Gracias, señor.

Crusader X, wearing street clothes, steps out of an Uber and slings his bag over his shoulder.

“X!  Hello.” Steve Blaine’s voice sounds from offscreen.

“Mr. Blaine!  Good to see you back,” X responds.

“Do you have the time for a few questions?” Blaine asks.

X smiles.  “Absolutely.  Fire away.”

“You have a huge match tonight.  You.  Daniel Dream.  One on one.”  X nods as Blaine continues.  “When that match was announced for Domination 21, there was… sort of a collective gasp backstage.  A mix of shock and excitement, a reaction I definitely shared.  So, keeping that in mind, and keeping in mind your history with Daniel Dream, I have to know: what was YOUR initial reaction?”

A grin creeps across X’s face.  “‘Finally.’  That’s it.  That was my reaction.  Said it out loud.  I’m extremely grateful to GLOBAL for booking this match.  It’s been a long.  Time.  Coming.”  X staggers the last few words for effect.

“You seem excited!” Blaine sounds jovial. “I do have to ask, though: Dream defeated your partner, Alfie Button, last week.  Does that give you any sort of pause going into this match?”

Pause?” X shakes his head.  “No.  No.   If anything, it makes me want to hit ‘play’ even more.  Alfie’s a great wrestler.  If you defeat him?  I’m interested in facing you.  I’m sure he’d feel the same way about me.  We don’t run from challenges.  We run toward them.”

Blaine continues his string of questions.  “What about Truth Control?  After last week’s vicious attack…”

X holds up his hand.  His smile is gone.  “Let me stop you right there.  I don’t even want to THINK about those bastards tonight.  Don’t get me wrong: The International Championship will be mine in time, but right now, I’m focused entirely on Dream.  And if the White Power Brigade knows what’s good for them, they’ll stay away tonight.”

“Final question,” Blaine continues.  “Do you have any words for Daniel Dream going into this match?”

X nods solemnly and looks at the camera.  “Dream… I don’t like you.  I don’t respect you.  You’ve thrown your lot in with the worst parasites in this sport.  You take the easy way out over and over.  You’ve caused a lot of pain and strife for so, so many good, honest competitors.  You have a lot to answer for, and I’m gonna make you answer for it all TONIGHT.”

The camera zooms in on X’s face.  “But one thing’s for certain: you’re a hell of a wrestler.  One of the best in GLOBAL’s short history and one of the best in the world.  99% of wrestlers wouldn’t have a shot against you on their best day.  Unfortunately for you… every new day that comes is my best day.”  X’s tone becomes harsher as he continues.  “Every day I get stronger, faster, more agile, more dangerous.  I train, and I train, and I train, and I TRAIN, so that I can one day defeat…”

X pauses.

“Sean Darring.  Our champion.  A man in that 1%.  A man that you couldn’t beat.  Am I on his level?  You’re gonna find out tonight, Carnivore.  And I don’t think you’ll like what you’ll find.”

X is staring dead into the camera.  “When you’re on your back, staring at the lights, looking at me with my hand raised, I want you to think about the men and women you’ve stepped on to get where you are.  I want you to feel the pain they felt.  And it won’t be because of cheap tricks or shady alliances.  It’ll be because YOU.  WEREN’T.  GOOD ENOUGH.”

X shouts his typical parting words:


LOGO b&w


The red convertible swishes into an empty parking spot with the same effortless ease shown by its driver, a thirty-something man in a trilby hat, loud Hawaiian shirt and mirrored aviator shades, as he vaults out of his seat and over the driver’s side door, then slides over and across the hood to the other side, clearly showing off to his passenger, a slim blonde about ten years his junior in a powder-blue dress and knee-high brown leather boots. As they exit the vehicle. the pair stand for a moment, looking up at the marquee of the building in front of them, before the man addresses his companion.

“This the place, dollface?”

“Uh-huh!” The blonde taps the screen of her smartphone. “Says it right there. ‘The Globe’.” She lets her arm travel slowly up, so that it is pointing at the enormous golden sphere directly above both of their heads. “And says it up there, too!”

“Well, aren’t you a smart cookie!” The man pulls the blonde in for a loud, theatrical smack on the lips, leaving her giggling as he goes to retrieve a small suitcase from the trunk of the car. “It’s like I keep tellin’ everyone…you’re the real brains of this operation, not me.”

The girl giggles again, taking the suitcase and motioning to enter the building. The man, however, cuts in before she can so much as take a step, holding up a small but state-of-the-art digital camcorder.

“Hold on, honey. I want to make sure this one goes down in History.” He motions towards the giant globe directly opposite. “Go and get in front of the thing. Go on!”

A first-person view from behind the viewfinder of a camera captures the next few moments, as the blonde smiles, giggles and waves at the lens, striking a variety of poses which greatly please her companion.

“That’s it, honey. That’s perfect. That’s cinema!”

The view switches back to third-person as he finally looks up from the viewfinder, his face lit up in a boyish smile.

“Did you get it, Pookie?”

The man’s smile widens as he nods. “Bet your sweet behind I got it, baby. Another Allen Smithee joint in the can, starring my number one leading lady! And lemme tell ya, this one’s a real beaut! Better than ‘Cheerleader Chopfest IV’!”

The young blonde titters as the man shuts off his camera and moves closer to her, putting an arm around her waist, leading her across the threshold of the venue. As they step under the marquee and into the entrance, however, the male half of the couple cannot help himself from stopping again, the better to draw the girl’s attention to the floor beneath their feet.

“Check this out, honey. They must’a known we were coming. They rolled out the red carpet.” He then holds out his arm invitingly. “After you, Miss Van Garde.”

The blonde’s girlish, tinkling giggle echoes off the high walls of the Globe’s foyer as the pair advance, arm in arm, towards their future.

LOGO b&w


Amber walks into the arena with Handsome, her Rottweiler service dog, with her. She has not been inside a building like this since the last time she wrestled for Global. She is wearing the scarf Alfie gave her around her neck, as well as a black tank top and well-worn blue jeans, and converse sneakers that were pink and blue. Her seat is in the front row and someone tries to give her a hard time about Handsome but backs off when she warns them he is a service dog, sitting down with her popcorn she takes her bottle of Pepsi out of her purse and waited for the show to start.

LOGO b&w


“Aw, man!”

Chett Marx throws the broken toothpick in his hand to the floor and stamps on it in frustration, much to the amusement of one of the other men huddled at the far end of the run-down locker room at the back of The Globe.

“Luck of the draw, bro. Cry me a river. At least it wasn’t me, for once…”

“Shut up, Public!” Marx’s covered eye-sockets spare his squadmate from a glare, but his body posture more than conveys the masked man’s irritation. Uncharacteristically, the man known only as Joe Public chooses, for once, not to cower in the face of his companion’s wrath, but rather to poke the bear.

“I’m just saying, man. Now you know how I feel…”

To his credit, Marx does not rise to the bait, instead reverting back to his preferred form of sparring.

“Better not let Mommy hear you talking smack, Public… In fact, does she even know you’ve slipped the leash?” The masked man clucks, shaking his head dolefully. “Oooh, she’s gonna be piiiissed when she finds out…”

Once again, however, Public’s reaction is not to back down or concede defeat, but rather to confront the increasingly surprised Marx.

“You know what, man? I’m getting pretty sick of all you guys putting me down all the time. Especially you!”

The unexpected jab of Public’s index finger on his chest reverts Marx back to anger, as he steps in towards his squadmate.

“Oh yeah? And what you tryna do about it, Lassie? Run back to Mommy and tell her the big, mean dogs are picking on you?”

“I’ll show you what I’m trying to do!”

The other four men in the group – a girthy, bearded giant, a wizened blond brawler and two masked twins in all-black bodysuits – tense up, ready for action, as Public leaps towards his bully; before either man can throw the first punch, however, the entire group is brought into swift attention by a fearsome bark from the doorway.


Corporal Miranda Wright’s livid dark glare scorches each and every man in the lineup in turn as she paces back and forth in front of the group, speaking much louder than any words could. A tense silence descends over the locker room as four of the six men in her squad similarly target the other two behind the officer’s back, while said two continue to do so to one another; this is broken only by the large man’s attempt at distancing itself from the events.

“It wasn’t my fault, Ma’am! I had nothing to do with it!”

“Shut up, Dann!”

Marx’s furious hiss towards his squadmate is, however, completely drowned out by Corporal Wright’s thunderous uttering of a single name.


“Yes, Mom…I mean, Ma’am!” Chett Marx’s snickers follow Joe Public as he steps forward, bravely accepting whatever punishment might be on the way, not even flinching as his commanding officer steps up uncomfortably close, all but snarling in his face.

“Did you start it, Public?”

Only now does Wright’s hapless recruit look somewhat uncomfortable, audibly gulping in his throat as he struggles to answer.

“N-No, Mom…I mean, Ma’am!”

More snickers are heard from directly beside Public, which Wright swiftly silences with a quick but meaningful glower. Then, in a lightning-quick blur of motion, she reaches down between Public’s legs with a vice grip, bringing him to his tippy-toes and tears to his eyes.

“I’m going to ask you again, Public. Did. You. Start. It?”

“N-No, Ma’am…I s–…I s-swear!”

This reassurance is, however, not enough for Wright, who keeps Public well in hand as she turns towards the big man at the far end of the lineup.


MA’AM, YES, MA’AM!” Steve Dann snaps off a salute as he steps forward, but receives no acknowledgment from Miranda, other than a sharp question.

“What happened?”

The former “Fat Man” endures the glares of his squadmates as he raises his voice, the better to talk over Public’s pained whimpers.

“Ma’am! We were drawing straws, and Marx lost, and Public started running his mouth about it, Ma’am! Marx responded, the situation escalated, and Public was angry and engaged. Ma’am!”

Another salute goes unacknowledged, Wright simply tightening her grip on Public, who is now very clearly on the verge of passing out. GLOBAL’s most unremarkable rostered talent is, however, not forced to endure the pain alone for much longer, as Miranda now pulls Marx forward by his shirt-front, the better to growl in his own face.

“That what happened, Marx?”

“Ma’am, please, I—-”

Whatever point Marx had been trying to make devolves into a pained gasp as Miranda’s free hand flies between his legs and grasps, her dangerous husk now uncomfortably close to his ear.

“The next time either of you two worms even dreams of pulling off another stunt like that again, I’m going to really hurt you. Are we clear?”

“M-Ma’am, yes, M—*uck*!”

I saidAre. We. Clear?”


The two men fall hacking and coughing to their knees, as their commanding officer once again turns her gaze to the rest of the group. “And that goes for the rest of you, too. Now…Dann!”


“Did I just hear you say you were drawing straws?”

“Ma’am, that’s affirmative, Ma’am!”

Miranda paces closer to Dann, causing him to fidget slightly, perhaps afraid he will suffer the same fate as his squadmates. Wright’s hands remain behind her back, however, as she studies her largest recruit with a mixture of anger, disbelief and confusion.

“And what on God’s green earth were you drawing straws for?”

“Ma’am! To decide who would start in our match, Ma’am!”

“To decide who…” In what is becoming an increasingly common gesture, Wright pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a long, deep breath before facing Dann again, her tone once again dangerously low.. “…Dann, what are the rules of a wrestling street fight?”

“Ma’am! Weapons are allowed, falls count anywhere, the match is won by knocking an opponent out for a ten-count, and there are no count-outs or disqualifications, Ma’am!”

Miranda holds up a finger at this last point, turning it towards her recruit.

“What was that last thing, Dann?”

“Ma’am! No count-outs or disqualifications, Ma’am!”

Wright nods. “That’s what I thought I’d heard.” The officer begins to pace again, followed by at least four pairs of nervous eyes. “So, tell me, Dann…in that sort of scenario…what would be the penalty for somebody rnnning interference?”

Dann appears puzzled at the question, but replies regardless. “Ma’am! There would be no penalty, as there are no disqualifications, Ma’am!”

Wright nods again. “That’s how I understood it, too.” The burgeoning grin on Dann’s features quickly fades, however, as his commanding officer turns on him again. “Which begs the question…why in the SWEET MOTHER OF FUCK were you assholes choosing the running order for anything?!”

A gaggle of confused stares follows this outburst, causing Miranda to once again pinch the bridge of her nose; this time, however, no attempt is made to contain the explosion which hits the troop full force a mere moment later.


The raised tone makes the recruits flinch, but otherwise brings about no reaction, much to Wright’s disbelief.

“What the hell are you idiots waiting for? I meant NOW! MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!

The only sounds heard over the next few moments are those of six men scrambling out of the locker room at a run, on their way to the evening’s assignment.

LOGO b&w


The camera follows along from a behind-the-shoulder perspective as the motley crew each reach for their signature weapon, then dash out of the locker room at a martial trot, which they keep up as they navigate the halls of The Globe towards the so-called “Gorilla position”. As they approach the entrance curtain, the initially faint sounds of harsh electric guitar riffing become progressively louder, as does the primal war-cry emitting from the throats of a few of the men in the group. As they emerge through the curtain to face their opponents, the two sounds reach deafening levels, blending together into a cacophony that is equal parts powerful and intimidating. There is a brief over-the-shoulder glimpse of the Robinson clan standing directly across from the curtain, midway down the entranceway, before the angle changes to a more common elevated camera, the better to capture the mayhem that ensues.

“We are wasting no time getting under way with this street fight…and it appears Miranda Wright was not at all shy about playing the numbers game here. Even with big brother Drew helping, this is still a six-to-four situation in favor of the so-called GLOBAL Force!”

“Did you honestly expect anything different from that woman, Lucas? Of course, she would try to take advantage of the rules! If anything, it was the Robinsons’ mistake for putting themselves in this situation!”

“That…may not have been such a bad decision, to be fair, Al. The Robinsons are self-proclaimed hardcore wrestling experts, so they are absolutely in their environment here. The problem is, so is the other team…and there are more of them…”

In spite of the handicap, however, the Robinsons do an admirable job of fending off their adversaries in the early goings. With normally elusive fourth member Drew Drinker taking on the two largest members of the opposing Force, Steve Dann and Flanagan, the disadvantage becomes a mere four-to-three, odds which the remaining members of the Metal Militia appear more than content to take their chances with. Proof of this is that Hayley immediately engages the much larger Joe Public, as her two younger brothers fight the sub-section of Miranda’s squad who call themselves the Mask Force. The camera zooms in on Aiden Destruktor as he lands a blow to Chett Marx’s head with a steel chair, then talks directly into the lens, proclaiming “This one’s for you, Angel!”

“Aiden Destruktor reminding us of who all these people, and more, are really doing this for…and wherever my girl Angel is, hey…just reach out when you can and let us know you’re safe, OK?”

As Reece earnestly addresses Angel – presumably watching from a safe location – Destruktor and brother Chris Brutalizer land another couple of chair shots, sending the two men known only as the Salamanders reeling back, dazed.

“You gotta hand it to the Robinsons, man…they’ve got guts. They’re what, in their teens or early twenties? And don’t even look all that intimidated by six guys with blunt-force instruments coming at them full-force. Props!”

“Well, they did grow up in an environment where you have to be tough to survive, Mark. I’m sure that had some bearing on their outlook on the wrestling business…”

“Unfortunately, grit is often not enough when you’re up against the numbers…let’s see what the Robinsons can do here.”

“So far, they’re hanging in there, but of course, this brawl has only just started…”

“Not to mention, Mark, Wright’s men will surely have some tricks up their sleeve we don’t even know about. We’ve seen one of those last time, when the Salamanders spit poison gas in their opponent’s faces…”

“…much like they just did, right there!!”

In fact, the two bodysuitted quasi-twins (standing side by side, the height difference becomes more apparent) have just resorted to their main ace in the hole, double-teaming the youngest member of the Robinson clan with whatever black substance they keep stored inside their mouth-cheeks. Aiden reels, blinded, and the Salamanders promptly seek to capitalize, gesturing to get Marx’s attention, then, at a nod from him, connecting with a double DDT to Destruktor, which leads him face first into Marx’s expectant kne—



A well-aimed chair shot sends Marx hurtling to the floor, not quite preventing Destruktor from taking the DDT, but at least preventing the completion of the move labeled the DLC. He then becomes engrossed in a chair battle with the Salamanders, with neither party managing the upper hand as they stumble all around ringside.

“Chris Brutalizer coming to his brother’s help, and taking the fight to the Salamanders!”

“Much like my girl Raven is doing to Joe Public just now!”

Indeed, the Robinson sister is doing a remarkable job of subduing Joe Public, which, while not exactly a hard task, is nonetheless a small glimmer of hope amid the misery being inflicted on her family. As the camera pans back to her, the female representative of the Metal Militia is seen hitting Public with a flurry of offense, which has him up against the ropes – or, in this case, the barricade.

“What is it with Public and women in leather?”

As Deltzer voices what everyone else is possibly thinking, Raven, bolstered by the overall success of her offence, draws her arm back, looking for the discus lariat she calls the Raven’s Bite…

…only for Public to think on his feet, dodge the incoming strike, gain the blonde’s back, and swiftly pull her jacket over her head, temporarily blinding and disorienting her! The crowd vehemently boos as Hayley stumbles around in confusion…

…then react in a mixture of booing and gasping as an instinctive back heel strike catches Public in a particularly sensitive part of the male anatomy!

OUCH. Even I felt that one…”

“He had it coming, Mark. You know that as well as I do.”

To his credit, Deltzer does not attempt to contradict his broadcast partner, for once simply turning his attention back to the breakneck action at ringside. With Public rolling on the floor in agony, and thus subdued for the time being, Hayley shows enough presence of mind to quickly dispose of her jacket; she is not, however, fast enough to prevent being sideswiped by Flanagan, who – with Dann seemingly perfectly capable of dealing with Drew Drinker on his own – has turned his attention to the one unengaged member of the Militia. Caught completely by surprise, Hayley is unable to avoid having a beer bottle smashed over her head, drawing a trickle of blood as it shatters into several dozen fragments. The shot leaves the blonde entirely at Flanagan’s mercy, though he seems in no hurry to capitalise with any kind of finishing blow, however, instead relishing the opportunity to punch her into, and then through, the crowd. In full-on reactive, survival mode, Hayley can do little more than parry the constant blows and try to find openings, though her increasingly dazed state makes both tasks progressively more difficult, allowing Flanagan to gain a clear advantage as they ascend the steps on one side of the stands, heading for the mezzanin. It is not until they reach said level that Flanagan’s intent becomes clear, as he lifts Hayley up onto the mezzanin wall. Seeing her life flash before her eyes, Raven desperately tries to counter it into her Raven’s Swoop moonsault…

…only for Flanagan to catch her and quickly manoeuver her into a powerbomb position, as he steps onto the low wall himself…


…and leaps off onto the floor, connecting with his trademark superbomb to Hayley!


The crowd devolve into stunned silence as the female Robinson crumples into a heap at the Irishman’s feet as a result of the horrific risk-taking manouever.

“…RIP Hayley Robinson. If that connected, that’s a potential broken neck right there…”

“And what’s more disgusting is…that was legal in this context…and in a way, Hayley agreed to it.” The horror of what she just witnessed has Allie Reece visibly choked up, a sentiment which is seemingly echoed by a large portion of the crowd, as the camera picks up several stunned faces, many covering their mouth, as they silently assess what just happened. Flanagan, on the other hand, is all business, calmly pulling himself to his feet and walking away from the prone body of Hayley Robinson, and back towards the epicenter of the action. As he pushes through the crowd, fans in attendance make it perfectly clear how they feel about him, showering him with not only boos, but every type of object at hand, from soda cups to what appear to be either marbles or Mentos; as long as it hurts, it is being aimed at the Irishman.

