in trouble now!


REG-KO! Reggie hits the RKO-style cutter onto a broken barstool frame!



1!


2!


Summer dives in and breaks it up with a code red, flipping Reggie off of Thias and into a pile of chairs. Breathing heavy and smeared with sweat, beer, and a little blood. She grabs a stool leg, wraps it in barbed wire someone left as décor, and begins wailing on Reggie’s back. Each strike draws welts and swelling.

TODD: Can you hear Reggie screaming in pain?

BAMA: Who can’t?

Thias rises again, slow and terrifying, blood trickling from a gash in his scalp. Summer swings the barbed leg, Thias blocks it with his forearm and CHOKESLAMS her into a booth, snapping the seat in half. He pulls her out of the wreckage by her arm like a child’s doll and sets up for the 3rd Ward Drop. Irish Whip into a support column, Summer slams spine-first into it.


TODD: Spine first into that beam!

BAMA: Summer is going to have a hard time walking tomorrow.


BIG SPLASH.


TODD: How often do you see a big man do that?!

BAMA: Thais Watts makes it look easy, that’s for sure!

He lifts her up... just as he sets for the Head-Out Tombstone, Reggie charges in with a BRICK and SMASHES Thias in the back of the knee! Thias drops to one leg, losing the hold. Reggie climbs the bar again.

BASHIN STUNNA!!!

From the bar top, down onto Thias’ neck! Thias is dazed, barely conscious. Reggie goes for the cover but there's no ref. It’s a bar. The crowd counts anyway.


1!


2! 


BAMA: Not this time!

TODD: This is unbelievable! Thais kicked out of a crowd counting the pin! Ever the showman!

Page pulls a tap handle off the bar and blasts Reggie with a fountain of stale IPA, blinding him long enough to grab a bottle, smash it over his head, and plant him with the "1999" Impaler DDT onto the floor.

TODD: That’ll do it if she can make the cover!

Page leans down to make the cov-

FLASH! Bright floodlights flood the bar, blinding everyone inside, except the bartender, they've got thick black sunglasses, allowing them to see perfectly fine.

TODD: I’m blinded, I can’t see! What’s going on?!?

After 20 seconds the lights are killed and in the middle of the three competitors, stands a large masked man. On the mask is the face of Cheems the Shiba Inu meme dog, but instead of normal Shiba Inu coloration, it's colored black with big stacks of hundreds plastered all over it.

The man pulls off the mask, revealing none other than Mr. Oz!

Thias looks at Oz, remembering his former tag teammate putting him out of action for a long time, having a shocked appearance on his face as Oz scans the three. He tosses the mask to the ground, and immediately turns his sights onto Summer Page as Thias starts pummeling Reggie, Oz begins throwing large haymakers straight into Summer's face until he picks her up, arms cradling her so her stomach is against his, only for him to pick her up into a gorilla press hold, then throwing her straight into and through the bar's wall to the outside! The force of which makes Summer's outline look like it's straight from the cartoons!

TODD: What the HELL! Oz has thrust himself into this match and he and Thias are wrecking Reggie and Summer!

BAMA: No disqualifications, Toddy! Bringing a buddy to a bar brawl is fair game and Thias Watts is old friends with one of the meanest sumbitches on Anarchy! Mister Oz!

Oz then goes to help Thias by picking him up by the legs, and starts swinging him around like a Olympic Hammer Thrower getting ready to throw, only for him to lift Reggie higher and Thias delivers a MASSIVE big boot to the man's dome, knocking Reggie out!

TODD: What a maneuver!

Amidst that giant swing big boot, Thais lands atop Reggie! The crowd counts because that’s how this match works!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

WINNER: THIAS WATTS

TODD: What a robbery!

BAMA: What in-gen-yoo-ity, Toddrick! Thais Watts brought himself a dance partner and they cleaned the floor of Thias’ solo opponents!

TODD: Wait, now it looks like the Money Titans might throw hands between each other!

Now with the two massive men made of muscle standing toe to toe, it looks like they're about to throw hands, to finish their years long beef…

Only for Oswald to dap Thias up, as if he's Cyclops dapping up Ryu from the Street Fighter x Marvel games before pulling each other close and smacking each other on the back.

TODD: Ah, spoke too soon.

He looks to the carnage they have among them, seeing Thias's opponents starting to stir, gaining some ability to regain their composure as Oswald nods to Thias, as words are whispered, "I have my own thing later. You got this?" come from him with Thias nodding as Oswald picks up his mask and walks away to go to his very expensive and highly pimped out RV to get ready for his match.

TODD: The Money Titans! Reunited! The entire Anarchy Tag division just got put on notice!


The camera pans across of a sea of leather jackets, denim, beards and bad ass Tattoos. Thousands of motorcycles are rumbling. American flags wave high above chrome.



The PA speakers are hit with the sound of a badass Harley revving, this goes on for a few moments and then stops and suddenly “One for the money by escape the fate” hits the speakers. The camera cuts to a wide shot just as a stunning gold and chrome custom motorcycle rides through into the rally. Justin York sits atop the bike wearing designer shades, a fit leather jacket, denim and shoes that are so expensive they shouldn’t even be around burning rubber.

York rides around the ring several times before stopping and tossing his shades to some biker chick who quickly fires them back at him and begins hurling insults.

He climbs off of his bike and up onto the ring apron and takes in all the hate whilst simultaneously posing. He gets into the ring and demands a microphone and is handed one.

“I’m willing to bet that none of you meth smoking morons thought you’d see a real star show up to this skid mark get together did ya?! The second longest reigning Revolution Champion right under your filthy noses..”

He spits on the canvas as the crowd boo’s, some even hurl a beer bottle that he dodges.

“Don’t take it personal Sturgis. I didn’t come out here to judge your loud ass motorcycles, your crooked teeth or your poor life choices. I came here for only one reason.”

York saunters over to the ropes and leans against them.

“THAD FUCKIN’ DUKE.”

The crowd pops. That name always draws a reaction.

“I find it rather funny that the XWF looks at you like you have royal blood pumping in your veins but you don’t have enough of a spine to accept the challenge that’s been laid before you. I issued the challenge at last Anarchy, at bedlam 8, I even laid it out in a language you can understand, pride, money and legacy on the line and yet you pop up and say a few goofy words, have me attacked and slither back under your rock!”

BAMA: York just dropped the throttle, brother. That ain’t a challenge, that’s a damn dare!

TODD: He’s not just calling Thad out — he’s painting a picture of a man ducking the spotlight. Pride, legacy, and brand loyalty all on the table? That’s combustible.

“You are lionheart remember? Stand tall for this company that you apparently love so damn much. Stop ducking the challenge you cowardly piece of shit. You and me one on one, your 4 vs my 4, Valor against XWF. This is officially the third time I’ve presented this before you, are you man enough? Pick the date, the time, the place and we will show up and burn your fucking house down.”

York sits on the top turnbuckle and awaits Thad's arrival but gets nothing.

“That’s what I thought, sit back there in your comfort zone hiding behind whatever stale ass legacy you have left, you and your BI—“

”Yorkie, Yorkie, Yorkie…”

Thad pops through the Pryce Position onto the stage to pops and a roar of motorcycles.

”You run your mouth about legacies and royal blood… tell me one thing you've built. Tell me one time you've put the good of others over your own selfish wants and needs.”

Yorkie goes to speak but Thad shuts him down.

”People around here treat me like I have royal blood… because when it comes to the XWF, I do have royal blood. See, for half of this company's existence, it was built, and rebuilt three times over off the back of a man named Duke.

“You really don't like hearing the word ‘no.’

“I'll think about the four on four, but Yorkie… you versus me doesn't interest me even a little bit.”

Thad says not another word as he drops the mic and disappears back behind the curtain.

TODD: What a shot across the bow! York called him out again and again, but Thad just made it crystal clear: he’s not biting.

BAMA: Nah, but he’s thinkin’. You heard him, Todd. That four-on-four’s not off the table. Thad just wants to make York wait... and maybe sweat.

TODD: One thing’s for sure, this isn’t over. The war lines are drawn, but the battlefield’s still up for grabs. Up next we’re taking you out to the Bike Boneyard… so stay tuned!




TODD: Uh… folks, I’ve been in this business a long time, and I’ve seen some unsettling entrances… but this is something else entirely.

BAMA: Lord have mercy, that’s a woman possessed. Look at her — she’s got the devil in one hand and a paintbrush in the other!

