The iconic opening riff to Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” is enough to immediately bring the boos from the Portland crowd – and a groan from Allie Reece, who is, as ever, not looking forward to the arrival of her least favorite person in the GLOBAL roster.

“Why him?! Why do we always have to open with him?!”

“Don’t ask us, Al. Ask Mr. Ferrari. He’s the one keeping this guy and Crabbe and Goyle there on the payroll…”

“Nice reference there, Mark, but I think the fans refer to them as Bebop and Rocksteady…”

“…that works too.”

As the announcers discuss the correct name to call Truth’s acolytes, the two men have made their way down to ringside, walking, as always, a few feet behind their ever-outspoken leader, who is already clutching his very favorite weapon of all – a microphone. This causes another barely-suppressed groan from Allie at the announce table, which is, however, partially drowned out by The Man Who Fell to Earth’s usual catchphrase.

“My name is John J. Truth, and I call bullshit.”

“On WHAT?!” As always, Allie is not even making an effort to remain professional in the presence of Truth. “You WON the match! You got the pin! What could you POSSIBLY have to complain about?!”

“…you do know he got arrested in Seattle, right, Al?”

“Yeah – and they should have kept him there!”

As the announcers discuss what Truth might possibly have to say, the superstar himself patiently waits until the fans’ jeering has subsided before doggedly proceeding with his address.

“I call bullshit on people that say they got your back, then leave you high and dry when you actually need them. People who are all like ‘oooh, John, I’m your guy, John, I got your back, John’, and then when the time comes, instead of HAVING your back, they STAB it. People like Daniel [BLEEP]ing Dream.”

For possibly the first time in Truth’s GLOBAL career, the reaction to his words is not overwhelmingly negative: fans may be biased and fickle, but they are not blind, and very few of them missed Daniel Dream’s actions during the Main Event bout in Seattle. As such, while the boos do still come in profusion, they appear to be more divided than usual, targeting both Truth and Dream as opposed to just the former. Even still, a chant of “YOU BOTH SUCK!” leaves no doubts as to what the fans think of Truth, lest The Man Who Fell to Earth think he has fallen into their good graces. As for the superstar himself, he is once again forced to wait until he can talk again – which leads to a predictably irritable reaction – before he can move on to the next part of his speech.

“So, I’m not gonna be like all these other guys who like to stand around and talk about their ‘feewings’! I’m not some goddamn Leftie Millennial snowflake. I’m a real [BLEEP]ing man. So, I’m gonna solve this like a real [BLEEP]ing man.”

“Pot, meet kettle…” Allie’s comment is not so much spoken as growled, as, in the stands, the fans similarly pick up on this discrepancy, which they signal with a chant of “YOU’RE-FULL-OF-SHIT! CLAPCLAP CLAPCLAP CLAP”. This, predictably, leaves Truth flustered and red in the face, but he is just about able to power through to the tail end of his rant.

“So, Daniel Backstabbing-Son-of-a-Bitch Dream, get your lily ass down here so I can [BLEEP]ing whup it!”

“Holy crap! Did he actually just do what he said he would?”

“He did, Mark. Truth just challenged the Number One Contender to a one-on-one match, right here tonight!”

“Well, well…seems he can do more than just talk, after all…!”

As “American Idiot” blares over the PA system, Daniel Dream emerges from the backstage area, microphone in hand, amid a mix of cheers and jeers from the Portland crowd. He struts down the ramp with confidence, his eyes focused on John J. Truth in the ring, ready to face the challenge head-on.

“Truth, Truth, Truth. You seem to have misunderstood our deal, my friend. I do have your back, as long as it aligns with my own interests and takes me closer to toppling Sean Darring. But let me make it clear, the moment you become a liability, I won’t hesitate to leave you flat on your back, staring up at those bright lights.

And as for your challenge, consider it accepted!”

GOOD!” John J. Truth actually begins to remove his jacket, handing it to one of his security men; before he can go any further, however, the Number One Contender stops him, holding up one finger as he speaks up once more.

“No-nonono. Not a chance. In case you haven’t heard, I’m the Number One Contender to the GLOBAL World Championship. And as the Number One Contender to the GLOBAL World Championship, I don’t ‘do’ random out-of-nowhere matches – especially not this early in the night. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this on Main Event, or not at all.”

To Dream’s surprise, Truth simply shrugs. “Whatever. Fine by me. Have it your way, pal. Long as I get to kick your ass…”

Dream grins. “Great. See you in…” He checks his clearly expensive gold watch. “…about two hours or so. Don’t be late, Johnny boy.”

With that, and after throwing Truth a sarcastic wink, he turns on his heel and walks back up the ramp, leaving the three men in the ring to make their own way out a moment later, conferring amongst themselves.

“Well…it looks like Truth and Daniel Dream just took it upon themselves to set a Main Event for tonight’s event…”

“Can they even DO that, Lucas?”

“Normally, I would say no, Allie…but we all know Mr. Ferrari makes concessions for Daniel Dream. So, maybe…”

“I hope not.” Allie’s tone is, as ever, one of genuine disgust. “We’ve had MORE than enough of that guy in the Main Event LAST time…” She utters a sound that indicates a shudder. “I’m still getting over THAT one…”

“Well, whatever the case may be, Al, and as we wait to see what transpires from this challenge, the show must go on – and I am told the GLOBAL World Tag Team Champions are scheduled to compete up next…”

“GOOD! We NEED a bit of positivity in here right now!”

It is on that hopeful note from Allie that the show cuts to a quick commercial.

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The orange portal fills the screen and suddenly out jumps The Naked Man. As the orange color subsides, he begins to look at his surroundings. To call it chaos may be an understatement as to his left there are people running as if their lives are in danger. To his right, there are people running as if they are intending to do so with numbers attached to them and running almost in a large swarm of humanity. The confused look on his face, gives more than any words could, but the narrator is heard anyway.

“The amazing juxtaposition of emotion to each side has our hero confused. Why are some running with intent and others in seeming peril? Investigation is definitely warranted because there is no doubt the cause…”

He turns around and sees a man being beaten by a few other men. The gentlemen administering the beating are all wearing matching dark blue outfits and all have strange looking sticks. It would seem that this may be what is causing the hysteria on his now right side. He begins walking up to the scene because he can see the faint orange near there.

“Evidence at last! The same orange glow he has seen elsewhere confirms that the root cause of whatever is happening here is the same as other places he has traveled to…”

The traveler gets close to the beating and he can tell the dark-skinned man is unconscious and bleeding like a faucet. Suddenly one of the men in uniform points a stick at him.

“Get lost, punk!” He snarls. “Before you are next. Get lost with the other freaks out there!”

No orange glow on this man, so his disposition must just be like this all the time. Yet there is that faint orange glow walking further. He stops to try and see where the orange glow went.

“OUr traveling hero cannot fathom how anything can be deduced with such a massive amount of activity in the area, but he does see hints of a trail. A trail that nearly went cold…”

The men all get angry at him and begin walking with purpose toward him, so The Naked Man takes off running as fast as he can.

“It is curious how quickly he becomes party of the mob running away. What a fascinating turn of events. But an escape is needed and quickly…”

The orange hue is seen on the side of a door and he rushes to it and enters. Inside is a stairwell and he begins running up the stairs as fast as he can. We can barely keep up with him as he bounds up two and three steps at a time and makes his way higher and higher. Finally he stops and looks down the center of the stairwell and sees nothing.

“Losing his pursuers, it is time to once again figure out where he is and how to get out of this maze of ascension. He looks up and sees that familiar faint orange glow. Finally, another clue…”

He takes off up the stairs and reaches the door with the orange glow on the handle and opens it. He is in a carpets hallway and he sees more orange. He opens the door and for a split second he sees a man with half of his head blown away laying in a large amount of white powder.

Before he can react, an orange portal appears and engulfs him, leaving only a black screen.

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This time, the prompt comes before the driving riff to “Mission to Rock” kicks in on the arena PA. As such, by the time Izzy Roxx comes out air-guitaring and Teagan Trouble does her usual count-along to the lead singer’s count-in, noise is definitely being made – which only intensifies when the Tag Team Champions are revealed to be wearing “KEEP PORTLAND WEIRD” shirts. As Teagan goes about throwing her drumsticks into the crowd, as per usual, the camera pans in on a sign reading “TEAGAN, PLEASE MARRY ME”, which prompts the youngster to make a hand gesture to the effect of “tone it down a notch”.

“Everyone is always happy to see our Tag Team Champions, but I agree – that MAY be going a bit TOO far…”

“I agree, Lucas. Why do men always have to make it creepy?”

As Allie laments male tendencies, the Tag Champions reach the ringside area, where they procure a pair of microphones, with which to engage in the usual spiel – though not before Teagan notices the volume from the stands is not as loud as usual, and grins.

“Geez. Tough crowd. Seattle did WAY better than you guys. AND Vancouver!”

This has the desired effect of amping up the cheers considerably, drawing a chuckle from Mark Deltzer at the announce table.

“Hah! Classic. Never fails.”

Their goal duly achieved, the two women finally launch into what everyone had been waiting to hear.

“If you don’t know who we are…”

“…you should have been paying attention!”

“We are…GLOBAL Wrestling’s ONLY officially sanctioned stream—”


The interruption to Trouble Roxx’s address instantly brings boos from the crowd, even before they see who is responsible for it – at which point the reaction only intensifies.

“Daniel Dream and the Players? What are THEY doing out here?”

Lucas’ question is answered a moment later, when Kid Chameleon takes to the mic.

“You know, you keep saying that ‘officially sanctioned’ stuff week in and week out…well, we got news for ya!” He points at himself and his partner. “WE were streaming matches live on Twitch before you even GOT here! WE’re the OG GLOBAL streamers! So YOU can shut up with that exclusivity BS, and stop stealing OUR gimmick!”

Teagan and Izzy stare in disbelief as Chameleon finishes his speech, his tone unusually harsh and very much in earnest. When the Tag Team Champions speak again, it is to utter a single, simple question.

“Dude…for real?”

Chameleon nods. “Yup. Hundo percent.”

“You never had a problem with that before…” Izzy steps forward to defend her partner, Sanders doing the same on the Players’ side.

“Well, maybe they got tired of you getting credit for THEIR idea…” From beside the Players, Daniel Dream speaks up for the first time, bringing about an eyeroll from Teagan. Izzy, however, appears genuinely upset and cross at her and her partner’s former friends, and promptly addresses Kid Chameleon, choosing to ignore the Number One Contender beside him.

“Well, if you’re that bothered by it, why don’t you do something about it?” She pats the Tag Team title draped across her shoulder. “You know we were about to do an open challenge, right? So why don’t you two step up, and put your money where your mouth is?” The youngster glowers in defiance. “For all the marbles. Winners get the belts AND gets to call themselves GLOBAL’s official streamers. The losers put up and shut up. What do you say?”

A moment of silence elapses as the Players and Dream confer amongst themselves, weighing the relative merits of Izzy’s challenge; then, Chameleon and Sanders turn back towards the ring, a single, curt nod sealing the deal as they slide into the ring to stand face to face with Roxx, much to the delight of the crowd!

“Well, the stakes have certainly gone up since the last time these two teams met. This one’s certainly not over Fortnite drama!”

“Yes, but perhaps the girls have been a bit rash here…”

“Rash? Trouble Roxx? You DON’T SAY…”

Mark Deltzer’s sarcastic eyeroll can almost be sensed from his tone as referee Barry Snider emerges through the curtain and makes his way to ringside. A moment later, he has slid under the ropes and called for the bell, making Trouble Roxx’s once-a-show title defence official!

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The match kicks off with Izzy Roxx and Paul Sanders as the legal wrestlers for their respective teams, which immediately brings about the usual gripe about size differences from Allie Reece. Still, the much smaller Roxx seems perfectly fine with this arrangement, simply leaning in, hand outstretched, inviting Sanders to a pre-match low-five…

…only to have her arm grabbed and wrung by the biggest of the two Players!

“The Players definitely showcasing a new attitude here this evening…which I’m not ENTIRELY sure I approve of…”

Quinn’s comment refers not only to the arm wringer, but also the subsequent leg sweep, which drops Izzy on her backside onto the mat, and the following attempt at a series of stomps, which brings an admonishment from GLOBAL Head Referee Barry Snider, on duty as always for important matches. Sanders, however, simply shakes off the telling-off, bringing his opponent up to her feet once again and throwing her effortlessly over with a Biel toss. Izzy scrambles to her feet, but is powerless to prevent a running big boot from Paul Sanders, which takes her down again!

“Dominant start here from Paul Sanders, really exploiting his significant size advantage…”

“That’s why I said it was unfair, Lucas. It’s like having a Great Dane fight a poodle.”

“I dunno about a poodle, Al. Izzy strikes me as more of a Shih-tzu or something like that. I mean, she’s got the hair for it…”

An historic moment is then recorded, as Allie Reece honest-to-goodness laughs at one of Mark Deltzer’s quips, even going so far as to add to it.

“…yeah, and the bite!”

As the two announcers share a rare companionable chuckle, in the ring, Izzy continues to find herself powerless to respond to Teagan’s ncreasingly loud encouragement from the corner, as she gets hit with first a shoulderbreaker, and then a pump handle slam – after which Sanders cannot resist the urge to prance around and flex to the crowd, wordlessly bragging about his own strength; predictably, this earns him a negative reaction from everyone bar Kid Chameleon and Daniel Dream.

“Sure, big man…flex about throwing a girl half your size around. ‘Cause that’s definitely something to be proud of…”

No guesses about who the sarcasm originates from, as, in the ring, Sanders seeks to continue his methodical decimation of his opponent. To this effect, he picks her up and throws her into the corner, where he seeks to connect with a corner splash…

…only for Izzy to suddenly come alive and dodge it, sending Sanders face-first into the turnbuckle!


Again, no guesses about who that was. Izzy, however, is too dazed to capitalize with anything more than a rollup, which she promptly attempts. Barry Snider slides in for the first time in this match…



“–WHAT did she think would happen?!

“No harm in trying, Mark…not much else she COULD do there, really…”

As the two wrestlers pull themselves to their feet, it becomes clear that the flurry of offence has taken a significant toll on Izzy, and she is not immediately able to capitalize on her new-found advantage, instead stumbling near the ropes for a moment. This, of course, gives Sanders the opportunity to regain control, as he grabs Izzy from behind to connect with a shinbreaker, which leaves Izzy limping, and in perfect position for a bulldog! The Tag Team Champion faceplants, and Sanders rolls through to his feet and takes a moment to assess his options, looking between his team’s corner and the opposite turnbuckle, currently nearer to where he stands, as well as to his prone opponent. A split second later, his mind is made up, and he begins to scale the latter, where he waits for Izzy to pull herself upright before leaping off with a missile dropkick…

….which crashes and burns, as Izzy moves out of the way!

