Cedars-Sinai Medical Center

Beverly Hills, California

March 10, 2024


“Man, I can’t believe y’all makin’ me stay home instead of bein’ there! That’s straight bullshit, fam!”

“Sorry, Ange…we wish you could be here too…but we can’t run any risks…”

“Man, what’chu talkin’ ’bout, ‘risks‘? I’m over here getting ready to go after Alex Reyn, and y’all afraid of some hospital visit? Man, get outta here!”

Despite her harsh words, Angel Ramirez’s tone as she addresses the entirety of her best friends in the whole world makes it clear that she is at least partially joking, and at least partially understands the reasoning behind their decisions. Even still, this does not stop her from shooting sarcasm in every direction, not even sparing her brother figure and longest (and closest) accomplice.

“Y’all tell Saul he a traitor, too!”

“Tell him yourself. He’s right here…”

Teagan “Trouble” Quinn turns her phone over to face the fair-haired man standing on the opposite side of the bedpan, who grins in anticipation of the oncoming explosion of sarcasm – which does not disappoint.

“Man, you a real piece of work, you know that? An’ you locked the door, too, ‘pendejo’! I ought’a just climb out this fuckin’ window an’ go over there an’ kick your puto ass so hard you gonna be glad you already in a hospital!”

“…but you aren’t…”

“…but I ain’t, ’cause Raven needs her rest an’ don’t need none a’ that shit.”

“Smartest thing you said this whole call, kid…”

“An’ don’t call me ‘kid‘!”

“Alright, kid…”

Saul Morgan’s attempt at lightening the atmosphere works, as Angel’s mock-indignation draws a chuckle from the assembled party – including the subject of the present visit, a blonde girl in a neck brace and hospital gown, whose guffaws make her wince in pain, immediately switching the general mood back to concern.

“You OK, Hayley?”

Hayley Robinson attempts to nod, then, realizing her limitations, instead settles for a grin and a thumbs up. This, in turn, draws sighs of relief and smiles from everyone in the room, with the exception of one person: a teenage boy with an intense look in his eyes – somewhere between livid and haunted – who seemingly cannot stand the sight of the patient a moment longer, judging by the way he power-walks away from the bed, swiping his phone off the chest of drawers next to it as he goes. This outburst causes a look of concern to pass between the older members of the congregation, and all three of the other men in the room motion as if to follow him. Raven herself stops them, however, holding up one finger to convey what she can barely manage to croak.

“Let…him…work..his shit…out…”

The other members of the party all nod, willing to respect the patient’s wishes; even still, they feel it necessary to keep an eye on the youngest member of their group, and, with the blonde’s permission, two of the men and redhead Teagan follow the boy at a safe distance, leaving the rest of the group – including “virtual assistant” Angel – to take care of the patient. Even from their position, they can tell the youngster is holding his phone out in front of his face and talking as he walks, his tone raised enough to be almost entirely perceptible to the pursuing group.

“This shit ain’t over, you sons a’ bitches. Matter a’ fact, this shit just done begun. I ain’t give a shit ’bout losin’ to y’all or whatever…six on four, stronger’n’us, ‘course y’all gon’ win. But y’all done fucked up big time when y’all done tried to take my sister out. ‘Cause see, now…now this shit ain’t just ’bout helpin’ my friends no more. Now this shit ’bout y’all tryna hurt my family. Our family. Now this shit done got personal. Now…I’m out for blood. Y’all’s blood.”

The older men and woman speed up from a stroll to a trot as the youngster visibly becomes more agitated, his body posture tensing up as his breathing becomes more ragged.

“That’s right, bitches. Street fights ain’t it no more. They ain’t enough. Next time y’all come close to anyone in my fuckin’ family, or any of my goddamn friends, I’m gon’ make like Rambo back in the 80s…I’m gon’ take First Blood.’

The group catch up to the youth just as he performs the few taps required to close out the video, Teagan wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders as she gives him a concerned look.

“Aid…buddy…you didn’t do anything stupid, did you, dude?”

Aiden Robinson looks a million miles removed from his usual persona as “Destruktor” as he responds, the words catching in his throat as his eyes well with tears and his cheeks glow ever redder.

“I hadda say it, man…I hadda say somethin’…”

Teagan nods.

“I feel you, dude. But let’s just sit on it for a little while, OK? One Robinson in hospital is already one too many…”

“Destruktor”, however, shakes his head.

“Too late…I ‘ready done sent it…”

Only then does the group realize, to their horror, that the app on the youngster’s cellphone screen is the YouTube Creator Studio, currently showing the buffering progress for a video. The sight of the progress bar causes Teagan to gasp, then wince.

D u d e !”

“I hadda, Teagan…I just hadda…” Aiden Robinson’s tears render his speech barely discernible, but the gist of his blubbers is nevertheless clear, somewhat tempering Teagan’s fury. The redhead is, however, still visibly struggling to regain her composure as she forces herself to take charge of the situation.

“OK…OK. What’s done is done. It was a very stupid and dangerous and irrational thing to do, but it’s done. The video’s about to go out. We can’t change that. The only thing we can do is watch this young man’s back for as long as we have to, and deal with whatever comes our way from it. Agreed?”

The two black-clad young men crowding around the sniffling teenager – one of which bears a striking resemblance to him – both nod; Teagan, however, has one last thought to add.

“Oh – and we don’t tell Hayley. She’s already got enough crap to deal with.”

Another nod from the duo in metal t-shirts finally appears to reassure the blonde, whose next few words are significantly more matter-of-fact.

“Right. Now let’s go find this kid a toilet where he can clean up. There’s no way I’m letting his sister see him like this.”

With that, the group gently begins to steer the teenager in the direction indicated by the signage, chatting and joking at him in an attempt to bring him back to a more positive state of mind ahead of returning to his sister’s bedside.

LOGO b&w


The broadcast kicks off with a surprise that has the audience buzzing—Global Champion, “The Legend” Sean Darring, is already standing in the ring, a vision of readiness in his wrestling robe and boots, poised for action.

Lucas Quinn’s voice cuts through the mixture of confusion and anticipation among the fans. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s festivities begin with an unannounced spectacle. The Legend, Sean Darring, without a hint of his signature entrance music, has made his way to the ring, attire signaling he’s prepared for battle.”