“Dreams of a Lullaby” plays, and as her music swells, Celestine stumbles onto the scrapyard, dragging a massive canvas behind her. Her body jerks unnaturally as though seized by a spirit, shades of a possession. She begins speed-painting in a frenzy, daubing wild strokes with brushes, bare hands, and even blown snot from her nose. She growls, chants, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping. By the time she reaches the center of the yard, the canvas is revealed: a horrific foretelling of her opponent mangled, ruined, disfigured. She lays the painting gently against the ring like a tombstone.

TODD: That’s either the most disturbing omen I’ve seen in a while… or a hell of a way to win Best in Show at the county fair.

BAMA: Ain’t no county fair I’ve ever been to that had entrails in the watercolor, Todd.



The lights flicker, as the anxiety-inducing first few chords of Dies Irae erupt across the speakers. As all lights center to the top of the stage, creating a path of light down to the ring. Fans erupt into screams as The Inquisitor walks out onto the scrapyard — clad in his leather trench-coat, gloved hands in and full-black getup.

The eye-rings around his mask glint in the light, and you can almost feel him smile through it.

Throwing his arms out to his side, and his head in the air, he breathes in the sweet sound of fear and adoration. His hands jerk to grasp their opposite shoulders, in a self-hug of sorts. Giving himself a quick squeeze, he runs his hands along his shoulders and across his throat like blades before turning to face his opponent.

TODD: The stage is set. The scrapyard’s cursed ground tonight. You can feel it in your teeth.

BAMA: A haunted artist versus a masked executioner… ain’t nobody walking out clean.

TODD: It’s time. Celestine Gale versus The Inquisitor. This is the Bike Boneyard Match!

BIKE BONEYARD MATCH CELESTINE GALE - vs - INQUISITION Last Person Standing Rules

TODD: Welcome back to Anarchy!

BAMA: Boy oh boy am I ready this one, baby!

TODD: Who wouldn’t be!? We’re in a scrap yard for crying out loud! With two scrappers, ready to begin their quests of chasing down some metal on Anarchy!

BAMA: Chasing metal? Did you even watch these two promos this week, Todd? Celestine Gale and Inquisition are chasing nothing but blood here tonight, baby!

TODD: Holy macaroni!

BAMA: Holy macarena!

TODD: …I feel like we’ve lost the plot here partner.

BAMA: Well of course we have, Todd, we’re in a goddamn scrapyard for crying out loud!

TODD: As crazy as it may seem, Bama, this might be the most apropos between these two, because the only way you can win? By burying your opponent under a heap of old motorcycle parts.

BAMA: Ap-pro-pro? I don’t speak I-talian, Moschitti!

TODD: Would you just shut up and go with it, please?

We hear the grinding of metal, as the camera pans through the dirt and around a heap of trashed car parts. We see the enigmatic Inquisition, donning his spooky mask. He’s dragging a piece of a car exhaust along the heap of scrap metal… he looks ready to do some serious damage here tonight.

Off in the distance, Celestine Gale appears. She’s completely unfazed by this menacing atmosphere. Despite being undersized compared to Inquisition, her cold glare makes her appear to stand even feet above the mounds of trash and scrap metal.

TODD: We heard the trading of barbs up to this point between these two. Inquisition is ready to learn everything he can about Gale, all the way down to the meat and bone, and Gale? She’s ready to break the facade of yet another competitor who dares cross her.

With only feet between them now, the two rush one another. Inq swings wildly with the broken piece of exhaust, hurdling right at Gale’s head! Luckily for her, she’s able to narrowly avoid jumping backward. This seems to throw Inq off a bit, as Gale’s expression is happily dark, and brooding. She lunges right back at him with an elbow to the skull. Inq eats the blow while simultaneously swinging the piece of exhaust again, cracking Gale in the arm. It’s obvious that she felt the damage by the look on her face, but a part of you wonders if she didn’t sort of like the pain.

The elbow strike causes Inq to drop the exhaust pipe.

Inquisition grabs her suddenly and hoists her overhead in a display of strength—he spins and plants her into a pile of rusted gears and fenders with Charon’s Consecration! The full-body impact rattles the scrap heap, and Gale is left coughing, stunned, surrounded by jagged steel like a twisted halo.

He rolls off her and clutches his ribs. The referee approaches cautiously, then raises one hand to begin a count.

ONE!

Gale’s fingers twitch.

TWO!

She breathes sharply through her teeth.

THREE!

Inquisition drags himself upright using a bent fender for leverage.

FOUR!

Gale’s eyes snap open, rage and madness dancing in the whites.

FIVE!

She begins to sit up, trembling but furious.

SIX!

Both are on their knees now, glaring at one another like broken saints.

SEVEN!

They rise, nearly in sync, snarling as if pulled up by strings from beneath the scrapyard floor.

The count is waved off.

Inquisition stumbles to the edge of the yard, his boots crunching over bone-dry gravel.

His eyes scan the heaping walls of scrap around him until they fall upon the crane, the large magnet dangling. Inquisition hobbles over to the crane with a slight limp.

BAMA: Oh he ain’t planning on what I think he’s planning, baby!

TODD: He’s going to bury Gale… Possibly for good!

Before reaching the control booth, he passes a wrecked trike. Without hesitation, he yanks a steel chain from its sidecar like it’s a serpent coiled for battle, then climbs the ladder to the crane’s cabin.

Inside, he settles into the dusty control seat, gripping the levers with fingers like vices. He moves the crane to the right, and a large pile of scrap latches onto the magnet as he slowly begins to move it over Gale’s body...

But she’s gone!

Inquisition hesitates at the controls before a hand is wrapped around the back of his head and smashes his face into the glass of the booth!

BAMA: Celestine that spider monkey! How’d she get the jump on Inq like that?

TODD: Black magics one can assume.

The glass cracks once under the attack.

Dazed, Inquisition shakes his head but Gale throws him forward again and his head crashes through the glass!

Shards stab into Inquisition’s mask as he pushes himself through the glass and crawls out onto the hood of the crane.

Celestine follows, dragging a rusted hubcap and a long steel rod with her like she’s preparing to paint something terrible on the canvas of Inquisition’s back. Her body is coated in dirt and sweat, her dress in tatters, but there’s a strange elegance to her madness—like a cursed ballerina in the wreckage of war.

She raises the hubcap over her head and slams it across Inquisition’s back with a clang that echoes through the scrapyard. Inquisition growls, trying to rise, but Gale stabs the steel rod between his shoulder blades like she’s pinning a butterfly to a collector’s board.

TODD: I don’t know what hurts more—the impact or the intention behind it!

BAMA: That woman’s painting a masterpiece of pain, baby!

Inquisition surges up anyway, his raw strength lifting both himself and Gale with a guttural scream. He backs up blindly, crashing her into the boom of the crane. Gale collapses, limp… or so it seems.

The referee immediately begins a new count.

ONE!

Neither moves.

TWO!

Inquisition leans against the boom, breathing heavily.

THREE!

Gale's hand flutters against the grit.

FOUR!

Inquisition turns, bleeding from his mask.

FIVE!

Gale rolls onto her side, eyes locked on the dangling chain.

SIX!

She begins to rise, inch by inch.

SEVEN!

Inquisition limps to the chain as well—both struggling.

EIGHT!

Gale stands. The referee waves off the count again.

Inquisition stumbles forward toward the edge of the crane, his fingers gripping the dangling chain like a lifeline. He glares down at Gale and gives a final, primal roar. With the chain in hand, he lifts it high over his head and brings it down in a sharp, deliberate arc—but Gale rolls aside at the last possible second, and the chain loops up and around the thick magnet above them!

There’s a moment of silence. Then, with predatory grace, Celestine rises behind him.
With a sharp twist, she yanks the chain and the dangling motorcycle breaks loose from its tension.

BOOM!

The motorcycle comes crashing down from above like a falling god of steel and fire… right onto Inquisition!

He vanishes beneath the wreckage.

BAMA: HOLY SHITFIRE, TODD! SHE JUST VAN GOGH’D HIM INTO NEXT WEEK!

TODD: That might be the most brutal thing we’ve ever seen in the Biker Boneyard!

Celestine kneels next to the heap of twisted chrome, blood, and ruin. She reaches into her torn gown and pulls out a tiny paintbrush dipped in black ink.

With ritualistic grace, she paints a crescent moon symbol on the bent gas tank of the fallen motorcycle—marking her work. Then she stands tall above it all, arms outstretched like the final frame of a gothic oil painting.

The referee, stunned, begins the final count.

ONE!

No movement.

TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Not a sound from under the motorcycle.

FIVE! SIX! SEVEN!

The scrapyard seems to hold its breath.

EIGHT! NINE! TEN!

The referee signals for the bell.

WINNER: CELESTINE GALE

TODD: Celestine Gale has done it. She’s buried Inquisition literally and metaphorically beneath the weight of this match!