“A second chance for Izzy, and let´s see if she can capitalize this time…!”

Knowing this may be her one and only chance to turn the tables, the youth pushes through her dazed and aching condition this time, meeting Sanders with a running basement dropkick as he pulls himself to his feet. The largest of the two Players goes straight back down to the mat from the impact, and Izzy runs back towards the ropes before springboarding into a picture-perfect moonsault, which lands flush. Izzy follows this up with an elbow drop on Sanders, before once again rushing towards the ropes, this time diving through the middle rope onto the apron, only to springboard into a leg drop, which catches Sanders across the throat!

“Izzy Roxx has really managed to turn the tables here…”

“She has that fighting spirit, Lucas. That heart, Her and Teagan both. That’s what made them GLOBAL Tag Team Champions, and that’s what’s going to help them remain GLOBAL Tag Team Champions.”

Speaking of heart and spirit, both appear to have lifted in the Trouble Roxx camp, and Teagan’s raucous exclamations have now gone from expressions of worry to calls for her partner to come back to their coner. Izzy holds up a finger, telling the redhead to wait, but Teagan is insistent, calling out “no, dude! Lift-off!” This finally clues Izzy in, and she steps into her own corner, quickly scurrying up the turnbuckle and positioning herself for the tandem move. The two women then wait for Sanders to fully pull himself to his feet, before Teagan thrusts Izzy up into a huge diving crossbody…

….WHICH SANDERS CATCHES, reversing it into a spinebuster attempt…

…WHICH IZZY REVERSES INTO A HURRICANRANA, sending Sanders into her team’s corner!!!

“WHAT A MOVE by Izzy Roxx, and the fans here in Portland loved it just as much as we did!”

Indeed, the crowd roar their appreciation for the reversal, as the camera zooms in on Teagan’s absolutely genuine slack-jawed expression, which prompts an observation from Mark Deltzer.

“Even Teagan Trouble is wondering how her partner did that!”

As chants of “IZZY! IZZY! IZZY!” begin to trickle down from the stands, the woman they are targeted at pulls herself up to her feet, knowing her opponent will not stay down for long. And indeed, a mere moment later, Sanders is back up himself, and rushing at Izzy with a clothesline…

…only to get pulled down into an arm drag, and sent sprawling across the ring once again!

“Izzy is really using her speed and agility now, and making life very, very difficult for Paul Sanders!”

“He needs to tag in Kid. Kid will take care of business.”

As Mark Deltzer advocates for his favorite wrestler, in the ring, the two legal members of each team start over yet again. This time, it is Izzy’s turn to run in, perhaps looking for another basement dropkick, and Sanders’ turn to dodge, causing the Tag Team Champion to crash into the turnbuckle. As Izzy gets her bearings after the unexpected tumble, Sanders takes the opportunity to do precisely what Deltzer had suggested not a moment before, dragging himself into his corner to tag in Kid Chameleon – to the predictable delight of “The Mark”.

“OOOOH YEAH! NOW we’re talking!”

The fresh Kid wastes no time making his presence known to Izzy Roxx, who has no sooner caught her bearings than she is being taken back down with the flying cross body block the Gaming King calls the Han Zo Free. As soon as the move lands, however, Kid is right back up to his feet, and leaping onto the nearby set of ropes to connect with a knee to Izzy’s back.

“Verdict’s In – you’re going down, baby!”

Despite Mark’s, well, Mark-out moment, however, Kid is not yet ready to go for a pin attempt; instead, he pulls himself to his feet, brings Izzy to her own, then deadlifts her into a German suplex!

“Impressive strength there from Kid Chameleon, with the Geronimo Suplex…and he’s going for another one…yes!! Southern Darkness Suplex!”

The crowd cannot help but sound their appreciation as the reverse Northern Lights Suplex lands, and Izzy gets planted on her face. Unsurprisingly, however, the loudest cheers are coming from Daniel Dream at ringside, and Paul Sanders in the Players’ corner.

“I have to say, like it or not, this more focused attitude from the Players is really serving them well here tonight…”

“I bet those girls thought this would be easier, like last time…well, think again!”

As the two male commentators debate each team’s mental approach, in the ring, Kid Chameleon continues to punish Izzy Roxx. He grabs a hammerlock, twisting the youth’s arm, transitions that into an armbar, then executes a Northern Lights Suplex – not inverted this time – which he bridges into a pin! The fans applaud in spite of themselves as Barry Snider slides in.



—Izzy kicks out!

“The Sunrise Suplex almost, but not quite, putting Izzy Roxx away…but my boy Kid C has this on lock right now! Let’s go, Kid-do!”

“…don’t be cringey, Mark…”

Cringey he may be, but Mark has a point – Kid Chameleon is fully in control at this point, and Izzy Roxx is having a hard time figuring a way out of her current predicament. Goaded on by Daniel Dream and his own partner, Kid Chameleon grabs the youngster’s head and delivers five kneelifts to the face, each punctuated by a yell of “DEI!” He stops short of delivering the fifth, however, instead transitioning into a headlock, which he yanks on three times. Then, lifting his left hand up to the crowd, he takes Izzy down with a bulldog, faceplanting her to the mat.

“Great transition from the Dei-Lifts to the Daydream Headlock…and the hits just keep on coming for Kid. No pun intended.”

Again, Deltzer tells no lies, as Kid continues to work away at the increasingly hapless Izzy. His next move is to grab yet another armbar, take Izzy down, and catch her across the throat with a leg drop. Then, wasting no time, he lifts her up in a gorilla press slam and throws her into the turnbuckle.

“Guillotine Drop into a Demolition Job, sending Izzy into the turnbuckle…and now LOOK AT THIS!”

Having his opponent in a vulnerable position, Kid runs in, looking for a corner strike…

…but Izzy has somehow managed to hook the crooks of her elbows around the ropes on either side of the turnbuckle, allowing her to lift herself almost horizontally, and wrap her legs around Kid’s neck! A couple of revolutions later, the Player is flying across the ring with a headscissors, as Izzy limp-stumble-dashes in the opposite direction, towards her team’s corner. The crowd come alive for the reversal, and absolutely erupt when Izzy’s hand slaps Teagan’s, bringing her partner into the match for the first time!

“Izzy was in there a LONG time…but now she gets a well-earned respite.”

“Well, provided Teagan doesn’t need her…”

“Right now, it doesn’t look like she will, Mark…”

Indeed, Teagan Trouble has come in like the proverbial house afire, immediately announcing her presence to Kid by way of a leg lariat, which takes the Player back down before he has even finished pulling himself back upright. She then follows this up with her usual elbow drop and fist drop combination, before concluding with a less often seen leg drop across Kid’s chest. As she rolls back through to her feet, she cannot prevent herself from holding an arm up and letting out a whoop of celebration, which the crowd warmly acknowledge. Then, with that out of the way, she pulls her opponent back up, tucking his head under her arm as she calls out “Feel the Energy, Portlaaaaaandddd!”. Kid struggles and tries to fight back, but Teagan is quicker, dropping him with the rolling cutter she has just namedropped. The move lands, and Teagan goes for a cover!



THR—NO!!! Kid’s foot is on the ropes!!

“Teagan executed that a little too close to the turnbuckle and ropes, or she might have had the match right there!”

“We tend to forget, Lucas, that these two have maybe two years’ experience between them. They’re rookies. And rookies sometimes make miscalculations like that. Doesn’t take anything away from their accomplishment, or the run they’ve been having here in GLOBAL.”

“Yeah, but it COULD cost them whenever they come across someone more experienced…I mean, their hardest match to date was probably against the Master Sisters…the most experienced out of all the teams they faced.”

“Yes, Mark, but that was exactly the match where they showed what they were made of. And they haven’t stopped doing that ever since.”

As the announcers discuss Trouble Roxx’s run as Tag Team Champions so far, in the ring, Teagan has followed up her pin attempt with a quick springboard moonsault off the turnbuckle, which further wears down Kid. She then puts some space between herself and her opponent, allowing him to pull himself to his feet before leaping into a handspring splash in the corner.

“Teagan Trouble came into this match with real confidence, and that has really been helping her team stay on top in this encounter!”

“Yeah, Al, but don’t forget…she’s in there with Kid Chameleon. And Kid IS a veteran.”

That may well be the case, but as they come out of the corner, it is still Teagan who has the upper hand, as she whips Kid across and launches into another handspring, this time ending in a back elbow. She then lands two quick uppercuts before pulling her opponent down into an armdrag, which sends him tumbling across the ring. Kid scurries to his feet, but is powerless to prevent Teagan’s running crossbody from taking him down again. The redhead stays on top for a pinfall attempt!



—Kickout by Kid Chameleon!

“Great sequence of offence there from Teagan Trouble, but as I always say, not with something like a crossbody. ESPECIALLY not against Kid!”

Undaunted, Teagan starts over, once again bringing Kid to his feet for an Irish whip, before holding a raised fist up to the crowd, who respond with a raucous cheer.

“Uh-oh…we know what THAT means!”

“Teagan Trouble is ready to kick things into OVERDRIVE…CONNECTING!!”

The Portland arena comes to its feet as the redhead lands her trademark superkick and drops down for the cover…before a hushed silence descends, which quickly gives way to a chorus of boos.

“What is Daniel Dream up to here?!”

Indeed, the Number One Contender has gotten up on the apron and currently holds the attention of referee Barry Snider, preventing him from noticing what might otherwise almost certainly have been a winning pin – much to Allie Reece’s dismay and irritation.

“Oh, for the love of…! Teagan had him there!!”

“She might well have…but again, Dream and the Players are veterans, and knew how to cause that distraction at the exact right time to prevent that from happening…”

“…and now look at this!!”

Indeed, not only has Dream’s distraction prevent certain defeat for his associated, but it has also allowed Paul Sanders to covertly enter the fray, pull Teagan off his partner’s prone body, and set her up for the Trailblazer leg-drop bulldog….

…only to go down himself, to a Crash Landing Izzy Roxx!


Indeed, the smallest competitor in the ring has yet again showcased her biggest assets – her speed, agility, and unpredictability –and saved her partner from a potentially grim fate at the very last second! She is, however, clearly far from done, as no sooner has Sanders hit the mat than she pulls herself to her feet and pelts across the ring to deal with the OTHER issue at hand.

“Izzy Roxx iss not done YET!!!!”



“That may well have single-handedly secured this match for Trouble Roxx!”

“Kid Chameleon is still out cold…Teagan hooks the leg…referee Barry snider with the count…”





No sooner has Barry Snider’s hand hit the mat the third and fnal time than the Portland arena explode into a thunderous cheer for the still reigning Tag Team Champions, which nearly drowns out “Dowtown” Brown’s booming proclamation.

“Ladies and gentlemen…the winners of this match…and STILL GLOBAL World Tag Team Champioooonnnnssss….TROUBLEEEEEE ROOOOOXXXX!!”

“Trouble Roxx have done it yet again, surviving probably their toughest title defence to date, against wily opponents who, pardon the pun, were no longer ‘Playing’ around…”

“That’s right, Allie. These are the kind of matches that validate a reign, and Trouble Roxx have just gone some way into further validating theirs!”

“Maybe so, but let me tell you guys…the Players aren’t done with the World Tag Team titles. You can’t put these guys away that easily. They’re going to bounce back, and they’re going to get back on top. You mark my words.”

With no reason to doubt Deltzer’s assessment, his two broadcasting partners hold their silence for once as, in the ring, Teagan holds both arms – and titles – up for a moment before excusing herself and sliding to the outside to check on Izzy. After ascertaining that her partner is mostly fine – woozy from the high-risk manoeuvre, but otherwise coherent and unscathed – she then hands Izzy her belt, gushingly informing her of their victory, before placing the brunette’s arm around her shoulder and beginning to head up the entranceway to the backstage area. It would not be a victorious Trouble Roxx effort, however, if one or both of the girls did not give their sign-off line at some point, and – with Izzy still regaining her bearings – it falls to Teagan to do the honors on her own this time.

“We’ve been your GLOBAL World Tag Team Champions…Trouble Roxx, from Beverly Hills, California. Thank you, and goodnight!”

With that, and to a sustained cheer from the Portland crowd, the two women push through the curtain towards a well-earned respite.

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A bottle opener cracks the top off of a bottle of Mandarin flavored Jarritos.  A hand slides the bottle across a weathered wooden countertop to another waiting hand.  A white text overlay reading “Friday, June 30th, 2023.  10:02 PM PST.  Boyle Heights, Los Angeles, California.” flashes across the screen.

The owner of the first hand is Julio, the young son of the owner of El Dios Dorado.  The bar is somewhat busy tonight.  Julio raises his voice to cut through the din of clinking glasses and exuberant conversation.

“Bro!” he exclaims while gesticulating wildly at one of the bar’s TV.  The Domination 11 main event is playing on it.  We see Crusader X and Alfie Button hit stereo poisoned Frankensteiners on Truth Control.  “SO SICK!”

The owner of the second hand takes a swig of the Jarritos.  It’s Crusader X, donning his mask and street clothes.  He chuckles before speaking.  “Yeah, man.  I couldn’t believe it when it happened.  I knew Alfie was good, but… he really is something else.  Great partner.  Truly.”

A sad expression creeps across Julio’s face.  “I’m sorry to hear about his foot injury.  Really bad timing.  I hope he’s okay.”

X nods.  “He is.”  X sighs.  “It was kind of a shock.  He didn’t even notice until the doc saw some swelling.  He WAS broken up about it, but he gets to spend time with Amber, so he seems to be doing fine.  Thank God it’s only a hairline fracture.  4-6 weeks and he’ll be right back in action.”

Julio smiles and nods.  “That’s good.”  He looks up at the TV and they continue rewatching the match.  He shakes his head.  “It’s bullshit that you lost to those racist pieces of crap, man.  You guys got screwed.”

Crusader X winces a bit.   “You know… it really sucks having that loss on record.”  Then he shrugs and points the bottle at Julio.  “But hey, as far as I’m concerned, NOBODY won that match.”

He and Julio laugh together.  Through his laughter, Julio says, “The losers lose, and the winners go to jail!  God DAMN I love wrestling!”

BZZZ!  X picks his vibrating phone off of the countertop.  It’s a text message from Alfie Button.  The message contains a phone number with a 212 area code.

“OH!” X says with a start.  He texts Alfie back:  “THANK YOU!  I owe you one!”

He turns to Julio again.  “Un momento.  Gotta make a call.  Save my seat?”  Julio nods and waves.  X stands up with Jarritos in hand, walks to the door, opens it, and steps outside onto the sidewalk.