The Mark chimes in, echoing the sentiment. “It seems our champion is not in the mood for delays and is eager to set the tone for the evening, right off the bat.”

Allie joins the conversation, posing a rhetorical question, “And who can fault him for that?”

As the ring crew scrambles to finalize their preparations at ringside, Sean Darring signals for a microphone. After a brief wait, his request is met, and the arena fills with his distinctive voice.

“In life, I’ve learned the value of patience. I’ve come to understand that those who wait, biding their time, ultimately receive their due. However,” Sean begins, his voice steady as he takes deliberate steps around the ring, embodying the very patience he speaks of.

“The events of the last Domination were a reminder that the time for waiting has its limits. Challenged yet again, I made my way down to this ring, championship on the line.”

With a dramatic flourish, he loosens his robe to reveal the gleaming Global Championship belt.

“Through a blend of experience, strategic awareness, and a dash of good fortune, I’ve consistently managed to thwart my adversaries’ tactics, ensuring that the night ends with my victory secured,” he declares, confidence resonating in every word.

The audience erupts into cheers, celebrating the champion’s triumph at the last Domination event.

Allie, mirroring the crowd’s enthusiasm, adds her praise. “Indeed, it was a remarkable showdown, with Sean Darring showcasing his undeniable prowess against a notably brash challenger.”

“The Legend” Sean Darring, standing tall in the center of the ring, continues to captivate the audience with his unwavering demeanor.

“After that victory, the Prime Time Athletes ambushed me like a rabid pack of hyenas, showcasing the depths of their cowardice and disrespect. They launched an assault with kicks and punches, leaving me battered in a pool of my own blood as the show reached its climax,” he recounts, the gravity of his words hanging in the air.

Lucas Quinn reflects on the harrowing events of the previous show. “It seems the Prime Time Athletes had devised a calculated strategy to diminish the champion, regardless of the match’s outcome, aiming to tarnish his legacy at any cost.”

Sean’s gaze pierces towards the entrance, a silent testament to his resolve.

“My tolerance has reached its limit. As you see, I stand here, fully prepared for battle. Behold, the Global Championship title. No formal arrangements have been made with the championship committee, yet here I am, ready to defend my honor. So, Jimmy… Trae… or any other pretender seeking a harsh lesson in retribution, step forward. It’s time to settle this in the ring,” Sean challenges, his voice echoing with a blend of anger and anticipation.

The arena is electric, the tension palpable as everyone awaits a response, wondering if tonight, retribution will be served within the squared circle.

Over the roar of the cheering Global-Nation, Lucas Quinn makes an observation that underscores the unusual turn of events. “Sean Darring, a man not known for issuing demands, stands defiantly in the ring tonight, calling out the Prime Time Athletes.”

The Mark weighs in on the champion’s audacious move. “After the ordeal at the last event, where Darring emerged victorious but not unscathed, requiring stitches, one might argue that a period of rest and recuperation would have been wise. Yet here he is, challenging his assailants head-on.”

In the midst of anticipation, the unmistakable beats of “Legacy” by Dirty Palm & Benix thunder through the arena, signaling a response to Sean Darring’s bold challenge.

“Allie adds, “It seems the champion’s call has been answered.”

With the arena filled with the pulsating rhythm of their entrance theme, Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin make their appearance. Standing atop the entrance ramp, their faces are etched with arrogance, their smiles wide as they mock the waiting champion from afar.

Lucas Quinn observes their demeanor with disdain. “Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin, true to form, display utter contempt for the champion and his open challenge.”

With microphones in hand, the duo pauses, absorbing the mixed reactions from the crowd—jeers mingled with excitement, all under the watchful and stern gaze of “The Legend” Sean Darring. The standoff at the entrance ramp, filled with tension and anticipation.

The Mark offers a keen observation on the dynamic unfolding in the ring. “Despite Sean Darring’s victory over Trae Larkin, the Prime Time Athletes seem to have seized the upper hand. By managing to provoke the champion, they’ve harnessed a significant form of leverage—they’ve successfully burrowed under his skin.”

Jimmy Classic, barely concealing his amusement, is the first to retort to the champion’s challenge. His voice drips with mock gratitude, “Well, well… Sean, thanks for the warm welcome. To be honest, I was half-expecting you wouldn’t show up tonight.”

The audience’s reaction shifts to boos and jeers, expressing their disapproval of Jimmy’s taunts, while Trae Larkin nods in agreement, both of them facing a stoic and unamused champion.

Jimmy presses on, his tone laced with condescension. “But what’s truly astounding is your eagerness for another round after what we dished out last Domination. Not the wisest of choices, if you ask me.”

The Mark, attempting to maintain an unbiased commentary, reluctantly acknowledges the provocateurs’ tactic. “It’s hard to argue against the notion that Sean Darring might be playing right into the Prime Time Athletes’ hands with this confrontation.”

Jimmy Classic momentarily diverts his attention from the ring to confront a vocal fan, brusquely telling them to silence their protest before returning to his tirade. “It’s flattering that you acknowledge our rightful place at the pinnacle of the rankings, recognizing us as the undisputed twice number one contenders. For those in the audience who can’t grasp what that entails, it signifies our claim to both the Global Tag Team Titles and the Global Championship.”

Lucas Quinn interjects, though with a hint of skepticism. “Official rankings or not, the claim isn’t entirely without merit, though I’ve yet to see any formal list.”

Undeterred, Jimmy Classic asserts their stance further. “You’ve overlooked a crucial fact. The Prime Time Athletes have evolved beyond the preliminary bouts. We belong in the spotlight—be it on Pay-Per-View or, at the very least, the Main Event slot. You can stand there issuing challenges, accuse us of disrespect, or wave that Global Championship in our faces, but understand this: entering our realm means abiding by our conditions.”

The audience’s disapproval grows louder, their boos echoing Sean Darring’s evident frustration as he realizes the duo’s strategy might corner him into an unfavorable position.

Allie, echoing the sentiment of the audience, voices a critical question, tinged with irritation, “And just what might those rules be?”

As Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin share a hushed conversation, Sean Darring, seizing the moment, lifts his microphone, his voice cutting through the tension. “I had my doubts about either of you having the courage to face me again in the ring. So, what do you say I come up there and give you both a taste of your own medicine, right now?”

The crowd’s response is electric, fully behind the champion’s bold proposition. Trae Larkin, seemingly ready to meet the challenge, steps forward, but is swiftly interrupted by Jimmy Classic, who proposes an unexpected compromise.