“How can he be so calm and collected about it? He may have just crippled someone. A young star, no less. Someone with her whole future ahead of her!”

“He answers to Miranda Wright, Al. I don’t think he cares.”

“…good point.”

“I think the main takeaway here is that Flanagan didn’t cover. The rules of a street fight allow for pinfall or submission victories, and yet instead of just ending it right there, he walked away. Because this match is not about winning and losing – these guys want to hurt those kids. They want to make sure they’re knocked down, and they stay down. This isn’t just a street fight – this is last man standing!”

The vitriol which brings Lucas Quinn’s voice to an almost growl – far from his usual, unflappable style – stuns both his broadcast partners into silence, both giving him room to conclude his analysis-cum-rant as they try to recover from the shocking moment the Globe just witnessed. It is only after a long moment of silence that anyone speaks again – and then, only to voice a sudden realization.

“Where are Drew and Steve Dann?”

A moment later, the flatscreen above the entranceway provides the answer to that question, as the two largest men in the matchup are seen brawling backstage, accompanied every step of the way by the surprisingly spry cameraperson and the only referee capable of matching their size, the imposing Aaron Powell. Locked together as if by glue, the two take turns bashing one another into every moderately hurtful surface in the environment around them – mainly consisting of crates and catering tables, at least one of which gets toppled over by the impact of Drew’s big body, landing the oldest of the Robinsons face-first amid vittles. The youngster has no time to enjoy a nibble, however, as he is soon picked up by his opponent and thrown across the corridor to collide with what turns out to be the door to a familiar-looking maintenance closet. Several large packs of toilet paper collapse from the shelves onto the youngster’s head, disorientating him, and Dann promptly capitalizes, breaking a number of brooms across Drew’s back before stomping on his back and literally pushing his face into a wet mop.

“Dann is enjoying this a little too much, if you ask me…”

“They all are, Lucas. This is what that woman has done to perfectly respectable wrestlers. Made them heartless. Sadistic. Made them…like her.

Like Lucas before her, Allie can barely contain the vitriol in her voice as she condemns the actions of the self-styled GLOBAL Force…a sentiment surprisingly echoed by the third member of the announce table.

“This isn’t a match. This is workplace violence.”

Just as Deltzer says that, as if on cue, Dann traps Drew’s right hand on the door of the cupboard, laughing sadistically at the sound of bones cracking and his opponent’s agonizing screams. This is quickly wiped from his face, however, by a fearsome left hook from Drew, which sends the big man reeling backward and allows the oldest of the Robinson clan to free himself from the door. Caught completely by surprise, Dann is barely able to defend himself as Drew charges at him with a shoulder tackle, driving him to the floor. Drew then takes advantage of his mounted position to connect with a flurry of blows, both from his good hand and from the injured one, fighting through the pain of the latter in order to punish the Irishman who may have seriously injured his sister.

“Dann learning first hand about that Robinson grit..”

“He may be quiet and unassuming, but Drew there has clearly been in a fair few fights in his life. Comes with the territory, I presume…”

“That might explain how he is still being able to fight despite a potentially broken hand…but what’s this?!”

Nuclear jeers are thrown at the flatscreen from every side of The Globe as a second figure appears behind Drew, pulling him off Dann by twisting his broken hand, then pushing him to the ground and stepping on it. Drew’s countenance goes from red to deathly white as he screams in agony…and yet still somehow has the presence of mind to sweep his legs, tripping up whoever is behind him and buying himself precious seconds. He scrambles for the nearest handhold – a nearby crate – pushes himself up, and prepares to face off against Dann…and Flanagan.

“Numbers advantage…just the way Miranda’s group likes it…”

“Only way they can win over most of their opponents, Mark…”

Allie gestures in disgust to where the Salamanders have finally managed to lay out Chris Brutalizer, after their long, drawn-out chair battle, and are now positioning him for a double DDT…

…only to be distracted by two figures running full-pelt down the entranceway towards them!


“And the best part? That‘s perfectly legal too. No disqualifications, you see…” For the first time all match, Allie Reece appears to be practically squirming with glee. “Oh, how the turn tables…”

The crowd erupts as Teagan and Izzy dodge the Salamanders’ respective attempts at laying them out with chair shots, Teagan superkicking one twin’s chair into his face, while Izzy dropkicks the other’s. Both men go down in almost perfect unison, their chairs landing over the top of each one, but the former Tag Team Champions are not done yet. Teagan crouches slightly and calls for Izzy to jump onto the ring apron, which the smaller half of Trouble Roxx promptly does; Teagan then takes her in her arms and throws her across the downed bodies, connecting with the big assisted crossbody the pair call Lift-Off!

“That’s it for the Salamanders, I think…but what are Teagan and Izzy doing here?”

Indeed, it appears the two women are seeking to ensure their opponents’ threat is well and truly eradicated, as they begin to scour the front rows of the Globe, looking for empty chairs. While not abundant in number, there are nonetheless a few to be found scattered throughout, and the girls gather these in their arms, beginning to make a steadily growing pile not far from where the Salamanders lie.

“Trouble Roxx appear to be collecting chairs…though it’s not quite clear what their plan is…”

“Their plan is to have enough ammunition when the rest of Miranda’s thugs come around and try to hurt them.” Allie’s shrug is all but audible. “Seems pretty obvious to me…”

As it turns out, however, Allie’s instinct is, for once, off the mark as, rather than barricade themselves with the steel chairs, Teagan and Izzy throw them on top of the Salamanders one by one, effectively burying the two bodysuitted wrestlers under a tower of chairs!

“…I stand corrected.”

“Unorthodox and somewhat atypical approach from Trouble Roxx here…”

“Yeah…this is as close as I’ve seen my girls get to actually doing something questionable…

“Hey…against opponents like these, you do what you must to make sure they stay down, guys. They understood that, and acted upon it. Fair play to them.”

“And speaking of doing what you must, Drew Robinson continues to hold his own backstage against arguably the two most dangerous members of this group…”

Indeed, just as Quinn points this out to the audience, Drew is seen escaping Flanagan’s clutches, just as the Irishman was holding him steady for ‘One Punch’ Dann’s namesake. The youngster’s quick reflexes, however, cause said knockout punch to land on Flanagan instead, its sheer force knocking even the wizened and battle-hardened Irishman out cold, and taking him out of the bout for the immediate future, much to the delight of the crowd in attendance.

“Drew Drinker has managed to outsmart Flanagan, but he’ll still have to deal with Steve Dann…”

“That street instinct is what’s keeping Drew in this one. That fight or flight reflex that always says ‘fight’. That is the Robinsons’ main strength, and it’s serving their big brother well right now.”


The crowd half-gasp, half-cheer as Drew pushes a crate towards Steve Dann, sending him tumbling through a nearby door – which turns out to be one of the access doors to the arena! Soon, the two big men are duking it out through the crowd, unconsciously making their way back towards ringside after having crossed the length of the arena with their battle. Another moment later, Dann sends Drew into a nearby barrier, knocking it down; the former “Fat Man” then steps over it, picks up his opponent by the back of the head, and throws him into the ring post knocking him dizzy. He bashes Drew’s head into the steel a few more times, until the oldest Robinson is well and truly dazed, then places him on the apron, before painstakingly pushing himself up there as well.

“What is Dann looking for here…?”

“I don’t know, guys, but I think we’d better MOVE!”

Allie’s warning comes just in time, as Steve Dann lifts Big Drew up for a brainbuster, stalls for a moment, then jumps off the apron, sending both his opponent and himself crashing through the announce table!


“It’s like I said earlier. These guys are not out to win. They’re out to maim their opponents. And it’s working…”


Quinn’s frantic exclamation does not quite manage to drown out the cry of “HEY!” from behind Dann. Predictably, hearing it makes the “Fat Man” instinctively turn around…

….to come face-to-face with an already diving Izzy Roxx!



The fans’ elation takes a sharp turn towards shock as Dann displays his deceptive reflexes, by plucking Izzy from midair and sending her crashing down into the splintered table with his trademark move. The camera briefly lingers on the youngster’s prone body before zooming in on Teagan’s horrified expression…

…which is swiftly replaced by one of unadulterated rage as she takes off running towards the announce table, and the man standing beside it!


This time, Dann is not quick enough to react. The running Trouble Callin’ bicycle kick throws him off-balance, leaving him in the perfect circumstances for an Overdrive superkick to the chin! Despite visibly feeling the effort of lifting her leg that high, the redhead half of Trouble Roxx is, nonetheless, able to land her signature move, dropping the biggest man in the match like a log.


“Teagan may have hyperextended her leg just there, but she doesn’t seem to mind it much…”

“That’s because it was totally worth it.”

“Remember, though, folks, while her presence here is legal within the rules of the match, Teagan is technically not one of the athletes in the match, meaning she can’t cover or win it for either team.”

“Which is unfortunate, because after that, she totally deserved her moment.”

Having succeeded in her mission, the youngster takes a moment to celebrate with the ecstatic fans in the immediate area, before returning to the business at hand – namely, finding someone who can cover Dann, with the closest available option being Big Drew Robinson. She therefore makes her way to his prone body, and begins attempting to move it, not without considerable struggle due to the weight. Still, inch by inch, and putting all of her strength behind it (as well as the added energy being sent to her by the fans) she is eventually able to drag the eldest Robinson the required couple of feet, to where she can drape his arm over Dann’s chest. She begins bending down to that effect…

…and gets clattered over the head with a lead pipe!!!

“WHAT THE…?!?!”

All four corners of The Globe immediately and simultaneously begin to boo as a lone figure stands over the fallen body of the woman who, until a moment previously, was the last bastion of hope for the fan-favorites. A figure, in every way, unimposing. Unremarkable. Undistinguished.

A figure who now sports a slightly manic grin, almost too big for their face, as they bark for referee Powell to “start counting!” and places a foot on top of Drew Robinson, in a conquering stance, for the first cover of the match.

The figure of Joe Public.

“Where did HE come from?!”

“I’m not sure, but he’s about to win this!”

And indeed, with nobody on the opposing team left to stop or hinder him, Public is free to watch Powell count out what is now a formality.




Jeers begin to emit from all four corners of the arena as Public leaps up and takes a frantic, ecstatic victory lap around the ring, almost tripping on the pile of chairs under which the Salamanders lie.

“I…I can’t believe this…Joe Public just…Public just…he just…”

“…won a match. Public just won a match.


The announcers are not the only ones in disbelief – the camera captures several expressions of utter astonishment in the stands, then pans over to where “Downtown” Jason Brown sports just as perplexed a countenance. Still, ever the professional, he seeks – however begrudgingly – to do his job.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this ma—”

That is as far as the tonitruant tuxedoed talker makes it – for, before he can utter another syllable, the microphone gets snatched from his hand by what has seemingly become the wrestling equivalent of a hyperactive six-year-old. Joe Public halts himself only to look up at the crowd with disdain and utter two time-honored words of contempt.


This, as ever, has the exact opposite effect, and Public has to raise his voice to make himself heard over the din now descending from the stands.

“You don’t get to do that anymore! You don’t get to make fun of me anymore! You don’t get to put me down anymore! I won! I won this match! Me! Joe Public! So stop booing and put some respect on my name! Stop booing and acknowledge your Police Chief…”

At this point, movement near the entranceway causes GLOBAL’s most unremarkable wrestler to glance over at that section of the ring…and nearly drop the mic as he sees who is standing there. Still, to his credit, he thinks quickly, pointing at the denim-and-leather clad woman in aviator shades who just emerged through the curtain as if he had been referring to her all along.

“…Corporal Miranda Wright!!”

Public shoots a meaningful grin towards his mistress, but she does not seem altogether pleased, simply nodding for him to join her on the entranceway. Public nearly trips on the assorted bodies scattered around the ring as he does so, but still cannot prevent his arm from being squeezed in a vice grip when he finally makes it to where his squad leader is waiting. Still, he is at least spared corporal punishment – at least for the moment – simply being dragged backstage by the still scowling Wright, who has now become the object of the fans’ ire.

“There she is…the mastermind…”

“Love her or hate her, you have to admit. She has an aura. A presence. And she’s turned this group of workaday wrestlers into a real threat.”

“You said it, Mark. In fact, I’m worried now…because if the likes of the Robinsons or Trouble Roxx can’t stop these guys…then I don’t see who can.”

“Whoa, hold on, there, Lucas. We haven’t seen these guys win a real match yet. It’s all been beatdowns and street fights. The Robinsons are naïve, and played right into their hands with the stipulation. That’s why…” Allie Reece gestures around her. “…all this happened. That’s what this group wants. An environment with no rules, where they can just do whatever they want and create chaos. And the way to combat that is, believe it or not, to put them in an environment that’s the opposite of that. In other words, make them follow the rules.” Allie pulls an expression of sarcastic faux-surprise, complete with stereotypical Valley Girl inflections. “I know, right? Ohmygawd!” She then returns to her regular tone for one last thought. “Put this so-called Force in a regular-ass match. Then we’ll see who’s a threat, and who can’t be beat.”

It is on one of the female announcer’s increasingly frequent diatribes, and a shot of several EMT teams assisting, or stretchering out, the various participants in the brutal encounter that the feed transitions elsewhere…

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Two pillows fly across the room in quick succession, smacking the wall opposite the bed at almost the exact same time as their launcher smacks her fists into the duvet in frustration.

“I’m done with this shit, homes! Fuckin’ DONE!”

“Angel, calm down…” The fair-haired man sitting on the chair next to the bed leans in, placing his right hand on the shoulders of the young, sobbing Latina, only for her to push him angrily away.

“Nah. Fuck calmin’ down, ‘ese‘. Calmin’ down is what’s causin’ all this shit.” Angel Ramirez gestures towards the tablet on the bed, where the aftermath of the brutal street fight from the live episode of GLOBAL Wrestling is still playing. “Next time, I’mma be there, no matter what. I ain’t even give a shit ’bout pissin’ nobody off. Ain’t nobody else getting done ’cause of my ass.”
The man on the chair sighs, though his tone remains patient and understanding. “Ange…we’ve been through this.” He points at the pad. “Those guys are after you. You’re the reason your friends are taking all these falls, and fighting all these fights. They’re trying to protect you. Don’t you think it’s a dick move to just rock up there and get yourself hurt anyway? After all they’ve done for you?”

“I dunno, man…” Angel lands another blow to the bed. “All’s I know is, I’m done just sittin’ ’round like some fuckin’ Valley girl, waitin’ for somebody to save her ass. I never needed nobody to bail my ass out of shit. Not even you. An’ that ain’t about to change!” The youngster looks up at her older-brother figure pleadingly. “An’ I wanna help, Saul…I really fuckin’ wanna help…”

Saul Morgan considers this for a moment, nodding to himself, before addressing his young companion again. “OK. You wanna help? We can help…”

Angel’s trademark wide smile begins to light up her features, but falters somewhat as Morgan concludes. “…but not those guys.”

“Not those guys?!” Angel’s grin now fully resolves into a frown. “Then who the hell we helpin’? Ain’t nobody else that needs our—” Then, seeing the look on Saul’s face, she balks. “Aw, hell no, ‘ese‘! Forget it! Fuck that mess!”

“I’m just saying, Angel…she could use a hand too…”

“Bro…you seriously tellin’ me I can’t ride or die with my squad, an’ then you want me to help out that ‘puta‘?” Angel twirls a finger beside her head, her face twisting into a grimace. “You gone ‘loco‘, homes? That guy Reyn get to you too?”

“I’m not ‘loco‘, Angel.” Even in the face of his friend’s anger, Morgan’s tone remains remarkably even. “I’m just saying…maybe she is. Maybe she needs somebody to snap her out of it. Somebody who cares. Her friends.”

“Who you callin’ her friend?!” Angel’s tone is, once again, rispid to the point of aggression, causing Saul to hold up his healthy arm in a gesture of appeasament. Angel, however, is not done. “No, for real, bro…just ’cause you catch feelings for her, now you finna make me look stupid tryna help a bitch who don’t give a shit ’bout nobody but herself? What the fuck, yo?”

“OK, OK…I get it, Ange.” Saul keeps his arm up, grinning at his young partner. “You don’t want to help Val…”

“Damn straight I don’t!”

“…but what about helping yourself?”

This last sentence succeeds in capturing Angel’s interest, and she squints up at her friend. “What’chu talkin’ bout, Morgan?”

“Well…what if…” Saul counts on the fingers of his good hand, holding one out for each point he makes. “…what if we train you up…you call out Reyn…we beat him…you beat him…Val comes back to normal…and you’ve just beaten Alex Reyn. Sure, it’s not like helping your squad out against those goons, but you wouldn’t be helping Val either, And you’d make a heck of a name for yourself.”

Angel is clearly considering this, and, judging by the look on her face, not finding the idea entirely devoid of merit. She is, however, still clearly of two minds, as evidenced by her follow-up question a moment later.

“Hang on, tho’…we don’t want those Army dudes or whatever to get me, right?”

“Uh-huh…?” Saul himself seems uncertain of where his young friend may be going.

“But if we walk up in there to call out Reyn, ain’t they gonna come after us? An’ then I’m gonna have them dudes an‘ Reyn comin’ for my ass. Nuh-uh, bro. I ain’t about that shit.”

“Good point. But…” Saul holds up a finger, cutting off his partner’s attempted protest. “…as far as the ‘Army dudes‘ go, I think your friends have them busy enough that you can slip under their radar. And as far as Reyn…well, would you rather have one dude trying to hurt you, or a whole mess of them?”

“Well…when that ‘one dude‘ is Reyn…I don’t even know, bro. Besides…how you know I’m gonna beat him, anyway? Who says I ain’t just finna end up like that dude VIP? Ain’t nobody ever seen homeboy after Reyn got his ass…”

Once again, however, Saul simply smiles. “You’re not. First of all, because I wouldn’t let that happen. And second of all, because we’re going to train you to make sure you’re ready. Win or lose, Reyn isn’t going to just end your career. I promise.

Ramirez immerses herself in her thoughts for another moment, then finally nods. “A’ight. I’m down.”

Saul grins. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I mean, you gone ‘loco‘ for real, talkin’ ’bout how I’mma beat Reyn an’ shit…but I don’t hate it. You feel me?”

“I feel you, sis.” Saul holds out his good arm for a fistbump with Angel, even as she gently chastises him.

“Dude…stop tryin’ to ‘go street‘. Shit’s cringe AF, bro.”

“I’m…going to pretend I understood that and just nod along.” Morgan promptly does just that, cracking up his young friend. The two share a long laugh before the former soldier once again places his hand on Angel’s shoulder – this time, with no rebuking from the teenager. “Now…let’s really think about this, OK? If we’re going to go after Reyn, we’ve got to have a plan of attack well before we even think of doing anything.” He lifts his eyes to meet Angel’s. “Any ideas?”

“The fuck you askin’ me for, homes? You the soldier. You the one knows ’bout tactics an’ shit. You make a plan!”

“Good point. But I need you to help me think, as well, OK?”