BZZ.  The phone buzzes with a reply from Alfie.  It reads “U sure do geezer”.  X sips his Jarritos, dials the number that Alfie sent him and holds it up to his ear as it starts to ring.

We cut to Darren Best sitting on his couch watching TV.  On the TV, we see a documentary about Olympic wrestling playing… which fades into the background as the cell phone on the coffee table in the foreground comes into focus.  It begins to ring.  Darren picks it up and looks puzzled at the unfamiliar phone number on the screen.  He answers it trepidatiously.

“Hello?” he says, half expecting a telemarketer.

“Hey, Darren!  Is that you?” X smiles as he speaks.

“Yes…?  This is Darren…”  He pauses… and then recognizes the voice.  He cringes.  “Oh, JEEZ.  Is this Crusader X?”

“Yes it is!”  X’s smile grows wider.

Darren raises his voice.  “HOW in GOD’S NAME did YOU get my number?”

“Alfie gave it to me,” says X nonchalantly.

“UUUUUGH,” groans Darren.  He places his face in his palm.  “I am going to have words with that man…”

“Listen, Darren,” X cuts in.  “He wouldn’t have given it to me if it wasn’t a serious situation.  Giovanni wanted Alfie and I to wrestle as a team at Domination 12.  With his injury, that’s off the table.  So… I was wondering…” X takes a breath before finishing his sentence.

“If you would like to be my partner instead!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”  Darren’s words shoot back over the phone right after X finishes.  “Don’t call me again.  Goodnight, X.”


X lowers the phone from his ear and sighs.  “Worth a shot.”  He slips his phone into his pocket and begins to turn to go back inside.


A gloved hand slams into X’s face.

The Jarritos bottle flies out of his hand and hits the pavement.


Glass and liquid flies everywhere.

“AUGH!”  X screams as he crashes to the pavement.  He looks up.  A figure standing north of 6 feet looms over him, clad in combat boots, black gloves, a black balaclava, dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a blue flannel shirt.  The assailant drops down in an attempt to grab X in full mount, but X rolls away and scrambles to his feet. As his ears ring and blood trickles out of his rapidly swelling mouth, the assailant gets back to their feet and charges X.  X drops down and attempts a single leg takedown on the assailant, but they drop down too and stuff it.  A look of shock flashes over X’s face, as if to say “Oh, shit.  They’re trained.”

The assailant grabs X around his waist.  X gasps as they hoist him up into the powerbomb position.  X struggles… and fights out!  He slips back behind them, grabs them by the flannel, and yanks them to the ground.  The flannel tears as they fall.  As they stand back up, X drills them with a superkick to the back of the head!  They slump over.

As the adrenaline continues to surge through X, he screams a vulgar insult at his assailant.  “¡VETE A TOMAR POR CULO!”  The attacker starts to their feet, looking slightly dazed.  “COME ON!” shouts X, beckoning them towards him in a fighting stance.

As the masked assailant turns around, X starts to step into another superkick… but the pain in his head overtakes him and he stumbles!  The assailant charges him.  Ears still ringing, X tries to get his guard up… but it’s too late.


Another large gloved fist to his face.  This time, he feels something snap in his jaw as he’s sent sprawling on the pavement.  “AUUUGH!” He screams again.  The attacker grabs X by the neck, picks him up… and slams him back down onto the pavement.  All of the air leaves X’s lungs in a pained gasp as his head hits the pavement, sending his vision into a blur.  As he coughs and sputters, the attacker rips off their torn flannel, sits on X in a full mount, grabs his face, and shoves the flannel into his swollen mouth.  They pull X up close… and speak softly into his ear.

The voice is a low, masculine growl.

“Mataremos… por fama… y fortuna.”

As the attacker pulls away, an expression of pure shock shoots across X’s face… only to be immediately replaced by rage.


He screams.  He screams into the torn, bloody fabric as he looks helplessly into the tranquil eyes of his attacker.  The attacker raises their fist, ready to deliver one more blow.

“¡SUÉLTALO!”  Julio’s voice.  The attacker turns around… and his eyes go wide as saucers.

Julio shouts in English this time.  “GET OFF HIM, ASSHOLE!”

Julio is standing right outside the door of the bar… with a black pistol in his hands.  

The assailant is frozen with sheer terror in their eyes.  Every single patron in the bar is huddled around the entrance, trying to see what’s going on.  Someone in front sees the situation, whips out their phone, and calls 911.

Julio shouts again.  “¡SUÉLTALO!”  The assailant stays stock still.  Again.  “GET UP OR I’LL FUCKIN’ SHOOT!”

This sends the assailant scrambling up to their feet and off of X.  Julio shouts again.  “¡ARRIBA LAS MANOS!  HANDS UP!  STAY WHERE YOU ARE!”

They slowly raise their hands into the air.  As they do, they see the terrified look on the young man’s face.  They see the tears welling up in his eyes.  They see his trembling hands.  They see a man… who would rather do anything, ANYTHING, than take a human life.

And so the attacker runs.

They turn around and bolt as quickly as they can.  “¡ALTO!  ¡ALTO!  STOP!  I’LL SHOOT!”  As they run down the street, Julio begins to squeeze back the trigger… but he doesn’t.

As the attacker rounds a corner and disappears, Julio takes his finger off the trigger and lowers the gun.  He slumps down and swears.  “Chingado…”  He re-engages the safety and scrambles over to X, still lying on the pavement.  “X!  X!  Ay Dios mio…”

“Aaagh…” groans X as more of the patrons gather around… and police sirens wail in the distance.

LOGO b&w


Backstage at the arena, we see a group of kids, with their adult guardians, and around the corner walks “Big Kid” Chris Smith and Gemini. Gemini immediately reacts to them and rushes over to them.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS AREA!!” He screams at them.

They disperse quickly, kids begin crying and screaming. The adults are consoling them and giving the glares back at the masked enigma that would kill if it were possible. Chris Smith smacks Gemini on the back and is almost chuckling to himself.

“You really like doing that, don’t you?” he asks.

“I won’t say I don’t,” Gemini replies, “But they are in an area that is for wrestlers only. They don’t belong here no matter what piss-poor wish foundation got them a chance to be there.”

As the Big Kid nods in agreement, Hank Wright walks into the view and looks pretty angry.

“You boys have done it now,” he calmly tells them.

“What those kids?” Gemini asks. “Well F…”

“NO!” Wright stops him from uttering the words that inadvertently made him popular. “This…”

He smacks a piece of paper right into the chest of Chris Smith and Smith looks down at it. Gemini leans over to read it as well and both of them have their eyes wide open.

“You’re shitting me,” Smith mutters under his breath.

“I can tell you that this has made us very unhappy,” Wright continues, “You filed that with a lawyer and it got the Sweaty Bros lodged under a copyright infringement ruling.”

“I can’t believe that worked!” Gemini exclaimed. “So what now?”

“They were terminated,” Wright replied.

The two men are trying to withhold their joy, but Gemini’s smile is too obvious to hide. Finally they give up trying to hold back and give each other a high five. Suddenly another voice is heard.

“Oh I wouldn’t go celebrating just yet”

Into the frame, “Too Cool” Chris Hopper walks up and stands beside his friend and fellow Global consultant. He stares at the two offenders with the steely glare that was only reserved for his worst opponents.

“You see,” Hopper begins his admonishment of the boys, “we worked really hard getting those two signed for Global. The tag scene needed guys like them that were naturally funny and not a cartoon rip off. They could have been the future and you decided it wasn’t worth getting in the ring with them and did it your own way.”

“You have to admit that it worked really well though,” Smith retorts with a mischievous grin.

‘Oh it certainly did,” Wright replied. “Which means you left us in a position with only one out.”

“Indeed,” The King of Cool chimes in.

“You’re Fired!” They both say in unison.

The smiles on the faces of the strange tag team immediately disappear.

“Now gentlemen,” Hank calmly adds, “Would you do us a favor and please, fuck off.”

The consultants turn and walk away, leaving the tag team in a shambles as they also turn to walk the direction from which they came.

Standing in that same area is the entire group of kids they had just screamed at moments earlier. They seem giddy after witnessing what happened and decide to share their glee with the now-deposed tag team.

“Fuck You Gemini!” they yell together.

The last view we get of the pair is Gemini flipping them the bird as they round the corner and the screen fades to black with the sounds of children laughing and celebrating their verbal victory over the bully.

LOGO b&w


“Downtown” Jason Brown stands in the centre of the ring with a microphone held to his lips.

“Llllllllllllllllllladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall!”

A small band play a generic piece of introductory music and Jerry David steps from behind the curtain, wearing white trunks, knee pads, elbow pads, and boots. He smiles and waves to the audience, taking his time to walk to the ring.

“Making his way to the ring, hailing from NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNew York City, Jerry David!”

Jerry steps up the steel steps and hops through the ropes.  He looks across the ring at his opponent; a man undefeated during his GLOBAL tenure, without a single offensive move counted against him. Jerry jogs on the spot, keeping himself warm.

“And in the ring, Alf Alferson.”

“Downtown” Jason Brown leaves the ring as Alf Alferson points one finger in the air. In his other hand he is holding a polystyrene cup of coffee.  He takes a sip and puts it down in his corner.

The bell sounds.

The lights in the arena go off.

Three seconds pass.

The lights in the arena are switched back on.

Standing in the centre of the ring is Alf Alferson.

NOT standing in the ring is Jerry David.

The referee looks around, shrugs, and tells Jason Brown to call it.

The time keeper rings the bell.

“LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLadies and gentlemen, your winner, Alf Alferson!”

Alf shrugs, picks his coffee cup up, takes a sip and points a finger in the air.


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Lights flicker and from the darkness comes light.

Jerry David, still wearing his ring gear, is sitting in a large throne, its padding covered in red velvet, the arms and legs made of solid gold.

His arms and legs are strapped to the chair with duct tape. His mouth is taped shut with the same tape.

This isn’t a castle. This is an old, abandoned warehouse.  Windows are loosely boarded up, the glass in them shattered. The ground is dirty, covered in mud and glass. 

The wooden support beams look ancient, old enough that a sneeze might be enough to turn them into toothpicks.

Footsteps crunch in the dried debris and Jerry’s eyes widen.

“How DARE you,” The Jester says, slapping Jerry hard across the face.

A red blotch warms the face of Jerry, whose widened eyes instantly narrow into a glare packed with anger. He pulls his arms, trying to free himself.

“Your resistance is a futile waste of energy, Jerry. Resisting the chains that bind you to this throne, or resisting the unavoidable force that has drawn the two of us together… either way, your resistance is futile, is it not?”

The Jester licks his lips, sucking on his excessive saliva.

“We are bound together. Aeons of time, millions of miles in distance, nothing can keep us apart. We are two sides of the magnet. We are drawn together. We are  inseparable, you and I.”

The Jester paces around the throne.

“Yet you do not see what I see. You do not see the great power we each hold as individuals, nor the power we will hold once we are UNITED. And so I must instead lead you down the correct path.

“You will therefore stay here, sat upon your throne of pride, until you either realise the inevitable, inescapable truth… that you and I are MEANT TO BE. Or… you die.

“The choice is yours.”

The Jester clicks his fingers and the warehouse plunges into darkness.

LOGO b&w


Date: June 30th Time: 6:04pm

Valorie sighs quietly as she lays on the couch of her living room, her two teammates and friends keeping her company as they sit there and have idle talk. However Valorie’s mind is occupied as she keeps thinking about the match from two weeks ago, and how everything turned out. She was careful as can be and yet she still was caught in his trap that caused her leg to end up swollen and needing time to heal. She is thankful that he didn’t break it that night, but now can confirm just how brutal Alex Reyn can be. Angel looks over at Valorie and holds out a potato chip in her face, startling the woman back into the here and now.

“Yo Val! You been in space cadet mode since the last Domination! What’s going through your mind chica?!” Angel asks, loud as can be but still showing a bit of that genuine care in her own way.

“… Sorry Ange. Just… can’t get that match out of my head. Thanks to him, and my own carelessness, I ended up how I am now. I’m just grateful my leg is healed up enough that I can walk on it, albeit with a limp.” Valorie answers, looking down at her leg that is elevated on the ottoman. 

“Hey…you’re a wrestler, girl. You’re gonna take a few bumps like that. Bet you had worse when you were out there serving, too, am I right?” As ever, Saul Morgan is the voice of reason within the trio. “What matters is that you’re here, and not in the hospital like VIP or Gemini or Freddie Rich. Not everyone who faces Reyn gets off with a bruised leg…just saying.”

Morgan grins at Valorie, who returns it in kind, much to Angel’s amusement. Surprisingly, however, both her partners ignore her taunts in this instance, as they continue to discuss Valerie’s current situation.

“Anyway…you made it, you got through your assignment, and now you get to enjoy some well-earned downtime R&R…to get that leg back to ship-shape, soldier!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Valorie’s salute in response to Saul’s suddenly official-sounding tone has all three members of the Angel Corps cracking up for a moment – Angel literally rolling on the couch – before their shared moment is interrupted by the buzzing of Valorie’s phone receiving an inbound call.

“Wha’?” The GLOBAL rookie picks the device up from the table in front of her, glances briefly at the screen, then picks up. “Alicia! Talk to me, sug’!”

“Alicia?!” The mention of GLOBAL’s PR representative has Angel suddenly excited. “Is it payday yet?”

Valorie’s sudden gasp of “WHAT?!”, however, leads Saul to gesture for his young companion to hush.

“Sorry, sug’…you just caught me by surprise there…didn’t mean to be that loud.” Valorie chuckles, but her expression is one of worry and concern. “No…nobody did tell us…can’t you postpone it, though? Card subject to change, and all that?” Another few seconds elapse, in which Valorie’s frown deepens. “Really? I mean, I get it. I really do. It’s just my leg…” Another pause, as Saul and Angel agonizingly hang from the one end of the conversation they can hear. “Well, all right…I’ll do my best…if there’s nothing you can do about it…” Another few moments elapse. “No…no…it ain’t your fault any more than any of ours, sug’. You’re just doing your job. Don’t worry.” Valorie tries to put a chirp in her tone, but is only moderately successful, and the distress has not quite disappeared from her face as she hangs up – something which is not lost on either of her friends.

“Dude…what’s up? You look like you seen a ghost or somethin’…” Angel pushes another chip into her mouth, only to spit it right back out when Valorie actually delivers the news.

“We have a match tomorrow. All three of us.”

“WHAT?!” The cry comes from Angel and Saul in unison. Valorie nods grimly. “Who with?”

“The Metal Militia. Six-person tag.”

The reveal concerning their opponents actually has Saul breathing a sigh of relief. “Could be worse. The Robinsons are good people. At least it’ll be clean.”