“Hold on, we might have a proposition that benefits us all,” Jimmy Classic asserts, causing Sean Darring to pause mid-step, curiosity piqued.

“You’re itching for a match tonight, and we’re looking to solidify our status as the ONLY contenders. So, here’s the deal: in tonight’s MAIN EVENT, it’ll be the Prime Time Athletes versus you, the Global Champion, Sean Darring, and a partner of your choosing. That is, assuming you can find anyone willing to stand by your side, given your track record with the rest of the locker room.”

Lucas Quinn articulates the pivotal question stemming from the Prime Time Athletes’ challenge. “The gauntlet has been thrown by the Prime Time Athletes. Yet, it raises an intriguing point: who would willingly align with Sean Darring tonight?”

Allie, ever optimistic about the locker room dynamics, counters, “Given the widespread disdain for the Prime Time Athletes, it’s hard to imagine Sean Darring being left without any allies. Frankly, I’d jump at the chance to take a swing at either Jimmy or Trae myself!”

A hush falls over the crowd, anticipation hanging thick in the air, as the champion, Sean Darring, grins and lifts his microphone for a retort. “Partner or no partner, my only aim tonight was to draw you two back into the ring. I’ll see you both later this evening.”

The declaration sends a surge of excitement through the fans, their cheers echoing support for Darring’s unwavering determination to face his adversaries head-on. Meanwhile, Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin can’t help but revel in the success of their strategy, having maneuvered the champion into a tag team match later in the night.

The Mark, reflecting on the developments, voices a cautious note. “One has to ponder what the Prime Time Athletes might have concealed in their playbook. They’re not the type to propose a match without ensuring it plays to their advantage.”

LOGO b&w


Where IS she?!

This is great. Just great. Five minutes to set, and I’m missing my lead actress.

Make herself presentable”…pfff. Like she couldn’t stop traffic in a stinkin’ potato sack. Now she’s holding everything up. The guy with the mic is going to be here any minute, and she’s not.


The hell.

Is she?

“Hiya, Pookie!”


…oh, great. Now I have a lead actress, but it’s the wrong one.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Donna?”

Oh, man…now I’ve hurt her feelings. Just freaking great.

“Look, honey…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s just this interview’s coming up any minute now, and I don’t know where Donna is. She said she was going to go do her makeup like twenty minutes ago, and she ain’t back yet. Have you seen her?”

“Nuh-uh. Sorry, Pookie.”

Figures. Why is it so hard to have these girls all in the same place all at once? I swear it’s freaking mathematically impossible!

“You can do the interview with me, though, right?”

Huh?! “What?! Don’t be silly, honey. I can’t deal with that right now! I’m under major stress here!”

“What’s so silly about us doing the interview together?”

Uh-oh. That tone is no bueno. I gotta think of something here.

“Nothing, honey, just…”

“Don’t you wanna be seen with me? Is that it?” Oh, great, she sounds like she’s about to cry. Just what I needed right now.

“Of course I want to be seen with you, honey! It’s just…I had this whole interview planned out with Donna. You know she always does all the pressers..”

“Yeah, and I do the parties, right?” She’s smiling. Phew. Situation diffused.

“That’s right. You do the parties, and…”

“…and Daisy doesn’t do anything, ’cause you can’t take her out anywhere!”

“That’s right!” Man, this chick is great! How can I ever even think of hurting her? “See? It’s nothing personal. It’s just Donna always knows exactly what to say to these people to make ’em happy…”

“Well, I can try…

Oh, crap. There’s the guy with the microphone…and still no Donna. Now I really got no choice.

I hope Donna doesn’t blow too much of a gasket when she finds out…

“All right. You want to do this with me, honey? Come over here, then.”

“Yaaaayyyy!” Oh, man, she’s full-on today. I sure hope this doesn’t go South…

“Hi! Are you the interview guy? What’s your name? I’m Abby. Abby Van Garde. Daddy says it’s, like, a pun or something? I don’t get it, though…”

Oh, this is definitely going to go South. Fast. I’ve got to do something here, before Blondie there wastes our only chance to make a first impression.

“Honey…honey, honey…give the man some room, willya? You’re crowding his personal space!”

“Oh, oopsie!” That giggle, though… That giggle could win over the freaking President of Russia. “Sorry, mister!”

“She’s always like this around new people, pal. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah! I just, like, love, love, love making new friends, and getting to know about their life, and what stuff they like, and…”

Honey. You’re doing it again.”

“Um…guys? Whenever you’re ready…”

…and this is why I usually do these with Donna…

“See, honey? We’re wasting the man’s time! He’s got more people to go interview!” Time for big old Winning Smile Number Three. “Sorry, buddy. Fire away.”

“Well, with you being the most recent signings here at GLOBAL…”

“We totally ARE!

“Honey! Sssshhh! Let the man finish…!”

“…sorry, Pookie…”

“…with you being the most recent signings here at GLOBAL…” This guy is losing his cool, and I don’t blame him. We’re being the Interview From Hell right now. “…the GLOBAL Nation is just wondering who you are, where you come from, and what you’re all about…”

Sorry, honey – shotgun!

“Who we are? Well, buddy, you’re obviously not a fan of the Noble Art of Cinema, or you wouldn’t be asking that question! If you were a true fan of the movies, you would recognise Allen Smithee, the world-famous and world-renowned director of over four dozen films, including such cult classics as ‘Maniac Cop III’, ‘The Birds II’ and ‘Hellraiser: Bloodline’, as well as the hugely successful ‘Cheerleader Chopfest’ franchise, which is at the center of a bidding war between streaming services as. We. Speak!” Well…two streaming services, but that technically still counts as a “bidding war”… “And this lovely lady by my side is my financial backer, my business partner…”

“…your everything partner, Pookie!”

All right, honey. I’ll give you that one.

“…my everything partner….and one of my leading actresses…Miss Abigail Van Garte.”

“Hi again! You still haven’t told me your name…”

“Steve. Steve Blaine.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve! I’m Abby! You already know that, though, right? He just told you! And I told you before, too!”

Ugh, that giggle!

“That’s right, honey…now let Mr. Blaine go on with his interview.”

“…right. Sorry, Steve…”

“Go on, pal.”

“Well…coming from the world of cinema, what made you take this turn into professional wrestling?”