BAMA: And she didn’t just win… she signed it, Todd. Like any true artist.

TODD: What an incredible, unforgettable debut by Gale. But hey, hats off to Inquisition as well. He had a tough uphill battle to climb. The truth may yet be inquired!




TODD: Up next we have a new take on a classic strap match. We’re trading out the strap for a 12 foot length of biker chain!

BAMA: I don’t know this Jimmy guy that well, but something tells me he wouldn’t volunteer to take either competitors place in a match this brutal.

TODD: Oh, he’s a huge choad. Very unlike Atty and Bliz. Like the opposite. Absolutely terrible.

BAMA: Oof.

The honeyed rasp of Atara's voice blares over the facility's PA in unison with those words appearing on the multitude of screens and displays littering the arena.

HELLO DOVES

The crowd pops and gets to their feet shouting in near total unison a single word.

OPA!

Arena lights start to pulse in time with the music and multiple vertical streams of pyro erupt across the front of stage. Strutting with purpose, Atara emerges from the back taking spot centerstage atop the ramp. Posing for the camera, a wink and kiss is given to the viewers at home.

Grunge walking to the ringsteps, she climbs and stops at the top to posture again for her adoring public. Hand on her hip, the Grecian moves to the middle of the apron to blows a final kiss to the camera and enters the ring through the middle rope.

BAMA T: Now that’s an entrance with some sizzle. Ain’t nobody in the back got that kind of fanfare and footwork, Todd.

TODD: Atara’s got the crowd in the palm of her hand—and she may need every ounce of that energy tonight.



The opening guitar riff the Deftones’ “Kimdracula” hits the arena speakers as multicolored lights pour over the crowd. The lights slowly rotate color in a mesmerizing, psychedelic fashion as the camera pans over the excited crowd. They stand and cheer, partially excited to be on television but also excited because they know that this music signifies that they’re about to be in the presence of an XWF Legend.

Our view shifts to the entrance walkway, which is now blocked by a large pane of glass. On the glass, a name is painted:


The viewer only has a moment to take in the glass before the glass explodes towards the camera as a foot kicks through and explodes the whole display!

The crowd erupts in a huge pop. Aidan Collins is here!

Aidan Collins–wearing navy blue trunks and boots adorned with his Infinity Crown logo in gold–takes a second to pose towards the camera before he winks and walks down towards the ring. As he walks, he high fives the crowd and vocalizes outwardly that he’s about to put on a hell of a show for the audience.

Aidan walks up the ring steps and walks down the apron to the center of the ring. He points out to the crowd before folding his arms in front of himself, giving the crowd ample time to pop off photos with their cell phones.

Aidan enters the ring through the middle rope. He shakes the ring official’s hand, now ready for the contest to begin.

TODD: There he is. Aidan Collins, with a legacy that spans two decades and more than a few shattered expectations.

BAMA T: I’ll tell ya what, Todd: this one’s gonna hurt, no matter who wins. They ain’t fightin’ ‘cause they hate each other. They’re fightin’ ‘cause Jimmy Stars made ‘em.

TODD: And neither one plans to walk out lookin’ weak. Chain’s just the setting. The real story is right here in the ring.

The chain clinks ominously as it’s latched to the wrists of Atara Raven and Aiden Collins by the referee. No theatrics. No pageantry. Just one final look—mutual recognition, not malice. They both know what kind of storm they’re walking into.

BIKER CHAIN BRAWL ATARA RAVEN - vs - AIDEN COLLINS Strap Match Rules

TODD: There’s no love lost between these two tonight, folks, but there’s a hell of a lot of respect on the line!

BAMA T: Ain’t that the truth, Todd. This one’s personal without bein’ bitter. They ain’t enemies, just professionals with a job to do. And that job involves a big ol’ steel chain.

DING DING DING

Atara strikes first. She wraps the chain around her forearm and charges in with a hard elbow that rocks Aiden into the corner. She follows up with a flurry of body shots—precise, targeted, fast. Then she whips him toward the opposite buckle, but the chain jerks taut midway. Atara stumbles forward off-balance.

Aiden doesn’t waste the moment. He yanks her back and levels her with a vicious lariat! The chain snaps across her stomach as she hits the canvas with a thud.

BAMA T: That chain ain’t just decoration, Todd. It’s a weapon and a leash, all at once.

TODD: The kind of leash that reminds you you’re never out of reach.

Aiden scrambles up and starts for the first turnbuckle. He touches ONE… but Atara cuts him off, kicking his leg out from under him.

She climbs to her feet and hits a smooth belly-to-back suplex, flowing right into a leg grapevine. She drives her elbow into his knee repeatedly, softening the joint. Then, without hesitation, she transitions into a banana split submission—Aphrodite’s Duality!

BAMA T: She’s goin’ for it early! That’ll stretch a man six ways to Sunday, Todd!

TODD: And in a match like this, every second in a hold like that feels twice as long.

Aiden grits his teeth and headbutts his way free, rattled but still fighting. Atara pops up, answers with a stinging slap across his face. The crowd erupts—OPA!

She twirls to her feet and throws in a Hasapiko step, dancing just enough to taunt.

But it costs her.

Aiden ducks, yanks the chain, and sends her over the top rope. The chain catches—she dangles, feet barely touching the apron. He reels her back in with brute strength and slams her with a modified Olympic Slam across the chain!

A beat passes. Then Aiden starts for the corners.

ONE… TWO…

Atara twists, sweeps his legs, and slaps the mat to keep herself grounded. The count resets.

TODD: This match punishes hesitation. And it punishes momentum even more.

BAMA T: These two been tied to Raven for years, figuratively. Now it’s literal. Poetic as hell.

Atara lashes the chain across Aiden’s back with a loud snap! The crowd winces in unison. She drags him toward the corner and whips him into the steel post. Then she lines him up, sprints in with the Judgement of Paris—a knee to the jaw that lands like a shotgun blast.

Aiden crumples.

Atara turns to the corners. ONE… TWO… THREE…

She lunges, reaching for the fourth.

Aiden yanks the chain tight and pulls her off her feet! The chain wraps around her torso, and she slams hard into the final corner, spine-first.

Aiden’s on her before she can react. Chain-wrapped punches to the gut and ribs. He runs the ropes and comes back with a devastating Hell’s Kaleidoscope, the chain trailing like a whip behind the discus lariat.

Both go down.

BAMA T: Hell’s Kaleidoscope hits like a freight train. You see stars, regrets, maybe even your tax guy.

TODD: You see the next life, Bama, and it don’t come with padding.

Aiden pulls himself up slowly. His breathing is labored now. His body, bruised. He yanks the chain and drags Atara up.

He touches ONE… TWO… THREE…

But Atara isn’t finished. One last surge—Priapus Punch!

Right between the uprights.

BAMA T: Straight to the… well, we’ll call it the Achilles groin, Todd.

TODD: That’s got to be illegal!

BAMA T: Not in this kind of fight. Just bad manners.

Aiden buckles. He doesn’t fall.

He roars, swings wide, and clobbers Atara with a spinning lariat that folds her like paper.

Both lie on the mat, unmoving for a beat. Then Aiden crawls.

ONE… TWO… THREE…

He stops.

Looks back.

She’s still down.

FOUR.

The bell rings.

WINNER: AIDEN COLLINS

There’s a moment of quiet. A pause. Then applause. Then cheers. Not for the outcome—but for the battle.

The referee raises Aiden’s hand, but he brushes it aside. Instead, he kneels beside Atara and helps her up. She’s dazed, but conscious. She takes his hand and rises.

No hug. No raised arms. Just eye contact.

They nod.

And the crowd chants together:

“OPA! OPA! OPA!”

BAMA T: That’s the kind of match that don’t need a title. Don’t even need a winner.

TODD: Just two people giving everything they had. Scars traded. Respect earned. And maybe now… maybe just a little peace between friends-

Aidan Collins and Atara Raven are in the ring after a grueling strap match. Both of them are gathering their bearings when suddenly...

"Dethrone" by Bad Omens plays throughout the Knuckle Saloon Parking Lot. Then out from the entrance way, it's Solomon Kline. Clad in black leather pants, black Doc Marten's and a black cowboy style shirt, complete with a black bandana over his face and a black Stetson hat, he rides in on his brand new blue Harley Davidson motorcycle. He rides the bike toward the ring slowly, then drives around the ring once at ringside, allowing the fans in attendance to take it all in. He parks the bike at ringside on the ramp side of the ring, gets off and heads into the ring. He sees his Tribe partner and Atara, still breathing heavily from their match. He removes the hat and bandana and places them in the corner of the ring. He starts slow clapping and then, he motions for a microphone.