“Yeah, but don’t you go blabbin’ to them about Valorie’s leg, *Saul*…!” Angel’s tone is surprisingly serious as she admonishes her partner. “No offense, but you hell’a a snitch, holmes.”

“You’re one to talk about blabbing, Angelina…” Despite his partner’s accusations, Saul’s tone is one of gentle teasing, and “The Tramp” is grinning as he chastises his young charge.

“Eat a dick, Saul!” Angel is, however, laughing herself as she says this, and laughs even harder when her choice of words elicits a telling-off from Valorie.

“LANGUAGE, missy!”

“Aaay, both y’all can suck it…!”

The atmosphere having once again lightened up considerably, Valorie now addresses the situation at hand. 

“Look, guys…of course we’re not going to tell anybody, or ask any favors. All we’re gonna do is, we’re just gonna go out there, and do our best. ‘Cause that’s what you do when you’re our Corps. The Angel Corps. Hoo-rah?”

Still grinning broadly, their optimism restored, Saul and Angel puts their hands in for a triple fist-bump. “HOO-RAH!”

With that, the conversation moves on to last-minute travel arrangements, neither member of the Corps wanting to dwell on the daunting, yet inevitable assignment in their immediate future…

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The Camera catches Global Champion – “The Legend” Sean Darring turning the corner at the exact same time as Paul Sanders and Kid Chameleon of the Players. The champion takes a step back for a moment, knowing this was a planned interaction as The Players begin to play it off as a consequence.

Turning to his partner Paul Sanders says. “Why, who do we have here, Kid?” Kid Chameleon faints being shocked. Paul Sanders continues. “What an honor it is to not only be in our hometown Portland tonight but to run into such a legend in our industry.”

Sean Darring stands watching the bad acting performance of the Players. Paul Sanders turns to his partner, asking. “I am not sure if we should offer our hand in respect or ask for an autograph or what?” Kid Chameleon wanting to get in on the performance, says, “Hey, get your phone out let’s grab a selfie with the champ. You don’t mind, do you, Legend?”

Sean Darring’s face tells it all, but wanting to see this through, he turns, allowing The Players to hop on each side as they click a quick selfie for their scrapbook.

The Legend says. “Thanks for the compliment, guys, but I really – ” Kid Chameleon interrupts the champion before he can finish. “Sean, we have admired your fighting spirit Domination after Domination.” The Legend’s face turns to a here it comes facial expression as Paul Sanders jumps in, joining his partner.

“So, we got to thinking. You will be fighting our good friend Daniel Dream again, that should be an awesome match. But, it would be an awful shame if something were to happen before the match to you?” The two Players look at each other and back at Darring with a look of concern.

Sean Darring, now not in the mood for the Players’ games, cuts in. “Spit it out. Benedict Beel Zebub obviously sent you two to do his dirty work.” The Players act shocked to hear such accusations, but the Legend continues.

“I am not in the mood for this. Daniel Dream may enjoy Benedict Beel Zebub playing puppet master, but not on my watch if one of you wants a shot at the Global Championship. Stop by the championship committee, there will be a contract there with my name signed. Just add one of yours.” Darring is blunt and to the point, glaring at both of the Players as he storms past them.

Paul Sanders turns to his partner and says. “Well, that was easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Kid Chameleon nods and says. “Race you there.”

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Lucas Quinn, Mark Deltzer and Allie Reese are about to break down the next match. 

“Welcome back to the show!” Lucas Quinn tells the fans. “We’ve got a GLOBAL debut coming up… the debut of the self-proclaimed “DJ of Lucha Libre” known only as Wrestletronic when he takes on “Verified” Chett Marx.”

“From what we’ve heard,” Allie starts, “he’s wrestled extensively out of both the US and Mexico in the last four years before recently competing a five-month tour of Japan. He went viral over there for a number of…” she checks her notes. “Dance breaks in matches. He’s a professional DJ outside of wrestling and blends those two different worlds together in what we’re about to see tonight.”

“That sounds… interesting,” Mark says. “But I’ve heard this guy is quite innovative in the ring, so I’m eager to see what he can do. Let’s let “Downtown” Jason Brown earn his paycheck.”

The bell rings to signal the next match is almost underway! 

“The following singles match is scheduled for one fall!” Brown says to the crowd. “Introducing first…”

The music hits and out comes a masked man with a black mask and gray eyeholes to where only his face is visible. A black singlet in pants and black boots with blue check marks running down the sides. He holds out his cell phones and starts posting some nonsense on Youtube… and his response?

“Take this ratio.”


With a smile on his face, he holds the cell phone out again and then heads to the ring, talking more online trash and ignoring the fans. 

“Introducing first…” yells ring announcer “Downtown” Jason Brown. “He will not telling you about his height and weight because he won’t give his info to data miners or spambots… “VERIFIED” CHETT MARX!”

Marx happily slides onto the ring apron and points to the live stream on the tron with his final thoughts on the match. 

“‘Bout to body some Masked Singer reject. LMAO.”

He slides into the ring and refuses to give his phone up to the official, so he can finish popping off about how Ezra Miller’s The Flash is the greatest film of all time on some Subreddit before his music fades out.

On stage, a DJ’s soundboard is on stage with a slender man wearing a sky blue leather jacket and pants, and a blue luchador mask on his face with gigantic DJ headphones over his head. He’s spinning the records as the cameras light up.


Some fans cheer and go along with it… but others remain very, VERY unsure. 


The lights all fade out and go black. After a few moments of silence, the screen lights up in bright shades of green and yellow…


“The Night Begins to Shine (Dragon Remix) by B.E.R. plays and the crowd cheers for the unnecessarily gaudy entrance! A man wearing a neon helmet and vest walks out with the vest and helmet glowing in yellow and green amongst the darkness of the arena! He paces down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans with the glow of his customized helmet and vest shining brightly. Once he reaches the ring, the vest and the helmet come off. 

“And his opponent… from The Electric Daisy Carnival, weighing in at 218 pounds… WRESTLETRONIC!”

Wearing a yellow mask with all facial features obstructed with a black fabric, green/yellow sleeves and a half-green/half-yellow pattern on his tights adorned with musical notes, microphones and turntables, Wrestletronic jumps off the middle rope… right into a dropkick by Chett Marx!


The Verified One has clearly had enough of the dancing and wants to get into the wrestling! He stomps away at Wrestletronic and gets some jeers from the crowd. He stops to yell at the crowd. 

“Don’t boo me! I’m a REAL internet sensation! Not some Firstname Bunchanumbers like all of you!” 

He turns to pick up the taller Wrestletronic out of the corner and whips him cross-corner. He charges at the corner, but ‘Tronic quickly leaps backwards, up and over Marx as he hits the corner! Marx holds his chest in pain and when he turns around to face the DJ of Lucha Libre, he gets SMACKED with a big chop! He grabs him by the arm and runs up the ropes, does a quickly shake of the knees up top, then leaps off to snap him over with a quick arm drag! 

Wrestletronic kips up to his feet and kisses a balled up fist as he waits for Chett to get back to his feet… 


A quick Superman Punch stuns Chett and knocks the Subreddit master through the ropes and out to the floor! 

After shaking his good punching hand, the DJ of Lucha Libre poses and points to the floor with his other hand where Chett Marx is still trying to stand. When Wrestletronic gets the crowd to clap along with him, he does a leap and lands in a splits before jumping back to his feet! The apparently limber luchador charges at Marx…

But Marx scatters!

The Verified One gets out of dodge, but Wrestletronic fakes him out by flipping over the ropes to land on his feet on the apron. 

“DANCE BREAK!” Wrestletronic yells. 

MC Graps up on the ramp flicks a switch on the soundboard as “The Cupid Shuffle” starts to play over the arena speakers. Some fans cheer as Wrestletronic starts to break down on the ring apron and does a Cupid Shuffle for the GLOBAL Nation. Marx can’t believe what he’s seeing and kicks the barricade in anger before trying to slide back in and stop the buffoonery that likely old men in podcasts would not enjoy. 

The Dance Break stops and the arena lights return to normal as Wrestletronic hops over the ropes to return to the ring. Chett nails him with a forearm, then a chop before backing up and trying for a thrust kick, but Wrestletronic grabs the leg and flips Marx around into a kick to the gut followed by a whip off the ropes! Off the comeback, he hip tosses Marx, then follows into a cartwheel, then NAILS him with a basement dropkick! 


The Verified One gets his bell rung after the speedy combination, then Wrestletronic goes for a cover!




Marx kicks out! Wrestletronic would have a shocked face if you could see it, but he looks ready to end the match. He backs up to the corner and then heads to the ring apron. With the quickness, Wrestletronic heads up top. He looks out to the crowd and goes for a frog splash… 


Chett rolls away, but The Maestro of Moves rolls through and makes it back to his feet…

Just in time for Chett to strike him with a dead-on thrust kick to the jaw! Wrestletronic is rattled and then pulled down by the head… 


The leaping single-knee facecrusher drops Wrestletronic and Chett Marx looks to finally score his first win in GLOBAL!




The DJ of Lucha Libre throws a shoulder up off the mat! An angry Chett Marx dusts off his blue checkmark-covered trunks and then snaps up to his feet by grabbing Wrestletronic and hooking the arms. 

“Take this ratio!”

He goes for his inverted double underhook facebuster called The Clout Chaser… NO! Wrestletronic shoves him back to the ropes and hits a leaping dropkick that sends him to the floor! When he’s down, he runs over the ropes and leaps, connecting with a double jump springboard crossbody to the floor! 

The crowd cheers on Wrestletronic as he picks up and rolls Chett Marx back into ther ing. Wrestletronic then runs and does a roll through the ropes back in just as Marx tries to stand…


The outside-in rolling thunder into the stunner connects and The GLOBAL Nation pop for the big move as Marx gets dropped! Wrestletronic hooks the leg and counts along. 





“The Night Begins To Shine (Dragon Remix)” plays over the PA as Wrestletronic gets back to his feet and has his arm raised. 

“Here is your winner of the match… WRESTLETRONIC!”

After the match, the DJ of Lucha Libre takes a pose in the ring… then strobes of yellow and green lights flash through the arena before he starts to get the GLOBAL Nation involved with a breakdance routine mid-ring! 

“That was quite a debut tonight for Wrestletronic!” Lucas Quinn says. “He faked out Chett Marx a time or two and then hit that modified version of a neckbreaker that he calls When The Beat Drops! He came out of nowhere with that move!”

“I don’t know about this dance break stuff, but he’s got some moves in that ring, that’s for sure,” says Mark Deltzer.

“I’d call this a successful debut!” Allie tells them. “Like we pointed out earlier, some innovative offense by this kid!”

Wrestletronic is now posing on the middle turnbuckle, jamming to his theme as the show moves onward. 

LOGO b&w


As the cameras focus on them, Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin confidently take the microphone, dismissing Steve Blaine and asserting their authority. Jimmy Classic’s expression reveals his dissatisfaction with the recent information they received.

“Tonight, we had big plans to make Prime Time return to GLOBAL and Portland, Oregon,” Jimmy Classic states, shaking his head in disappointment. “But it seems that once again, the Rich Family has been evading us. They’ve gone completely silent since their fluke win at Gold Rush. It’s almost as if that surprising victory drained all their momentum, leaving them too afraid to even step in the same state as us.”

Trae Larkin snarls in agreement, showcasing his shared frustration with their rivals. Jimmy Classic raises a finger, indicating to hold that thought. “Just moments ago, Steve Blaine informed us that at the next Domination event, the Rich Family will finally emerge from hiding. They’re expected to address their absence since Gold Rush and whatever else is weighing on their small minds.”

Sharing a laugh at the expense of the legendary Rich Family, Trae Larkin joins Jimmy Classic. Jimmy continues, “So, instead of making tonight Prime Time, we’ll save it for the next Domination. We’ll have the opportunity to tell the Rich Family directly what’s on our minds. Unlike someone we all know, we aren’t ones to dodge any challenges.”

Jimmy Classic casually underhand tosses the microphone to his partner, signifying the end of their message. Trae Larkin briefly glances at the microphone before confidently discarding it.

LOGO b&w


Lucas Quinn power walks up the ring steps and into the center of the ring holding a microphone and a clipboard.  The Portland crowd showers the lead announcer in appreciation, chanting “LU-CAS!  LU-CAS!  LU-CAS!”  Quinn looks around, mouthing “thank you”.  He has a slightly shaken, uneasy look on his face.

He starts slowly.  “Ladies, gentlemen, everyone else… we here at GLOBAL hope you’ve been enjoying the show tonight.”  The crowd responds with affirmative cheers.  “I’m out here to deliver an emergency message from GLOBAL management regarding our advertised card tonight as well as the health status of two members of the GLOBAL roster.”  The crowd dies down, waiting solemnly for the announcement.  

Quinn looks down at the clipboard.  “As many of you know, Alfie Button and Crusader X were advertised as being ‘in action’ tonight.  We regret to inform those in attendance and those watching at home that Alfie Button and Crusader X have not been cleared to compete by our medical staff and are not here in Portland tonight.”  A collective shocked gasp followed by boos rain down from the crowd.  “We apologize profusely for the inconvience.”

The boos die down a bit.  Quinn continues.  “Some of you may have already heard, but earlier this week, doctors determined that Alfie Button had suffered a hairline fracture in his right foot.  He will be out of action for approximately four to six weeks.  We here at GLOBAL wish Mr. Button a speedy, relaxing recovery.  We eagerly await his return to the ring.”  The crowd cheers.  Chants of “ALFIE!  ALFIE!  ALFIE!” rain down.

Lucas waits as they die down.  He sighs heavily.  “This morning, GLOBAL Management received heartbreaking news from the Los Angeles Police Department.  Last night… at just after 10 PM Pacific time, Crusader X was the victim of a vicious assault outside of a bar in Boyle Heights, Los Angeles.”  A shocked murmur reverberates through the crowd.  They’re talking amongst themselves.  Some are in shock.  Some are nodding and reassuring those around them, as if they’d heard about the assault before the show.  Lucas closes his eyes and sighs again.  “He is currently in the hospital.  He has informed us that he suffered a broken jaw and a severe concussion.  There is no timetable for his return to GLOBAL, but doctors expect him to make a full recovery.” Massive cheers from the crowd.  “Unfortunately, as of right now, the identity and whereabouts of his attacker are unknown.”  Boos rain down from the crowd.

Quinn clears his throat, clearly becoming slightly verklempt.  “We here at GLOBAL wish Crusader X a speedy, relaxing recovery.  We eagerly await his return to the ring… and we hope that the person responsible for this heinous crime is brought to justice.”  Respectful cheers from the crowd follow.  “LET’S GO X” chants break out in the crowd.