“Oooooh!!! Can I tell this part, Pookie? Please, can I? Pleeeeeaaaaseeee!

Oh, for the love of…

“…yes. Go on, honey. You tell this part.”



“Careful, honey! You’re gonna make me fall, hugging me like that!”

…aaaand there she goes. And I can’t even tune it out this time, in case she tells it wrong or messes something up. Just freakin’ perfect.

“See, Steve, what happened was, at the clinic…that’s where I met Pookie, at this clinic in, like, Malibu?…well, anyway, sometimes, in, like, the common room, they’d put wrestling on, right? And Pookie always used to, like, watch it? With, like, his friends or whatever…? So me and the girls started watching it with him and the boys, right? And we kind’a liked it, y’know? And then Pookie was always talking about how, like, he had to learn to wrestle back in the day? To do, like, his stunts and stuff, right? So I was like, ‘you should totally, like, teach everyone!‘ And he was like, ‘no, honey, I don’t want you getting hurt‘…” Oh, God, she’s doing the voice! “…and then everyone was like ‘come onnnnnnn, teach uuuusssss!‘…So, after a while, he did, right? And I mean, myself, personally? I’m not, like, suuuuuper good at it or anything, but I don’t, like...tooootally suck, either, y’know?”

“She’s a rookie. She’s learning.” I had to stop that word vomit somehow…

“…yeah. I’m learning. So, anyway, when we left the clinic, Pookie wanted to make some money or whatever, so I was like, ‘why don’t we go to that wrestling place from TV?‘”

“And you know what, buddy? At first, I laughed it off. But this girl had saved the contacts for this company onto her phone! You know how they put their phone number and email or whatever on that little bar at the bottom? She got them from there!” That’s still impressive, and it’s been a couple months now! “So, after that, what else could I say except ‘why not‘? And it ended up working out, so…here we are.”

Humble Pose Number Three now, I think.

Yeah. That works.

“And now that you are here, what are your plans going forward? Your goals?”

“Well, buddy, I can tell you this much: you’ve never seen anything like us before. We got a bit of everything for ya. We’ve got action! Adventure! Mystery! Horror! Glamour! And when you see what me and my girl and all our friends can do…it’s going to blow your stinkin’ mind, my friend. It’s going to be art in motion. It’s gonna thrill ya, it’s gonna chill ya, and it’s gonna leave you begging for more. Get ready, GLOBAL Wrestling. You just got your Hollywood Connection. And once we start doing our thing…it’s going to be cinema!”

That’s it. Cut, print, and send it to editing!

“Are we done here, pal?”

“Yes. Thank you both for your time.”

Great. Time for Grand Exit Number…Six. Yeah. Six is good.

“Yeah. C’mon, honey.”

“Bye, Steve! See you around!”

She’s already won this guy over. This girl is something else.

“Did I do good, Pookie?”

You know what? Yeah. That wasn’t terrible. Abby was full-on, but we got our points across, and nobody embarrassed themselves.

“You did great, honey!”

That smile, man… That smile makes this all worth it.

With that said, I’m still going to kill Donna when she finally sees fit to show her face again. That is, if she doesn’t kill me first for going ahead with the interview without her…but what else was I supposed to do, keep the guy waiting?

Ah, screw it. I’ll deal with that when it happens. Right now, we’re going to Rodeo Drive to get my new sunglasses and that bag Abby wanted. After all, we want to look our best for our big premiere…

LOGO b&w


The first few strains of military march “Rule Britannia” generate the by now customary mixed reaction to the team whose arrival they herald. Like the last time they were seen inside a GLOBAL Wrestling ring, Rupert Royston-Fellowes, Nigel Kensington III and eccentric manager Kerry Buckingham are fully decked out in Union Jack regalia, which now stretches to a pair of matching sparkling jackets for either man, each with the team name embroidered on the back and the respective member’s name on the lapel, over the heart – a well-received addition to the wardrobe, judging by the way neither man is bashful about showing it off as he follows his manager down the ramp.

“Say what you want about the Best of British and their approach to the sport and all that surrounds it, but these boys have seriously upped their game in terms of presentation this past couple of months…”

“It helps that they actually have a chance to present it, as well, Mark…”

“Oh, definitely. Again, you can love them or hate them, but you can’t deny they made their own opportunity, and are taking fullest advantage of it.”

“Too bad they’re doing it by blindsiding their opponents and taking shortcuts…never mind cherry-picking who to fight. Put them against a team like Trouble Roxx or the Rich Family…then we can see what they’re really made of.”

“A suggestion from Allie Reece for a future Pay-Per-View match-up, perhaps? The ball’s in your court, Mr. Giovanni…”

As the announcers comment on the newly-arrived team, the two men and women have made their way down the entranceway, across the ringside area and into the ring, at the center of which they now stand, the two men on either side and slightly behind their petite manager, as per usual. Also as per usual, Kerry has, at some point during their trek, acquired a microphone, which she now brings to her lips as she beams her perfect smile up at the stands.

“Hel-LO, darlings! How are we all?”

The only response she gets, however, is another mixed response, which promptly gets riffed on by the ever-sarcastic Allie Reece.

“Yeeeeaaaah…sorry, girlfriend. I’m still not sure these people are buying what you’re trying to sell…”

As always, however, Kerry simply brushes off the less than welcoming attitude emanating from the stands, simply carrying on with her spiel.

“Yes, it is that time of the week again. The time when these two fine, strapping young gentlemen set a positive, hands-on example of solidarity and sportsmanship for future generations.”

“Sportsmanship?! Does she even listen to herself?!” Allie scoffs in disbelief, then chuckles dryly. “Oh, wait…she’s probably not able to, what with all that air ‘whooshing’ between her ears…”

This draws a chuckle from Lucas Quinn, even as he admonishes his broadcast partner to not be catty. Throughout all this, Kerry has been waiting for the crowd noise to once again die down, at which point she immediately proceeds with her spiel.

“This week, the boys and I have decided to highlight the importance of a healthy lifestyle, centered around good eating habits and plenty of hydration and exercise. And because we are aware that there is a team here at GLOBAL who share those exact same values, we thought we might challenge them for a little spot of, well, healthy competition.” Kerry once again ignores the jeers for her pun as she turns towards the entrance curtain. “So, Mr. Somner, Mr. Matthews, please do be so kind as to come out here and lend us a hand with this practical demonstration!”