Solomon Kline: Bravo, you two. Aidan, good to see you mixing it up on Anarchy. Can't wait to kick the American Storm's asses with you come Warfare and give us a chance at those tag team championships.

He looks over at his shoulder, no longer bearing the weight of the X-Treme championship that was ever present when he was champion. He then looks at Atara, who is slowly making it to her feet.

SK: You see, my shoulder is feeling a bit light and it doesn't feel right. Another championship would fit nicely there. Atara, I gotta hand it to you. That is how you fight a friend. Some people...*cough* Oz...*cough* should take notes. Now I'm not just here to sing your praises. I'm here to inform you that, this wasn't just a match...it was an initiation.

The crowd cheers. Solomon continues.

SK: You see, historically, the Tribe has always had room for Ravens and with the Black Rainbow, The Corporation, various Revolutions...we need all the allies we can get. So, I'm not asking you to give us an answer right now, but please, consider this a formal offer to join the Tribe.

Solomon grabs his things from the corner, nods to Aidan Collins and makes his way out of the ring, where he rides his motorcycle off into the sunset and presumably, right out of Sturgis altogether.

XWF STUDIOS

*'Micheal Graves', wearing his green Dark Warrior mask and tights, takes the seat across from Steve. He stretches his neck, side-to-side, comfortable on a TV set after decades wrestling in front of cameras.*

Around the pair, the crew gets setup, lights get hung, microphone rapidly get sound-checked, the director of the segment carefully checks each camera angle to verify focus.

Sayors glances off to the side, clearly receiving the all-clear from the producer.

“Folks, I’m here with Anarchy champion, ‘Micheal Graves’! One of the most electric, unpredictable men in the entire XWF! I… uh… I’m nervous because this is quite a scoop your favorite newsman is on top of… But, I’m also terrified of being maimed!”

Sayors eyes ‘Graves’, hoping for some reassurance that that won’t happen.

”...” ‘Graves’ eventually weaves his hand through the air, like ‘keep going…’

Sayors nervously clears his throat, before flipping the page on his clipboard…

“Well, first of all—congratulations. As of today, you’ve been Anarchy champion… 319 days! Two days longer than Crucible’s Tag Title reign, which makes yours the Longest reign of the XWF’s modern era At Leap of Faith, you defeated ‘The Tactilizing One’ Larry Tact in what many are calling an instant classic. What was the key to victory that night? And—if I can ask—what does it mean to you to step into the record books as not only the longest Anarchy champion, but longest reigning champion… ever?

Sayors’ eyes dart, watching Graves for any sign of irritation. His left hand is hovering near his lapel mic like he might instinctively rip it off and sprint at the first sign of danger.

…

Graves' sits back, letting his eyes drift to the ceiling as he ponders that question.

"Tact’s a killer." 'Graves' finally concludes, bringing his eyes back to Steve's. "He's been a world champion. A Hall of Famer. We'd wrestled a little earlier this year and I won then, too. But, I came off that match knowing he was just finding his footing in the XWF. It felt like I got an appetizer before a main course that was gonna knock me on my ass. Getting to face him at his best? The biggest challenge of my reign thus far, and I'm proud to say I managed to catch one of the greatest chain wrestlers in the business in my Fujiwara Armbar and score the submission."

"In terms of stepping into the record books..." 'Graves' exhales, really digesting that question. "I think that was all that mattered to me when I first got started. I leapt straight from a hole-in-the-wall gym in Battle Creek, Michigan, straight to the XWF.”

”Wait, Mister Graves.” Sayors checks his notes. ”Aren’t you from… HoboTown originally?”

…

”HoboTown is a suburb near Battle Creek.”

”Ah, sorry, go on.”

“And I started late... most of the young guns now are guys in their early 20s... I debuted in the XWF at..." 'Graves' does some math in his head. "33? And I had a chip on my shoulder about it. I felt I needed to check every box, to do what no one had ever done before or it would have all been a waste."

"Now?" 'Graves' lets his nostrils flare, somberly recollecting where he came from and the man he used to be. "I've been lucky enough to do this for thirteen years. Most people don't make it to year thirteen in this business. Almost nobody makes it to 46 and still manages to actively compete at the level I'm getting to." 'Graves' tries to delicately unwrap the question.

"I feel lucky in some ways. In other ways, like I don't know how it happened. I know it could end tomorrow and I'm pushing my luck every time I get in the ring. But, I'm taking it one match at a time. At one time, I…”

…’Graves’ grins, pausing.

”Er, f***, sorry, my buddy, Mark Flynn…”

…’Graves’ eyes dart upwards.

”Did I just get bleeped?”

”...Algorithm stuff, profanity tends to filter search results, diminishing views…”

…’Graves’ shrugs…

”When HE was Universal champion… He promised the world he'd be the longest-reigning Universal champion in XWF history, that it'd last forever and... heheh, that didn't work out.”

“Point being, I'm honored to have the record of longest Anarchy champion… given the caliber of talent that Anarchy has to offer, but I have no delusions about being a permanent champion. Some day, this belt will be somebody else's and they'll have the honor of representing the best Thursday Night wrestling has to offer and..." 'Graves' grins thinking to himself. "I don't know what I’ll do after that. I guess we'll see."

…Steve coughs. ”Most… electrifying man in the XWF…”

‘Graves’ reaches down for the coffee cup by his side. ”Can I keep this?”

…Sayors squints. ”...The cup?”

…

”That’s… That’s really not my department, but maybe someone can…” Sayors reaches for a production person. ”Can… um… Mister ‘Graves’ kee-”

When Sayors turns back, ‘Graves’ is looking at him attentively awaiting the next question.

…The cup is gone.

…Sayors shuffles his cue cards, trying to keep his hands from shaking too obviously.

“You’ve been—well—instrumental in spearheading the conversation around labor rights in pro wrestling. You’ve advocated for injury protocols, post-match concussion screenings, fairer treatment for talent. You’ve called out the brass more than once for how they handle things behind the curtain.”

“But—Graves—this is also coming from a man who, earlier in his career, made a name by injuring people. By ending careers. You used to list them in your promos”

He lets that truth sit for a moment.

“Do you see this as… a redemption arc? A reckoning? How do you reconcile the Dark Warrior who took pride in devastation with the advocate who now demands a safer workplace for the next generation?”

*He inches back in his chair—just a bit.

"...Heheheheheheheheh. FUUUUUUU***." 'Graves' bellows. The sound people skitter nervously, narrowly catching the censor button.

…

‘Graves’ eyes the teammate, finger hovering over the button, ready to catch profanity…

"Great question, Stevengelical..."

…

"...I don't think there's redemption for what I've done."

…

"I don't think any amount of what I do know can correct the score..." There’s a twinge of manic-ness in ‘Graves’ eyes as he ponders this issue. "You know, the Ancient Egyptians thought when you died, the weight of your soul would be weighed against a feather. A FEATHER, STEVEN."

"...I don't know about you, Steve. I imagine your 'sins' are mostly taking other people’s parking spaces…”

…Sayors blushes. ”It’s an employee lot! I’m an employee! I should be allowed to park there!”

“But I worked up a soul heavier than a feather… even before I made it to the XWF…. Being here… that’s probably enough feathers to make a life-size Pillow Fort Knox "

…

"...It's not about that though.” 'Graves' scratches his nose. “If I was out here to atone, to scrub my name clean, I'd know it was a doomed mission...."

"At this point, I know I've got fewer years left than what I've put into this business. I just want to leave it better than how I came into it.”

…

”...My pal, Mark Flynn, has a near-two-year-old now. I don't know if he'd ever get in the ring... But the idea of him having to do what I did... or, God, even worse, dealing with the 'Micheal Graves' of the 2040s when he's the age to do this? ...I can't protect him physically then, I'll be knocking on 60... I can just try to make it a little better for everybody and hope it reaches him.”


…For a second—just a second—Steve looks like he’s about to cry.

“…That’s… that’s real, Graves. And I—uh—thank you for trusting me—and trusting the fans—with that.”

…Sayors stands up, and moves arms extended toward ‘Graves’.

”The HELL you doing, Steve?” ‘Graves’ raises his arms like he’s rearing to defend himself.

”Oh, uh…” Sayors clears his throat sitting back down. ”Was going in for a… *ahem* hug, misread the moment…”

”Yes, you did.”

…Sayors fumbles through his cards again…

“Now, uh, speaking of leaving the business better than you found it… at Leap of Faith, not only did you retain your title and extend your historic reign, but your fellow pro-labor advocate and long-time ally, Dolly Waters, finally reached the pinnacle—capturing her first Universal Championship.”