Angel simply nods, once again turning her focus inward as, beside her, Saul does the same. A moment later, both halves of the team known as The Angel Corps are fully immersed in the objective at hand: coming up with a strategy which will allow them to outsmart a mastermind.

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Hank rolls up to Oklahoma State in a rented car.  He has always loved Oklahoma, particularly when he was a kid as he used to go and watch wrestling there, enjoying some of the greats and going crazy as his old man used to laugh at his son’s excitement.  As a teenager, he still loved the place, but he no longer attended for sheer pleasure – no, he was learning, studying, and taking mental notes.  Wright always considered Oklahoma, with his native Texas, to be a hotbed of talent, saturated with talent and guys like him – guys he wanted to be one day.

It was here where he’d also met Yvonne, a woman seven years younger than Hank, but probably mentally ten years ahead of him.  Their relationship wouldn’t last long, as there wasn’t a woman on the face of the earth who could tame The Tank and his wild nights out on the lash with his fellow co-workers.  Similarly, no man could dominate Yvonne.  While it never led to violence, they had some explosive arguments.

They couldn’t stay together, but there’s one thing that keeps them together, even after all these years apart.

Their son, Charlie.

Hank prepares himself for the equivalent of a journalist’s death knock.  He isn’t going to give his ex-partner grave news, but he was prepared for a backlash.  Fortunately, it is his little boy who answers the door, expecting his father and his anxiety subsides for a few seconds as he holds his hands up, shadow-boxing Charlie, who gives his old man a punch to the stomach.  Wright ‘sells’ it well and would do anything to keep his kid happy.  However, this decision won’t.

Yvonne finally appears at the doorway.  She sticks her cheek out for Hank to kiss, and then ushers Charlie back in.

Hank walks into the living room as his ex-partner heads to the kitchen: “Want anything?  Coffee?”

Wright looks at the pictures of Charlie on the wall and has his guard up, hands in his denim jacket: “No, thanks.  I’ve just had something.”

Charlie shows his father his new computer games, bought for him by Yvonne’s latest boyfriend.  Wright pretends to be impressed for his son’s sake, but he is secretly jealous it isn’t him who has bought the games for Charlie.  He also has something else on his mind, and he asks his son to give him and his mother a minute to talk.

Yvonne brings Hank a cup of coffee anyway.  He doesn’t even contest it, and she justifies it: “You look like you need one.”

He accepts it and takes a sip.  Nevertheless, it is his former girlfriend who takes the lead, also sipping her coffee: “So…what’s up?”

Hank lays it out for her: “Yvonne, I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t know any other way.  I love working in Texas and Oklahoma because they’re my favorite states.  Texas is home and Oklahoma is somewhere that’s also been close to my heart…”

Yvonne laughs: “Nothing to do with the fact that your son’s here, then?”

“Can you let me finish?”

“What is it?”

Hank let out a huge sigh: “It’s not only him, you know.  I miss you too.  I’d rather be here with the two of ya, believe it or not, but it don’t pay too good here, and I have to provide for him, you too.  So, I’ve decided I’m going back on the road…”

Yvonne was steely:  “Where?”

“I’m goin’ back to Mexico, then up to Canada and onto Australia.  All in the next six months.”

“Wow.  And what about your son?”

The Texan laughs: “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Well, you won’t be for much longer, will you?”

Wright rolled his eyes: “I’m doin’ this for you both.  It’s ACW.  They’re a big promotion, Yvonne.  Keeg couldn’t get me in with nbW.  I’m workin’ here, no problems, and I enjoy it but I’m workin’ for hundreds Yvonne…ACW is a multi-million dollar company.  They’ve got things planned for me…”

“Like in the nineties, Hank?  That was them, wasn’t it?  I don’t remember, as I wasn’t around back then, but wasn’t that ACW too?  It’s only taken them, what, twenty years, to get back to you?”

He nods his head: “Look, I said the same to the agent who called me, but they got in touch.  I don’t know if it’ll work out, but they’ve promised me great opportunities in Mexico and Canada, so I’ll still be here for Charlie…”

Yvonne stands up out of her chair, quite animated.  Well, quite would be putting it mildly: “Then what, Hank?  Huh?  Then what?  Australia?  Are you going to come back on a flight at a moment’s notice?  What am I supposed to tell our son, Hank?  Because it will be me…”

“No, it won’t.  I’ll tell him.”

Charlie’s mother shakes her head.  Hank stands up to console her, but she won’t look at him:  “You will tell him, Hank.  I’m sick of cleaning your shit up.  I think you should go.  Say goodbye to Charlie on the way out and have a safe drive back to Texas.”

Hank kisses a cold, rigid and frigid Yvonne on the forehead and then heads upstairs to say goodbye to his boy.

But would he have to say goodbye to his ‘last chance’ in ACW?

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The first strains of British military march “Rule Britannia” bring a rather mixed reaction from the stands, with somewhat scattered and hesitant cheers being offset by a larger percentage of boos. The camera catches a couple of signs in the crowd – one reading “NOT THE BEST OF BRITISH”, while the other states “MUSCLES + ACCENT = HOT” – before panning back to the entranceway, where the team in attendance, accompanied, as ever, by their flamboyant manager, are just making their entrance.

Straight away, it becomes apparent this is not quite the same team that has been making a name for itself for a few weeks now; these men have upped their game, if not in the technical aspect, then at least wardrobe-wise. In sharp contrast to the plain black trunks they had been sporting up until this point, Rupert and Nigel come out representing their country, through the use of its iconic flag in their apparel. Kerry Buckingham’s skirt suit similarly matches the two men’s patriotic fervor, with the blonde trading in her usual garish hot pink or canary yellow tones for a no less eye-watering Union Jack pattern. As the trio make their way down the ramp, it also becomes apparent that each man has his name embroidered on the front of his trunks, and the team name stitched on the back.

“Spiffy new threads for the Best of British…but I’m still not too sure this crowd is necessarily buying what they’re selling…”

Mark Deltzer’s words have some truth to them, though it is also obvious that the two men and their manager are opting to employ selective hearing, with Kerry zoning in on the sparse areas of cheers while shutting out the majority of boos. This, presumably, is what allows her to keep a bright, pasted-on smile on her features as she leads her two charges to ringside, Rupert Royston-Fellowes scowling as ever, while Nigel Kensington III similarly retains his usual neutral expression.

“Give them some credit…these two men went from virtual non-entities here in GLOBAL to building up the start of a winning streak over the past few weeks…” As ever, Mark Deltzer plays Devil’s advocate, predictably sparking the temper of his female broadcast partner.

“That’s because they are cherry-picking opponents who they know they can cheat against, and then cheating against them!”

“…so they know well enough to take advantage of that privilege. It only shows they have brains – which is more than I can say for some of the teams they’ve faced so far…”

“Are you going to start stanning for them, Mark? I need to know, so I can know how mad to get at you about it.”

Deltzer chooses, perhaps wisely, to keep his silence as, in the ring, Kerry Buckingham brings a microphone to her lips to address the still lightly booing crowd.

“I am sure, at this point in time, you are all aware of who we are, and what we are all about. I am also fairly sure you will have witnessed the good deeds these two fine gentlemen behind me did for both a less…shall we say, privileged…team, and also their fellow countrymen.”

“Yeah…the good dead of cheating to beat them…” At the commentary table, Allie lets the vitriol run copiously, as, in the ring, Kerry continues.

“This week, both my clients have decided to, once again, show their good nature, by lending a hand to a pair of young gentlemen seeking to make a name for themselves.” The blonde places a hand on her chest, affecting an earnest tone. “They are deeply aware of just how crucial it is to create opportunities for young people, and they are keen to make what little contribution they can to ensure a better future for these two young men. In fact, this week, you may call us the YMCA…the Young Men’s Charity Association.”

Kerry’s smile positively dazzles as, at the announce table, Allie grouses some more. “That’s not what that stands for…and she knows it.”

“I guess she didn’t want to risk copyright infringement…which, if you ask me, is pretty smart.”

“…I hate you, sometimes, Mark, you know that?”

As the two young announcers bicker, in the ring, Buckingham has turned towards the entranceway, and is now addressing her words at the curtain. “So, Mr. Gage, Mr. Trevor…come out here and claim your opportunity!”

For a few seconds thereafter, nothing happens, causing Lucas Quinn’s comment to ring out loud and clear in the relative silence.

“The Best of British directly calling out the LA Express, claiming they are offering them an opportunity to make a name for themselves…”

Once again, Allie Reece is quick to pop up with some ready criticism. “Come on, now, Lucas. You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”

“Well…to be fair, Allison, they are offering those boys a match right now…”

“Yeah, but for their own benefit. So that they can look good. That’s not charity…that’s called narcissism.”

Before Quinn can reply, the crowd erupt, as two figures emerge through the curtain and make their way to ringside.

“Well, at any rate, it seems Trevor and Gage have accepted the…erm…opportunity, and we have a match on our hands, Al!”

“Yes, Mark…now, let’s see if those two boys can be the ones to teach the stuffed shirts a lesson!”

As the pair known as the LA Express approach the ring, Trevor slides in, making himself the legal man for his team, while Gage takes the long way around to his team’s corner. On the opposite side, it is Nigel Kensington who steps behind the tag rope, leaving his partner to work the early goings of the match, as per their usual. The two teams are then left to stare each other down for a few seconds until a referee materializes – in this instance, Gabrielle Harris, who, with both teams already in place and their legal men duly selected, is able to simply call for the bell, getting the match under way!

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As the match begins, a smug Rupert Royston-Fellowes points at his own cheek, as if offering his opponent a free shot, much to Allie Reece’s displeasure.

“There we go. It took Britain’s finest all of half a second to show their true colors.”

“That’s not what they’re called, Al…”

“I…know that, Mark. I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh. Well, it’s hard to tell with you. You always sound like that…”

Allie is, however, too engrossed in the match to reply – especially because Fellowes’ plan has backfired, and he has found himself at the receiving end of both a forearm shot and a dropkick from Trevor! He stumbles back into the ropes, then bounces off directly into an arm drag, which sends him sprawling. He rolls through to one knee, but is not quick enough to block a low dropkick to the face from his opponent!

“HA! How do you like them apples, Rupert? I am loving this!”

As Allie rejoices, Quinn cuts in to welcome a newcomer to the announce table.

“I’m sorry, Allie, but it appears we will have company again…hello, Kerry!”

“Hello, Lucas! How are you? Hello, Marky, darling!” Kerry Buckingham’s chirpy English tones come through the audio feed, as the Best of British’s manager takes a seat at the far end of the table, besides Mark Deltzer, whom she leans in to whisper something to, before matching Allie’s glare with one of her own. “And hello to you, as well, girlie.”

Allie risks coming across as rude by not replying as, in the ring, Fellowes has effectively succeeded in ending Trevor’s spell of momentum by dodging out of the way of a running attack in the corner, thus making his opponent connect with the steel himself. Seizing his opportunity, Rupert quickly connects with a kick to the back, causing Trevor to eat a mouthful of steel, then presses down on the back of the prone youth’s head with his boot, effectively trapping him. This, predictably, displeases referee Gabrielle Harris, who promptly steps in to tell him to break it. Rupert, also predictably, disputes the call, and leaves Trevor with a stomp to the back of the head for good measure as he tags in his partner. No sooner is Nigel in than they both engage in The Downtrodding of Trevor, making the most out of both enforced five-second rules, even as Gabrielle tries to get them to comply to her wishes.

“That girl needs to lighten up a little. She is taking this whole thing far too seriously. She must be on her period, or some such. I know I certainly become a lot less sociable during that time of the month…”

“Yes, excuse her for trying to do her job correctly…”

“Well!” Kerry utters a little gasp, halfway between shock and indignation. “Somebody’s definitely on her period…”

As the two women verbally spar, Nigel Kensington III retrieves the prone Trevor and lifts him up for a crisp German suplex, which sends him flying out of the corner. The youngster scrambles to a vertical position, but runs straight into a belly-to-belly suplex, which sends him flying in the opposite direction, causing him to smack against the post.

“Nigel Kensington displaying his suplexing ability there…and Kerry, these two men are often said to have very identical wrestling styles, but that is not exactly true, is it?”

“Well, Lucas, they have trained together, and worked together, for almost two decades at this point. It only stands to reason that they should have similar styles, does it not? Since you noticed, though, it is true that Nigey goes in for more of the…you know…the throwy stuff. Rupie prefers his striking.”

The ‘throwy’ stuff? Didn’t you use to be an announcer?”

“Yes, darling…but I always left the complicated names to my partner. I am blonde, you know…”

“In more ways than one, clearly…”

As Allie and Kerry’s rivalry grows increasingly mutual by the moment, in the ring, Kensington has Trevor pinned to the post, where he is delivering a series of headbutts to the youngster’s face. Gabrielle Harris steps in to admonish him, and the Brit offers a surprisingly clean break, stepping away from his oppPonent and seemingly allowing him to gain his bearings…

…only for Trevor to collapse face-first onto the mat, as he gets pushed by Rupert Royston-Fellowes!

“Trevor just got pushed from behind, and Gabby never saw it!”

“Whatever do you mean, darling? The boy tripped and fell, that’s all. His legs must be weak from all the getting thrown about…”

“You mean the ‘throwy stuff’?”

“Why, yes. The ‘throwy‘ stuff. I’m so glad we finally understand one another, darling!”

The fans, however, have seen what happened just as well as Allie, and are now giving the Best of British an overwhelmingly negative reaction, with even the scattered cheers having dissipated. While Rupert appears bothered by this, however – glowering angrily at the stands around him – Nigel retains his composure, dropping a couple of elbows on the prone Trevor before bringing him to his feet again for a vertical suplex…

…which the youngster slips out of, reversing it into a rollup predicament! Gabrielle slides in to count!



“Defiant kickout from Nigel Kensington there, but Trevor leaving a warning that he is not dead yet!”

“It takes more than a lucky escape to rattle Nigey, darling. In fact, all that boy has succeeded in doing is making it worse for himself. Watch.”

Kerry’s prediction does not, however, immediately prove true, as the rollup attempt has bolstered one man, and flustered the other. Nigel’s attempt at regaining control is, therefore, stalled with a kick to the midsection from Trevor, followed by a quick facebuster, giving him the space he needs to begin heading for his corner, looking for a tag from Gage! Kensington is, however, still conscious enough to reach out a hand and grab a pant leg, tripping the youngster up and creating the opportunity for Gage to be Brought to Heel. An instinctual kick from Trevor thwarts the attempt at locking in a Boston Crab, however, freeing the up-and-coming GLOBAL wrestler from the clutches of his opponent, and once again giving him the room to head to his corner.

“Nigel Kensington’s best laid plans going up in smoke there, as Trevor now has the opportunity to bring his fresh partner into this matchup…and YES! Tag made to Gage!”

The Globe erupts as the fresh half of the LA Express explodes into the fray, immediately making a beeline to the opposite corner to knock the unprepared Rupert Royston-Fellowes off the apron with an elbow shot.. Noise levels inside the venue heighten even further as the blond half of the British team goes tumbling to the floor, almost drowning out the horrified gasp from Kerry.

“How is that fair? Rupie was not doing absolutely anything, and that boy just went over and knocked him to the floor, and everyone is applauding him for it? Clearly, there are double standards at play here…”

“Maybe so, but you have to admit, that was a clever move from the kid. Take out one of your threats, and you only have one other threat to deal with. Simple!”

As Mark Deltzer lauds his strategizing skills, Gage senses Kensington coming up behind him and, thinking quickly, launches himself backwards onto his opponent, rocking him with an elbow shot to the face. Both men stumble backwards, but somehow manage to retain a vertical base, and Nigel promptly seeks to regain control, lunging forward to grab Gage; the LA Express member, however, twists out of the way, gaining his opponent’s back and immediately grabbing his arm, which he punishes with a jumping armbreaker!

“Impressive sequence from young Gage there, creating quite a bit of trouble for Nigel of the Best of British!”

“Nigey will bounce back in no time, Lucas, darling. Just you watch.”

For the moment, however, Kerry’s words appear somewhat deluded – or, perhaps, simply hopeful – as Gage switches gears, attempting to capitalize on the armbreaker with an armbar. Nigel, however, displays his experience and ring awareness by promptly grabbing the nearby rope, bringing referee Harris over to tell Gage to break the hold.

“See how that works both ways, Kelly?”

“It’s Kerry, darling. And I would have been very concerned had that girl not intervened there…! The way that boy was brutalizing poor Nigey!”

‘Brutalizing’? He was applying an armbar!”

“Well, Nigey needs his arm, darling. How else can he possibly be expected to do that?”

Even the mostly hostile crowd cannot suppress an impressed gasp as Kensington explodes out of the corner with a big lariat, flooring his young opponent.


“Careful, Mark. Your inner geek is showing.”

“It’s in the name, baby! They don’t call me ‘The Mark’ for nothing!”

As Deltzer revels in the pure joy professional wrestling can provide, in the ring, Nigel Kensington looks to finish it once and for all. He picks Gage up and looks towards his corner, just in time to see Rupert clambering back onto it, still shaking off the cobwebs from his close encounter with the floor. Not hesitating another second, Kensigton throws Gage towards his team’s corner, following close behind, so that no sooner has the youngster connected with the ring post than a tag is being made to Rupert. As the blond half of the team steps back in, Nigel directs him to a spot close behind him. Rupert shoots his partner a quizzical look, but Nigel asks him to trust his decision, and Rupert swiftly complies. Kensington then lunges forward, leg outstretched, to give Gage an Etiquette Lesson, before pulling him out of the corner and, in one swift motion, sending him hurtling into his partner’s arms. He then steps through the ropes and back behind his corner, watching on from a vantage point as, too groggy from the superkick to react, Gage is easy pickings for the blond half of the British team, who swiftly sets him up in a double underhook position and connects with his trademark facebuster!

“Gage is made to Assume the Position, and this has to be it, guys!”

“Well, of course, Marky darling. Was there ever any doubt in your mind? There wasn’t in mine…”

And indeed, no sooner has the move connected than Rupert drops down for a cover, profiting from Gabrielle’s somewhat awkward positioning to gain some extra leverage by putting his feet on the ropes. Her view of this obscured, the referee does not try to stop it or break the cover, instead simply counting the fall.


The recovered Trevor scrambles out of his corner…


…but Nigel Kensington is already ahead of him, meeting him halfway for an Etiquette Lesson of his own, and ensuring his partner gets the…


…and another important victory for his team!

“YES! Oh, well done, boys! Well done!”

“Oh, please! He had his feet on the ropes. Both of them. Everyone in this place saw it, except Gabrielle, somehow. If I didn’t know my girl was straight up, I’d say she was on the take. I’ll still have to ask her what was up with that…”

“Regardless of any considerations, Allie, the fact remains: the Best of British have just extended what is quickly turning into quite a winning streak.”

Reece, however, appears to not even have heard her broadcast partner, instead continuing to mutter to herself about the match finish.

“…I mean, he didn’t even need to! He had it won! He did it just because he could…!”

It is with the female announcer’s rumblings as a soundtrack, and on a shot of Kerry and her two “boys” celebrating effusively in the ring, that the feed cuts away from the arena and elsewhere.

LOGO b&w


The Bro approaches the Prime Time Athletes with a respectful demeanor, acknowledging the gravity of the night’s events. Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin pause their conversation, recognizing the importance of addressing the interviewer.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” The Bro begins, “but tonight marks a monumental occasion as one of you will be stepping into the ring with ‘The Legend’ Sean Darring for the Global Championship.”

Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin exchange a glance before turning their attention to The Bro. Jimmy Classic responds, a hint of skepticism in his tone, “And what exactly makes you think you’ve earned the right to ask us about this historic moment? Tonight isn’t just any night in professional wrestling; it’s the culmination of years of dedication and skill, leading to the ultimate showdown.”

The Bro nods, understanding the weight of the situation. “Indeed, tonight is a momentous occasion. But can you reveal to us which one of you will be stepping up to face the champion?”

Jimmy Classic’s expression remains guarded as he carefully chooses his words. “The anticipation surrounding tonight’s match is part of what makes it so special. The outcome, whether it’s Trae or myself, will be a testament to the Prime Time Athletes’ dominance. But as for who will claim victory, well, that’s a secret we’ll keep until the right moment.”

The Bro, undeterred by Jimmy Classic’s response, presses on with his questions. “Understood. Can you provide any insight into your strategy for achieving what so many others have failed to do?”

Jimmy Classic lets out a heavy sigh before responding, his tone laced with confidence. “You’re missing the point, Bro. While everyone is fixated on how to defeat Sean Darring, they’re overlooking one crucial fact: the last time we faced Sean Darring, we emerged victorious. We’re not the ones chasing after titles; we’re the ones setting the standard in Global. Whether it’s in the tag team division or singles competition, we’re the ones people should be strategizing against. We’ve already dismantled the Rich Family, and we’re poised to continue elevating Global to prime-time status while solidifying our legacies.”

The Bro, nodding along with Jimmy Classic’s confident spiel, turns his attention to Trae Larkin. “And what about you, Trae? Are you concerned about Sean Darring’s extensive experience?”

Trae Larkin’s expression turns fierce as he takes a step forward, his focus solely on the impending showdown. “Concerned? What part of me looks concerned to you? I’m younger, faster, stronger, and more intense than Sean Darring. Frankly, I’m superior in every way. If I
step into that ring with him tonight, he’ll be wishing he retired to Florida. I’ll suplex him so many times, he’ll forget his own name.”

The Bro, sensing the intensity in Trae Larkin’s demeanor, decides to push a bit further. “So, Trae, what’s the game plan for tonight? How do you plan to dismantle Sean Darring and claim the Global Championship?”

Trae’s eyes gleam with determination as he speaks, his confidence unwavering. “Our game plan is simple yet effective. We’ve studied Sean Darring’s every move, every weakness. Tonight, we’ll exploit those weaknesses to our advantage. Whether it’s Jimmy or me stepping into that ring, we’ll bring everything we have. Sean Darring may be a seasoned veteran, but he’s facing the future of this industry. And tonight, the future becomes the present.”

As The Bro starts to pose another question, Jimmy Classic interjects firmly. “That’s enough for now. Our attention is singularly focused on tonight’s mission: executing the master plan. You, like everyone else, will witness it in due time.” With a decisive nod, Jimmy Classic signals the end of the interview, leaving no room for further inquiries.

The Bro nods, understanding that the interview has reached its conclusion. “Thank you for your time,” he says respectfully before stepping back, giving the Prime Time Athletes space to continue their preparations for the night’s momentous event. With a final glance, he acknowledges their intensity and determination, knowing that whatever unfolds later will undoubtedly be worth the wait.

LOGO b&w


2012. One week after The Wright Man – 3.

Hank Wright is heading to Oklahoma to talk to his ex-girlfriend and mother of his child, Yvonne, one final time before leaving for Mexico to begin his second spell with All-Star Championship Wrestling.

He adjusts the collar on his puffer jacket and gives a policeman’s knock.  Yvonne opens the door, a lot more laid-back than she was when their previous encounter ended, and she waves him in.  Hank gratefully walks in and rubs his feet on the mat, poised to take them off when she tells him not to: “Why?  Am I not staying long?”

Yvonne manages a smile: “No, it’s not that.  You just don’t have to, that’s all.”

As Hank steps into the living room, he is greeted by his pride and joy, Charlie, who comes sprinting towards him.  Hank hoists him straight up into the air and holds Charlie in the Gorilla-Press position, commentating on what he was going to do:  “He’s gonna drop Charlie Wright, he’s gonna drop him…”

Charlie can’t stop giggling and Hank pretends to drop him but catches him at the last moment before placing his son harmlessly on his feet and hugging him as Yvonne watches man and boy embrace:  “How you doin’ son?”

Hank can’t see Charlie look at his mother, who hints for him to answer:  “I’m fine, thanks.”

Wright puts his hands on his boy’s arm and stares him straight in the face:  “You know what Daddy does?”

Charlie nodded: “You’re a wrestler.”

Wright nodded his head:  “Yeah, I am, and wrestlers have to travel, Charlie.  Believe me, they don’t always want to…”

Yvonne coughed and Hank turned around: “He knows you’re going to Mexico, and he also knows what ACW asked you to do.  I told him.”


His ex softens: “He loves wrestling, and he loves you.  You’re his father.  So, for two or three of the shows in Mexico, I’m happy for you to take him and spend some time together.”

It is harder to tell who was happier – Hank or Charlie – as Wright turned back to his boy and squeezed the life out of his little lungs.  His son reciprocates, though he doesn’t have his dad’s strength just yet, as Yvonne makes herself scarce while father and son exchange a moment, one that is wrestling-related.

Maybe the first of many…

LOGO b&w


Cutting to the ring, the Global powerhouse himself, Alf Alferson, is already in position, his focus solely on the upcoming match as he aims to maintain his undefeated status.

Lucas Quinn observes, “Alf Alferson may not grace us with his presence often, but each time he steps into the ring, it’s a spectacle.”

The Mark chimes in, “Luck seems to be Alferson’s closest companion. Without it, he’d have little else.”

Allie adds to the anticipation, “Tonight could mark a pivotal moment. Alf’s year-long unbeaten streak hangs in the balance.”

Global’s ring announcer, ‘Downtown’ Jason Brown, stands poised to introduce Alferson’s awaited opponent. “Now introducing his challenger, making his return and singles debut in Global. Hailing from Your Girlfriend’s Wet Dreams.”

Before Jason Brown can reveal the identity, Masked Maniac makes a sudden entrance, signaling for a delay and rushing towards the ring.

Lucas Quinn voices confusion, “What’s happening? Masked Maniac seems to be Alferson’s opponent, but he’s signaling something to Jason Brown.”

Masked Maniac approaches the Ring Announcer, engaged in a brief exchange.

Allie wonders aloud, “What’s Masked Maniac conveying?”

‘Downtown’ Jason Brown adjusts his announcement, addressing the audience, “Apologies, there’s been a change. Masked Maniac now wrestles from a serene and wholesome dreamland filled with clouds, puppies, and kittens.” He glances towards Masked Maniac, who nods in agreement.

The Mark chuckles, “Seems like Masked Maniac is taking his last chance seriously.”

Allie queries, “So, no more ‘Masked Bros before Hoes’?”

Lucas Quinn responds, “Apparently not.”

Jason Brown exits the ring, leaving referee Shane Staggs to officiate the impending clash between the two powerhouses. Masked Maniac extends a hand towards Alf Alferson, who meets it with an emotionless gaze.

Lucas Quinn remarks, “Masked Maniac seems to be offering a gesture of goodwill, unaware that Alferson’s luck is unparalleled in Global.”


The bell rings, signaling the start of the match. Masked Maniac begins to circle around Alferson, who remains rooted in the center of the ring, unfazed.

The Mark observes, “Maniac seems to be searching for an opening or perhaps attempting to disorient Alferson with his maneuvers.”

Allie adds, “Well, he’s certainly succeeding in making us dizzy!”

Finally, Masked Maniac halts his circling, and the two wrestlers engage in a lock-up.

Lucas Quinn narrates, “A test of strength ensues as both competitors attempt to gain the upper hand. Alferson stands firm, refusing to yield, while Maniac matches his resolve.”

The Mark reflects, “In a match of this caliber, between two iconic superstars, the outcome remains uncertain, showcasing the unpredictability of their encounter.”

After minutes of the power struggle, Alf Alferson manages to thrust Masked Maniac backward, causing the masked wrestler to roll to his feet and face the near-unmovable object that is Alf Alferson.

Lucas Quinn observes, “It seems Alferson has emerged victorious in the initial test of strength.”

The Mark quips, “I’m not quite sure how he did it.”

Allie chimes in, “Well, it appears Masked Maniac has been somewhat subdued.”

Masked Maniac grabs the sides of his masked head and shakes it in confusion, visibly unsure of what just transpired. The usual confident, full-of-mojo wrestler seems to be a little lost in the ring, thrown off by Alf Alferson’s unexpected resilience. Meanwhile, Alferson remains stoic, almost daring the masked wrestler to make another move.

As the tension builds in the arena, the fans begin to chant, their voices echoing throughout the venue, creating a divided atmosphere.

“MANIAC! MANIAC!” chants erupt from one section of the crowd, showing support for the enigmatic wrestler.

“ALF! ALF!” echoes from another section, rallying behind the unstoppable force that is Alf Alferson.

The conflicting chants add to the intensity of the moment, setting the stage for an electrifying showdown between two formidable competitors.

Lucas Quinn shakes his head in disbelief, trying to make sense of the unfolding spectacle. “What is going on here?” he wonders aloud, voicing the confusion felt by many in the arena.

The Mark, however, remains steadfast in his excitement, emphasizing the magnitude of the matchup. “It doesn’t get any bigger than Masked Maniac versus Alf Alferson, Lucas!”

Masked Maniac points directly at Alf Alferson, who remains unmoved, his gaze fixed on his opponent. With a sudden burst of energy, Masked Maniac charges toward Alferson, hitting the ropes and rebounding with even greater momentum. He sprints past Alferson once, then twice, each time gaining speed, before bouncing off the ropes once more.

Allie chuckles at the sight. “I guess Masked Maniac feels he needs to pick up LOTS of speed,” she remarks, amused by the masked wrestler’s unconventional strategy.

Finally, Masked Maniac ceases his running past Alf Alferson and charges directly at him.


However, instead of knocking Alferson down, Masked Maniac bounces off him as if he’s collided with a solid concrete wall. He rebounds from Alferson’s imposing figure and crashes onto the canvas, the impact sending shockwaves through the ring.

The audience erupts into a mix of gasps and cheers, stunned by the unexpected turn of events. Lucas Quinn, wide-eyed, exclaims, “Did you see that? Masked Maniac just bounced off Alf Alferson like he’s made of steel!”

The Mark nods in agreement, marveling at Alferson’s resilience. “Alferson’s built like a tank. No wonder he’s the powerhouse of Global.”

Allie, equally astonished, adds, “It’s like running into a brick wall, but worse!”

Masked Maniac, stunned, rolls out of the ring, just pacing, trying to get his head on straight.

Lucas Quinn questions. “Masked Maniac just doesn’t look the same. His confidence is unsure, and it seems like he lost something.”

The Mark says. “I think Global’s HR has his testicles in a jar in their office.”

Allie chuckles at The Mark’s comment before responding, “It’s clear that Masked Maniac is wrestling with more than just his opponent tonight. He’s dealing with a whole new set of rules and restrictions.”

Meanwhile, Masked Maniac, outside the ring, appears disoriented, pacing back and forth as he tries to regain his composure. The once-confident wrestler now seems unsure of himself, shaken by the unexpected turn of events.

Lucas Quinn nods in agreement with Allie’s assessment. “Absolutely, Allie. It’s like he’s lost his mojo. Let’s see if he can shake it off and get back into this match.”

As Alf Alferson observes Masked Maniac’s inner turmoil from the ring, his attention is suddenly diverted to a fan in the front row. This fan, holding a sign that reads “Masked Men, Turn Me On!”, has caught Alferson’s gaze.

Lucas Quinn’s voice rings out with a sense of foreboding. “Uh-oh!”

The Mark, with a mix of surprise and amusement, comments, “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like Masked Maniac’s dreams are finally coming true.”

Allie interjects, her tone tinged with concern. “Yeah, but at what cost? It seems like Masked Maniac’s focus is shifting, and that could spell trouble for him in this match.”

As the fans cheer and encourage Masked Maniac to seize the moment, he appears torn, glancing between Alf Alferson in the ring and the scantily dressed young lady beckoning him from the front row.

Lucas Quinn observes the dilemma. “Masked Maniac seems to be caught in a lose-lose situation, guys.”

Allie’s concern deepens. “What’s he going to do?”

In a decisive move, the Masked Man takes action. He abruptly turns away and breaks into a sprint, dashing all the way to the backstage area, leaving referee Shane Staggs to count to ten, thereby preserving Alf Alferson’s unbeaten streak.

The Mark offers a philosophical perspective. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

Lucas Quinn, incredulous, remarks, “Masked Maniac, the founder of Masked Bros before Hoes, the face of Masked Condoms, the epitome of Mojo, and the dream of every woman, just ran from a lady.”

Allie concludes, “And once again, Alf Alferson maintains his status as the luckiest man in Global, extending his unbeaten streak.”

As Masked Maniac disappears backstage, the arena buzzes with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Some fans chuckle at the unexpected turn of events, while others shake their heads in disbelief at the masked wrestler’s sudden retreat.

In the ring, Alf Alferson watches the commotion with a smirk, seemingly unfazed by the peculiar outcome of the encounter. He raises his arms in mock triumph, soaking in the cheers from the audience, reaffirming his status as Global’s reigning enigma.

Meanwhile, Masked Maniac’s abrupt departure leaves lingering questions about his state of mind. Has he truly lost his edge, or is there more to his retreat than meets the eye? As the crowd speculates, the enigmatic wrestler’s next move remains a mystery, shrouded in uncertainty.

LOGO b&w


“It’s the return of The Rich Family,” Lucas Quinn announces as the camera pans back to the desk where he, Allie Reece and The Mark are stationed.

“Mark, like in so many instances, you know these guys better than most.  Where are their heads at?”

“They’re annoyed, angry, but bullish, and that never seems to change.  They win, they lose, and they move on, and that’s the strength of the faction, the family, and that’s what they’ve got going for them that most teams don’t have.  A real support network in Dallas, Texas, not just Freddie, Declan, Donny and Todd.  Frank and Terry, who are the patriarchs of this family, and wonderful mothers, sisters and daughters who all live, breathe and sleep this sport.”

“A unique institution, even i I know and respect that, but PTA got the better of them, and we’ve all seen the memes, the jokes, the videos doing the rounds on social media, and that’ll hurt them, Mark,” Reece insinuates.

“No doubt, but that part will be handled behind closed doors.  They’ve got Team United in front of them tonight, they cannot afford to look elsewhere if they have aspirations of working their way into contention.  Ade and Ant are excellent athletes, who are underrated in my opinion, and a win for both teams is vital for very different reasons,” The Mark sells.

Team United is already in the ring and has been announced.  Ant Rushton and Ade Flowers, both buzzcuts and fair hair, are wearing matching red tights with “Team United” written in white on the rear, ahem.  The crowd is going to see The Rich Family for the first time this arc, following their defeat to Prime Time Athletes at The Last Laugh, and the crowd seems keen to see The Riches, chanting.

Todd leads them out, green tights and leather jacket like before, with Donny struggling to catch up and Declan basking in a win, high fiving some of the fans as Jason Brown tell us that it’ll be Todd and Donny representing The Rich Family tonight.

“Business as usual,” Quinn claims.

“They’re putting on a brave face,” Mark candidly contributes.

“Still no Freddie?”

“Not yet,” The Mark solemnly states.

“Any idea when?”

“I do, but I can’t share,” Deltzer sheepishly says.

They hit the ring, and in spite of another excellent ovation, there’s a sense of no-nonsense, if that makes any sense.  It doesn’t?  No?  Okay, I’ve tried.  They’re keen to crack on, especially the leader in Freddie’s absence and he’s not suffering any fools either. Todd categorically turns down Donny’s offer of starting.

Instead, Todd will lock up with Ade, meaning that the two biggest men in each time will kick things off for their respective teams.  A nod and a tie-up gets us underway, and unsurprisingly, Todd establishes firm control with a side headlock that segues into a takedown, though Ade turns it into a headscissors and, interestingly, locks it in tight that Todd cannot immediately get out.

Todd doesn’t panic or get flustered.  He stands up, combating Ade’s vice-like grip on his neck, and deadlifts Ade, who isn’t the heaviest professional wrestler in history, but it’s still an impressive feat nevertheless, and he scores with a powerbomb from that position, though not devoid of consequences, as Allie Reece picks up on first.

“Guys, I think Todd hurt himself there.  His back may be broken here.”

“He broke his back?”

“Yeah, spinal,” Reece replies, and she cannot contain her laughter at luring The Mark into that.

“You’re sick, Allie,” Deltzer spews.

“On a serious note, Todd has hurt himself.  Look at him holding his back.  Yes, he may’ve just hit Ade with a hard scoop slam but see…right there.  That didn’t do him any favors, and now he has just taken a knee.”

“Does he tag Donny in?”

Quinn has fed Deltzer.


Surprisingly. or perhaps not as it may be the case, the baby and proverbial black sheep of The Rich Family wants in.  Notwithstanding, and Todd isn’t, he will not tag Donny in despite the calls for that emanating from the corner. 

“Todd at fifty percent is more capable of beating Team United on his own than Donny at one hundred and fifty percent.”

“Exactly, Mark, it’s an impossible task, and that’s why he should tag Donny in right now,” Reece responds.

“Are you being serious, Allie?”

“I am,” she snaps back, deadpan.

Todd, through gritted teeth, hits Ade with a high knee, sending Ade through the middle rope on the right side.  Adjacent, Ant stands on the middle turnbuckle, having served as a cheerleader in the last couple of minutes, and Todd waves Ant in.  Duncan Treacher, GLOBAL’s most experienced eye for cheating and arguably the biggest enforcer of the rules along with head official Barry Snider, actually allows it.  Ant executes a forward roll and wanders straight into another high knee, this one landing just below the chin, and with enough meat on the bone landing near the jaw bone, it could be enough…



Ant just about kicks out.

“Todd doesn’t need Donny, he has almost won this by beating both of them up,” The Mark proclaims.

Rich whips Ant to the southern set of ropes, and makes an uncharacteristic error, lowering his head, and is made to pay by a DDT.

“You don’t expect that from Todd Rich, but credit to Ant Rushton,” The Mark echoes.

“So, what you’re saying is you and Todd, both got it wrong, and Donny should’ve been tagged in?”

Deltzer shakes his head at Allie’s query.

Ant comes over to Team United/RAF’s corner and scales the second rope.  A shout from Ade convinces him to go all in, and he heads to the summit.

“Ant Rushton flies – and SCORES – with a fantastic moonsault, but I’m surprised he’s not going for the cover,” Quinn indicates.

Instead, Rushton flips Todd over, so he’s now lying on his stomach and the back is exposed.  Rushton ponders something for a moment and elects to tag Ade back in.  Ade picks Ant up in a powerslam position and drops him squarely on Todd’s spine, and Rich arches his back as if he’s just been whipped or scolded.

Ade, now the legal man, shoves Todd back down, punishing him further with a pair of seated sentons to the spine, and applies a camel clutch.

“They’re doing a number on Todd Rich’s back, and am I alone in thinking that they’d try to isolate Donny?”