As ever, a moment of tense stillness elapses, which the crowd use as an excuse to send yet another mixed (though mostly negative) reaction towards the trio in the ring. Fairly soon, however, those scattered cheers become somewhat more widespread, as the two men Kerry had been inviting down to the ring decide to take her up on her offer!

“Damon Somner and Greg Matthews are here! The Health Fanatics have answered the Best of British’s challenge, and it looks like we are in for, like Kerry said, ‘a spot of healthy competition’…”

“…don’t enable her, Lucas…”

“Lucas has the hots for her, Al.” Deltzer scrunches up his face in amusement at his partner’s O-mouthed expression of shocked amazement. “What, you didn’t know? You? Miss Never-Misses-Anything? It’s right in front of you, the most obvious thing in the world, and you miss it?”

“I guess I’m too busy watching the actual matches. Somebody at this table has to…”

“Children…behave.” Ever the conciliator, Quinn puts an end to the spat between the two younger commentators, as he points out towards the ring steps. “We’re about to have company.”

“Oh, goody! Is she going to start collecting a commentary paycheck, as well?”

Before anyone can answer Allie’s blatantly rhetorical and sardonic question, a fourth voice bursts through the audio feed with modulated British Received Pronounciation tones.

“Hello, darlings! How are we all?”

“Hello, Kerry. Welcome to the commentary table…”


“Still on your period, I see, darling…” Kerry lowers her voice into a conspiratorial, pseudo-friendly tone. “Don’t worry…I have extra pads in my purse, if you need them…”

Predictably, Allie deigns this comment with no more than a scoff, as Kerry skips over to the chair at the far end and pushes it in between the two male announcers.

“I’m just going to sit here next to my friends Lucas and Mark…actually, do you know what would be ever so amusing, darlings? If you got a new co-worker to replace that girl there, and he was called John, or Luke, or Matthew, or Peter! Then your word would actually be gospel!”

The two men cannot help but guffaw at this, prompting another scoff from Allie Reece, whose attention is now pointedly in the ring, where the impromptu match between the two teams is about to get under way.

LOGO b&w


As the two teams select their legal men, Damon Somner is seen taking a big swig of the protein shake in his hand, before holding it out to Rupert Royston-Fellowes amicably. To the surprise of all in attendance, the blond offers the closest thing he can muster to a smile – a lopsided smirk – as he takes the proferred cup, examines it for a moment, removes the lid, sniffs the contents…

….then dumps it over the head of the totally unprepared Somner!!

“Oh, here we go…typical British shenanigans!”

“To be fair, darling, Rupie absolutely loathes that brand of protein. Rightfully so, as well…! I have had some, and it is absolutely revolting. It was probably strawberry, as well. The worst flavor!” Kerry scoffs with revulsion. “In all honesty, darling, the strawberry one absolutely warrants that reaction. It is vile.”

As the British manager expounds on the relative merits of protein shakes, in the ring, referee Gabrielle Harris has had to prevent Greg Matthews from stepping to Royston-Fellowes in defence of his partner, ordering him back to his corner so that she may ring the bell. The matter is, however, clearly not settled for the bigger of the two Health Fanatics, who gestures towards the blond half of Best of British to let him know he has his eye on him. Rupert, however, appears unfazed by this, paying no attention to Matthews and focusing all his efforts on his partner, whose state of confusion he seeks to exploit with a series of forearm shots. The desired effect is achieved, and Somner is sent reeling backwards, leaving himself open for a BIG lariat from his opponent!


“Holy smokes! That almost turned Somner inside out!”

With his opponent grounded, Rupert is then quick to lay in the stomps – at least until referee Harris comes over to tell him to stop. This, predictably, earns her an earful from the blond, but, to her credit, the young official does not budge – and, in doing so, ends up accidentally achieving her goal of giving Somner some room to recover. It immediately becomes clear, however, that the Health Fanatic is far from out of danger, as his opponent promptly connects with a couple of headbutts and a knee to the midsection, which doubles Somner over. No sooner has this happened than Rupert begins attempting to set up a double underhook, seeking to finish the contest early; Somner, however, still has enough awareness left in him to ram his head into his opponent’s stomach, both avoiding his predicament and creating some separation.

“Good awareness there by Somner, but he has yet to really get into this match…”

The Health Fanatic appears to know this, and, finally given some room to work with, surges forward, seeking to create some offensive momentum for himself. This brief glimmer of hope soon dims, however, as Rupert dodges out of the way, sending his opponent crashing into the ropes, then tossing him over them with a clothesline. As Somner goes tumbling to the floor, the Englishman takes the opportunity to gloat to the crowd in attendance, much to their displeasure.

“It was a clothesline to the outside…what does he have to be so full of himself about?”

“It is not just aboutthe clothespeg, darling…it is about how dominant he has been in this contest…” Kerry’s tone is similar to that of a mother addressing her toddler, which makes her misnaming of one of the basic moves of wrestling all that more ironically amusing.

Whatever the case may be, Rupert does not have long to gloat, as Somner is soon attempting to clamber back into the ring…

…only to get punted in the head before he has even slid under the ropes, eliciting a gasp from the crowd.

“BIG impact from Rupert Royston-Fellowes, and he barely even had to move for that one!”

“Somner was hoping he would be distracted for longer, but his plan backfired…”

“Well, naturally, darling. Rupie is not just athletically gifted, he is also rather aware of his surroundings…even when he seems like he may not be.”


With Somner out cold on the floor, referee Gabrielle sees fit to start the usual ten-count. She makes it all the way to “FIVE!” before Somner is even capable of lifting himself up off the floor, and to “EIGHT!” before he is sliding back into the ring – this time, surprisingly, with no attempt made by his opponent to prevent it. A moment later, the reason for Fellowes’ inaction becomes clear, as he dashes forward, grabs the still-dazed Somner by the scruff, and lobs him against his team’s corner post! The Health Fanatic hits the turnbuckle hard as Rupert, who has followed a mere step behind the entire way, reaches over to tag in his partner.

“Tag made to Nigel Kensington, with Somner deep in enemy territory, and with nowhere to go…”

“That is something you can expect from the Best of British. They always seem to attempt to divide the ring in half and trap their opponent in the corner, where they have less of a chance to escape. Say what you want about these men, but that is smart strategy. And I mean actually smart, not like what John Truth thinks he is.”