“What did that moment mean to you pers-”

"F***." 'Graves''s eyes light on fire with the mention of Dolly. The sound team rushes to bleep the live feed... "DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT?"

'Graves''s arms weaves through the air, punching through his hand. "RUNNING WATERS." 'Graves' drops an elbow on his own leg! "ELBOW DROP! F***!"

The sound people catch the curse live and manage to bleep it….

‘Graves’ eyes trace the wire from the censor button… running beside his seat…

Sayors nods, happy he’s asked a question that ‘Graves’ seems excited by. “Y-yeah, I did see that, actually! I—uh—stood up and cheered! From a safe distance! Like... twelve rows up.”

‘Graves’ beams proudly, taking another sip of coffee…

"That was... the culmination of a lifetime of work." 'Graves' rubs his nose. "Dolly has been wrestling in form or another since she was seven years old. She went from youth phenom to guaranteed first-ballot XWF Hall of Legends resident..." 'Graves' breathes. "To being constantly on the injured list. To being called overrated and a bust. I've been lucky enough to work with Dolly for years now. I know just how much pure talent she had in her. So, to see her win the big one after all that? It felt... like justice. She's 24 and it's easy to paint it like she lucked into it, but she's worked harder and sacrificed more than anybody I know."

…

“But, with you holding the Anarchy title… AND Dolly holding the TOP belt… is this more than just personal triumphs? Are we seeing a new era—a kind of... labor-first, wrestler-driven power shift in the XWF?”

Sayors eyebrows lift just slightly.

…

‘Graves’ waves the question off. "The movement's the movement, y'know? People might have more eyes on it. But, it's not the sort of thing you can make happen by winning a wrestling match. It takes time and it takes dedicated effort in the face of a million moneymen the industry over trying to stop it. Does Dolly winning the Universal title mean the Revolution has won and all of the wrestling industry’s problems are solved overnight?”

“No."

…

"...Was it the greatest thing that's happened in the wrestling world?" 'Graves' grins ear-to-ear... "Maybe. Top three in my book." ‘Graves’ holds up three fingers.

“Now, if I may—Graves, you did mention the ‘moneymen.’ The forces in this industry that fight change tooth and nail. And that actually brings me to…”

He hesitates. He knows he’s about to step into the minefield. He steps anyway.

“…the burning. The merch. The DVDs of your own matches, even. That was… well, I guess ‘symbolic’ would be an understatement.”

“A lot of fans were shocked. And executives were FURIOUS. Graves, you’ve said you’re pushing back against the over-commercialization of wrestling… but what’s the alternative? If a company can’t own its content, if merch is ‘tainted’—how is a promotion supposed to survive? How do you keep the lights on without selling the spectacle?”

…

… ‘Graves’ doesn’t look at the ceiling for the answer to this one. He looks Steve dead in the eye.

“Why do you think they frame it like that, Stevil?”

”...Uh…Sorry, ‘they’?”

“Like, *I* want the industry to collapse? Like I’m asking for the F***ING moon on a string, when I want BASIC. DIGNITY. For wrestlers.”

“Do you know much the average wrestling ticket to an XWF show runs the customer? $70? $80?”

“You know how much of that goes in the roster’s pocket? SIX DOLLARS. Split FORTY-SOME-ODD WAYS, Steavis!”

”...Uh… sorry. Let’s time-out so the team can fact-check th-”

“…And when I point that out, the industry acts like I’m public enemy #1.”

“Micheal Graves’ is a commie”

“‘Micheal Graves’ want to gut promotions..”

”Well, it’s a fair question, Mister Graves! You’re asking these companies to profit-share with their talent, but… These promotions are struggling! Some of them are dying!”

‘Graves’ jams a finger at Steve. “Get this down on the record, Sayors. If your company has to degrade and BURN through talent to stay alive?”

…’Graves’ SMASHES the cup toward the floor…

Liquid and porcelain cause sparks on the wire!

”Your company SHOULD FUCKING DIE.” The sound peoplesmash the button… But nothing happens!

…

“Why’d I burn those DVDs, Steve? That was the question, Mister William Randolph FUCKING HEARST? Why would I burn DVDs with my own matches on them?”

…

“So they’d stay mine.”

“The XWF wanted to take three hours of my blood, sweat, and vomit in that ring and put a price tag on it to shove in a gas station DVD pile next to a hanging rack of Slim Jim’s? They wanted to feed a lifetime through the algorithm and let robots designed to enslave our attention convert my mission to fix the mistakes I’ve made into POISON designed to CORRUPT the MASSES”

“FUCK that and FUCK anyone who says otherwise. If the shareholders would starve paying the talent their fair share? They should FUCKING starve.”

”I’ve seen guys on the Indy circuit skip meals so they can stretch out a $50 check working a high school gym, excuse me if I’m not worried about Sammy Shareholder making the payments on yacht #3.”

”Well, I think… I mean, YES, we should try to pay talent their fair share…”

”Ohhhhhh, it’s ‘WE’ now! You and the CEOs, Steve! ONE AND THE SAME!” ‘Graves’ leaps out of his chair and scoops Sayors up his collar!

The entire crew scatters in a panic, terrified of what ‘Graves’ might do…

”Oh God! Oh, please don’t hurt me, Graves! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

…

‘Graves’ drops Sayors to the ground…

…

And walks out of the studio.

SLAMMING the door… behind him…

…

Sayors nervously crawls back into his chair, straightening his tie.

”...Thank you… Micheal Graves… for being on the program… Now, if you’d like my perspective on the Anarchy champion’s views… I belie-”

SPARK! The lights go out in the studio.




Oswald stands amidst an indie metal band, watching the ring, looking at the band. Soon a choir is heard as the band begins to play his theme song. He walks towards the lead guitarist, clapping him gently on the back so as to not mess up her playing. Oswald, walks down a makeshift ramp towards the circle of motorcycles, while the bottom of his white cloak drags along the ground. Once inside the center of the circle, he de-cloaked himself, placing it in on the motorcycle in his corner before stretching out his arms in a lower case t and roaring out to the crowd before going and sitting on top of his cloak, awaiting the bell as he mentally plans out the match, as well as how to try and beat his opponent.

TODD: And here comes The Mighty OZ, making his way through the parking lot! Undefeated in recent months, Oswald has been tearing up every name they put in front of him on Anarchy. And that is why he is now #8 in the XWF ELO rankings!

Bama T: Damn straight, Todd! I know I haven’t been on Anarchy for a while, but even I know how dominant Oz has been on Thursday nights! At this point, I think it’s safe to say the myth of Oswald precedes him, everywhere he goes!



Full black.

The stage alights in red. Smoke gathers around the circle of motorcycles. Gods by Sleep Token plays as XXXVI appears, rising up out of the red lights amidst the smoke, his hands gathered in prayer. He steps out onto the makeshift stage and takes in the mixed reaction from the crowd. He shakes his head and shoulders and begins to walk down the ramp, hands still in prayer pose. Half way down, he spreads his hands apart and reaches out both arms in T-Pose as he crouches, sauntering down the rest of the ramp before he reaches the circle of motorcycles. He outstretches his arms as he enters the circle, rolling backward over a motorcycle and spinning toward the center of the circle, arms outstretched like a helicopter. He then sits, cross legged in the dead center of the circle, hands once again in prayer pose and bows his head. Full black again, then a single, red cone of light bathes him in the ring as every motorcycle in the circle suddenly roars, and revs to life!

TODD: 36 is coming out tonight to get some revenge on Oz for the events that transpired at Leap of Faith! Remember, Oz and 36 were supposed to square off against Them No Good Bastards for the tag-titles, but instead, Oz left 36 hanging! And now, they’ve got a score to settle!

BAMA T: Look at this FREAK! Wearing a mask, cutting the lights off, and then sitting cross-legged in the circle like some sorta’ schoolchild! No wonder Oz didn’t want to work with this guy at Leap of Faith!

TODD: Well you’ve gotta remember, Bama, that even without Oz: 36 was able to defeat T.N.G.B.!

BAMA T: That was by disqualification, Todd! That doesn’t count as a victory!

TODD: It counts on the ELO rankings, though!

BAMA T: Well, let’s see how tough he is when he has to face Oz 1-on-1 in a parking lot brawl!

PATCH-IN CO-MAIN MR. OZ - vs - XXXVI Revo #1 Contendership Parking Lot Brawl

DING! DING! DING!

The match starts inside the motorcycle circle, and XXXVI wastes no time in taking the fight to the big man! Oz and XXXVI exchange a flurry of blows in the center of the ring, but despite XXXVI’s tenacity, Oz begins to get the upperhand! Standing 8 inches taller and over a hundred pounds heavier, Oz has an immense advantage in the head-to-head bareknuckle brawl. Oz starts hammering XXXVI in the head relentlessly, causing the smaller man to stumble around the motorcycle circle aimlessly! The restless bikers cheer on the carnage as Oz begins to gain advantage.