Quinn nods and puts the clipboard down at his side.  “That’s all I have.  We hope you enjoy the rest of the show.  Thank you!”

Quinn walks over and sits at the announce booth.  The Mark’s fist is in a ball. “That’s just horrible.  Disgusting.  I hope to God they get the scumbag who did this to him.”

Allie Reece sighs while looking down at the desk.  “Me too, Mark.  Me too.  Man…”  She shakes her head and then looks up.  “X?  Alfie?  It may sound hollow coming from me… but… stay strong, alright?  I know it seems tough right now, but you’ll be back before you know it.  Good luck.”

LOGO b&w


“The following contest is a six-man tag team match scheduled for one-fall!” Downtown Brn, a welcome voice as always.

The powerful opening chords of Metallica’s “Metal Militia” resonate through the arena, eliciting an enthusiastic response from the crowd. It is recognized as a hidden gem of 80s heavy metal and signifies the arrival of one of GLOBAL’s most prominent wrestling families. Without skipping a beat, as the song’s main riff reverberates from the speakers, Aiden, Chris and Hayley Robinson emerge from behind the curtain. With horns held high and heads lowered, they are ready to engage in some electrifying headbanging action.

“Introducing first, from Pine Bluff Arkansas! At a combined weight of 430 lbs! Aiden “Destruktor” Robinson! Chris “Brutalizor” Robinson! And Hayley! “The Raven” Robinson!! METAL!! MILITIA!!!!”

The fans cheer these rising stars as they make their way to the ring.

Imagine Dragons’ “Believer”, begins mere seconds before a graphic appears on the Globe’s screens: the US Marine Corps insignia with Angelic Wings behind it, and the letters V to the left, S to the right, and A in the middle, with the US and Marine Corps flags flying to either side.

“And their opponents, at a combined weight of 467 pounds…the team of Valorie Vitality, ‘The Tramp’ Saul Morgan and Angel ‘The Kid’ Ramirez….THE AAAAANGEEELLLL COOOORRPPPSSS!!”

In contrast to their usual energetic entrance, Saul and Angel are sticking by Valorie. Supporting her as she slowly limps to the ring. Even her opponent’s look concerned.

“Alex Reyn’s challenge couldn’t have come at a worse time.” Quinn says. “Valorie barely had a week to recover from that match, she’s in no condition to fight here tonight.”

“You might be right, but Angel Corp can’t just ignore an opportunity like this to face of against another rising team. And Valorie can’t just abandon her team.

Both teams are assembled. Let the match begin.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

In their respective corners, the teams take a second to decide who will start. Saul and Angel unanimously agree that Valorie needs to speed as LITTLE time in the ring as possible. And Angel is eager to start.

“Looks like it’s going to be Angel Ramirez vs. Aiden Destrucktor” Quinn calls. “And Aiden looks a lot more hesitant than his opponent.”

Indeed, while Angel is already getting in Destruktor’s face and trash talking, just DARING him to come at her, Aiden seems to be unsure of himself.

“Oh for… JUST HIT HER!” The mics pick up Hayley’s yell from her corner.

“Aiden looks conflicted about fighting a little spanish girl.” The Mark remarks.

“He needs to get over himself.” Allie snorts. “They both signed up for this. Be a pro and do your job.”

Angel certainly doesn’t appreciate this “chivalry”. She rolls her eyes, and punched Aiden in the mouth!

Ref warning, but the focus is on Destruktor who has now turned a furious shade of red!

“Destuktor is over his conflicted feelings.”

Great insight there Deltz.

Forearm from Destruktor blasts Angel across the face! She’s stunned by the blow from her heavier opponent who grabs her by the back of the head, trying to ram her cae-first into the corner, but the kid runs up the turn buckle, leaping off and spinning in the air to take Aiden down with a  springboard arm-drag!

“Great agility from Angel who’s been showing a lot of potential recently!” Allie cheers.

“And she knows it.” The Mark adds as Angel is now playing to the cheering crowd from the second rope..

Aiden charges!  Angel flips over his head and out of the corner!  She hits the ropes! Clothesline from Destrukto- Angel slides under his arm like it’s a limbo stick!

“That was like something out of the matrix!” The Mark cheers.

The momentum takes her out onto the apron! Springboard!

Wait! Aiden dashes up there to meet her! They’re both balancing on the top rope! SPRINGBOARD AVALANCHE FRANKENSTIEN-!


“WOW!!” Quinn exclaims.

“THAT’S my girl!” Allie cheers!

Aiden has slowly begun to realise what happened. He turns to see Angel with her arms wide. Soaking in the applause of the fans. She pauses, flicks her hair over her shoulder, and winks at her opponent.

A LIVID Destruktor charges right at Angel! ALL hesitance now gone after being humiliated THRICE!! But the feisty Angel is right there to meet him! The two collide!, falling to the mat in a wild storm of hosts and kicks! Destruktor has the size, but Angel is like a rabid honeybadger as he rolls on top of him, hammering down with fists that make up for their lack of  technique with enthusiasm. Aiden is able to get on top of her hammering down even as Angel is striking back fiercely!

Angel back on top! Now Destruktor! Now Angel! Now Destruktor! Now Angel! They’re going all over the ring, but now they’re tangled up in the ropes! The referee is calling for a break, but the two of them are two wrapped up in their brawl to hear him!

Saul and Hayley, realising that their partner’s frenzy could get this match thrown out rush to pull the frenzied wrestlers apart, managing to separate even as they kick and claw and flail madly at each other to the point that Saul and The Raven have to DRAG their partners away from their opponent’s literally kicking and screaming!

“For the love of Cobain, buy each other a drink first!” An exasperated Hayley snaps.

That seems to calm the two down. Hayley tells Aiden to get in the corner and cool off. He’s reluctant for a second, but a “Big Sister Glare” cows him and he obeys and tags her in.

Angel meanwhile, is still riding the high of the last two minutes and insists she’s got this. Saul hesitates for a second, but agrees.

Angel shoves Hayley! Talking trash all the while!

“She’s making all the friends in this match.” Quinn quips.

Hayley retaliates with a right hook, but the swift Spanish seraphim  has slipped underneath! She dashes to the ropes! Springboard Corkscrew Moonsa- OH MY GOD!!!!


The fans scream. The commentary is on their feet! MArk can’t hold back his exclamation!


-ror has gripped the fans! Those who aren’t staring wide-eyed in shock are beginning the all to familiar chant.

“Holy shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!”

Angel had gone tumbling like a human tumbleweed! Rolling into her corner with a dazed over look. Immediately, both her partners are looking at her in concern.

“…Did anyone get the number of that BITCH…” a punch-drunk Angel slurs.

Yeah. No, she needs a tag out. She looks like she was hit by a tr-

“-UCK!!!!!!!!!” And Deltzer has finally completed his explosive expletive.

“Have fun talking to the sponsors tomorrow.” Allie deadpans.

“…sorry.” Delz says. Sitting down sheepishly.

Meanwhile, back at the ring, Valorie wants to get in the ring, but Saul puts a stern hand on her shoulder. Her leg is still in a bad shape and Hayley is still fresh and full of momentum. He’ll handle this.

A reluctant look from Valorie. But she backs down and Saul tags himself in.

“…Hey, only one of you four…” is Angel’s delirious mumble.

Paul steps in the ring to lock eyes with a glaring Robinson. Not breaking eye contact, The raven thrusts out her hand. But not as an attack.

She’s offering a hand shake and Saul reciprocates it. The two staring a hole through each other.

She lets the shake linger for another half a second before trying to take Saul’s head off with a short-arm clothesline, but the bigger man counters with a hip toss, only for Hayley to twist in the air and land on her feet! Irish whip sends Saul into the corner, and Robinson comes charging in! Saul tries to get the boot up, but The Raven jumps OVER! Saul’s outstretched leg for a  monkey flip!

Or at least… she WOULD have if Saul wasn’t able to hold her weight and hit a running buckle bomb in the opposite corner!

“Wow! A lot more power than we normally see from Saul!” Quinn exclaims.

“Well, when your opponent is 140lbs soaking wet…” The Mark answers with a shrug.

However, in this case, the “opposite corner” happened to be Metal Militia’’s corner and the two kids are already coming to their big sister’s aid! Before Saul can continue his attack, he’s finding his throat pulled against the top-rope courtesy of a hotshot from Brutaliser, before being kicked in the face with a rope-hung Enzuigiri complements of Destruktor!

Brutaliser tags himself in! Taking advantage of Saul’s dazed state to fire off a wild flurry of punches! Backing Saul to his team’s corner!

…until Saul catches his wrist. And Brutalizer suddenly remembers the first rule of getting into a punch up with a former US Marine: Don’t EVER get into a punch-up with a former US Marine!

“Saul is eating that poor kid alive in their!” Quinn calls.

But once again, Metal Militia has each other’s back! A quick-thinking Aiden reaches over Saul’s shoulder from behind and tags himself in on Chris’s flailing hand! The referee sees it, but Saul does not and he finds himself brought to the mat courtesy f a flying knee to his back!

Hayley calls for a tag and gets it!

“Good teamwork from Metal Militia.” Quinn compliments. “Quick tags to keep themselves fresh.”

“More like good leadership from Hayley” Allie quips, “But you’re right, it’s effective. This match was practically a 3 on 2  handicap match from the start and with Angel on dream-street, it might have just become three on one!”

Indeed, Sal is getting overwhelmed as Hayley traps him in a side headlock. She rakes his eyes before driving his face into the mat with a bulldog!

“Saul is bruised, stunned, blinded, and it looks like The Raven is looking to finish him off quick!”

The Redneck Stomp! (Curbstomp)


Saul surges with a sudden rally to throw Hayley back and CLOCK her with a sudden uppercut!

“Saul almost got a receipt for Angel with that uppercut!” Quinn calls. “But it’s still basically three on one! He NEEDS to make a tag!”

“To WHO though?!” Mark replies

The ame thought is clearly going the ough Saul’s min as Valerie is reaching out! Pleading for a tag! Desperate to help! But with her leg the way it is…

And yet Saul can’t fight three opponent’s by himself… Brutalizer and Destrucktor had rushed into thee ring to check on hayley, and nw theyre running to try and stop Saul. It’s now or never…!

Tag made!

Valorie is in the ring! She’s limping, but her’s in the ring! Immediately the two brothers rush her…

Only to be pulled back by Hayley.

“Get back to your corners. I’ve got this.”

The two back off, and Hayley immediately gets in Valorie’s face. But instead of aggression, there is a softening of her features.

“You really want to do this?”

In response, Valorie shifts into a wobbly but resolute fighting stance. Respect and reluctance flash on Hayley’s face in equal measure before she nods and attacks with a jab!

Parried by Val, a left hook is  ducked, Hayley attacks with an uppercut, but her lack of disciplined formal training leaves her open! She over-extends, forgetting her footwork!

It might be the only opening Val will get.


It was inevitable.

A flash of agony. A loss of balance.

Valorie is on her  knees, she tries to pull herself up, but her opponent has already put the though tf how CLOSE she just came to losing out of her mind and takes Valorie down with  a chopblock to  the bad knee!

Immediately, she’s all over the injured leg! Attacking it with vicious stomps. But there is no jy in her expression, no calculated cruelty.

In fact she looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

Val is dragged into the corner. She tries to fight back, but with only one good leg, it’s no use.

A tag is made to  Brutaliser. He’s looking reluctant, uncomfortable either. And Hayley isn’t unsympathetic.

“Let’s just get it over with.”

Brutaliser on the attack! Stomping at Valorie’s leg! Tag made to Destruktor who continues the assault before tagging in Hayley! Quick tags back and forth! Valorie is trying to fight back, but three on one and with a bad leg, she’s getting overwhelmed! Saul tries to run in to help her, but the ref holds him back, no tag has been made and Metal Militia aren’t breaking any rule. The tags are clear, and while Val is NEAR their corner, no part of her is touching the ropes.

Saul is looking distraught, as Metal Militia continue to attack Valorie’s leg. But there is no joy, on glee in their expressions. Instead, there’s bitter reluctance on their face. The look of a boy putting down old yeller as they kick, stomp and punch Val’s leg to get her to just QUIT!!!

A white towel hits the referee.

He looks over to see a pale Saul who gives him a solemn nod.


“Due to Angel Corps’ forfeit, your winners! Metal! Militia!”

The winning team looks disgusted with themselves.

“I know wrestling is a business, and you have to think about your own career first, but I don’t think ANYONE wanted the match to end like that.” Quinn says as Hayley yells “I agree!” at the booing fans.

LOGO b&w


Aiden and Chris try to help Valorie up, but a heartbroken Valorie pushes them away. Saul has picked up Angel and reaches out to her, but she can’t even look at him, knocking his hand away.  Instead using the barricade to support herself. Not even registering the fans cheers of support.

…She let them down.

It’s her fault.

Saul watches her leave with guilt all over his face. After all, HE was the one who…

A cold can of beer flies through the air and he catches it on reflex. Hayley walks up to him.

“That’s for her. And we’ve got more at the hotel if you want it” She says, jerking her head in Val’s direction. “She’s got guts.”

She gives a small smile at the still loopy Angel. “You all do. And you did the right thing. I’d have done the same for these two idiots.”

With that, Metal Militia leave.

LOGO b&w


“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jason Brown announces for the crowd. “I have been asked to announce the following. Stand up. Please rise. And show your respect, admiration and unquestionable love…”

He pauses. 


“Hall of Fame” by The Script feat. 


The GLOBAL Nation knows this theme well and… they vocalize their displeasure. 

All gold lights. 

All gold attire (track jacket, shoes, chains, sunglasses). 

But the same old smile. 

For the first time since his failed attempt to take the GLOBAL World Championship away from “The Legend” Sean Darring at Gold Rush, The Gilded Great makes his way on down the ramp. He pauses as he looks out to the ring, looks out to the GLOBAL Nation and then climbs through the ropes to step into the squared circle. He grabs a microphone as his music cuts. 

And before the returning Mancunian Muscle can even open his mouth… 





Angrily furrowing his brow, he tries his best to shake off the reception and hide it behind a smile. 

“GLOBAL Nation, I’ve missed you, too!” 

They boo him right back. 

“Now you tossers might be wondering where I’ve been these past two months! I’ve been taking some time to reflect, look back, and think to meself. I made a lot of promises to a lot of people before Gold Rush. I said that I’d do anything and everything it took to get to the top and take some people there with me. I attacked Sean Darring. I beat that old todger down week after week until I got to call my shot when *I* wanted it. I wrecked his ribs, hit him with the Hall of Fame Induction week after week. I said I’d walk out of Gold Rush as the GLOBAL World’s Champion…”

He looks a little solemn as he sinks his head down low…

Then pops back up with a grin.  


Dramatic pause. 