“Of course not, Quinn, but if the opportunity presents itself, you go for it.  They’ve got a good thing going, but they, and nobody else, not even me, would fear Donny tagging in right now.”

“GLOBAL, book it, I’m begging you:  The Mark v Donny Rich,” Allie pleads.

“Anyway, Todd is fighting the submission, but Ade cuts him off with a third seated senton, hardly the charm,” Quinn says.

The fans are getting behind Todd, Donny smacking the top turnbuckle, he can do something after all, and Declan joining in with the fans’ collective clapping.  Can Todd feed off this?  He’s powering through, and slowly but surely lifts Ade up off his feet, no fourth seated senton coming, and Todd has Ade in a backpack position, falling back and slamming the Brit hard into the mat, and that has hurt Flowers considerably, catching him in the stomach and maybe even elsewhere if you know what/where I mean.

“Todd did well, but he needs to make a tag.  Surely.  Mark?”

Allie knows she’s winding The Mark up.

“If it were Freddie or Declan, heck, if it were anyone else on the GLOBAL roster, I’d completely agree,” Deltzer answers.

“Joe Public?”

“Okay, if it were anyone else on the GLOBAL roster, barring Joe Public, I’d completely agree.”

Ade makes it over to the right side of the ring to tag Rushton in.  Meanwhile, Todd can make it and is spurred on by Donny and the crowd to do so, but he hesitates and Ant surprises him with an inverted headlock backbreaker that has plenty of whip and torque behind it, and Todd falls limp.

“Nice move by Rushton, who has never used that before to my knowledge,” The Mark expresses.

It gets worse for the senior Rich in Freddie’s absence.  Ant then uses Todd’s spine as a springboard to launch himself off AND ONTO Todd’s sore point with a stunning standing frogsplash.  Sensing victory, Rushton rolls Todd over immediately.

“THAT COULD BE IT,” Quinn shouts.





“That was close, and Donny just stood there.  Declan would’ve been in, and Freddie definitely would’ve been in.  This kid either doesn’t care, doesn’t sense danger, something’s not right with his lack of awareness or experience and he has been around wrestling his WHOLE life.  In fact, with the benefit of experience, he should be better than Declan, Todd or Freddie, who all came before him.” Yes, that’s The Mark.

Before anyone else can chime in, Deltzer continues on what you could call is his crusade.

“Todd would’ve tagged Freddie or Declan in by now, too, but the lack of faith in Donny, Allie, means he’s taking unnecessary punishment, and because they won’t select Donny for the rematch with Prime Time Athletes IF that ever happens again.”

In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, Ant tags Ade back in and they double-team Todd, a double suplex coming up, well that is until Todd puts the brakes on and blocks it.  They both pepper Todd’s lower back with four sledges apiece and take 2, action pays off with a big-time double suplex.

“AGAIN, where is Donny?  You can see Declan looking at him, thinking what planet are you on?”  Yes, Mark.



The energy exerted by Todd on the kickout makes Ade chance his arm again.


And again…


And again…


Don’t know if I’ve ever seen anyone write that in a match before, but surely, they have?

However, it is working.  Todd is breathing heavily and Ade affords himself a smile before standing Todd up.

“Team United, the team formerly known as RAF, have never been THIS dominant.  They’re enjoying themselves out there, and while they’ve isolated Todd, this is due to Donny.”

Allie takes exception to that.

“How can you say that when he hasn’t even been in the ring yet?”

Deltzer sighs.

“BECAUSE ALLIE…anyone else on the roster, barring Joe Public, would’ve been tagged in by now!”

Ade smacks into Todd’s spine with two stiff knees, and the only reason Rich is still standing is because Flowers is propping up.  Ade orders Ant in.  Flowers drapes Todd across the top rope, and Ant sets off south before returning north with added interest, leapfrogging over Ade and catapulting himself onto Todd’s back, right in front of the commentators, with an assisted knee.

“See Todd there?  He’s suffering,” Deltzer points out.

“He should’ve tagged out,” Reece reiterates.

“I give up,” The Mark flails his arms in exasperation.

“On behalf of the GLOBAL Nation, we thank you for your time here and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.  Lucas and I can handle this just fine.”

Todd is floundering, to the point, that Declan is finding it difficult to watch, head down, amazingly, after putting in a performance against Jimmy Classic that he can be proud of.

“Look at Declan.  He’s going through it mentally, Todd is enduring it physically, but Donny’s totally fine with that,” The Mark insinuates.

An Irish whip by a Brit, Ant Rushton that is, coming up.  Somehow, Todd finds a way to reverse it, but as he follows Ant into the neutral corner stationed in the bottom left corner of the battleground, Rushton is more than a step ahead with double knees to the face.  Ant then follows up with a…

“Back body drop, not the smartest move by Todd given the circumstances, but one of desperation and it worked,” The Mark calls.

“Can he – does he want to – get to Donny?” Quinn queries.


“Let’s find out,” The Mark resignedly offers.


“Mark, listen to me for a moment.  The crowd wants this.  Let me finish.  Maybe they don’t want Donny in, okay, I get that, but for Todd’s sake, forgive me father, this is the right thing to do,” Allie insists.



“Is it?  Can The Rich Family, fresh off losing to Prime Time Players, can afford another defeat to Team United? That would be catastrophic.”



Lucas breaks up the ping-pong between his broadcast colleagues, temporarily at least, to remind us of what’s going on in the ring.

“Ant is close to tagging in Ade.  Can he get there?  YES.  Todd is also close, but in comes Ade to stop him…NO, Todd gets there.  Tag to Donny!”

“Oh no,” The Mark whispers.

Donny begins well, all fired up and the crowd certainly behind him, by knocking Ade down with a routine clothesline.  He is the freshest man in the match, after all.

A second lariat puts Ade back down, and then he whips Flowers towards Team United’s corner.  Flowers hits the buckle hard, but unbeknownst to most, however, crucially to our official, Rushton tags himself in and immediately scales the ropes in the time Donny makes it towards the corner.

Yes, Ant has enough time to step on Ade’s shoulders for extra height and nail the incoming Donny with a BLOCKBUSTER.

“What an incredible move by Ant,” Quinn claims, almost falling silent.



Todd is in to break up the pin.

But he’s too late.


There is a stunned silence inside The Globe.  Declan can’t quite believe it, hands on his head, while Todd’s are on his hips, and he mutters “Shit” to himself, which is multi-layered…in its meaning!

“Team United have just pulled off one of the biggest upsets in GLOBAL history.  Is that safe to say?” Quinn wonders.

“Yes and no, because beating The Rich Family – absolutely.  Beating Donny Rich, on the other hand?  That’s like taking candy from a baby, which is what they did, and that is WHY Todd didn’t tag him in.”

Allie mouths “You were right” to The Mark and pats him on the back before getting on with her job.

“I have to admit it, Mark.  I now see what you mean.  Todd took all of that punishment, and for what?  I could argue if he’d tagged Donny in, he would’ve saved himself a lot of unnecessary pain, BUT….let me finish, Mark.  That defeat would’ve been even more humiliating and hurtful.”

“Okay, that makes a lot of sense.  Todd still has several weeks to recover physically, and I’d advise The Rich Family NOT to use Donny in the meantime, let Todd rest and if they need to wrestle, leave it all to Declan.  A four-strong unit is running out of members, can you believe that?  They need Freddie back, more than ever.  His leadership, quality, influence, but The Rich Family right now is a patch-up, former shadow of itself and that, right there, they’ve suffered disappointing defeats, been agonizingly close to claiming gold, only to fall short, but with all due respect to Team United who were terrific and full value for the victory tonight, this is the lowest of the low.”

The Mark’s monologue causes the camera crew to turn their attention to Declan, who looks despondent as he enters the ring, and goes to check on Donny, who is still out cold.  Rushton and Flowers, who have scaled all four corners, have their arms around one another, and exit with a marvelous scalp on their record.  Ryan Ansell is all smiles too, pointing to Rushton and Flowers, who aren’t getting their…flowers.  Some scattered cheers here and there.

“A word for Team United, guys.  This may be an upset of sorts, but it wasn’t with how the match played out.  They DESERVED it. Let’s not forget that” Deltzer claims.

“Oh, I completely agree,” Quinn declares.

“Me too,” Reece affirms.

Unfortunately for Team United, all the fallout revolves around what The Rich Family has done wrong rather than what Team United got right, but perhaps the secret is in their newly adopted name.

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The iconic opening of Air’s “Sexy Boy” which has appeared in its fair share of films.

When the first utterance of “SEXY BOY”is heard, right on cue, the blond mop of Paul Sanders, a second generation wrestler and son of the legendary “Sexy” Steve, a fantastic competitor a few decades ago, stands humbly with a microphone in his hand at the top of the aisle.

“Thanks, guys.  I appreciate the ovation, given I don’t meant too much in the grand scheme of things, here in GLOBAL.  No, no, it’s true,” he laughs as the crowd boos that implication.

“I haven’t always been the most modest or realistic guy in the world, but right now, older, wiser…I don’t know about that.  In fact, I know I’m not.  But, humbler?  For sure,” he says, nodding, reflecting acceptance, and he’s cheered as tears fill his eyes.

“I suffered a horrendous injury by a guy you might have heard of called Alex Reyn,” boos reverberate upon hearing the name.

“Yeah, I know, believe me, I don’t care for him, either.  Anyway, I was never the same, but I was determined to revive my career, and getting by, losing a lot, I know, but hanging in there until Nikolai Sinclair, and I have nothing against Nikolai at all, kicked me in the head, and that was it, there and then.  Talk about a setback,” Paul’s voice cracks.

He takes a moment as fans cheer.  Paul fights back more tears, head down, composing himself to lift it again.

“But, although I’ve been small fry here, living on borrowed time, I got to step into the ring with Sean Darring in a main event, work alongside Daniel Dream and compete for the GLOBAL Tag Team titles.  All in all, not bad for a has-been,” Paul solemnly declares.

“To my best friend, Kid Chameleon, thank you for having my back from BEFORE Day One, and being for me through thick and thin.  To Alfie Button and Darren Best for being great opponents and even better friends, The Rich Family too, and to anyone and everyone who I shared a ring with.  To Daniel Dream, despite what you may think, a fantastic mentor and a really good guy, and it was an honor to fight alongside and against one of the best in the world.  I wouldn’t change a minute of it.  I don’t know if this is goodbye or see you later, but in case I never come back, I got to live out the dreams of a little kid, and that’ll stay with me for the rest of my life,” he waves to the crowd.

“Mom, Dad, great teachers inside and out of the ring.  I love you both.  Guys, I love you, too.  Wrestling fans are the best in the world.  Keep supporting the sport, especially GLOBAL.  Good night,”

As he waves and turns, the leather-clad Kid Chameleon, ripped jeans and white shirt, extends his hand.  Paul shakes his head, and embraces his friend and long-time partner, holding him close as the crowd cheers.

Game Over for Paul Sanders – at least for now.

Player 2 is done.

Long live Player 1.

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Glorious Domination” rings out in the arena as Rutherford, Niklolai and Daniel walks out. They pause for a moment, Nikolai and Daniel raise their Global Tag Team Championships as Rutherford looks at them with a smirk. They make their way down to the ring and enter. As usual Rutherford places himself in between the champions and raises the microphone. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Last week I promised you guys would see my clients dominate in single competition and they did.”

Rutherford takes a breath. 

“Now let’s start with the first match shall we? Representing Xiang Dynasty, The Great Wall vs your Global Tag Team Champion Nikolai Sinclair. What a massive collision that was. Probably two of the strongest superstars in the locker room and how did it end? The same way it has ended for everyone that thinks they are better. A kick to the face.”

Nikolai whispers to Rutherford.

“Mr. Sinclair states and I quote: The Great Wall was basically a sparring exercise. No that is not trash talk, you would actually make an excellent sparring partner. Yes it took a few of my power moves, but I have to say I have definitely faced much more challenging opponents. So before you even think about coming for our championships….you need to improve a bit. As of right now….back in the line you go.”

Nikolai smirks and raises his championship. Rutherford looks over his shoulder before continuing. 

“Now next it was Daniel Dream vs Alfie Button. Another great match and yes yet another win for Mr.  Dream. Was there ever any doubt about that? Not in my eyes.”

Rutherford proudly hands the microphone to Daniel Dream.   

“Alfie is a worthy rival, and he always gives it his all when we compete. But he’s never been able to defeat, and I don’t think he ever will. Alfie Button is a good competitor, but there are levels to this, and he’s just not on my level. I’ve competed against him many times, and he’s never been able to get the best of me. I don’t think he ever will.”

Daniel pauses for a moment and hands the microphone to Rutherford.

Rutherford nods but then gets a serious look on his face. 

“Now before we get to tonight’s match….we got yourself a small issue. Prime Time Athletes claim they will get all the gold.”

Rutherford turns around and looks at Daniel with his championship. Then at Nikolai with his. He slowly turns around again. 

“Now how on earth are you planning to get all the gold….when we are holding the Tag Team Championships? After watching my clients for weeks and weeks how do you plan on getting your hands on the titles? I am afraid you will not hold all the gold….but let’s make this interesting shall we? Impress me and you get a championship opportunity down the line against my clients? I promise if I am impressed I will make sure you have your championship opportunity.”

Rutherford takes a deep breath. 

“And since we are closing in, one of you will get the chance in a few moments.”

Rutherford hands the microphone to Daniel Dream 

“I hate to live in the past, but I’d like to remind you that my previous tag team championship reign with Nikolai in our previous company was so dominant that if you combined the reigns of the Master Sisters and Trouble Roxx, you’d still be six months short. We’re simply on another level, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. I know some people say that championships don’t count unless you win them in this company, between the ropes of this ring, and I agree. That’s why we’ve been proving for weeks and weeks that we’re just as dominant in GLOBAL as we were in our previous company. We’ve been holding these championships for months now, and I don’t plan on letting anyone hold them anytime soon.”

Rutherford gets the mic. 

“So tonight Crusader X. It is your time to prove yourself. Will you earn your team a championship match or will your tag team partner have to earn it for you… week against Nikolai Sinclair.”

Rutherford smirks and seems confident of yet another dominant victory as his clients raise their championships.

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Declan Rich, hands on his hips, looks dejected as he swings the door open, and throws his wristband at the unoccupied bench, out of sheer frustration, as he turns around, he doesn’t expect to be confronted by his father, Frank, who has clearly been waiting for his sons and nephew to get back from the ring.

“First of all, while I’m as angry and disappointed at the result as you are, you’re not setting a good example right,” Frank says, pointing back at Todd and towards Donny.

“Setting an example to who?  Todd?  Obviously not.  Donny?  What’s the example I have to set?  Don’t be annoyed when you get beat, oh, because we’re used to it, Dad?  Freddie?  Please.  He’s the most hotheaded out of us all, and I WON’T apologize for what I did.  He’s pushed us around for years, and you’ve sat back…”

Frank gets up in his son’s face.

“Go on, tell me I’ve been a bad dad.  If it weren’t for me and your uncle, HIS father, none of you would be here.  We paved the way for all of ya.  And it’s not just about you,” Frank rounds off, his hand circling the room to include the three Rich representatives in the ring tonight.

He points away from The Globe. 

“It’s not only about Freddie.  It’s about your sisters, your moms, who’ve sacrificed more and taken more crap than you’ll ever believe for what goes on between those ropes,” Frank, clearly agitated, informs them.

“Taken more crap?  Well, I got news for you, Dad.  WE’RE CRAP.”

Declan storms off, as Todd and Donny part, and Frank shakes his head in disappointment and disbelief at what he has just heard.

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“The Legend” Sean Darring stands tall, the phone pressed to his ear as the camera captures the tail end of his conversation. His tone carries a mix of confidence and contemplation.

“Yeah, it’s another night as champion,” he says, his voice steady. “Another couple of sharks smelled blood in the water. They’re strategizing, plotting, hoping tonight’s the night the Global Championship leaves my waist.”

There’s a brief pause as he listens intently, nodding in agreement before continuing. “For sure, eventually—it’ll happen. You can’t be the champion forever. The hardest part is knowing that, eventually, you’ll lose. It all comes to an end. But I’ll be damned if it’s going to be against one of those two disrespectful punks. Not tonight, not against one of them.”

A chuckle escapes him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Oh, they have talent, no doubt. They remind me of a younger you—full of testosterone and talent. But in the end, they haven’t learned the cold, hard lesson. In this game, the better athlete doesn’t always win.”

Another laugh rings out, his demeanor relaxed yet determined. “Okay, okay… Maybe they aren’t exactly like you. But they do have one thing you never accomplished, yet.”

He pauses, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “They’ve at least pinned me.”

Darring’s laughter fills the air again, echoing the banter on the other end of the line. “Fair enough, my friend. It’s a shame you enjoy retirement so much. How great would it be to slap these two around in a tag team match?”

Darring’s nod is solemn yet resolute.

“It would indeed be, Too Cool,” he affirms. “Tell the wife and kids hi for me. Don’t worry—there isn’t a trick in the book they can throw at me that I haven’t seen tonight. Blood stops, bruises heal, and egos recover. If tonight is the night, then what can you do? However, I’ll make ’em earn it.”

A smile graces his lips as he bids farewell. “Have a good one, Chris.”

With a decisive click, the legend ends the call and exhales softly. “I’ll be damned if I lose the title to one of these punks tonight,” he mutters under his breath.

The camera captures him from a distance as he lifts the Global Championship title, shaking his head with determination. “Not tonight. It’s not happening.”

With a steely resolve in his eyes, Darring clasps the championship tightly, his determination palpable.

“Not tonight,” he repeats, his voice carrying the weight of his conviction. “It’s not happening.”

As the camera fades, leaving Darring alone with his thoughts, the anticipation for the night ahead hangs thick in the air, promising a clash of titans and a battle for the ages.

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“Daniel Dream and Nikolai Sinclair certainly seemed confident earlier on, and it seems the team of Crusader X and Alfie Button have got two bites at the cherry, with Crusader X facing Daniel Dream tonight, or Alfie Button facing Nikolai Sinclair, or so it seems,” The Mark introduces. match

“A match that could main event any Domination in its own right, and two of the very best here in GLOBAL collide as Daniel Dream does battle with Crusader X.  Tag Team Champion, and former number one contender to the GLOBAL Title versus the main challenger to John J. Truth’s INTERNATIONAL Championship, and we know the stakes for Crusader X.  However, what does a Daniel Dream victory do? Thrust Daniel back towards singles glory?” Lucas Quinn poses.

“Truth v Dream – ugh,” Allie feigns sickness.

“A terrific match, and unfinished business, and you have to believe it would.  It could happen, but Crusader X will do everything in his power not to let that happen.  He has come too far, and is desperate to get a crack at Truth, and Sinclair and Dream, which is what this match is all about,” The Mark informs us.

“Let’s get started,” Quinn rubs his hands, just as “Governed by Contagions”

“Residing in San Antonio, accompanied by Alfie Button, weighing one hundred and ninety pounds…CRUSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEEEEEEER X!”

“Downtown Jason Brown, as enthusiastic as ever, and these fans are to see the ultra-talented duo of Crusader X and Alfie Button, fresh off a defeat to Crusader X.  Will that help Crusader X?”