BAMA T: Oz is giving that masked freak a WHOOPIN’! And those bikers are LOVING IT!

TODD: You’re not wrong, Bama! I think a parking lot brawl is playing to all of Oz’s strengths, and none of 36’s!

Oz grabs XXXVI, punching him in the gut before grabbing a hold of his tights and lifting him high into the air. Oz parades around the motorcycle circle with XXXVI suspended in mid-air, caught in a suplex position! Oz bears a devilish grin as he shows off his immense strength to the biker gangs in attendance…but XXXVI wriggles free before Oz can drop him! The smaller man escapes from Oz’s grasp, landing on his feet directly behind Oz.

And when Oz turns around….

SUPERKICK!

XXXVI’s foot connects with Oz’s jaw like a heat-seeking missile! Oz’s body goes flying against the motorcycles forming a circle in the parking lot, and blood starts dripping out of Oz’s mouth! Oz reaches up and touches the blood with his hand, inspecting it with his eyes before bearing a sinister grin in XXXVI’s direction. Oz pushes himself up off the motorcycles and roars, begging XXXVI to come try it again!

AND XXXVI does!


AND IT WORKS!

The smaller man charges at the expectant Oz. Oz throws a haymaker at the spot he thinks XXXVI is going to be…but the smaller man spins out of the way- AND COMES BACK AROUND WITH A SPINNING BACKFIST TO OZ’S FACE!

Oz goes flying over the top of the bikes, and out of the circle!

TODD: 36 has taken the momentum back in this one!

BAMA T: But let’s see how long he can hold onto it, Todd!

Oz groans as he brings a hand up to his bruised head, clearly disoriented from the force of the backfist. But XXXVI isn’t wasting any time tonight! The masked man climbs atop a motorcycle, raising his arms to the sky in a ritualistic motion before leaping off the bike and onto Oz with A MOONSAULT!!!!

THE BIKERS GO BIKE-WILD AS XXXVI MAKES THE PIN!


1!








2!!





KICKOUT!!!!


Oz throws a shoulder up just in time, but XXXVI gets right back to work. As Oz lay on the ground, the masked man begins working Oz’s lower body with a Boston Crab attempt! XXXVI cranks and wrenches upon Oz’s lower back, but Oz’s cries of pain are drowned out by the noise of the rowdy biker gangs. XXXVI tries to crank that Boston Crab as much as he can…but Oz is too big, too strong! After nearly a minute trapped inside the Boston Crab, Oz is able to wrangle his legs free, and kick XXXVI right off of him!

TODD: Excellent work from Oswald escaping that submission attempt! Usually Oz struggles to get out of submission holds, but he refuses to tap out here tonight!

BAMA T: Oz won’t give that weirdo the pleasure of making him submit!

Oz pushes himself back up, and XXXVI does the same. Now outside the circle, the one-time tag partners start squaring off once more! Oz goes in for a clothesline, but XXXVI ducks, and fires back with a quick uppercut! Oz reaches out and tries to grab a hold of XXXVI for a big move, but the masked man is too wily and quick! Oz just can’t seem to get his hands on him!

The pair fight through the parking lot, and past crowds of rowdy bikers. XXXVI starts to gain the upper hand with his quickness and agility, but Oz is an unstoppable object who just keeps moving forward, even if he is a few steps behind the masked man! By the time Oz finally gets a good grip on XXXVI, the pair have fought all the way to the other side of the lot- where a slew of trash cans are waiting for pick-up!

Oz grabs XXXVI by the scruff of his neck and pulls him back for a big move…but XXXVI has a the lid of a trash can in his hands, and he smacks Oz right across the face with it!

And again!


And again!

After the trash can lid has been fully dented and rendered inoperable, XXXVI drops the lid onto the ground. Then, he kicks a woozy Oz in the gut, causing the big man to keel over with disorientated pain! Then, XXXVI hits Oz with a


GERMAN SUPLEX ONTO THE TRASH LID!


XXXVI covers Oswald for the pin!



1!







2!!





KICKOUT!!!!!


TODD: Oz just won’t stay down!

BAMA T: I think that freak might need to try that move 36 more times if he wants to beat Oz!

XXXVI pushes himself back to standing, then he starts delivering a few boots to his grounded opponent. Rowdy bikers look on with beers in their hands, screaming for a ‘CURB STOMP!’. XXXVI turns back and looks at the bikers, and as he nods, you could almost swear you saw a grin under his mask!

XXXVI drags Oswald’s body over towards the curb in the parking lot, setting the big man’s teeth upon it…

BAMA T: Hey, someone stop that guy! He’s about to ruin Oswald’s billion-dollar smile!

TODD: I hate seeing this level of brutality as much as the next person, Bama, but this match is no-DQ! That means anything goes, even real-life, actual, literal curb stomps!

With Oswald’s face laying flat on the curb, XXXVI takes a few steps back…then he charges in before jumping high into the air, lifting both his leg for a leaping double curb stomp!

BUT OZ ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY JUST IN TIME!

XXXVI’s feet slam down on the pavement without any cushioning! The ligaments in his legs hyper-extend, almost popping out from beneath the skin as the leaping double curb stomp lands against nothing but concrete!

TODD: BY GOD! I’m going to be sick…I think we just saw his ACL -POP-, live on our screens!

BAMA T: Oh Todd! A little ACL tear ain’t nothin’ to our top-notch XWF talent- but if Oz is lucky, it might be enough to slow down 36!

As Oz lurches back to his feet, XXXVI cradles his legs in pain. Sensing an opportunity, Oswald approaches the masked man with a pissed off expression. Once Oz gets close, he begins laying in the beating of a lifetime. Big boots, big elbows, and big damage are unloaded onto XXXVI with little to no remorse from the big man! Oswald grabs XXXVI by his mask with one hand, while beating the hell out of him with the other! As XXXVI struggles to free himself from the giant’s grasp, Oswald starts dragging him back towards the circle of motorcycles.

XXXVI fights like a wolverine caught in a trap, but it’s no use! Oswald isn’t letting him go! Eventually, Oswald and XXXVI get back to the outside of the motorcycle circle. Oswald headbutts XXXVI, temporarily dimming the masked man’s lights- then, Oswald throws XXXVI back into the circle with a vicious hip toss! XXXVI lands in the center of the circle, his body smacking off the pavement with a sickening thud. Oswald steps over a motorcycle, following XXXVI at an admittedly slow pace.

BAMA T: Now that this match is back inside the circle, Oswald has complete and total control! He brought 36’s speed and quickness to a grinding halt, and now the behemoth has that masked freak right where he wants him!

TODD: Not so fast, Bama! It doesn’t look like 36 is out of this one quite yet!

Just as Oswald crosses over the final bike and enters the circle, XXXVI suddenly surges to his feet—limping, dazed, but far from finished. The crowd of bikers roars as he throws a wild forearm that catches Oz on the jaw!

Oz reels, stunned for just a second—enough time for XXXVI to leap up onto the gas tank of a nearby chopper.

BAMA T: Wait… wait, what’s that lunatic doing!?

TODD: He can barely stand and now he’s climbing steel!? This can’t be smart!

XXXVI steadies himself atop the motorcycle, every muscle twitching with effort. With a final breath… he launches into the sky—twisting through the air in a spiraling arc…

THE TEETH OF GOD!!

His body spins perfectly through the night air before coming CRASHING down onto Oswald’s chest with devastating force!

TODD: THE TEETH OF GOD! THAT’S GOTTA BE IT!

BAMA T: I CAN’T EVEN SPELL SPIRAL TAP BUT I JUST SAW THE BEST ONE IN MY LIFE, BABY!

XXXVI hooks the leg, the circle of motorcycles buzzing with noise.

1!

2!!

3!!!

DING! DING! DING!

WINNER: XXXVI

BAMA T: That masked maniac just tore through Oz like a rusty muffler!

TODD: He risked everything with that Spiral Tap—and it paid off. The Teeth of God bites deep tonight on Anarchy!

BAMA T: And I’ll be DAMNED if that wasn’t worth the price of admission alone!

TODD: That means that no matter who wins the main event tonight, they’re going to have a new challenger in XXXVI!




The opening riff of The hangman's body count by Volbeat starts to play throughout The Knuckles Saloon as the lights dim. Several red and purple laser lights envelope the stage as Matthias Syn casually walks through the curtain. As he steps onto the stage, he stops and acknowledges the crowd by stretching both arms forward while touching his balled up fists together. After several seconds he begins to nonchalantly walk down the ramp towards the ring, not allowing the fans to touch him. He slides under the bottom chain, jumps to his feet and poses on the steel chains. As he drops down from the chains he takes off his red leather shearling coat, hands it to the ring girl and sits on the studded turnbuckle awaiting his opponent.