He looks sour on the jeers he’s getting. 

“Look… I understand the Queen’s English is a little more fasisticated than the English that YOU Yanks butcher week in and week out. And the word “boo” sounds pretty similar to “bow”… so we’ll try this again. You know me! I’m Aleczander The Great and I’ll keep doing this again and again if I have to until we get it right…”

He pauses. 

“YOU MAY BOWWWWWWWWWWWWW… dramatic pause…”

Yes, he actually said it this time. 



Aleczander The Great. 

“You ungrateful tossers! You’re gonna treat ME this way?! After *I* gave Sean Darring the greatest match his entire title reign will have! I haven’t even got to the GOOD part where I’m promising to go for gold! I *WILL* have gold around me waist sooner or later and you will give it to me when I…”

“Rule Britannia”

The theme cuts off Aleczander The Great as he looks offended… until he sees who it is. 

Rupert Royston-Fellowes and Nigel Kensington III. 

Aleczander The Great smiles wide as he sees the two men walking towards the ring, both dressed to the nines in suits, but both men having expressions on their face that don’t suggest they share the same sentiment that Aleczander The Great is giving them now in the ring. 

The crowd jeers the Best of British as they enter the ring, both men with microphones in hand. Nigel waves a hand over his neck, indicating to cut the music. They both stare down the GLOBAL Hall of Famer. 

“Aleczander…” Rupert starts. 


More jeering fills the arena for the reunion of a partial United Kingdom. Aleczander turns to the two men. 

“Ooooohhh, GLOBAL, you’ve stepped in it now!” Aleczander tells the GLOBAL Nation. “Rupert, Nigel, ALECZANDER THE GREAT! THAT is a group MADE for greatness! THAT is power! And Sean Darring… Trouble Roxx, your gold is gonna be OUR…”

“Hold on a minute!” Nigel says coldly. 

He turns to the two men. 


“Don’t eh us, Alec,” Rupert says. “A little bit ago, you told these pissants that you made a lot of promises to a lot of people…” He inches closer. “Nigel and I were two of those people.” 

“Yeah,” Nigel adds. “Quid pro quo… WE help you beat August Lazar to become the #1 Contender! WE watch your back! And in return, you help our group keep the GLOBAL Tag Team Championships… well, where’s YOUR belt, Alecz?”

Rupert is visibly angrier as he takes another step towards The Gilded Great. 

“And where’s OURS?” Rupert says with more bass in his voice. “You shit the bloody bed with Sean Darring and you ghost us for two months? You don’t show up to help us get the Tag Titles away from Trouble Roxx?! We should have the gold and we don’t… because of YOU.”

Aleczander The Great raises his hands up. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey! Red tape, mate, red tape! Even I, a GLOBAL Hall of Famer, have to deal with it! You guys had to pick up the slack while I was gone!  I had to go through the trouble of filming a TV pilot these past two months before this country’s cocked-up Writer’s Strike ruined that! We’ve ALL been dicked by the dangling dong of destiny, mates! But it’s not too late! I…”

“Wait… you ghosted us… for a TV show?” Nigel says. 

“I mean, I was licking me wounds for two months!” Aleczander corrects himself. “I was nursing a serious injury! I had to carry Sean Darring on me bloody back for almost THIRTY minutes! Every muscle in me body hurt trying to carry that old…”

“Hot Cheetos and Takis” by Da Rich Kidzz.


Aleczander The Great and The Best of British all turn, seeing the last thing any of them, or the people suspect… 


The 7’4” and nigh-400 pound monster steps out for the first time since the semi-finals of the Gold Rush tournament and gets a tremendous ovation from the crowd! His manager, Del Waterstone stands by filming his best friend’s return on his cell phone. Aug takes in the reaction of the fans and then storms towards the ring. 

“We’re not done here!” Nigel tells Aleczander.

The trio prepare themselves as the angry giant starts to pull himself up onto the ring apron, only for Rupert to make the first move to attack the giant! He rushes at him with a flying forearm that stuns The Boss of the Sauce momentarily! He pelts him with several more, but Big Aug blocks one and DROPS him with a headbutt!

He steps over, only for Nigel Kensington III to attack him as well with a big running uppercut! He attacks him in the corner with Aleczander not sure what to do against the man he and Best of British wronged some time ago to become #1 Contender!

Big Aug shoves Nigel out of the corner, but Rupert is back up and goes back with another big flying forearm! Nigel scurries back up and now both men try putting the boots to the big man! Aleczander cracks the bones in his neck and gears up to attack as well…

But stops when Big Aug piefaces Royston-Fellowes to the mat! Nigel tries another uppercut, but The Boss of the Sauce CRACKS him first with a hefty elbow smash of his own and Nigel stumbles through the ropes and out to the floor! Del Waterstone waves hi to the laid-out Nigel!


The crowd response is loud for the former NBA player as he grabs Rupert by the back of the head and THROWS him out of the ring, leading to Big Aug and Aleczander having a staredown. 

“Uh… welcome back, mate!” Aleczander yells. “How’s the fam…”


Aleczander gets BOWLED over by a big running shoulder tackle from Everyone’s Zest Friend! The Largest Athlete in the GLOBE stands tall in the ring and starts going after the three men, but Best of British retreat one way while Aleczander The Great tries to collect himself and moves through the crowd! 

“What did we just see?!” yells Lucas Quinn. “Not one, but TWO big returns! Aleczander The Great gets confronted by The Best of British, only for BIG AUG to come back?!”

“Like Aleczander and Best of British pointed out…” Deltzer says. “They helped Aleczander become #1 Contender in the first place over Big Aug and it’s clear the big man didn’t forget that!”

“He certainly didn’t and if I’m either Aleczander or Best of British, I’m watching my back with August Lazar back in GLOBAL Wrestling!” 

The Boss of the Sauce raises both hands in the air and shouts out to the crowd that he’s back! He and Del Waterstone bask in the cheers of a crowd that’s happy to see the big man back!

LOGO b&w


Backstage, Angel ‘The Kid’ Ramirez is enjoying her favorite part of the wrestling experience: the catering. No matter how many full bowls of chips she scoffs down by herself (forever hoping no one will catch her in the act) she will never get used to the concept of free food being made available to employees simply by virtue of them being there; for a girl used to scrounging, scraping and stealing only what she can’t afford (which is everything) the concept of an all-you-can-eat catering table comes second only to an entire town made up of nothing but KFCs and Burger Kings (one can only dream…) Plus, eating always helps her cheer up, and she certainly needs that after the unexpected setback her team suffered in the ring earlier. She does feel bad for leaving Valorie, but she tells herself she would have been a third wheel anyway; she might as well give those two some kissy-time, and herself some nourishment.

As she stuffs two bite-size spring rolls into her mouth at once, however, Angel realizes she is not alone, and quickly whirls around on her heels, spitting puff-pastry crumbs everywhere as she attempts some sort of apology. Once she sees the newcomer is not a GLOBAL official, but simply a woman with a phone in hand, however, her demeanour changes as – after taking a big gulp to forcibly send the spring rolls down to her stomach – she boldly addresses the new arrival.

“Yoooo…you makin’ a TikTok? Can I be in it?”

The woman smirks. “Sure. Just give me a second.” Then, as Angel waits with bated breath, she sets her phone down on the catering table, fiddles with her watch for a few seconds, then reaches for her belt, from which she removes a truncheon.

Angel’s eyes go wide, and she begins to mouth “What the…?”, but that is as far as she gets, as the woman clobbers her on the side of the head with the truncheon, sending the teen sprawling backwards and narrowly missing the food-laden table. Then, the same smirk still on her features, the woman once again fiddles with her watch before picking up the camera, angling it down so it catches the prone Angel; the viewpoint changes to that of a streaming video as she points behind her back at the teenager, before holding her smartwatch up to the camera, showing the stopwatch function to be activated, and displaying 00:00:06.

“See that? Six seconds. That’s how long it took me. It took me six seconds to do what you two chuckleheads couldn’t do in six MONTHS.” The smirk fades, replaced with an intense scowl as the woman shakes her head in disgust. “To think I used to look up to you two jackasses…!” She then goes on to expound on that point. “When I was a rookie over at Elysian, I thought you guys were badass. Doing your own thing, not playing by the rules, the whole buddy-cop thing, and then leaving the Force to bust some heads in the ring…” She chuckles mirthlessly. “…come to find out, you just got kicked out for being incompetent.” She points back towards Angel, snorting with derisive laughter again. “And, hey, I’m definitely not disputing THAT.” She pauses for effect for a moment before continuing. “Anyway…one down, one to g–”

HEY!” The camera catches nothing more than a blur of motion before the phone gets knocked out of the woman’s hand, as she gets tackled to the ground; fortunately for viewers, it falls in such a way that the lens faces towards what is clearly a scuffle between the device’s former holder and someone much larger, in military fatigues. Despite this size difference, when the woman’s voice does come through, it is perfectly unfazed, with even a tinge of amused sarcasm to it.

“…you must be the partner.” The woman goes so far as to giggle. “Ooh, you’re cute! Too bad I have to take you out with the trash…”

“Damn right I’m ‘the partner‘!” The voice is unmistakably that of “The Tramp” Saul Morgan, but his usual calm, measured tone is replaced by one of unbridled, undisguised rage. “The question is…who the hell are YOU?”

Despite the former Marine’s tone, however, the woman does not seem intimidated; rather, when she speaks again, her tone is still somewhat amused.

“Now, honey…just because we’re rolling around on the floor with our legs around each other, doesn’t make this a date. If you want to get to know me, at least buy me a drink first!” She affects another giggle. “You men are so impatient…!”

Saul, however, is not amused, and shakes the woman by the lapels, while pointing back at Angel.

“For the last time..who are you, and what the hell was THAT about?”

Rather than respond, however, the woman spits in “The Tramp”’s eyes, temporarily blinding him, and attempts to get out of the guard position the bigger man has pinned her in. Despite his predicament, however, Saul moves almost on instinct, sliding past her guard to attempt another submission. The woman, however, reacts quicker, headbutting her opponent, then driving a knee into his gut for good measure. Saul is momentarily rocked, but powers through the pain, pulling himself and the woman to their feet as he seeks a standing submission. The woman counters with an elbow to the stomach, then – before Saul can react – turns to face her opponent and goes on offence herself. From being on offence, “The Tramp” suddenly finds himself reduced to parrying his opponent’s strikes, as the two engage in hand-to-hand sparring.

“…Combatives?” The woman sounds almost impressed. “And here I thought that was just a costume you got from Army Surplus…”

“That’s right. Semper Fi ’til I die!” Once again, Saul is almost growling from the exertion and rage, both of which are making his cheeks bright red.

“And yet, here you are. Earning pennies to be a punching bag for bozos like Brady and Strauss. Except they’re so useless, they couldn’t even do THAT right…”

“I’m not anybody’s punching bag!” As if to demonstrate this, Morgan lands a punch of his own, which his opponent fails to block in time; once again, however, this causes her to grin an almost demonic smile, as she brings her hand to the quickly swelling bruise around her left eye.

“Oooh…we like it rough, do we, honey? I should have known, with all that rolling on the ground before…” The woman shrugs. “All right, then…have it your way, cutie pie! Or, how does your little girlfriend put it?” The brunette affects a Southern drawl. “Have it y’all’s way, sug’!

With that, and before Saul can react, the woman drives a knee into his groin, doubling “The Tramp” over and leaving him prone for a scissors kick, which takes him down for good. Still sporting the same smirk, the woman then stands over him, looking down at his prone body as she shoots off a quip.

“Typical man…all talk, but can’t go the distance.” She gives off a mocking sigh. “And we were getting on so well, too. Ain’t that a kick in the head.” Then, her put-on demeanor suddenly changes, her eyes darting with fury and her tone laced with venom as she bends down to pull Saul’s head up, the better to growl in his face. “You wanted to know who I was…well…the name’s Wright. Officer Miranda Wright. Remember that…you’ll be screaming it later. You AND your little girl friends.”

With that, the brunette throws “The Tramp”’s limp, prone body back down, grabs her phone, turns off the recording function, and swiftly makes her way out of the premises, lest anybody comes around and starts asking questions.

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Steve Blaine is standing by with his friend, the GLOBAL champion – “The Legend” Sean Darring. As Steve Blaine says, the two men appear to have been talking for a moment off-camera as they are in mid-conversation. “That is a bold strategy there, Sean.” Realizing the cue sign, the ever-professional Steve Blaine changes his tone almost in mid-conversation.

“Thank you for taking just a moment with us, Sean. We have some breaking news. Apparently, next Domination, you will be defending the GLOBAL Championship against one of The Players.”

Sean Darring nods and responds. “It’s all part of Benedict Beel Zebub’s master plan. He is pulling strings all over the Global. He is pulling them with Daniel Dream, the Players, and now he has pulled them with me. He has gotten what he wants. I will face either one of The Players next week, but let me tell you, Benedict Beel Zebub. Be careful what you ask for. The more you poke. The more you prod. The more strings you yank on. That may have the opposite effect that you are hoping for.”

Steve Blaine nods, listening to the champion. He follows up, asking. “Are you not concerned with the unknown? Not knowing if it will be Paul Sanders or Kid Chameleon until bell time?”

The Legend smiles and responds. “The unknown always concerns you if someone tells you differently; they aren’t being truthful. However, it’s at the same time exciting. I can interrupt and mess up Benedict Beel Zebub, and I have only assumed Daniel Dream’s master plan. They would like to get the upper hand going into our rematch. Daniel Dream, you are going to have to earn this. Our first two matches told you it would take everything you have and more to beat me.”

Steve Blaine nods, listening. “It appears you are ready for one of the Players. You brought up Daniel Dream. What is your take on him getting a third chance at winning the Global Championship?”

Sean Darring playfully shrugs and responds. “You know they say the third time is a charm, but you know what they also say? Three strikes, and you are out. The question is, which one will it be for Daniel Dream? He is a worthy competitor, no doubt. He took me to the wire twice before. However, this time something is different. He seems to be so focused on everything but this match. He is worried about John Truth. Benedict Beel Zebub is constantly in his ear and calling the shots. Next week he has The Players coming to collect for him. He is trying everything he can and focusing on everything, but he should focus on one thing.”

A close-up as the GLOBAL champion points right back at himself and says. “Me. You need to get your head into this match. Tell Benedict Beel Zebub to kick rocks. Tell John Truth to shut his mouth. And concentrate on how you will get the job done this time. The first time I taught you a tough lesson. My hand was still raised the second time I was left nearly broken and bloodied in the ring. What do you think will happen this time when you have Benedict Beel Zebub on your right shoulder talking in your ear, and John Truth is on that left shoulder? Get your head in the game. Make history. Otherwise, it’s going to be strike three for you.”