“Do we have to bring him up?”

“Sorry, Al…”

As Deltzer issues an uncharacteristically sincere and earnest apology, in the ring, Rupert and Nigel have, between them, managed to floor Somner, whom they are now punishing with The Downtrodding. Predictably, this does not last more than a few moments before Gabrielle Harris comes over to attempt to break it up, once again receiving an earful from Rupert Royston-Fellowes for, as he puts it, her “sheer gall”. This, in turn, allows Nigel to slip in a couple more stomps, before getting spotted by Gabrielle, and told to give it a rest or be disqualified. Unlike what his partner might have done, the leaner and darker-haired of the two Brits is happy to comply, patting Rupert on the shoulder as he makes his way to the Best of British’s corner – though not without a parting shot to the downed Somner.

“Situation well defused by Gabrielle, and she is really turning into a solid official, isn’t she?”

“Every match gives her that little bit more experience…”

Once his partner has regained his corner, Nigel can finally get to work on Health Fanatic Damon Somner. He lifts Somner up and connects with a simple, yet effective front suplex, then picks him up again and connects with another, throwing the Fanatic to the center of the ring. Somner scrambles to get up, but is not quick enough, as he gets caught with a classic German and thrown back the way he came.

“There’s some of that ‘throwy stuff’ for you, Kerry…”

“Yes, I do so love the ‘throwy stuff’…”

“And here’s some more of it!”

Indeed, the German leads to another, and then another, all delivered in quick succession and without releasing the grip; only at the end does Kensington finally let go, sending his opponent flying!

“Nigel Kensington is just as much in control as his partner before him, and Somner better find a way back into this match, fast!”

It is as though Lucas has manifested it into existence; for, when Nigel steps in once again, he is met with resistance from his opponent, in the form of a dropkick to the calf! The move sends him reeling back a couple of steps, and Somner is quick to capitalize with another, which has the same effect. With his opponent now off his rhythm, the Health Fanatic is then able to connect with a swinging neckbreaker, taking one of the opposing team down for the first time since the bell!

“Big impact there from Somner, who now has his chance at reversing the momentum of this match!”

“Nonsense, darling. My boys would never let that happen. In fact, I would bet that if you were to ask Nigey just then, he would tell you he was simply giving that other man something to feel good about, so he would not lapse into depression. He is ever so charitable that way…they both are…”

As the announce team make various noises of disbelief at this analysis, in the ring, Somner drops an elbow on Nigel, further wearing him down, before attempting to seize his moment. He pulls himself to his feet, takes a moment to steady himself, then begins to stumble towards his corner, looking for Matthews’ outstretched hand…

…and gets his leg yanked by the somehow still-conscious Nigel!!

The crowd groan in sympathy for the Health Fanatic’s thwarted effort…

…then cheer as his hand connects with his partner’s on the way down, achieving the tag despite his opponent’s best efforts!


“The Powerhouse”’s entrance into the match lends credence to his name, as he makes a beeline towards Kensington and delivers a big spinebuster! First impact successfully made, he then brings the Brit back to his feet and scoops him up into a front suplex, delivering a receipt for the treatment given to his partner. Nigel rolls through to his feet quickly and attempts to engage once again, only for the bigger man to connect with a crisp belly-to-belly, which sends the Briton flying overhead, and gives him a taste of his own medicine!

“Two can play at that game!”

“How do you like Greg Matthews’ ‘throwy stuff’, then, Kerry?”

“Oh, it is fine, I suppose. Nowhere near as good as Nigey’s, but a solid effort… Six out of ten.”

“Well, that ‘six out of ten’ is doing a number on your boy right now…”

Indeed, Nigel continues to find himself totally at the mercy of the fresh man, who once again lifts him up, this time for a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. He wastes no time following up, and Nigel has barely hit the floor before he is being picked up again, and thrown into one of the neutral corners. He just about manages to prevent himself from hitting the turnbuckle, but is totally unable to block Matthews’ ensuing corner splash, which pins him against the steel. Buoyed by his success, the Health Fanatic goes for a repeat, which further wears down his opponent. Now feeling practically unstoppable, Matthews reckons third time’s the charm…

…but the situation ends up panning out in the exact opposite manner, as Nigel dodges out of the way and literally flings himself sideways looking for a tag to Rupert. As ever, his partner is there, ready and waiting, and, just like that, finds himself once again the legal man for his team, against the other half of the Health Fanatics.

“Tag made to Rupert Royston-Fellowes, whom Greg Matthews has a bone to pick with, after Rupert disrespected Greg’s partner earlier. Greg said he was going to be watching Rupert…let’s see what he does now that he has him in the ringn legally and fairly!”

What he does, as it turns out, is exact some long-expected revenge on Rupert Royston-Fellowes, whom he tosses straight away into a big front suplex. The blond rolls to his feet, but Matthews is waiting, and pulls him into a belly-to-belly suplex. Fellowes attempts to quickly scramble to his feet again, but gets caught once more, as Matthews brings him to his feet, only to deadlift him into a gutwrench suplex!

“Hell hath no fury like a wrestler scorned!”

“Or whose partner was scorned…”

For once, Kerry does not join in with commentary, instead watching on apprehensively as Rupert continues to be punished by the biggest of the two Health Fanatics. A German suplex throws the blond into a neutral corner, where Matthews is once again able to connect with a big running splash. He then sets Rupert up on the top turnbuckle, before ascending himself and once again trapping his opponent.

“Matthews looking for the top rope superplex…”

“…but Fellowes has other ideas!”

Indeed, the blond chooses that moment to attempt to fight back with punches to the gut, which rock but do not dissuade Matthews; one particular punch, however, appears to change the status quo, as the Health Fanatic is heard visibly crying out, then seen losing his balance and stumbling off the buckle and onto the mat below!

“…what happened there?!”

“Well, look at where Matthews’ hands are right now…”

Indeed, it all becomes somewhat clearer when, immediately after collapsing to the mat, the “Powerhouse” is seen cupping his crotch area, while continuing to grimace in agony. Slowly realizing what happened, the crowd is quick to rain down jeers on the Best of British’s legal man, even as he shrugs, glowers and openly dismisses their complaints.

“Fellowes just took Matthews to Sucker-Punch City!”

“…of course he did. What did you expect, a fair fight?”