BAMA T: It’s the Syn City Saint, Matthias Syn! He made headlines last Warfare for his vicious attack and post-match burial of Corey Black. That’s when Matthias Syn told the whole world that he was joining THE CORPORATION, and tonight is his first match repping his new gang colors!

TODD: That’s right, Bama! But it won’t be his first match fighting for the Revolution Championship! In fact, Matthias Syn already held that very belt for 252 consecutive days! And in tonight’s Main Event, he goes to war for the Revolution Championship once more- but this time, he’s doing it in service to the company!



Twenty midgets with sparkers in both hands held as high as their little arms can reach, line both sides of the entrance ramp. Thunder Knuckles walks out with his Revolution Championship over his shoulder, his Anarchy Tag Championship around his waist, and an arrogant smile emblazoned on his face. The sparkers ignite as he walks past the midgets. Once Thunder Knuckles is down to the ring he rolls under the bottom chain of steel and in one movement he pops up to his feet. With his back turned towards the camera, he raises his right fist in defiance. As soon as his fist goes up, counterfeit XBUX with Thunder Knuckles' face on them falls onto the crowd.

BAMA T: Now that's how a double-champion make an entrance!

TODD: If you're a total jerk, I guess!

BAMA T: Bastard, Todd, he's a Bastard! And tonight, he’s fighting to retain that championship belt on behalf of Bastards everywhere!

TODD: But the Syn City Saint isn’t going to make it easy for him!

BAMA T: Good! Bastards prefer it rough!

REVOLUTION CHAMPIONSHIP THUNDER KNUCKLE SALOON MATCH THUNDER KNUCKLES © - vs - MATTHIAS SYN Steel Chain Ring Ropes/Studded Leather Turnbuckle Pads

DING! DING! DING!

TK saunters out of his corner, cocky as ever. Once the double-champion reaches the center of the ring, he invites Matthias Syn out for a test of strength. The Syn City Saint cocks his head to the side and bears a grin. Syn strolls out of his corner and meets TK in the center of the ring, where TK is waiting with his hand raised. Syn raises a hand of his own, as if he’s about to meet TK’s challenge….

BUT BOTH MEN HAD OTHER IDEAS!

Both TK and Syn try to sneakily kick each other in the balls, but their boots just collide with each other!

TK looks at Syn like he just committed a war crime, and Syn looks back at TK with dead-eyed disdain.

The referee just sighs and shakes his head, because he knows he’s in for a long night with these two hooligans!

BAMA T: Thunder Knuckles can’t believe it! The Syn City Saint just snubbed his nose up at TK’s challenge, and tried to sneak in a dirty shot!

TODD: But Thunder Knuckles tried to do the EXACT same thing!

BAMA T: That’s the champion’s prerogative, Todd! Matthias Syn of all people should know that!

TK looks furious, and he charges right at Syn! TK goes for a lariat, but Syn ducks under it! Syn darts towards the ropes – but THEY’RE STEEL CHAINS!- so Syn doesn’t ‘bounce off’ the ropes, instead, Syn collapses to the mat as he practically whips his own back with the steel!

TK chuckles to himself as he sees Syn trying to rise back up to a standing position. TK charges forward with a punt kick, but Matthias Syn sees it coming, and moves out of the way just in time! Instead of punting Syn’s face, TK’s foot connects directly with the STUDDED LEATHER at full force!

TK immediately backs away after the punt to the corner, clutching his foot in pain!

TODD: This ring is a death-trap, Bama! It’s doing more damage to our competitors than they are!

BAMA T: Who the hell designed this ring?! Steel chains instead of ropes?! Studded leather instead of turnbuckle pads?!

TODD: I think the answer would be “Jimmy Stars”, Bama!

TK and Syn both took a minute to recoup their ring-inflicted injuries, then they reset in new corners. Syn stretches his back with a grimace on his face, but after a brief recovery period, he’s ready to get back in there. In the opposite corner, TK is nursing his injured foot, but when he senses the vibrations on the mat from Syn’s rapid charge, TK looks up and sees Syn barreling straight at him! TK rolls out of the way as Syn tries to go for a SPLASH onto the STUDDED LEATHER-

But after TK rolls out of the way, Syn catches himself on the chains, placing his feet on the second level and his hands on the top chain! From his perched position in the corner, Syn glances over his shoulder briefly, where he spots TK limping on his bad foot. That’s when Syn leaps off the chains, and catches TK with a coffin body drop!

Both men spill onto the canvass, but TK bares the brunt of the fall! One of Syn’s elbows collides with TK’s forehead on the landing, splitting it wide open! Blood gushes out of the double-champ like a geyser!

TODD: What a smooth recovery from The Syn City Saint! It looked like he was about go barreling full-speed into the Studded Leather corner, but he caught himself on the chains, and then coffin dropped off the chains! That’s expert level technique!

BAMA T: Off the chain?! You’re damn right this match is off the chain, Todd! It’s Syn vs Knucks’ for the Revolution Championship!

Syn gets up to his feet first, and he immediately charges TK’s way, kicking the double-champion in the ribs and preventing him from rising! Matthias Syn chuckles to himself as TK groans in pain from the blow. Then, Syn grabs TK by his collar, lifting him up to his feet, and then Irish whipping him right into the STUDDED LEATHER CORNER!

TK bounces off the corner with a loud thud, the blood from his gushing wound staining the makeshift turnbuckle. As TK stumbles out of the leather clad corner, Syn follows up with a swinging snap DDT that rattles the entire ring! But Syn’s offense doesn’t end there. Syn quickly follows up by grabbing TK once more, delivering a stiff elbow to his jaw that spins TK around,  and then Syn lifts him high into the air with a German Suplex!

Syn holds TK’s shoulders to the mat for the cover!



1!






KICKOUT!!!!





BAMA T: It’s going to take a lot more than a German Suplex to put Thunder Knuckles away!

TODD: You don’t need to egg Matthias on, Bama! The Syn City Saint’s offense has been relentless so far tonight, the last thing we need is for him to take it up yet another notch!

BAMA T: What do you mean ‘last thing we need’? That’s EXACTLY what we need! These bikers came here for carnage, and it’s on these two to deliver it!

Matthias Syn puts on a devious smirk as he looks down at the back of TK’s head with wicked intentions. The crowd cheers on the bloodshed as Matthias Syn circles the slow-moving body of his downed opponent. After stalking the champion like a predator, Matthias Syn goes in for a curb stomp…but TK rolls out of the ring right before it can connect!

TODD: Quick thinking from the champion, getting out of the way of that curb stomp!

BAMA T: He needs to stop thinking, and start FIGHTING if he wants to hang onto that belt tonight!

TK takes a second to gather himself, wiping a grotesque amount of blood from his brow as Matthias Syn eyes him from inside the ring. Then, Matthias sprints towards the edge of the ring, and leaps over the top chain with a FLYING LEG LARIAT!

BUT THUNDER KNUCKLES SEES IT COMING!

SO MATTHIAS SYN FLIES RIGHT INTO….

A SUPER-KICK!

The crowd chants ‘HOLY SHIT!’ as both men collapse outside the ring.

Thunder Knuckles goes for the pin!

But the referee doesn’t even attempt to count it! The referee never even leaves the ring!

TODD: That’s a miscalculation from Thunder Knuckles! While this match is No Disqualifications, it is NOT falls count anywhere!

BAMA T: What a crock of shit! This is the Thunder Knuckles Saloon, but you’re telling me Thunder Knuckles can’t pin someone outside that bologna ring IN HIS OWN SALOON?!

TODD: Yes, Bama! That is what I am telling you! I didn’t make the rules, I just get paid to announce them!

Thunder Knuckles doesn’t realize the pin isn’t being counted, so after a handful of seconds he rises to a standing position and raises his arms victoriously. TK then gets all up in Syn’s face, dripping blood down onto him, telling him to ‘SUCK IT!’ while making a very inappropriate gesture towards his crotch.

BAMA T: Well, someone had better tell TK that, because he thinks he just won this match!

As Thunder Knuckles taunts in the face of Matthias Syn, The Syn City Saint’s eyes suddenly spring wide-open!

SYN PULLS TK DOWN TO THE GROUND FOR A CRADLE PIN!

THE REFEREE HIGH-TAILS IT OUT OF THE RING SO THAT HE CAN MAKE THE COUNT!


1!







BAMA T: Wait, Todd, what’s happening?! You said this WAS NOT a falls count anywhere match!