“Well, Quinn, there’s no doubt Crusader X and Alfie have had a chat or two, or even ten, about what Dream does and doesn’t do well.  Crusader X is more capable, right now at least, and certainly more confident to put a dent in Daniel Dream than Alfie Button,” Allie says unapologetically.

“I hate to agree, but I couldn’t have said it better,” The Mark shrugs his shoulders.

When the blast of feedback at the start hits, the lights go out on the main stage. If there’s a screen, a black X on a white background goes up on it and flickers a bit. Once the guitar riff kicks in, CRUSADER X, also in black on a white background, appears onscreen. When the lyrics kick in, a spotlight flicks on and shines on the center of the stage. In it is X, standing with his back facing the crowd and his arms crossed above his head in an X. As he makes his way to the ring with an exaggerated stride, he high-fives every fan he possibly can on the way there. Once he gets to the ring, he climbs every turnbuckle and poses with the X. After he climbs the last one, once the “THAT’S the way the guillotine claps” lyric hits in the chorus, he backflips off the turnbuckle, lands on his feet, and stares into the camera.

“Not usual of Alfie not to be center stage, he kept his distance during that entrance,” Allie observes.

“He’s smarter than he’s given credit for, this is Crusader’s time, and he’s there for wingman duties. Perhaps just to counteract the presence of Sinclair and Rutherford,” The Mark chips in.

“He’s in way over his head,” Reece reckons.

Green Day.

“From English Idiot to American Idiot,” Allie jokes, pushing her luck.

The Carnivore and American Patriot is flanked by the imposing presence of Nikolai Sinclair and their manager, Richard Rutherford.

“From Atlanta, Georgia…weighing two hundred and twenty-four pounds, one half of the GLOBAL Tag Team Champions, managed by Richard Rutherford and accompanied by his partner, Nikolai Sinclair, The Revolutionary, American Patriot, Carnivore, Headliner, Singles and Tag Team Specialist…THE ONE. THE ONLY.  DAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEELLLLLLL


The Mark shakes his head.

“NOW THAT…that is an announcement,” Deltzer lauds DJB.

“It sure is, it’s just a shame he doesn’t deserve it,” Allie harshly says.

“Personal feelings aside,” Quinn commences.

“You can’t talk about Daniel Dream without personal feelings, Lucas, I’m sorry.”

“Well, Allie, as The Voice of GLOBAL, and as someone who is an ex-wrestler himself, I’m qualified to speak about anyone that steps into that squared circle, and Daniel Dream, along with Sean Darring, they made history and headlined the first Domination, our first pay-per-view extravaganza Magnum Opus, and again at Glory.  No one has pushed Sean Darring as hard, and he and Nikolai have enjoyed a dominant run with our Tag Team titles since the start of the season, unseating Trouble Roxx, and Daniel can compete and be a danger to anyone, singles, tags, you name it, he can do it, and do it extremely well – personal feelings aside.”

“Wow, that’s you told,” The Mark claps.

“Hardly,” Reece sulks.

“I cannot wait for this one,” The Mark admits.

Barry Snider rings the bell, GLOBAL’s main official ready for the two men to do battle as Crusader X circles Daniel.

Dream attempts a superkick right out of the gate, which Crusader catches with ease, prompting The Mark to recall previous Dominations with his next call.

“Not only shades of Daniel Dream and Alfie Button from our last episode but ALSO Crusader X catching my favorite wrestler’s wrist.”

One dragon screw leg whip later, and Dream is flat on his back while The Mark continues his analysis.

“Daniel won’t be able to treat Crusader X with his usual brand of cockiness or confidence.  They should both be cagey around one another,” Deltzer reckons.

“Right now, he’s flat on his back, and doesn’t Dream have a bad knee?” Allie puts to her broadcast partners.

“He does,” The Mark affirms.

Rutherford and Sinclair already look concerned, and Richard is caught saying that Dream ‘looks unfocused – again.’

Anyway, Crusader X doesn’t hear nor care about Richard’s thoughts and drags Daniel to the top left-hand corner.  Dream is sat on the deck, looking helpless, and Crusader’s hat-trick of kicks isn’t the stuff of magic, but they are torturing Daniel right about now.  Crusader sits Dream up, peppering him with three rights to the side of the head that doesn’t look anywhere near as meaty by comparison.

“Crusader X is far better at kicking than punching,” The Mark points out.

“In case we didn’t know, right?”  You know who.

A whip attempt to the diagonally opposite corner sees Dream slam on the brakes, and Dream lets fly with a stunning stinger splash, and he gets every bit of that before choking Crusader X, until Snider steps in, causing a break.

“What a turnaround, an amazing athlete and he sure looked focused there,” Quinn insists.

“No doubt,” Deltzer doesn’t deny.

Lo and behold, that frown on Richard Rutherford’s face has been turned upside down, temporarily at least.

Dream takes his telling-off, before coming back in with renewed interest, only to get caught like a rabbit in the headlights, via a drop-toe hold to the middle turnbuckle.

Frustrated, Dream is hot, gets up instantly and shoves Crusader X, who is visibly smiling underneath that mask.  The crowd collectively boos The American Patriot’s petulance.

Crusader X keeps his cool, calm and composure and instead meets Dream full steam ahead with a tie-up that Dream wins, his superior size and strength undoubtedly playing a part as he marches Crusader back to the corner before, rather surprisingly it may seem, observing a clean break ordered by our number one official, Barry Snider. However, there it is – a hard right by Daniel, and before Barry can reprimand Dream’s blatant disregard for the rules, Crusader X issues his own receipt by returning fire with a right of his own. He cannot match the Georgia-born grappler’s firepower and Dream asserts his dominance with a pair of punches that rock Crusader’s head back. Wasting no time, for now at least, he drapes X’s leg over the middle rope while in the corner.




Daniel puts a bit of torque and squeeze on the masked man’s left leg, and Snider does waggle the finger and reprimands an apologetic American Patriot.   Rutherford and Sinclair are all smiles now while Alfie cuts a concerned figure on the opposite side.

Dream sends Crusader X to the opposite corner and meets a stumbling Crusader X with a sensation spinning heel kick, leading to the first lateral press of the contest between these two tremendous competitors.


…only 1. 

“Neither man wants to give ANYTHING away, and I can’t say I blame them.  Not even a millimeter.  Daniel’s going to have to work for everything, he’s going to be made to earn it the hard way by Crusader X,” Lucas speaks from experience.

Dream sets Crusader X off the rope, arrowing towards the rope closest to the aisle, but X sensationally lands on the middle rope.  Dream, clearly taken aback, side-glances at Sinclair and Rutherford.  The slight hesitation comes back to bite him, as Crusader X prepares a hostile welcome with a sizzling springboard cutter that gets the crowd up, but also keeps the aggressor down, who has jarred his leg.

“Risk versus reward, the stakes are high and the margin for error, when you’ve got two men as gifted, blessed and talented as these two are.  Dream copped one on the chin, but it gives him a gateway to get at Crusader X, and someone as smart, experienced, and capable as Dream doesn’t need a second invitation,” Lucas waxes lyrical.

“Is THAT Lucas back?” Allie asks.

“Just telling the truth,” Quinn holds his hands up.

Crusader crawls over and drapes a hopeful arm across the chest…


That’s it. 

“Dream isn’t giving anything away either,” Allie asserts.

Undeterred, Crusader goes north to come back and sticks it to X with a thrust kick to the head of his seated rival.  He’s not done there either, lads and lasses.

“Crusader X is measuring Dream here, looking for a superkick…NO, Dream now up, it’s his turn to catch the foot…spins X around…AMERICA REVOLUTION ELBOW BY CRUSADER X, NO, Dream counters that…DREAM CRUSHER!  What wonderful action.”

Quinn’s inner fan unleashed there, and the crowd gasps as Daniel unleashes a fantastic full-nelson facebuster, which is joyously approved by Rutherford and Sinclair in the corner while the cheeky Cockney on the other end can only wince, fresh off a second defeat to Daniel Dream on Domination 20, to go along with Domination 2.




“Is this where they throw caution to the wind?  It feels like they were a little cagey, but it’s still early and already opened up,” Reece excitedly observes.

“Got to get the balance right,” Quinn states.

Dream questions Snider’s count, and finds time to reassure Richard Rutherford.

“I’ve got this.”

Rutherford whispers.

“You have.”

Those Tag Team titles aren’t going anywhere, are they?

Daniel is, though.

Rejuvenated, Dream comes to the south side…SLIDING KNEE STRI-CRUSADER X DOES A BACK ROLL, EVADING…

Crusader cheekily invites Dream in, who obliges, and X sidesteps Dream, who hits the top set of ropes closest towards Quinn, Reece, and Deltzer, but Daniel isn’t at a disadvantage, returning with a springboard cutter of his own, turnabout and all that…

“This is amazing, Crusader X CATCHES Dream…sets him down…why?  OH, THAT’S WHY,” Quinn reacts viscerally to seeing Crusader’s awesome poisoned frankensteiner that snaps Dream’s head and neck back, and Rutherford and Sinclair are despondent while an animated Alife can be heard several rows back.





But ultimately, it is…NO.

“Crusader X doesn’t get mad, he doesn’t get even; he gets ahead,” Deltzer declares.

An Irish whip to our American icon deposits Daniel to the bottom right-hand side.

“Dropsault, and a beauty,” Quinn calls.

“Neither man showing many signs of limping, but with how things are going, perhaps they should ponder a change in tactics?  Dream’s knee has plenty of wear and tear,” Lucas asks and throws out there.

“Probably,” Allie attests.

Crusader X takes Dream by the arm…ROPE WALK ARM DRAG. However, Dream receives a shout from Sinclair, and pushes the top rope, crotching Crusader X.  Snider does not – and cannot – say anything, as Dream hasn’t technically broken any rules, and Crusader couldn’t break his fall in time.  The crowd falls quiet as they realize that’s a real tide-turner.

“Wait a minute,” The Mark recognizes.

A fireman’s carry slam is innocuous, though not in Daniel Dream’s hands.



“Forget about Crusader X and Alfie getting a shot anytime soon,” The Mark defeatedly predicts.


“ANOTHER dragon screw by Crusader X and Daniel Dream will be limping after that one. Allie?”

“Advantage goes to Crusader X, and perhaps they need to go back to being cautious.”

Crusader X embarks on a new course of action.  Willed and shouted on by Button and the vast majority of the GLOBAL Nation, gathered in The Globe for Domination 21, the Season One Sensation and number one contender to the INTERNATIONAL strap is set to take Daniel Dream for a day at the beach, courtesy of a surfboard, but unsurprisingly, Dream doesn’t fancy what is far from a picnic, let me tell you.

“Dream isn’t playing ball, but Crusader X punches away at the legs and goes for it again – Dream still doesn’t go for it,” Quinn narrates.

“Crusader X just drills his knees into the mat instead – maybe Dream should have given up to the surfboard in the first place, listening to that agonizing reaction, and Crusader now has a clear path to put the submission on anyway,” Lucas muses.

Cue applause by Alfie and our 2,500 fans in GLOBAL’s home venue. As Lucas predicted, the surfboard stretch goes unopposed this time, except for some complaints from Richard Rutherford, which fall mostly on deaf ears. Crusader X has got what he wants, but Daniel Dream surely won’t go down without a fight.

“Smart strategy by Crusader X,” Reece reiterates.

“He is the one who has quickened AND slowed the pace down the best, and dare I say, had the better of this bout, generally speaking,” Quinn believes.

“But, as you always tell me Lucas, the beginning and the middle don’t count if they don’t match the end,” Deltzer reminds his more experienced broadcast colleague.

“Quoting me, huh?”

Dream is fighting this, yelling no and struggling, but Crusader X kicks him out into the middle, not of the ocean, but the squared circle and goes to collect Dream, who shocks him with a sudden inside cradle…



Straight 2.

They’re both back up, though Dream is soon down again as X beats him to the punch with an arm drag, and another, make that another hat trick and Crusader slows the pace perfectly with an arm bar.  Everyone can see Dream is frustrated, Richard smacks the mat, and inadvertently ends up getting the crowd involved, especially when Alfie amps this up.

Rutherford covers his ears. Ignoring the noise, Dream focuses on his own game and what he can control, performing a forward roll…reversing his plight with an arm wringer and a thrust kick to the gut, forcing Crusader to keel over…

RUNNING HIGH KNEE BY DREAM!  However, he hurts himself as well as X.


“I question the wisdom there,” Allie announces.


“You’re not alone, but when the stakes are so high, you can’t help make a mistake at times, and they’re both down and out right now.  Time will tell if this benefits Dream or not.”



“What a HUGE win this would be for either man,” Quinn claims.


“And for the loser?”


Crusader X gets up first, but Dream weathers his two punches easily….Dream fires back with THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE….CAUGHT!!!

“He’s done it AGAIN,” The Mark exclaims.

X takes Dream for a walk, a ropewalk armdrag to be more precise, which is a risk considering how it worked out for him earlier on, but he successfully pulls it off this time.  Daniel, determined and dogged, is back up only to be thrown clean out of the ring by a ready and eager Crusader X. 

Not basking in the cheers, Crusader X slides out of the ring and as Daniel gets to his feet, Crusader reserves a special treat for Alfie, firing off an overhead kick in tribute, and bows before Button on the other side.  Sinclair, frustrated, has to be restrained by Richard Rutherford upon seeing the theatrics up close and personal.

“Tempers fraying here,” Yes, cheers, Quinn.

Crusader X then completes a lap around the right, high-fiving Alfie and they put their arms on each other’s shoulders while staring at Rutherford and Sinclair, who are both seething.

“Snider’s got a massive job to do now, as if it weren’t grand enough to start with,” Quinn mentions.

X slides back into the battleground, baseball sliding Dream back out of the ring, as Daniel desperately tries to get back into beat the count, which had reached eight.

“Crusader X is in complete command and control, but write Daniel Dream off at your peril, arguably the most complete and best all-round competitor in GLOBAL today,” according to The Voice of GLOBAL, Lucas Quinn.


Building more momentum, as Crusader and then Alfie lead the Guardiola rally, Crusader gees himself up for a SUICIDE DIVE out of the ring, and so it proves as…


“Get them out of here, Snider,” The Mark tells the referee.  Barry’s response doesn’t make the airwaves.

“Nikolai Sinclair shouldn’t be out here,” we hear The Mark tell Snider.

Unfortunately, Sinclair hears it and asks The Mark to repeat what he said.  Before Lucas Quinn can defend his colleague, which he is prepared to do despite no longer being a match for Sinclair, Alfie Button takes up the mantle.

“I might not be as big as ya, but pick on me, ya prick,” Alfie pokes the bear – in more ways than one.

“Snider, get control of this, for God’s sake,” The Mark urges.

“I’m trying, and you’re not helping!”

Sinclar has a few choice words for Alfie, who probably saw his life flash before his eyes, given the number Nikolai did on The Great Wall on the same night Dream defeated him, doing the double for the best tag team in GLOBAL right now.

While all of this is going on, Dream re-enters the ring and instead of staying down and taking a countout victory, given Crusader’s lack of movement, he scales the top ropes, which has gone unnoticed by the main players, though not our three-pronged commentary team nor the two and a half thousand baying fans on hand for another night of action here in Downtown LA.

Alfie, hearing something, wink wink, stands in front of the commentary table and refuses to move.  Sinclair tries to get at The Mark, who is suspected of stirring the pot, and Snider waves him and Rutherford off.


Sinclair and Rutherford can’t believe what they’re hearing.  Alfie leads the chorus of NA-NA-NA…until Snider turns to him, and also orders him to the back, those cheers turning to jeers, pretty pronto.


Both men probably should’ve been counted out by now.  In amongst all of the chaos, may I remind you a contest is currently in progress.  Dream is back out, coming to scrape Crusader X off the table, rolling him back into the ring, presumably for an easy pin as Sinclair and Rutherford head up the mat, spouting a bunch of words I can’t and won’t repeat, and bemoaning Barry Snider’s heavy-handedness.

“Mark, you had a lot to do with that.  Care to share?” Allie stirs.

“No.  If Barry had done what he should have, I wouldn’t have needed to.” That’s The Mark’s story, and he’s sticking to it.


Crusader X is wide awake, and his eyes are also wide with the pain as Rutherford and Sinclair quickly rush to the back, having seen the submission up on, shall we call it, The GLOBAL-Tron?



“No one, not Alfie, not anyone, can help Crusader X, and this is a gut check for him.  His mask cannot conceal the pain, as Daniel Dream’s patented camel clutch, complete with a full nelson, is ON and so is the win.  Daniel can take it, give it back, and this, for my reckoning, would make him the number one contender to John J. Truth’s INTERNATIONAL Championship,” Quinn hints.

“There’s unfinished business there,” Allie adds.

“Double Championship for Double D,” Deltzer throws in.

“Never say that again,” Allie demands.

More importantly, Crusader X gets to the middle of the ring, but Dream has the bit between his teeth and he grabs his man back by the ankle…


Before he can sink it in, Crusader X turns and kicks Dream off.  Daniel reapplies, yet Crusader X counters again.

“X is up, low kick to the knee, roundhouse to the head, and another…SEATED SUPERKICK! Dream is now out!” Quinn breathlessly tries to keep up.

“Is he out for the count, though?”

Let’s find out, Ms. Reece.

Seemingly, X wants to put the exclamation point on it.

“OH!  He’s getting all theatrical, and I get why.  He’s going for Cross Canadian R-THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE!  WHERE ON EARTH DID THAT COME FROM?!”

Good question, Mark.

No one has a scooby.

Just as Crusader X seems set to end Daniel Dream’s, er, dream, Daniel denied him any aspirations of pulling off the Canadian Destroyer with a HELLUVA RIGHT HAND, invested in him by the power of the people, THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE NO LESS, AND both men are now flat on their backs, and down for the count.

Snider, where are you, you big lummox?





“Surely this isn’t going to end in a draw,” Deltzer laments.


“Neither man deserves to lose,” Quinn counteracts.


“Sure, they do, ahem, Dream,” Reece reacts.



As the two competitors lie motionless on the mat, still trying to catch their breath, the crowd’s attention is suddenly diverted to the entranceway, where four hooded figures have just burst through the curtain and begun to make their way to ringside.

“What the…? Oh, NO!”

Allie Reece’s reaction is mirrored by the crows, whose initial gasp of surprise quickly devolves into nuclear booing as, with their frantic movement, all three hoodies slip off their heads, revealing them as John J. Truth and his entourage. Barely breaking his stride, and seemingly not caring about whether or not his identity is revealed, the self-styled General begins to act like one, pointing his two bodyguards towards one side of the ring as he himself takes the other. This, as it turns out, is so that the two men in black can pull Dream out of the ring, while Truth himself does the same to Crusader X; completely caught by surprise, neither competitor is able to react quick enough, allowing their opponents to get in their respective shots. Truth first disorients X with a Sting of Truth between the eyes, then actually rams his thumbs into the eyeholes of the mask and applying pressure; X screams in agony and goes tumbling back, leaving himself open to a Boot of Truth, which floors him! With his opponent downed Truth is then quick to lay on the stomps, further wearing down the man whom he has made a point of targeting almost since his arrival at GLOBAL. A few feet away, the duo collectively known as Border Control apply the same type of punishment to another GLOBAL superstar their boss has unfinished business with, having laid him out with their trademark double lariat, accompanied, as ever, by the usual sarcastic greeting.

“Welcome to America, motherBLEEPer!”