“Well, it had been one thus far…up to a point…”

Really, Mark? With the protein shake? A fair fight…?”

At this point, the two young announcers’ banter is interrupted by the somewhat indignant tones of one Kerry Buckingham.

“Nonsense. That was obviously just a stray punch from Rupie. It happens sometimes, in a tight spot…your hand slips…or your opponent is too sweaty…”

“…yes, by all means let’s delude ourselves into thinking that was an accident…”

“Who is to say it was not one, darling?”

Whatever the case may be – and the commentary team continues to debate the issue for several moments yet – the incident has given Rupert Royston-Fellowes some respite and room to breathe, which he uses to leap off the turnbuckle and lean against the ropes, shaking off the cobwebs of Matthews’ impressive and hard-hitting run of offence. Then, as his opponent slowly begins to rise – still clutching at his sensitive area – Fellowes pounces, grabbing the Health Fanatics’ arms and applying a double underhook; before Matthews can fully comprehend what is happening, he has been dropped onto the mat with Fellowes’ trademark facebuster.

“ASSUME THE POSITION CONNECTING, and here’s the cover!”

“This one is academic, darlings. Go ahead and mark it on your little sheets…”

“Not until Gabby is done counting, it isn’t!”

“Speaking of which, here’s the count!”


Somner shoots out of his corner…


…but Nigel Kensington does likewise, meeting him halfway with a superkick, and guaranteeing his partner the time and space to get the…


…and another win for his team!

“I told you, darlings. I never doubted my boys for a second! You really need to start trusting Auntie Kay…”

“Well, a controversial win, to say the least, but the Best of British’s winning streak continues, and their fortunes look more and more like they might be turning around! With that said, possibly their hardest match to date, against dogged and very capable opponents.”

“Absolutely, Lucas. A word of sympathy for the Health Fanatics, and Greg Matthews specifically, for a valiant performance, which deserved a better ending…”

“Well, perhaps next time…now, though, I must go celebrate with the lads. Cheerio, darlings!”

With that, Kerry gets up off the announce table and heads towards the ring, which she enters a moment later, the better to celebrate with her two clients. It is on a shot of a smiling British trio standing over their crestfallen and unfortunate opponents that the feed cuts elsewhere…

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The screen opens to a montage of luxurious venues, from elegant ballrooms to rooftop gardens, each adorned with exquisite decorations and vibrant atmospheres. Soft, sophisticated music plays in the background as the camera zooms in on a 6’2 gentlemen, hands in pockets, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a Colgate smile if one ever existed, confidently striding through these opulent spaces.

Smiling, while taking his hands out of his light grey trousers, matching his immaculate suit and blue tie, Hogan gestures to the surroundings.

“Hey there, party aficionados! Chad Hogan here, the maestro behind Platinum Party Planners. Today, I want to invite you on a journey – a journey into the world of extraordinary celebrations, where every event is a masterpiece, and every moment is a memory in the making.”

Chad then walks into a lavish ballroom filled with elegantly dressed guests engaged in laughter and dancing.

Hogan cannot keep the grin off his face. “We believe in turning dreams into reality. Look around—this is what we do. We transform ordinary spaces into extraordinary venues, realms of grandeur and allure.”

The next scene cuts to Chad at a sophisticated garden party, surrounded by lush greenery and twinkling lights.

“Whether it’s an intimate gathering in a secret garden or a grand affair under the starry night sky, Platinum Party Planners is your ticket to elite elegance.”

Chad is now seen overlooking a cityscape from a rooftop venue.

Hogan raises a glass. “Here’s to Champagne Cascade Creations! Our own in-house champagne, fifty percent discount, at any one of our events. Because every celebration deserves a touch of effervescent joy.”

The scene transitions to a chic, modern lounge filled with stylish furniture and contemporary decor.

Chad Hogan sleekly leans on top of a bar. “At Platinum Party Planners, we don’t just plan events; we craft experiences. Opulence redefined, my friends.”

The company CEO is now in a studio with the Platinum Party Planners’ logo displayed behind him.

With a charismatic grin, Hogan throws his hands into the air.  “But enough about us. It’s about you and your vision. Platinum Party Planners is where your dreams come to life. Why don’t you let us make all of your fantasies a reality?”

The screen fades to black, leaving only the Platinum Party Planners logo and contact information.


LOGO b&w


Domination 21.

Paul Sanders walks through the curtain, and raises Kid Chameleon’s hand in unison with his, graciously bowing before Darren Best, Alfie Button, The Rich Family and a few familiar faces that have accompanied him on his journey in the world of wrestling.  

He waves his hands to tell them to stop.

“Guys, thank you so much.  Let me take a minute, and then we’ll go out and celebrate.  Paint the town red, or yellow, in my case.”

Just as he turns, a similar-looking guy to Paul, in that they’re both blonde, around 6’2-6-3 and devilishly handsome with blue eyes.

“Paul Sanders, Chad Hogan here,” he extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Chad.  Do I know you?”

Hogan shakes his head, and stops Sanders. “No, you don’t, but I hope you’ll consider my offer,” he states, shoving a card into Paul’s hand.

“What’s this?” Paul asks.

Hogan ignores him.

“Platinum Party Planners?”

Hogan looks Sanders straight on.

“That’s right.  We plan elite events for rich clientelle, and we’re the fastest-growing group in the entire industry and we want YOU and this company to help take us…as cheesy as this sounds…GLOBAL.”

Sanders looks taken aback.

“How can I do that?”



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Want her.

Want her bad.

Want her now.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…

“…is your friend all right? He seems a little…out of sorts.”

Want her bad.

Want her now.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…

“Oh, just ignore him, dawling. He just gets like that from time to time. Now…do tell me all about these two GAW-jus piles of muscles you have here…”

Want her.

Want her bad.

Want her now.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…

“Are you sure you do not want to check on him, darling? The poor man is shaking! And anyway, we really must get going…”

“Oh, what an absolute shame. I suppose we’ll have to resume our little chat another time… It was an absolute pleasure to meet you, though…”

“Yes, you too, darling. I hope your friend is all right.”


DON’T go!

Want her.

Want her bad.

Want her now.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…

“Masky, Masky, Masky…”


BAD touch!



Not bad.

Good touch.

Her touch.

What am I going to do with you, you silly goose? Look at you! You haven’t even got your mask on! People are asking questions, dawling…! Don’t worry, though, I’ve been deflecting…” 

Blonde lady.