2!!





Todd: Well I don’t know for sure Bama, but if you ask me, I’m guessing Corporate influence might have something to do with this total violation of fairness and integrity!














3-


NO!!!!


KICKOUT!!!!!



TK bursts out of the cradle just before the referee can count to 3!

TODD: The fix is in! The fix is in! That referee is working on behalf of The Corporation here tonight, and I think Thunder Knuckles is starting to realize it!

As TK rises to his feet, he looks between the referee and the Syn City Saint with disdain. Syn just flashes a devilishly good looking smile at him!

BAMA T: Thunder Knuckles isn’t just fighting Matthias Syn tonight: he’s fighting the entire corporate infrastructure of the XWF!

TK cusses out the referee before turning his attention back to Syn, the pair trading big punches outside the ring, much to the delight of the biker’s in the crowd! The gash across TK’s forehead grows far and wide as the duo duke it out across the saloon. But the Syn City Saint can’t stay bloodless for long, because TK grabs a half-empty beer bottle out of somebody’s hand, and smashes it against Syn’s face!

The bottle shatters into dozens of glass pieces atop Syn’s head, but TK hangs onto the shard that was once the bottle’s neck! Then, TK takes that shard and rams it into Syn’s skull, just above his ear! Syn cries out in horror as TK uses the glass shard to open up a giant red gash.

TODD: I know we said this match was No-Disqualifications, but even still, I think these men are taking it too far!

BAMA T: They’re leaving all their blood out there, putting everything on the line, to try and go home with the Revolution Championship! And these fans are lapping it all up like wild dogs!

TODD: Are they lapping up the blood, Bama?! Are people in the crowd licking up the blood?!

BAMA T: A biker has to do what a biker has to do, Todd! You know this!

Both Syn and TK leak all across the Saloon like a pair of freshly squeezed lemons while they brawl, except instead of lemon juice coating the floor, it’s blood pouring out from both men’s heads by the liter.

As the men finally get near the ring, Syn pushes TK away to create some space. As soon as there’s some distance between them, Matthias Syn lashes out with his own SUPER-KICK: but TK sweeps Syn’s other foot out from beneath him, causing Matthias to crash-land against the mats outside the ring!

Thunder Knuckles doesn’t waste time, instead, he wipes the blood from his brow and immediately goes to work on his downed opponent! TK unleashes a flurry of steel-toed kicks to his downed opponent, paying special attention to Syn’s head and torso! After TK has stomped Syn’s head into a metaphorical pulp, TK turns around and gives some attention to the steel steps that are connected to the ring.

As TK pulls the steel steps apart, Matthias Syn is on his hands and knees trying to crawl towards the apron. With the referee watching on helplessly, TK takes the steel steps and walks back towards the action. Then…




TK HITS THE REFEREE WITH THE STEPS!




The referee is completely knocked out cold, but TK throws the steps right atop him anyways, causing double the damage!

The crowd goes wild for the vicious assault on the referee as TK raises up an ‘X’ with his arms, indicating to the Producers backstage that this referee is unfit to carry on with the match.

TODD: That Bastard just took out the referee! Matthias Syn was right there, but he took out the referee instead!

BAMA T: Well, what’s the point of taking out Matthias Syn if the referee isn’t going to count for you?! TK knew he needed to get a different referee out here to win tonight, one who hadn’t been bribed! And the only way to do that, was with X-TREME VIOLENCE!

As TK finishes showboating for the crowd, he turns around to focus on Matthias Syn, but the Syn City Saint is no longer laying where TK last saw him!

Instead, Matthias is perched atop the steel chains of the ring! TK curses to himself as Syn leaps off the top chain, twirling his body through the air as he lands a perfect Somersault corkscrew Senton on TK!

Both men collapse to the mat, and the Syn City Saint goes for the pin!


But there’s no referee to count it!

TODD: Syn just hit the huge move, but that referee is still out cold!

BAMA T: Thunder Knuckles is such a genius, he’s not going to lose this match without playing every trick he has up his sleeve! No ref, no loss! It’s a perfect recipe for a title defense!

TODD: But how is he supposed to defend without an official?! How is this match supposed to end?!

BAMA T: Thunder Knuckles doesn’t need this match to -end-, Todd, he just needs to not lose it! For the last four years, Thunder Knuckles has been in an active match against Centurion that he still has not lost! And this match could become another one of his epic, year-long bouts!

TODD: Wait, does TK really have a match against Centurion from four years ago that’s still going on?

BAMA T: YES!

As the commentators debate the finer points of the TK vs Centurion ‘I Quit’ Match from years ago, Matthias Syn gets to his feet and realizes the referee is unavailable. Groaning in annoyance, Syn grabs TK by his hair, then he throws TK into the ring under the bottom chain. After TK is inside the ring, Syn walks over to the referee and removes the steel steps from his body before trying to wake him up.

But it’s no use- that dude is ASLEEP! Or quite possibly dead.

Syn sighs in disappointment with the referee before making his way towards the ringside announcer’s table. Matthias slowly walks up to the Revolution Championship, reaching out and caressing it gently. After a few seconds of golden tenderness, Syn grabs the belt and slides into the ring himself.

TODD: The Syn City Saint has the championship belt in-hand! TK had better watch out!

Syn slides under the bottom chain, then quickly pushes himself up to his feet with the belt ready to go. He sees TK, hunched over and bleeding, standing near the corner. Syn charges right at him with the belt! TK turns around, and…..



TK THROWS POCKET SAND IN SYN’S EYES!!!!



Syn drops the belt and claws at his eyes as TK bears a blood-borne grin. TK kicks Syn in the dick, before driving him down headfirst onto the belt with a DDT! Both men hit the mat and immediately collapse, completely worn out from tonight’s battle! TK doesn’t even think to pin Syn, he’s that out of it from the blood loss and headshots!

TODD: Both men are down, but there’s no referee! We’re in a predicament here, Bama’, and I’m not sure what the rules say we are supposed to do!

BAMA T: The rules say that the referee needs to get off his ass and do his job!

TODD: But he was knocked out by the steel steps!

BAMA T: That’s just an excuse, probably one that was made up for him by the Union!

TODD: Wait a second, Bama….who’s that coming down the ramp?!

The crowd parts as a figure in a black-and-white striped shirt comes jogging out from behind the curtain: a fresh referee, with his eyes locked on the chaos in the ring!

TODD: Finally! Someone’s here to restore some order!

BAMA T: Or at least count the damn pinfalls!

The new official slides into the ring as TK, still covered in blood, slowly crawls over towards Syn and makes the cover.


1!













2!!


























KICKOUT!!!!!


TODD: How in the hell did Syn kick out of that?!

BAMA T: Because Matthias Syn doesn’t stay down for anybody — not even a double-champion Bastard!

The crowd goes crazy as the match carries on! TK gets up to his knees, exhausted and heaving, as Syn slowly starts to stir. Syn crawls over towards the steel chains, using them to lift himself back to a standing position. Syn wipes the sand from his eyes and storms toward TK, trying to deliver a Shining Wizard to his kneeling opponent! But the Bastard explodes upwards with a stiff uppercut right to the jaw! Syn staggers backwards towards the chains!

Syn stumbles against the steel chains, bouncing off them with great pain, and stepping right into a scoop slam from TK! The shoddy ring shakes from the force of Syn’s violent landing!

TK walks over to Syn’s legs, picking up his right ankle as he gestures towards the crowd.

BAMA T: I think we all know what’s about to happen next, Todd!

TODD: The most devastating move in Sports Entertainment!

BAMA T: THUNDER STRIKE!

Thunder Knuckles delivers his patented foot DDT to Matthias Syn, then quickly mounts him for the pin! The new referee dives into position to count!



1!







2!!










3!!!

WINNER BY PINFALL AND STIIIIILLLLLLL REVOLUTION CHAMPION – THUNDER KNUCKLES

The crowd erupts as counterfeit XBUX with TK’s smug face shower the Knuckles Saloon. TK stumbles to his feet, a ringside assistant bringing him both of his championship belts as the new referee raises his hand in victory. TK then raises both the Revolution and Anarchy Tag Championships high in the air, blood streaking down his face as he soaks in the cheers of the rowdy biker gangs.

TODD: Against all odds, Thunder Knuckles has done it! The Bastard beats The Corporation at their own game!

BAMA T: That’s right! He fought the Syn City Saint, he fought The Corporate system, and he came out on top! Bastards rule the world tonight, Todd!

TODD: I’m afraid that’s all the time we have tonight, though, folks! The road to Relentless continues on… but it will lead us out of Sturgis. Where to? We’ll see in two weeks!

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