“That…doesn’t really work when the guy you’re attacking was born here…”


Allie Reece’s livid screaming reflects the mood of the crowd as a whole, who have been throwing the usual soda cups, wrappers, styrofoam containers, and condiment packets into the ring, alongside the odd harder object, like eaten-through corncobs, at least one of which lands a headshot to Truth.

“This is absolutely heinous! Not only has that man deprived the fans of a fantastic match between two top-tier contenders, but he has also attacked both of them, absolutely unprovoked, and with strength in numbers on his side!”


“We see it, Allison. It’s absolutely atrocious. But you really do need to calm down…I think you’re still in shock from the street fight earlier…”


“We all do, honey. But you need to calm down…please…for your own good.”

As Quinn attempts to get his partner to stop hyperventilating, the mood inside the arena changes yet again, as more figures come pelting down the ramp – though the reaction to the two onrushing men is still far from unanimous, it is nonetheless a vast improvement from the thermonuclear levels of hatred being directed at Truth.


“It’s Nikolai Sinclair!! And Richard Rutherford!!”

“Oooh, this is going to be good…!”

Indeed, the second half of The Rutherford Guys – along with their namesake manager – has just returned, presumably to save his partner. Sensing the danger to her own crew, Lexi attempts to buy time by stepping in front of the duo – a tactic which has absolutely no effect whatsoever on Sinclair, who just elbows past her, but manages to stop Rutherford on his tracks long enough for Lexi to flash him her endearing Southern-belle smile…before pulling a can of pepper spray out of her purse and squirting him straight in the eyes!!

“There’s that pepper spray again, now being used on Richard Rutherford…and now a purse shot to the head to lay him out!”

“Fat load of good it did, though…VOICES PUNCH to Washington!!”

Indeed, the smallest of the two Border Control agents has just been sent reeling into the barricade by a devastating leaping punch from Sinclair, delivered before Lincoln could so much as warn his partner. When the Tag Team Champion seeks to do the same to the second Agent, however, the big man almost turns the Tag Team Champion inside out with a Welcome to America lariat, while also receiving the brunt of the latter’s punch. Both men fall to the floor beside their respective partners, out cold, leaving Lexi to look on worriedly as an oblivious Truth continues to stomp away at X on the opposite side of the ring.

“Niko Sinclair and big Lincoln knocking each other out…which means Lexi can’t just summon her guys and run, as per usual…”

“Yes, but neither can Rutherford. His guys are out cold, as well…and so is he!”

Even despite her group’s precarious situation, however, Lexi still attempts to call out to Truth, who pauses his incessant stomping for a moment to look in her direction…and immediately gets tripped up by Crusader X, who still has enough fight left in his tank to yank at the “General”’s pant leg and send him hurtling face-first into the concrete. The fans roar as Truth gets a taste of his own medicine – a sentiment which is echoed at the announce table.

“HA! Take that, you prick!”

“Too bad X is too beat up to do anything else..”

“…but maybe this man can!!”

The man in question, currently speeding down the ramp towards his partner, is the first in several moments to be met with widespread acclaim, as he brushes past Lexi to check on the downed mask man. Initially stunned, the brunette eventually regains her composure, and chases after the newcomer, pulling out her pepper spray as she goes.

“Uh-oh…here we go again!”

“Somebody confiscate that thing…!”

As she whirls Alfie Button around and holds up the spray, ready for a blinding blast, she is, however, surprised to find herself bested by Alfie’s quick reflexes, as he swipes the canister from her outstretched hand, flips it around…and squirts it into Lexi’s own eyes! The fans cheer as the brunette stumbles around, shrieking in agony as she rubs at her eyes, and the Brit takes the opportunity to lift the battered X onto his shoulders and carry him up the ramp and towards safety, apologizing profusely for his lateness as he goes – despite the fact that X very likely cannot hear him at all.

“Hoisted by her own petard! Ya gotta love it!”

“Oh, I do, Mark…believe me. I really do. I went to school with people like her, and I wish something like that had happened to them, as well..”

It is on Allie Reece’s delighted remark, and a shot of Lexi Darlington still dancing around the bodies strewn all over the ringside area, that the feed cuts elsewhere.

LOGO b&w


“Just met with the big cheese. His name was just that, a name – Giovanni. Smooth talker, tailored suit, smile as sharp as a steel chair to the temple. Says he needs help findin’ him a new ‘golden boy’. Daniel Dream, that was his name, the ‘golden boy’ they called him. A shiny new toy.”

“Giovanni, bless his silver-tongued heart, thinks I’m some wide-eyed newbie, chompin’ at the bit to be his next shiny toy. But see, I ain’t some golden boy, fresh off the bus. I’ve seen the shadows under the ring, the double-crosses and the rigged matches. GLOBAL might be all glitter and glamour on TV, but underneath, it’s a cesspool of dirty money and broken dreams. He thinks I’m the one who can clean up this mess, be the hero in his script. The deal is on the table.”

“Yes, yes, that is all well and good, but dawling, you promised me you would stop doing this. This…narrating business. It’s extremely aggravating. It gets in the way of my own thoughts, as well…”

“She taps her foot like a metronome, each rhythmic beat echoing. I like it when she pouts. Not that I would ever tell her. Her pout curls on her lips like a wounded alley cat in the rain-soaked streets.”

“She is not wrong. I did promise. But you should know better than to trust an old hand like me. I may have promised to stop monologuing, but this city has a way of loosening tongues.”

“Dawling, DO stop it, now! You are being *willfully difficult*!”

“The air thickens with the taste of regret, the weight of the monologued words hanging heavy between us like the final curtain. Usually, she’s understanding. But in the city of angels, understanding only goes so far.”

“You are just *im-POSSIBLE* today, dawling. Let’s just go, before it gets dark.”

“In this city, when the sun retreats, it’s not just the physical darkness that descends, it’s the darkness that clings to a man’s soul.”

“Oh, DO lighten up, dawling! You just signed the contract of your life! You can finally get out of that horrible, dusty old room! Live a little! Actually, should we go to dinner at the Republique?”

“Remember, in the squared circle of life, the good guys don’t always win, but they damn sure fight like hell.”

“FINE! If you’re just going to ignore me, I suppose I’ll just have to go to dinner on my OWN tonight!”

“And it appears it may be my turn to fight. Fight for love. For affection. For the soft warmth of female skin close to mine.”

“At last, you say something RIGHT, dawling! You had better get started, though, before I change my mind about giving you one last chance…”

“Duty calls like a warbling siren in the Tinseltown afternoon. And I would be a fool not to follow it. Who am I, after all, but another anonymous pile of flesh and blood trying to make his luck in this God-forsaken city? “

“Time tends to tick away like a dame in a hurry, so I better wrap this spiel before it wraps me.”

“I’m nothing without her. Without her, I’m just another lost soul wanderin’ these mean streets, aimless and alone. But with her by my side, I’m a force to be reckoned with, a man on a mission. The name’s not important, but you can call me Dick.”

LOGO b&w


As “Legacy” by Dirty Palm & Benix blasts over the PA system, the energy in the Global arena intensifies. The emergence of Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin is met with a chorus of boos from the passionate fans. The duo strides confidently, reveling in the negative reaction, their attire hinting at their readiness for action, yet keeping their challenger for the Global Championship shrouded in mystery.

Lucas Quinn observes, “Their confidence knows no bounds.”

The Mark poses the pivotal question, “Which of the two will step up for the championship match? Trae or Jimmy?”

Allie asserts with conviction, “It won’t matter. Sean Darring will show them a lesson in respect tonight.”

The Prime Time Athletes feed off the hostility, grinning as they make their way to the ring, relishing every moment of fan disdain. Seizing the microphone from the esteemed ring announcer Marcus Anthony Newman, they hint at an imminent revelation.

Lucas Quinn notes, “Looks like they have something to share. Perhaps we’ll finally learn who’s challenging for the title.”

Jimmy Classic, amidst the uproar, taunts the crowd, “Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the greatest in Global? The answer’s clear, folks!” Trae Larkin joins in, pointing at themselves amidst the cacophony of boos.

Jimmy Classic stirs the pot further, “One of us will soon be your Global Champion, adding a dash of youth, talent, and charm to this arena.”

The crowd’s response is vehement, their displeasure echoing through the arena. Trae Larkin takes the mic, adding fuel to the fire, “Sean Darring, bring your old, decrepit self down here. Let’s get this over with and kickstart our celebration.”

In a final act of disrespect, Trae Larkin carelessly drops the microphone, a symbolic gesture of disdain towards the established order.

Lucas Quinn begins, “Well, the mystery of Sean Darring’s opponent remains unresolved, but in the end, it hardly seems to matter because—”

As Lucas speaks, the arena plunges into darkness, the opening chords of “The Final Countdown” by Europe reverberating through the venue. The discontented crowd erupts into a symphony of cheers, their adoration for their champion palpable.

Allie interjects, her voice rising above the din of the crowd, “Listen to the roar of the Global fans. Their love for the champion is undeniable!”

Suddenly, “The Legend” Sean Darring emerges from the shadows, a seasoned veteran exuding an aura of respect and tradition. Clad in his signature purple and gold robe, he stands at the entrance, basking in the adulation of Global Nation. In the ring, the Prime Time Athletes await, a challenge issued with daring defiance.

Lucas Quinn reflects, “Sean Darring has held the championship for a year now, defeating a veritable who’s who in the industry. However, tonight may pose his greatest challenge yet. The Prime Time Athletes are formidable opponents, always armed with a stratagem. Despite facing only one opponent in the ring, their partnership offers an undeniable advantage.”

The Mark concurs, acknowledging Darring’s exceptional reign, yet cautioning against underestimating Jimmy and Trae. “Sean Darring’s tenure as champion has been exemplary, but Jimmy and Trae are not to be underestimated. They’ve undoubtedly spent the night scheming, and whatever plan they’ve concocted, it’s sure to make an impact.”

As “The Legend” Sean Darring makes his way down the aisle, the arena erupts into a symphony of cheers and applause. Lucas Quinn’s voice cuts through the cacophony, adding to the excitement.

“Listen to that reception, folks! The fans are on their feet, showing their love and support for the Global Champion!”

Allie chimes in, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “You can feel the electricity in the air, Lucas! These fans know they’re witnessing something special tonight!”

As Darring proceeds, he takes the time to connect with the fans, shaking hands, and exchanging words of appreciation. The camera captures the genuine warmth in his interactions, showcasing the deep bond he shares with the Global Nation.

“The champion, showing his appreciation for the fans, one handshake at a time,” Lucas observes, his tone tinged with admiration. “This is what it’s all about, folks. Respect, honor, and tradition.”

Finally, Darring ascends the steel steps and steps through the ropes, his eyes locked on his opponents. Across the ring, the Prime Time Athletes stand tall, their confidence undiminished by the champion’s arrival. The tension in the arena is palpable as the three men engage in a silent standoff, the weight of the impending showdown hanging heavy in the air.

“All eyes are on the ring, folks,” Allie declares, her voice brimming with anticipation. “This is where legends are made. Sean Darring, the epitome of a fighting champion, ready to defend his title against all comers!”

Lucas nods in agreement, his voice filled with excitement. “And tonight, he faces his toughest challenge yet. The Prime Time Athletes are no pushovers, and they’re hungry for gold. It’s going to be a battle for the ages!”

As the tension mounts in the ring, Sean Darring unfastens his robe with deliberate movements, revealing the gleaming Global Championship strapped securely around his waist. The crowd’s anticipation reaches a fever pitch as Darring hands the title to referee Barry Snider, a former police officer tasked with officiating the main event.

“Here we go, folks! The moment we’ve all been waiting for!” Lucas Quinn’s voice booms over the din of the crowd, his excitement palpable. “Sean Darring, the defending champion, putting his title on the line against the formidable Prime Time Athletes!”

Allie adds to the excitement, her voice crackling with energy. “And what a sight it is, Lucas! The Global Championship, the most coveted prize in our industry, is entrusted to the capable hands of referee Barry Snider!”

“Pulling double duty here, and hopefully, it’ll be less chaotic than Crusader X against Daniel Dream,” The Mark says hopefully.

“With those punks, PTA, out here?  I wouldn’t bet on it,” Reece responds.

As Snider holds the championship aloft, the Prime Time Athletes eye it hungrily, their expressions a mix of determination and anticipation. With a swift motion, Snider brings the title down, positioning it between the two sides, a symbolic representation of the stakes at hand.

“The tension in the ring is palpable, folks!” Lucas exclaims, his voice carrying the weight of the moment. “The Prime Time Athletes staring down the champion, hungry for victory. But Sean Darring won’t go down without a fight!”

Allie chimes in, her voice filled with excitement. “That’s right, Lucas! Darring may be facing his toughest challenge yet, but he’s proven time and time again that he’s a true fighting champion. This is going to be one for the history books!”

As the tension builds in the ring, the Prime Time Athletes take a step back, their eyes fixed on Sean Darring with unwavering focus. Lucas Quinn’s voice crackles with anticipation as he wonders aloud, “Which one of these athletes will step up to face Darring? Jimmy Classic or Trae Larkin?”

Allie adds to the speculation, her voice tinged with excitement. “It’s a mystery, Lucas! Both men are eager to prove themselves, but only one will get the chance to challenge the champion tonight.”

In the ring, Sean Darring stands poised, his gaze steady as he awaits his opponent. With a nod from referee Barry Snider, both Prime Time Athletes begin to circle around, each sizing up the champion with calculated precision. The atmosphere is electric as the crowd waits in anticipation for the action to unfold.

“The tension is mounting, folks!” Lucas exclaims, his voice echoing through the arena. “Darring stands ready, but which of the Prime Time Athletes will make the first move?”

Allie’s excitement is palpable as she responds, “It’s anyone’s guess, Lucas! But one thing’s for certain: this is shaping up to be an epic showdown for the ages!”

As the Prime Time Athletes close in, referee Barry Snider steps in with a warning, reminding them that only one can face Darring in the ring. But before he can finish his admonition, Darring springs into action, ducking under one of their attempts and sending both men tumbling out of the ring to the delight of the roaring crowd.

“The champion strikes!” Lucas shouts, his voice filled with excitement. “Darring with lightning-fast reflexes, sending both Prime Time Athletes flying!”

Allie joins in, her voice rising above the cheers of the crowd. “What a move by Darring! He’s showing why he’s the reigning champion, folks! This is turning into an absolute spectacle!”

As Barry Snider calls for the opening bell, the Prime Time Athletes on the outside grow visibly frustrated, their protests ringing out through the arena. Lucas Quinn’s voice booms over the chaos as he describes the scene, “The Prime Time Athletes are beside themselves, folks! They can’t believe Darring’s maneuver sent them tumbling out of the ring!”

Allie chimes in, her excitement building. “But there’s no time to waste, Lucas! Barry Snider is demanding one of them gets back into the ring to face Darring!”

As Barry Snider continues to shout instructions, the fans join in, taunting and jeering at Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin. Their chants echo through the arena, adding to the frustration of the Prime Time Athletes.

In the ring, Sean Darring stands tall, his eyes locked on his opponents, waiting patiently for one of them to accept the challenge. The anticipation reaches a fever pitch as the fans continue to rile up Classic and Larkin on the outside, their cheers and chants reverberating through the arena.

“All eyes are on the Prime Time Athletes now,” Lucas Quinn exclaims, his voice charged with excitement. “They can’t seem to agree on who’s going in, and time’s ticking away!”

The Mark adds his perspective, his tone filled with anticipation. “This is where the rubber meets the road, folks. The Prime Time Athletes can’t afford to waste any more time. Darring’s not going to wait around forever!”

Meanwhile, Darring remains focused in the ring, his gaze unwavering as he awaits his opponent. The tension in the arena is palpable, the crowd eagerly awaiting the next move in this high-stakes showdown.

As the tension mounts, both Prime Time Athletes pace around the ring, eyeing each other warily. On the outside, Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin stand toe to toe, their expressions a mix of determination and defiance. Sean Darring stands resolute in the center of the ring, his focus unbroken despite the chaos brewing around him.

Barry Snider, the referee, positions himself firmly between the two athletes, his hands raised in a gesture of authority. “Only one of you can enter the ring,” he asserts, his voice firm and commanding.

With a flurry of feints and false starts, both Jimmy and Trae make a show of attempting to step into the ring, each vying for the opportunity to face Darring. The crowd roars in anticipation, caught up in the drama unfolding before them.

But at the last possible moment, as Barry Snider’s attention is momentarily diverted, it’s Trae Larkin who seizes the opportunity. With lightning speed, he slides under the ropes and into the ring, his movements swift and calculated.

The announcers react with shock and disbelief as Trae Larkin takes advantage of the distraction, launching a surprise attack on Sean Darring. “Unbelievable!” Lucas Quinn exclaims, his voice rising with excitement. “Trae Larkin has seized the moment and struck first!”

The Mark chimes in, his tone incredulous. “What a cunning move by Larkin! He’s caught Darring off guard, and now he’s got the upper hand!”

In the ring, Sean Darring reels from the sudden assault, caught off guard by Larkin’s swift and ruthless attack. The crowd erupts into a cacophony of cheers and jeers as the match gets off to an electrifying start, setting the stage for an epic showdown between champion and challenger.

Lucas Quinn observes, “Well, I guess we now know who the legal man facing Sean Darring is.”

The Mark concurs, “Trae Larkin, the suplex ninja, is going to be quite the challenge, and with Jimmy Classic on the outside, Sean Darring is in for a long night.”

In the ring, Trae Larkin seizes the opportunity to assert his dominance over Sean Darring. With precision and agility, he charges at Darring, smoothly ducking under the champ’s attempted clothesline and deftly wrapping his arms around Darring’s waist. With a sudden burst of strength, Larkin hoists Darring into the air and delivers a textbook German suplex, the impact reverberating through the arena with a resounding THUD.

“Larkin isn’t wasting any time with a lightning-fast counter!” Lucas Quinn remarks excitedly. “We are going to see a lot of suplexes!”

The Mark nods in agreement, his voice filled with admiration. “That was a picture-perfect suplex, Lucas! Larkin’s showing us why he’s one of the most dangerous competitors in Global.”

Feeling the brunt of the unexpected suplex, Sean Darring struggles to recover, his body aching from past battles and now exacerbated by the force of Larkin’s move. With determination etched on his face, he begins the arduous task of pushing himself up off the canvas, his eyes never wavering from Larkin.

“Darring’s still isn’t 100% from Jerry David,” Lucas Quinn notes, concern evident in his voice. “He is going to be in a tough spot here tonight.”

Meanwhile, on the outside, Jimmy Classic watches with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He cheers and taunts the champion, his presence serving as a constant distraction for Darring as he struggles to regain his bearings in the ring.

As Sean Darring pushes himself up from the canvas, his determination shines through despite the pain coursing through his body. With a steely gaze, he locks eyes with Trae Larkin, ready to take on the next challenge.

Lucas Quinn observes, “Darring’s not one to stay down for long, Mark! He’s back on his feet and ready to take the fight to Larkin.”

The Mark adds, “That’s the mark of a true champion, Lucas. Darring’s resilience is unmatched.”

The two men circle each other, tension crackling in the air as they size each other up. In a flash, they lock up in the center of the ring, their bodies straining against each other in a test of strength.

“Darring with the veteran’s advantage here,” Lucas notes. “He’s got Larkin in an arm bar, and he’s starting to work that arm!”