Steve Blaine thanks the GLOBAL Champion as he turns and walks off camera.

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The GLOBAL locker room is dimly lit, its emptiness permeating the air. The silence is broken only by the faint sound of distant crowd noise seeping through the walls. Daniel Dream stands in the center, his slim and athletic frame exuding confidence. His blonde hair is neatly styled, framing his determined face. He is wearing a light blue button-up shirt. Opposite him, Benedict Beel Zebub cuts a striking figure with his sleek black hair and his signature red suit jacket and pants. In his hand, a cane, both a fashion accessory and a symbol of his authority. The contrasting personalities of Daniel and Benedict fill the void, as they prepare for the matches that lie ahead.

“Look, Benedict, we had a deal, and I don’t appreciate you overstepping your boundaries. You don’t get to dictate when I can or can’t wrestle, and you certainly don’t have the right to recommend when I speak. I may have a manager, but that doesn’t mean I’m here to be controlled. I call the shots in that ring, and I won’t tolerate anyone trying to muzzle me. So, back off and let me handle my business my way.”

Benedict Beel Zebub offers a conciliatory response, “Daniel, I apologize if I overstepped. But you must understand that the Board of Directors ultimately calls the shots on what gets to the ring. They have certain expectations and guidelines that we must adhere to. Now, before we proceed, let me ask you this, Daniel. Do you know what city we’re in?”

Daniel retorts, “Of course I know, Benedict,” he answers, “We’re in Portland, the very city where my character Carnivore made his legacy. I know the history and the passion of this place. And I also know that the fans here appreciate authenticity and a fighter who’s not afraid to call the shots. So, let me handle things my way, and I’ll give them a show they won’t forget.”

Benedict Beel Zebub says, “All I want, Daniel, is for you to make your legacy here in GLOBAL. That means winning the GLOBAL World Championship at the pay-per-view, making the Board of Directors happy, and solidifying your place as one of the greatest in this industry.”

Daniel sighs and responds, “I know.”

In response, Benedict Beel Zebub says, “I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, Daniel. You’ve always been a smart one. You understand the business and what it takes to succeed. The GLOBAL World Championship is the pinnacle, and it’s within your reach. Just stay focused, play the game, and show the world why you’re the best. I believe in you, Daniel. Now go out there and make it happen.”

Daniel nods, acknowledging Benedict’s words of encouragement and guidance.

Benedict Beel Zebub tells Daniel, “It’s all for the greater good, Daniel. Trust the process, be patient, and keep your eyes on the prize. Tonight’s match is a crucial stepping stone towards your ultimate goal. Focus on what’s in front of you, prove your dominance, and the opportunities will come. Remember, success is a journey, not just a destination. Now go out there and show them what you’re made of.”

As Daniel Dream steps out of the locker room, his mind fills with a renewed sense of purpose. The dimly lit corridors of the arena whisper with anticipation, echoing his footsteps. A flickering fluorescent light casts eerie shadows.

Unbeknownst to Daniel, a sinister smile spreads across Benedict’s lips. He watches Daniel disappear deeper into the arena.

In the shadows, Benedict relishes the power he holds over Daniel Dream. With a calculated stroke of his well-groomed beard, he revels in the manipulation unfolding before him. His carefully woven web was nearing completion, ensnaring Daniel within its intricate threads.

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The week after Domination 08
The Funeral of Maragaret Singleton
Beloved grandmother of one, Mother of 2

Margaret Singleton had led an average life. She had attended school only until the very moment she no longer had to, then took a job at the mill at the bottom of her street processing grains of wheat into flour. There she met Patrick Singleton and the two had one daughter.

By the time Margaret had retired, her husband had died and her daughter, Rebecca Singleton, was also living a life less extraordinary, working as a bank teller in the same town she was born. 

Fiona Singleton, granddaughter to Margaret Singleton, is 10 years old and enjoys watching YouTube, colouring in, and Doritos. She too will grow up to be a loser, as is family tradition.

In a field kept by amateur gardeners, the ground uneven as if trampled by horses, headstones line up one by one. Some have been cared for considerably less than others. A small family stands around the graveside of Mrs Margaret Singleton. Her daughter, her granddaughter, two old ladies from the knit-and-natter group and one strange looking man in a pinstripe black suit who, so far, has said nothing and refused to remove the ridiculous bag of crisps from his head. 

It is overcast, but luckily the rain has held off. The church service had been a quick and quiet affair, partly to sneak in the graveside section of the funeral before the rain came in, but mostly because the vicar was unnerved by the presence of a man smelling, quite strongly, of powdered cheese. 

The casket is gently lowered into the ground as the vicar says a few words, but Fiona’s attention is focused on the strange character standing just behind her. Her head is turned as far as it can go, peeking over her shoulder as she holds her mothers hand. 

“Who are you?” She mouths to the stranger. 

She can hear his reply, but nobody else seems to. It is as if he is speaking within her mind rather than out of his bagged mouth. 

“We all run the same race here, FiFi. We are all one in the same. Specs of dust temporarily smushed together into human form. But one day we will be like old granny down there. Just food for the worms. I am you. You are me. We are one in the same.”

“But what’s your name?”

“I am the man who paints the face of the clown. I am the man who whips up the cotton candy. I am the man who—”

“That’s a pretty long name, mister.”

Her mother shushes her, pulling on her hand, and she turns back to the gravesite of her grandmother. 

“Excuse me.” Doritos interrupts sharply, “but we were speaking.

Rebecca turns around to look at Doritos Man. 

“Who the hell are you?”

“He was just trying to tell me that, mum,” Fiona interjects. She is met with another shush.

“I am the man who saved your grandmother from another intolerably dull day of existence in this shithole of a town, with this unbearably average family, in her dump of a house. I am the man who set her free!”

“Excuse me,” Comes the deep sound of an insulted and emotionally wounded man, this voice too echoing deeply inside the brains of anyone he chose to hear it, “I think you’ll find I got this one, Doritos Man.”

Death leans gently against the headstone of Margaret Singleton, his scyth standing tall in the bones of his left hand. 

“I don’t think so, man. You’ve done barely anything since you started on the Citalopram. All you do is eat nachos and jerk off.”

Rebecca covers her daughters ears and gasps. 

“Give me a break, lady. We both know you jerked off just before the ceremony. I could smell it.”

She almost gasps again but, well, it was true.

“I am the one who knocks, Doritos. Not you. Get your own gig.”

“Man, I don’t need your job. I don’t want your job. But someone has to croak these old ladies or everyone is gunna starve to death. And you ain’t doing it you sorry sappy bitch.”

“Perhaps,” Death says, gesturing at the guests of the funeral, “another place?”

“Whatever man.,” Doritos says, walking over to the headstone and joining Death. He places a pill on top of the headstone, “Wanna drop some ecstasy over there?” It’ll make you feel WAY better.” Doritos asks, pointing over at a large oak tree at the opposite side of the graveyard. 

“Yes, Doritos Man. I believe I would like that very much.”

The two friends wander off towards the oak tree, leaving the pill on top of the headstone. The vicar continues his service. Half way across the graveyard Doritos turns around and flips a middle finger to Fiona, who giggles gently.

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The intro riff to Green Day’s “American Idiot” brings about a mixed, if mostly negative, reaction from the Portland crowd – one which only intensifies once the Number One Contender, Daniel Dream, actually appears on the entranceway, waving his American flag as per usual. Notably, Dream has eschewed his yellow Carnivore mask on this instance, perhaps deeming it unnecessary against an opponent such as the one he faces tonight; as such, the fans are “regaled” with the full gamut of the Georgian’s smug expressions, as he makes his way down to ringside, flanked by the two members of The Players and his own manager, Benedict Beel Zebub, and soundtracked by both his own theme song and “Downtown” Brown’s introduction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is our Main Event, and it is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Atlanta, Georgia, weighing 225 pounds, he is the Number One Contender to the GLOBAL World Championship….’The American Dream’….DANIEEEEEELLL! DRRREEEEAAMMM!!”

“Daniel Dream has brought his backup with him tonight, and who can blame him, when he’s up against Truth Control?”

“The only question is, Lucas…how much help are the Players going to be, when they’re still recovering from their match earlier tonight, against Trouble Roxx?”

“You shut your mouth, Allison!” No surprises about who instantly jumps down Allie’s throat after that comment. “You don’t know Kid and Sanders! They’re boss characters in this GLOBAL game. They have extra-long health bars!”

“If you say so, Mark…” Allie, perhaps wisely, gives up the argument, instead focusing her attention on the Number One Contender, who has waved Beel Zebub back through the curtain (much to the latter’s surprise and apparent displeasure) and is now standing in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand, looking over at the entrance curtain.

“You’re late, Johnny boy… I told you not to be late… Tut, tut…”

Not a moment after Dream mockingly scolds his opponent, however, a disembodied voice echoes across the arena’s PA, its reverb lending it a slightly eerie quality.

“Am I, Danny boy? Am I REALLY? How d’you know I’m not here already?”

Startled, Dream and the Players begin to look around for Truth or his goons, while the man’s voice chuckles at them through the arena speakers.

“That’s right…you DON’T. You DON’T know where I am. You have NO idea. For all you know, I could be behind you…” Daniel almost jumps as he whirls around, only to find no one there. “…or to your left…” All three men turn in that direction, but see nothing. “…or your right…” The same thing goes for the other side of the ring. “…or, Hell, I could even be ABOVE you!”

Dream, the Players and the entire arena turn their attentions to the venue’s rafters, squinting to try and make out a human shape amid the bright stage lights. The outcome, however, ends up being rather more prosaic and mundane, as – while the entire arena has their eyes turned skyward – John Truth and his goons emerge from UNDERNEATH the apron, suddenly springing upon the Players and taking them down before they can so much as attempt to defend themselves.

“WHAT?! Where did THEY come from?!”

“I have to say…masterful misdirection from Truth. I loathe the man as much as anybody, but that was some grade-A mindgaming.”

“SHUT UP, Quinn!” Mark Deltzer is almost choked up with worry and anger as he witnesses the beatdown on his favorite wrestler taking place right in front of his eyes. “Come on, Kid! Hit him back! You got this, dude!”

While the two Border Control agents have managed to completely catch their opponents by surprise, however, the same was not entirely true of Truth, who – despite entering the ring at Daniel Dream’s back – is just quick enough to floor his opponent with a clothesline before Dream can strike him in return. That objective accomplished, he then begins to lay the boot to his prone opponent, punishing him with stomps, as referee Powell calls for the bell. No sooner has the familiar ring echoed across the Portland arena, however, than GLOBAL’s largest referee is almost physically ripping Truth off Dream, barking at him to back off or be disqualified. A defiant Truth snaps back to the effect that he does not care about a disqualification, but is physically prevented from resuming his attack by the referee, who positions himself between the two contenders and refuses to budge until Dream is back on his feet and leaning against the ropes – a gesture which earns him the applause of the Oregon crowd, but also Truth’s wrath. All of The Man Who Fell to Earth’s worst threats are, however, not enough to make Powell move, and this, in turn, ends up creating an advantage for Daniel Dream, who literally spins around the referee to catch his opponent with a spinning heel kick, flooring him completely!

“WHAT AN IMPACT by Daniel Dream!!”

“There’s your receipt, [BLEEP]head!”

“Allison Mackenzie Reece! Let’s keep this professional, please!”

“Sorry, DAD…” Allie’s eyeroll is almost audible as, in the ring, Powell is now having to pry Daniel off Truth, whom the Number One Contender had been peppering with stomps, much the same as his opponent had been doing moments earlier. Having finally managed to achieve a clean break between the two men, Powell nonetheless remains wedged in between them for a second, as both pace back and forth and glare daggers at one another.

“No love lost between these two men…and I would say it’s justified. Do you two agree?”

“Kind of, Lucas. I mean…yeah, Daniel Dream’s an angle player…but the joke’s on Truth for trusting him. What did he THINK would happen?”

“Yeah…that’s what you get when you live in your little Fox News bubble…you forget what REAL people are like.”

“Now…I KNOW you two are not implying Daniel Dream is untrustworthy…!”

“No, Lucas. We’re not implying it. We’re SAYING it.”

As Lucas splutters with outrage (whether real or put on), in the ring, the two men have engaged in an all-out, knock-down, drag-out, bowling-shoe-ugly fistfight. Clearly, neither is concerned with putting on a good match, or even showing off their technical prowess – at this point, it is as personal as it has ever been between the two, and it takes all of Powell’s awareness and authority to keep low-blows, biting, eye-gouging and other such tactics to a minimum.

“Bless Aaron Powell for trying, but I’m not sure EITHER of those two men care about being disqualified at this point…”

“You got that right, Lucas. They’re both out for blood!”

“Good. I hope they put one another in hospital, and then we can have somebody ELSE in the freaking Main Event for a change!” Allie’s next few words are muttered, but still clearly perceptible. “I mean, THREE SHOWS in a row? Are they KIDDING?”

As the female representative in the announce trio voices her disgust yet again, in the ring, Daniel Dream has finally managed to get the best of the exchange, using his considerable size advantage to push Truth into the corner and drape a forearm across his throat. Undaunted, The Man Who Fell to Earth responds by hocking a loogie into Dream’s face, startling him long enough to connect with a headbutt and a knee to the groin. Dream doubles over, and Truth seizes his chance, connecting with a leaping double-knee facebreaker, which takes the Number One Contender down.

“Was…was that just an actual wrestling move?”

“I believe it was, Mark, yes. I wouldn’t get TOO used to those, though. Something tells me this is going to be a brawl all the way through.”

Having finally gained an advantage, Truth is quick to start up with the stomps yet again. Predictably, this brings Powell over to force him to comply with the rules (which earns him a double-bird salute from Truth), but The Man Who Fell to Earth is still able to make the most of the few seconds he has to further wear down his opponent.

“Can you get disqualified for disrespecting the referee? Because if so, that would make it two strikes for Truth right now…”

“Forget disqualification – I hope Powell knocks his socks off!”

“Oh, please, let’s hope so…”

As Allie wishes with all her might, in the ring, the two contestants start over yet again, with Truth, predictably, still having the upper hand. Surprisingly, he allows Daniel Dream to pull himself halfway upright, but his intentions soon become clear, as he rushes in with a running punt to the head of the Number One Contender. He then adds another kick while Dream is down, for good measure, which gets him another warning from referee Powell.

“Truth is getting into his groove now, and we’ve seen how dangerous he is when that happens.”

“Yeah…too bad it never happens organically. In fact, how many times have we seen Truth actually start a match in the ring, as opposed to jumping somebody before the bell?”


“…my point exactly.”