True to form, Sean Darring begins to twist and torque Larkin’s arm, applying pressure with precision as he seeks to wear down his opponent. Larkin grits his teeth against the pain, his expression a mask of determination as he searches for an opening.

But then, with lightning speed, Larkin executes a nimble flip, ducking under Darring’s arm and rebounding off the ropes. In a breathtaking display of athleticism, he springs off the ropes and soars through the air, executing a perfect arm drag takedown that sends Darring crashing to the mat.

“Wow! What a move by Larkin!” exclaims Lucas, his voice filled with excitement. “He’s using Darring’s own momentum against him!”

The Mark chimes in, his tone impressed. “That was a textbook arm drag takedown, Lucas! Larkin’s showing us why he’s one of the most dynamic competitors in the ring today.”

With Darring now on the receiving end of the armlock, Larkin tightens his grip, applying pressure to Darring’s arm as he seeks to wear down the champion. On the outside, Jimmy Classic cheers his partner on, his voice ringing out in encouragement as he urges Larkin to keep the pressure on.

As Sean Darring finds himself caught in Larkin’s armlock, he refuses to stay down for long. With a burst of energy, Darring begins to shift his weight, searching for an opportunity to counter his opponent’s hold.

“Look at Darring, he’s not giving up without a fight!” Lucas exclaims, his voice filled with admiration. “He’s trying to find a way out of that armlock!”

With a sudden twist of his body, Darring manages to break free from Larkin’s grasp, surprising the younger competitor. The two men lock eyes, each assessing the other’s next move with calculated precision.

“Darring’s turned the tables here!” Lucas shouts, excitement evident in his tone. “He’s not letting Larkin dictate the pace of this match!”

But Larkin is quick to respond, launching into a series of lightning-fast counters as he attempts to regain the upper hand. The two men trade blows in a dizzying display of skill and athleticism, neither willing to back down an inch.

“Just look at the back-and-forth action here, folks!” The Mark declares, his voice filled with excitement. “These two are giving it everything they’ve got!”

But then, in a shocking display of disrespect, Larkin delivers a disrespectful slap across Darring’s cheek, the sound echoing throughout the arena.

“Oh, that was uncalled for!” Lucas exclaims, his voice tinged with indignation. “Larkin showing a blatant lack of respect for the champion!”

On the outside, Jimmy Classic can’t contain his amusement, laughing uproariously at his partner’s audacity. But his laughter is short-lived as Darring fires off with a lightning-fast double-leg takedown, sending Larkin crashing to the mat.

“Darring’s had enough!” Allie shouts, her voice filled with excitement. “He’s taking matters into his own hands!”

With Classic momentarily distracted, Darring seizes the opportunity to get to his feet, his eyes blazing with determination. In one swift motion, he lunges at Classic, delivering a powerful punch that sends the loudmouthed partner tumbling off the ring apron.

“And there goes Classic!” Lucas exclaims, his voice tinged with satisfaction. “He got exactly what he deserved!”

With Classic dealt with, Darring turns his attention back to Larkin, pulling him to his feet and sending him hurtling across the ropes with tremendous force. As Larkin rebounds off the ropes, Darring takes him down with a thunderous backbody drop, the impact shaking the ring.

“That’s got to hurt!” The Mark declares, wincing as he watches the impact. “Darring is showing no mercy here!”

As Trae Larkin struggles to his feet, Sean Darring unleashes a relentless onslaught of knife-edge chops, each strike resonating throughout the arena with a resounding smack.

“Those chops are reverberating through the entire arena!” Lucas exclaims, his voice brimming with excitement. “Darring’s really laying it all on the line here!”

The crowd erupts in chants of “More, more, more!” as Sean Darring obliges, continuing to rain down chops upon his opponent. With each strike, Trae Larkin staggers back, eventually finding himself backed into a corner.

“Allie’s right, Sean’s giving us a masterclass in chops tonight!” The Mark comments, his enthusiasm matching that of the crowd. “He’s showing Larkin that he’s not backing down an inch!”

Seizing the momentum, Sean Darring grabs Larkin’s arm and sends him hurtling across the ring with a stiff Irish whip, nearly launching him over the corner turnbuckle. As Larkin rebounds back, Darring catches him with a thunderous belly-to-belly suplex, sending him crashing to the canvas.


“Sean Darring’s saying, ‘Anything you can do, I can do better!'” The Mark shouts, echoing the sentiment of the crowd.

“And we all agree with you, Sean!” Allie chimes in, her voice filled with admiration for the champion’s resilience.

Fired up by the cheers of the crowd, Sean Darring beckons for Larkin to get to his feet. As Larkin rises, Darring hoists him high into the air and delivers a punishing atomic drop, causing Larkin to wince in pain. Quickly following up, Darring delivers a devastating double-handed chop, sending Larkin sprawling to the mat.

But just as Darring moves to capitalize on his advantage with a figure-four leg lock, Jimmy Classic intervenes, reaching under the ropes to place Larkin’s hands on the bottom rope, forcing the referee to break the hold.

“Come on, Jimmy Classic’s interference just saved Larkin there!” Lucas protests, frustration evident in his voice. “If it weren’t for that, Darring might’ve had this match locked up!”

“Look at Darring, though,” The Mark observes, his tone filled with respect. “He’s not letting it get to him. He’s focused, determined to overcome whatever obstacles come his way.”

As the Prime Time Athletes huddled together, desperately trying to devise a strategy against the resilient champion, Sean Darring refuses to wait for them to make their move. With a burst of determination, he rolls under the bottom rope and charges into the midst of their huddle.

Without hesitation, Darring delivers a powerful right hook to Trae Larkin, sending him staggering backward. He swiftly turns his attention to Jimmy Classic, grabbing him by the collar and hurling him headfirst into the unforgiving steel guardrail.

The crowd erupts in cheers as Darring’s relentless assault catches the Prime Time Athletes off guard. However, Trae Larkin quickly retaliates, spinning around and aiming a swift kick at Darring’s head. But the champion is one step ahead, catching Larkin’s leg mid-air and using the momentum to spin him around.

With a thunderous roar, Darring unleashes a vicious clothesline, sending Larkin crashing to the arena floor. The fans leap to their feet, their cheers echoing throughout the arena as they rally behind the determined champion.

“Sean Darring isn’t holding back tonight!” Lucas Quinn exclaims, his voice filled with excitement. “He’s taking the fight to both Prime Time Athletes, showing them that he’s not backing down from any challenge!”

Sean Darring seizes the opportunity, grabbing Trae Larkin and slamming him back-first into the unforgiving steel of the ring apron. With a resounding thud, Larkin recoils from the impact, his back arching in pain. Darring wastes no time, swiftly rolling Larkin back into the ring under the bottom rope.

As Trae Larkin lies sprawled on the canvas, the referee rushes to his side, checking on his condition. Meanwhile, Sean Darring turns his attention to Jimmy Classic, only to be caught off guard by a sudden standing roundhouse kick from his opponent.

The arena erupts in shock as Jimmy Classic capitalizes on the opportunity, seizing Darring by the shoulders and driving him down to the mat. With a shout to his partner, Classic urges Trae Larkin to make the cover.

Lucas Quinn’s voice rings out in protest, echoing the sentiments of the fans. “Oh, come on! Snider missed the attack on the outside, and now Larkin’s rolling over for the cover!”

With the referee’s hand hitting the mat for the count, the crowd holds its breath in anticipation.



But before the referee’s hand can come down for the third time, Sean Darring summons his reserves of strength and determination, kicking out with a defiant roar. The arena explodes with cheers as Darring refuses to stay down, his fighting spirit igniting the crowd’s enthusiasm.

Jimmy Classic’s protests echo from the ringside as Trae Larkin seizes control inside the ring, his assault on Sean Darring growing increasingly aggressive. With a malicious grin, Larkin wraps his hands around Darring’s throat, cutting off his air supply in a blatant chokehold.

Referee Barry Snider is quick to intervene, counting down Larkin’s illegal maneuver, his voice stern as he warns the challenger. But just before reaching the five-count, Larkin releases the hold, a sly smirk playing on his lips as Darring rolls away, gasping for precious air.

Allie’s voice drips with disdain as she comments on the Prime Time Athletes’ tactics. “Of course, they’re resorting to underhanded tactics. It’s what the Prime Time Athletes do best.”

With Sean Darring struggling to recover, Trae Larkin seizes the moment, hauling the champion to his feet before showcasing his athleticism with a lightning-fast dropkick that connects squarely with Darring’s chest. As Darring reels from the impact, Larkin springs off the ropes with remarkable agility, executing a flawless moonsault that crashes down on the champion.

Lucas Quinn’s voice rises with excitement as Larkin hooks the leg for another cover attempt. “Trae Larkin hooks the leg and goes for another cover!”

The crowd holds its breath as Snider’s hand slams the mat for the count.



But once again, Sean Darring refuses to be pinned, summoning his resolve to kick out just in time, denying Larkin the victory.

As Trae Larkin locks in the dragon suplex, the arena holds its breath, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. With a powerful surge of strength, Larkin hoists Sean Darring into the air, executing the suplex with flawless precision, sending the champion crashing down to the mat with a resounding thud.

Lucas Quinn’s voice is filled with awe as he comments on Larkin’s technique. “Nobody in Global does a suplex quite like Trae Larkin. It’s as if he’s a master of the art!”

The Mark nods in agreement, acknowledging Larkin’s prowess. “Indeed, they don’t call him the Suplex Ninja for nothing. He’s proving why he’s one of the most dangerous competitors in the ring.”

As Darring lies sprawled on the canvas, Trae Larkin doesn’t miss a beat. He rises to his feet, mocking the fallen champion with a Heisman Trophy pose, drawing boos from the crowd. With a look of sheer determination, Larkin pulls Darring up once more, locking him in for another suplex.

This time, Larkin executes a lightning-fast snap suplex, the impact reverberating through the ring as Darring’s body hits the mat with a thunderous thud.

Lucas Quinn’s voice fills the arena as Larkin goes for the cover once again. “Another suplex by Trae Larkin, and he’s going for the cover!”

The crowd holds its breath as Snyder’s hand slams the mat for the count.



But to the dismay of Trae Larkin and Jimmy Classic, Sean Darring refuses to stay down, kicking out just in the nick of time.

Allie’s admiration for Darring’s resilience is evident in her voice. “It’s going to take everything and more to take this title away from Sean Darring.”

Undeterred by Darring’s resilience, Trae Larkin drags the champion to the corner and ascends the turnbuckle, setting him up for another devastating suplex. With the crowd on edge, Larkin lifts Darring high into the air before launching himself off the ropes, executing a colossal suplex from the top turnbuckle that rattles the entire ring with its impact.

Lucas Quinn’s voice quivers with concern as he delivers his commentary. “This may be it, folks. Trae Larkin drops down and makes another cover!”

The crowd holds its breath as Snyder’s hand slams the mat once, then twice.


But just as Snider’s hand hovers above the canvas for the final count, Sean Darring summons every ounce of his resilience, defiantly throwing his shoulder up off the mat, refusing to let the match slip away.

Allie’s voice reflects the renewed hope in the arena. “Darring refuses to stay down! He’s showing us why he’s the champion!”

On the outside, Jimmy Classic’s frustration boils over as he watches his partner’s pin attempt thwarted. He paces back and forth, his agitation palpable in every stride.

The Mark’s voice carries a note of admiration for the champion’s tenacity. “The hardest thing to do in any sport is knock off the champion. Trae Larkin is learning that firsthand here tonight, as Sean Darring isn’t going away without a fight!”

In the ring, Trae Larkin waves his hands confidently, signaling that he’s about to finish off the champion. With Sean Darring pulling himself up, Larkin leaps into a picture-perfect superkick, the impact echoing through the arena.


Allie’s voice is filled with concern. “That may have knocked a tooth out!”

Darring collapses to the canvas, the fans gasping at the brutal blow. On the outside, Jimmy Classic celebrates gleefully, while Trae Larkin holds his heart, seemingly stunned by his own dominance over the champion.

Lucas Quinn’s tone drips with disdain. “The Prime Time Athletes continue to mock the champion, reveling in his suffering. It’s despicable.”

With Darring down, Trae Larkin gestures for his finisher, The Ninja Nuke. As he pulls the champion to his feet, Classic hops onto the apron to witness the potential victory up close. Referee Snyder admonishes Classic, but as Larkin raises Darring up, the champion’s arm suddenly shoots out, delivering a swift and punishing low blow!

The Mark’s excitement is palpable. “The classic low blow! Sean Darring pulls out all the stops when he’s pushed to the edge. Trae Larkin’s about to learn a painful lesson!”

Jimmy Classic is beside himself, his frustration boiling over as he points and shouts at the perceived injustice in the ring. However, his outburst only serves to further distract referee Barry Snider. Seizing the moment, Sean Darring, despite the pain coursing through his back, takes advantage of the chaos. He locks eyes with Trae Larkin, who is clutching his two little ninjas in pain, and swiftly grabs the Suplex Ninja, executing a classic northern lights suplex.


Lucas Quinn’s voice fills the arena. “Trae Larkin may have the deadliest suplexes in Global, but Darring calls that the LSD – and he’s finished many men with it back in the day!”

Sean Darring drops down to make the cover, but notices that Barry Snider is still distracted dealing with Jimmy Classic’s antics. With a shrug, Darring changes tactics and instead begins to lock the Suplex Ninja into the Legend Lock!

Lucas Quinn’s disbelief is evident in his voice. “Darring was going for the pin, but seeing Snyder preoccupied, he’s opted for the Legend Lock instead! He’s showing the Prime Time Athletes a lesson in humility!”

Allie’s excitement rises. “The fans are going wild! Trae Larkin is in serious trouble now, and Jimmy Classic can’t believe what he’s seeing!”

But just as Trae Larkin is on the verge of tapping out, Jimmy Classic takes matters into his own hands. Pushing past the distracted referee, he leaps into a brutal knee strike to the back of Darring’s head, breaking the hold.


Barry Snider immediately calls for the bell, awarding the match to the champion, but Jimmy Classic pays no heed, launching into a vicious assault on the exposed Sean Darring, his attacks relentless and fueled by rage.

As Trae Larkin rises, his eyes ablaze with fury, the commentators react to the unfolding chaos.

Lucas Quinn’s voice crackles with tension. “Larkin’s on his feet, and it looks like the Prime Time Athletes aren’t done yet, folks!”

The Mark’s tone reflects growing concern. “This is getting out of hand, Lucas! Classic and Larkin are teaming up to deliver a vicious beatdown on Darring!”

Allie’s voice rings out with alarm. “Somebody needs to put a stop to this! Darring’s already won the match fair and square!”

With ruthless efficiency, Trae Larkin and Jimmy Classic swarm Sean Darring, raining down blow after blow upon the champion. Darring valiantly tries to fight back, but the numbers game is against him.

The arena reverberates with the sound of flesh meeting flesh as Larkin and Classic pummel Darring mercilessly. Blood begins to trickle from Darring’s brow, staining his features as he struggles to stay upright.

Lucas Quinn’s voice carries a sense of urgency. “Darring’s in serious trouble here, Mark! He’s being overwhelmed by Larkin and Classic!”

The Mark’s tone is grave. “This is a brutal assault, Lucas! Darring needs help, and he needs it fast!”

Amidst the chaos, Larkin and Classic seize a steel chair from ringside, the glint of malice evident in their eyes. With chilling precision, they position the chair in front of Darring’s face, holding it in place as if preparing for a sinister execution.

Allie’s voice trembles with horror. “Oh no, they wouldn’t…”

But before she can finish her sentence, Jimmy Classic delivers a bone-crushing superkick, driving the chair into Darring’s face with sickening force.


The sound echoes throughout the arena, mingling with the gasps of the shocked audience. Darring slumps to the mat, blood streaming from his shattered nose, his face a mask of agony.

Lucas Quinn’s voice is filled with disbelief. “I can’t believe what we just witnessed, Mark! That was absolutely barbaric!”

The Mark’s voice is somber. “Darring’s been left in a heap, Lucas. This goes beyond competition. This is a brutal assault.”

Allie’s voice trembles with emotion. “Somebody needs to stop this madness! Darring’s hurt, and he needs help!”

But the assault shows no signs of abating as Larkin and Classic continue their onslaught, their faces twisted with malicious glee. The once-proud champion lies battered and broken, a bloody mess at the mercy of his remorseless attackers.

As Trae Larkin sets up the bloodied champion for a devastating tiger suplex, the arena holds its breath, bracing for the impact.

Lucas Quinn’s voice seethes with anger. “This is disgusting. It’s clear now that Larkin and Classic had no intention of playing fair from the start. They wanted to decimate the champion, to reopen those wounds from Last Laugh and leave him a bloody mess.”

The Mark’s tone is heavy with indignation. “It’s despicable, Lucas. This is beyond the bounds of competition. Darring deserves better than this.”

With a sickening thud, Darring crashes to the mat, his body wracked with pain as Trae Larkin executes the tiger suplex with ruthless efficiency. Before anyone can react, Jimmy Classic follows up with a springboard moonsault, adding insult to injury.

The crowd’s collective gasp fills the arena as Darring lies motionless on the canvas, his once-proud form now a broken shell of its former self.

Lucas Quinn’s voice trembles with emotion. “Someone needs to put a stop to this, Mark. Darring’s hurt, and he needs help.”

But there’s no end in sight to the brutality as Larkin and Classic stand over their fallen opponent, the Global Championship held aloft in a mocking display of triumph.

The Mark’s voice carries a note of solemnity. “This is no laughing matter, folks. Darring’s been left battered and broken, a victim of their ruthless assault. This isn’t how a champion should be treated.”

As “Domination” fades to black, the scene that remains etched in the minds of the viewers is one of brutality and betrayal. The Prime Time Athletes stand triumphantly in the ring, their once-pristine gear stained with the blood of the fallen champion. With smug smiles etched on their faces, they hold the prized Global Championship high above their heads, a symbol of their ill-gotten victory.

But as the camera pans out, the cheers of the Prime Time Athletes are drowned out by the jeers and boos of the enraged Global Nation. Trash begins to rain down into the ring, hurled by the incensed fans who refuse to accept the travesty they’ve witnessed.

Despite the chaos and the darkness that shrouds the arena, one thing remains clear: the Prime Time Athletes may have won the battle, but they’ve ignited a fire within the hearts of the Global Nation. As they stand amidst the debris and the disdain of the crowd, they’ll soon realize that their victory may come at a cost far greater than they ever imagined.

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The arena lights shut out.

For a few seconds. There is nothing but darkness.

Static flickers on the Tron.

Another flicker.

A silhouette is sitting on a chair. Staring at the camera. It leans back, clearly straining from the effort. It’s movements stiff and even ginger.

“Sean Darring.” The silhouette speaks. “You continue to impress me. Challenger after challenger and all have fallen before you. I will not deny that resume. When first we fought, I caught you off guard. In our second battle, you defeated my lesser self. And our third contest was… inconclusive. But I am reaching my prime once more, and you are in a Renaissance. I desire to test your evolution first hand. But I am aware that it is custom to EARN a contest against the champion. I accept this condition. Therefore this message also goes to another.”

There is a deep pause.

“Jerry David. You are the next step towards the champion. Prepare yourself. For once I am recovered, The East Wind Cometh.

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