As Allie proves a point, in the ring, Truth has once again pulled the dazed Daniel up to his feet, the better to apply a standing crossface submission. The Number One Contender pushes out of it with an elbow to his opponent’s temple, then – as Truth staggers back a step – launches into a shoot kick to the calf, which further rocks his opponent, leaving him in prime position for a superkick!

“And THAT is why you never take Daniel Dream for granted. He can turn the tide of a match with just a few moves.”

In fact, having finally managed to end Truth’s onslaught, Daniel wastes no time cementing his upper hand – though not before landing a few sneaky stomps to Truth, out of sight of Aaron Powell. His revenge once again enacted, he then picks up the smaller man and throws him into the corner, where he connects with a running knee strike, further dazing Truth.

As the Number One Contender lands a few more knee shots to the gut on his opponent, the fans’ attention suddenly turns to the entrance curtain, through which a familiar figure has just emerged and begun to make their way down to ringside, to a huge reaction from the fans – which Daniel, in the ring, mistakes as being for him, causing him some annoyance when he turns around to gloat and sees what is really transpiring.

“SEAN DARRING! The Champ is here!!”

“He does not seem dressed to wrestle, howev—oh, hello, Sean! Are you joining us?”

Sean Darring is seen putting on a spare headset before halting himself and looking up towards the ring. One camera pan later, the reason for this becomes apparent, as Daniel Dream has completely abandoned Truth and is leaning against the ropes, screaming invectives at the GLOBAL World Champion. Darring, however, retains his composure, merely sparing Dream a glance before resuming taking his seat alongside the announce trio.

“Sorry about that, folks. Yes, I thought I would come and have a closer look at my two main threats right now, in a context where I’m not directly involved…”

“A true Champion strategy!”

Darring, as ever, chooses to go for modesty. “Well, it’s a Sean Darring strategy, anyway. Belt or no belt, wouldn’t have changed anything.”

In the ring, Dream – upset that he is being ignored – pointedly tells Darring to “watch this”…

…right before turning around into a big boot to the chest from Truth!

“Daniel Dream gets hit with the Boot of Truth!!”

“Well, that is his own fault for getting distracted. His mind should not be on me right now. It should be on his opponent. It wasn’t, and he paid for that.”

“And now here’s the cover from John J. Truth!”

Powell slides in, visibly struggling with his own professional ethics vis-à-vis a slow count, and slaps his hand on the mat.



—a kickout by Dream!

Despite the referee having let clearer thoughts prevail, John Truth clearly perceives the count as having been slow, and once again gets in the referee’s face, barking at him about trying to screw him out of a win. Powell, visibly getting annoyed at this point, once again tells him to back off…

…right before Dream pulls him down into a rollup!! The crowd cheers as Powell once again drops down…


T—ruth kicks out!

“See, now it was John Truth who suffered from not having his head in the game. Both men are letting themselves get distracted too easily. You need to focus on your target, put everything else out of your mind for those few minutes…and neither of these men is accomplishing that at all here.”

“…which is probably why you’re the Champion, and Daniel Dream isn’t…”

“Hey…don’t knock Dream, Lucas. He may not be anyone’s favorite person, but the kid is one hell of a wrestler, one hell of a competitor, and one hell of an opponent.”

“And Truth? What are your thoughts on him?”

Faced with this clearly loaded question, Darring wisely opts for diplomacy. “From a personal standpoint…the same as everybody’s else’s. But having been in the ring with him…he’s not what anyone expects. He doesn’t try to run from the fight. He BRINGS the fight. He’s dogged, he has tenacity, and he stops at nothing. And that makes him someone not to be dismissed, and certainly not laughed at.”

Deltzer cannot help but chuckle. “Well! Trust our Champ to say the nicest thing anyone has ever said about John J. Truth!”

As “The Mark” quips about the World Champion’s diplomatic approach, in the ring, Daniel Dream has managed to regain the upper hand, and is now clearly showing off to Sean Darring – using John J. Truth as his punching bag. In quick succession, The Man Who Fell to Earth is subjected to the Dream Crusher full nelson facebuster, the Dream Catcher flatliner, and finally, Daniel’s trademark Olympic Slam, none of which are followed up by a cover; instead, Daniel Dream makes a point of walking over to the ropes again, to gloat in Darring’s face about the sequence he just performed – a choice which seems to puzzle the Champion.

“Well, don’t be telling ME about what you did to him, boy – go do some more of it!”

Daniel, however, takes some time to finally turn his attention back to Truth, whom he finally brings to his feet, then lifts up above his head, looking for the sitout powerbomb he calls the Carnivore’s Last Hunt! A moment later, the move connects, but still Daniel does not cover, instead pacing over to the ropes nearest to the announce table and locking eyes with Darring, who once again urges him to “go on” and “finish it”. Dream, however, takes another moment to gloat to his future opponent…

…before suddenly dropping to one knee, with a cry of pain!

“Chop block to the knee from John J. Truth!”

“How the heck did he recover that fast from a POWERBOMB?”

“I told you, Lucas. Truth has a tenacity about him that pushes him above just a common opponent. If Dream would just look past his own navel for two seconds and stop underestimating the man, he would have understood that by now…”

Indeed, Truth is giving credence to Darring’s words about him, as – having finally cottoned on to a weakness in his opponent – he now seeks to punish Dream with repeated stomps to the knee, each of which draws another cry of pain from the suddenly cowed Number One Contender – and brings Powell around to tell him to stop. In keeping with his truculent mood, Truth responds to this by landing a final, blatant stomp on Dream’s knee, his gaze locked with Powell’s, before making a show of stepping back and giving his opponent space. Dream takes the opportunity to pull himself up to his feet with the help of the ropes, but his knee is clearly feeling the damage of Truth’s attacks, and he is forced to take an extra moment before going back on offence. Eventually, however, he is able to lunge forward with ‘The Right of the People’, looking to finish it with a literal punch…

….only for Truth to dodge, gain the Champion’s back, grab his arm into an arm wringer and let loose with another stomp to the knee!

“Truth is like a dog with a bone, now that he has found a chink in Dream’s armor.”

“You know what? Good on him. That’s how you should act in a match like this.”

As the World Champion once again gives The Man Who Fell to Earth an unexpected amount of praise, in the ring, Truth has taken Dream down with a drop toe hold, which he follows up with a crunching stomp to Dream’s kneecap, once again glaring at Powell as if daring the referee to stop him. He then connects with an elbow drop, also to the knee, before leaning in and pulling Dream back up to his feet. He turns the Number One Contender towards the turnbuckle, removes the pad, then sends Dream’s head into it several times in quick succession…before Dream is able to reverse the situation, and feed Truth a few facefuls of turnbuckle of his own! A heel strike to the knee puts an end to that, however, as Daniel staggers, blinded by pain, allowing Truth to quickly spin around and connect with a headbutt! Another one quickly follows, before The Man Who Fell to Earth punishes his opponent with a series of stiff chops. Daniel attempts to fight back, landing a couple of stinging blows of his own, but Truth puts an end to that with another headbutt, followed by a clothesline. A sadistic grin then spreads across his features as he brings Dream to his feet, traps his wrists, then does a complicated twisting motion so that the Number One Contender’s head is against the back of his neck.

“Wait a minute…we’ve seen this before…”

“This was the move that won Truth the match two weeks ago!! It could give him a huge win here!”

“TRUTH HURTS connecting! And here’s the cover!!”

“Please kick out, Daniel…please kick out…”

Powell slides in for yet another reluctant count.





“And John Truth refuses to believe it!”

In fact, The Man Who Fell to Earth’s increasingly bellicose attitude towards the match referee reaches boiling point when the bell is not rung and Powell instead points to where Dream’s foot is just barely under the ropes. Clearly audible accusations of bias, slow counts and willful screwjob intentions are lobbed at GLOBAL’s largest referee, who appears to be growing progressively less and less patient with Truth’s antics.

“You have to give Truth this – the man has balls of steel, getting in Powell’s face like that. Makes you wonder why he always needs to attack everyone from behind, if he’s brave enough to do THAT…!”

“I think that may be the frustration taking over, Mark…”

Indeed, a moment later, Quinn’s assessment is lent some credence as Truth, his temper finally at boiling point, physically SHOVES Aaron Powell! The crowd gasps as the referee glowers at the match competitor for a moment, clearly considering retaliation…then decides to punish Truth by legal means, namely by calling for the bell, ending the match due to disqualification!

“John J. Truth just got hoisted by his own petard, and let his temper cost him the match!”

“Not that HE knows that. Look at that – the idiot thinks he’s won!”

Indeed, John J. is celebrating as though he had just obtained the win, and it takes him a moment to realize what just happened. When the penny drops, however, his reaction is one of even more anger than before, and he promptly gets in Powell’s grill yet again. GLOBAL’s largest referee tells him in no uncertain terms what will happen if he lays hands on him again, but this does not seem to entirely deter Truth, who instead signals for his two bodyguards to get in the ring. The two men promptly comply, and Powell suddenly finds himself outnumbered three to one, with at least one of his opponents being of a roughly similar stature to himself. A tense moment elapses, in which Sean Darring stands up from his place at the announce table and removes his jacket, which he drapes neatly across what has, until that moment, been his chair.

“In case I’m needed in there…”

The tension mounts and simmers for a while longer, as the entire arena appears on the verge of a riot. Darring braces himself for action, Powell assesses his options, the three men step in closer, with predatory grins, and the commentators speak in hushed tones.

“A tense moment here, ladies and gentlemen…we don’t know what is going to happen…”

Then, all of a sudden, the tension is released, as two figures appear from out of nowhere, knocking the two members of Border Control to the ground before they can so much as lay a hand on Powell.

“THE PLAYERS!!! The Players have revived, and are attacking Border Control!!”

Seeing “his boys” get attacked, Truth is quick to leap into the fray, seeking to help. He does not get too far, however, before he is grabbed from behind, spun around, and felled with a swift elbow to the face.

“AMERICAN REVOLUTION from Daniel Dream on John Truth!!”

Indeed, the Number One Contender has, himself, regained his bearings, and promptly sought to give his assailant yet another receipt. As such, after the smoke clears, it is he and his two acolytes who stand tall, having laid waste to the opposition and (albeit unwittingly) prevented an almost certain calamity. Dream, however, appears to care very little about any of that, as his focus remains on a single man, currently standing at ringside. As the logos and copyrights appear at the bottom of the screen, indicating the end of yet another Domination, the cameras give a close-up of his face, making his message to World Champion Sean Darring perfectly clear.

“You’re next.”

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Seattle Police Department – West Precinct
The night of Domination #11

“Lexi, you gotta help me out here. There’s no telling what these bastards have in store for me!”

“Come on, now, John. You’re overreacting. I’m sure they wouldn’t do anything like that.” The voice at the other end of the line is as calm and collected as John J. Truth’s is frantic and panicky, which does nothing to assuage the GLOBAL superstar’s fears.

“I’m telling you, Lex. They got it in for me. I don’t know who’s paying them – my money’s on those little green space bastards – but they got it in for me. You gotta post bail. You gotta get me outta here.”

“John, really, calm down!” Only here does the voice become ever-so-slightly more intense in tone. “Are the boys there with you? What do THEY think?”

Truth barks out his usual, mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, RIGHT. Pigs couldn’t separate us fast enough. Soon as we got here, I never saw them again. I’m telling you, Lexi – they’re fixing it all up perfect. They could disappear me overnight, and nobody would be any the wiser. Which is why I’m telling YOU. So YOU can tell the world after these pricks off me in the night.”

“Now, John, really, let’s not be so drama–” Whatever the head of the security agency is about to say is cut off as a police officer loudly bangs on the glass pane separating the telephone area from the rest of Seattle’s West precinct.

“Hey, Fox News! You’re free to go, buddy!”

“I’m telling you, Lex, I’m not being—wait, what?!” Truth puts the phone receiver down and whirls around to face the young officer.

“You’re free to go. Your wife’s not pressing charges. You’re getting a fine for damages, but that’s it. Get outta here.”

Truth stares uncomprehendingly for a moment, his brain processing this information, then speaks into the phone’s mouthpiece again. “I’ll call you back, Lexi. Have bail ready…just in case.”

With that, he hangs up and steps out of the impromptu phone booth and back into the busy, noisy precinct, walking right up to the officer who had delivered the news of his release.

“Listen here, jackass. If I find out this is a set-up, I’m coming for your ass first. You got that, boy?”

Predictably, the police officer – himself at least as tall and muscular as Truth – seems less than intimidated, even as John continue to growl in his face.

“What have you bastards done with my boys?”


Lost in his delirium, Truth allows this innocent question to stoke his ire. “Don’t fuck around with me, pretty boy. You know who I’m talking about. The two guys you jackasses picked up along with me outside the arena.”

“You mean the two big dudes?” The officer chuckles. “Man, we let ’em go a WHILE ago. We just wanted to question them, to see if they had been with you.”

“You WHAT?!” Truth’s anger dissipates into panic, his eyes widening to the size of small saucers. “You mean you just let them GO?! WITHOUT telling you where they were going?!” As soon as it arose, the fear fades, once again giving way to anger. “They could be ANYWHERE by now, you goddamn son of a—”

“Sir, they’re outside.” The sudden intervention from a senior officer diffuses the tense situation. “They’ve been camping out in the cafe across the road ever since we let them go.”

“Oh, thank FUCK!” Truth stops only to collect the duffel bag the first officer is handing him before dashing outside to meet up with his acolytes, whose faces break into uncharacteristic grins at the sight of him.

“See? What’d I tell ya, ya big mook? They got nothin’ on the boss! Now pay up!”

The smaller of the two men cackles as he palms a ten-spot from his taller, broad-shouldered counterpart, before turning to Truth. “Siddown, boss. Have a cuppa coffee and a donut. They make everything to order, all night long. Lincoln’s fronting for it, seein’ as he lost our bet.” The man leans forward. “I bet him they was never gonna keep you in there for the night. And I won. So now I made ten bucks, and he’s payin’ for our orders.”

Truth, however, appears less than pleased by his acolytes’ attitude. “To hell with that. We’re not sitting around having coffee in front of a goddamn Police station. We’re getting the hell outta here, right the hell now.” He looks around the almost deserted street. “Where’s the car?”

“Police lot. Bastards impounded it.”

This information only makes Truth’s demeanor more urgent. “Well, why the hell are you two assholes milling about here having coffee and donuts instead of GOING TO GET IT?!”

“All right, boss. Geez. We were just waiting for you to make sure you knew where we was…”

“Well, now I know. And knowing is half the battle. Now let’s go get the goddamn car so we can get out of this hellhole.”

With that, The Man Who Fell to Earth begins to power-walk down the road as fast as his legs will allow, leaving his acolytes to settle their accounts with the cafe waitress before following him into the Seattle dawn.

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