Feel things when she talks.

Good things.

Bad things.

Want her too.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…

“Now, don’t look at me like that, dawling! We talked about this. Remember, with the nice lady doctor? You liked her, didn’t you, dawling?”


Liked lady doctor.

Felt things when she talked.

Good things.

Bad things.

Liked holding.

Liked hurting.

Liked choking.


…need to…

…need to bad.

Need to NOW!!!

“Now, dawling. We don’t just go about ROARING in people’s faces when they ask us a question. That is not an acceptable way to address a lady.”







“That’s better, dawling. Remember…girls are not the SOLUTION. They’re part of the PROBLEM. Besides…Isn’t she a little OLD for you? You normally prefer college girls and babysitters…”




“Although, as you could see, I’ve already broken the ice…so I could put in a good word for you, I suppose…Maybe get her to join us some time…?”




“Now, MAS-ky! You’re so im-PATIENT, dawling! You always want everything straight away… Most ladies don’t like that, you know…”








“That’s right…it hurts, doesn’t it? And it won’t stop hurting until you calm down!





There’s Donna’s good boy!”


Good boy.

Donna’s good boy.

“Now…if you really can’t wait, dawling, I suppose I could help you with your…urges.”



Let hold!

Let hurt!

Let choke!


“Tsk! Everything’s always so physical with you, dawling. You really need to work on that. Now, come along…we need to make this quick. The others will be expecting us, and I’ve already kept Allen waiting once today…”


Follow blonde lady!

Do things to blonde lady!

Then happy!

Want her bad.

Want her now.

Want to hold..

Want to hurt.

Want to choke.

Want to…





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The scene opens in the backstage area of The Globe. Michelle, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit with a vibrant shade of lipstick that might be a bit too much, marches down the corridor with purpose. She spots Greg Matthews, the formidable powerhouse, in his red and blue gym gear, and approaches him with confidence.

Smirking, Michelle kicks things off.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the human wrecking ball himself, Greg Matthews. Got a moment?”

Greg looks up from his preparations, his stern expression making it clear he’s not in the mood for small talk.

“What do you want?”

Michelle rolls her eyes.

“Relax, Greg. I’m not here to talk about photo ops or charity events. I’m here to discuss something that might actually matter to you – your career.”

Greg raises an eyebrow, intrigued but still sceptical.

“Spit it out then. And make it quick.”

“You and Damon Somner have been partners for what, a decade now? But let’s face it, Greg, he’s holding you back. You’ve got the strength, the power, the potential to be a solo sensation. Imagine the headlines, the spotlight all on you.  Your performance against Son of Malta was nothing short of amazing.”

Greg chuckles dismissively, clearly uninterested.

“Damon and I go way back. We’ve been through thick and thin together. I’m not ditching him just for some flashy solo career.”

Michelle, leaning in, whispers. “Greg, you’re limiting yourself by sticking with Damon. He’s holding you back, and you know it. GLOBAL could make you a superstar, but you need to cut the dead weight.”

Greg’s expression hardens, and he clenches his fists.

“Damon is not dead weight. We’ve got something special, and I won’t sacrifice that for the spotlight.”

Michelle shakes her head and holds her hands out, almost apologetically.

“Suit yourself, Greg. But mark my words, without me, Damon will drag you down, and you’ll regret not taking this opportunity.”

Michelle turns and walks away, leaving Greg standing there, conflicted but firm in his loyalty to Damon.

Speaking of which, Somner wanders into the shot and gestures at the recently departed Miller.

“She’s in the office, right?”

Matthews merely nods.

“What did she want?”


Even though Damon doesn’t believe Greg’s reply, he slaps him on the shoulder.


Greg claps his hands.




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Earlier today.

Giovanni Ferrari is sitting alone in GLOBAL’s answer to The Oval Office when the telephone, remember them, on the table starts ringing.

It’s an automated message with a distorted voice.

“That stuff you, Young and Fawkes played – you didn’t think that wouldn’t get back to us, did you?  You’re not as smart as you think you are.  You pull any of that in future, and I’ll expose all of you for the frauds you are.  You’ve done a terrible job, and everyone knows it.  GLOBAL is a shitshow, and that falls on you, Giovanni.  Your grip on GLOBAL is loosening, and I’ll be there to see you lose it all.  It’s only a matter of time.  Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won’t be for much longer.” 


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We are escorted to the bustling catering area backstage at GLOBAL Domination 22. Michelle, still impeccably dressed in her tailored suit, spots El Principe enjoying his meal in a secluded corner. She approaches him confidently, determined to make her pitch.

While it isn’t perfect, Michelle dusts her high-school Spanish off for a seconde.

“El Principe, ¿puedo hablar contigo un momento?”

El Principe looks up, his blue and yellow mask covering his expression. He nods, acknowledging Michelle’s presence.

“Claro, ¿qué quieres?”

Michelle takes a seat, crossing her legs, and begins her pitch in English, knowing El Principe understands every word.

She lays it out to him, flapping her hand around.

“El Principe, you come from wrestling royalty. Your father, El Rey III, is a legend in the industry. You’ve got it in your blood, and it’s time the world recognizes that. But here’s the thing – you’ve been playing the villain your entire career.”

Principe listens intently, the silence of his masked face revealing nothing.

Michelle, pointing at him, continues her lecture.

“Imagine the impact you could have as a hero. Kids idolizing you, wearing your masks, cheering for El Principe. You have the potential to be a crossover sensation, not just in Mexico but here in the USA too.”

He leans back, his gaze focused on Michelle, but his mask concealing any emotion

“Mi familia ha sido villana por generaciones. Esa es nuestra tradición.”

Michelle sniggers, undeterred by his response.

“Traditions can change, Principe. It’s time to evolve. Think about the merchandise, the fame, the legacy you could build as a hero. You could be bigger than anyone in your family.

The Crown Prince of Lucha Libre remains stoic, contemplating Michelle’s words in silence.

Miller leans forward, attempting to reason with the Mexican technician.

“I see the potential in you, Principe. GLOBAL can take you to new heights. But you need to step out of the shadows and into the spotlight.

As Michelle gets up to leave, she shoots a confident smile at El Principe, leaving him with food for thought. He continues to sit there for a few moments, deep in contemplation.

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“Be careful what you wish for, little rat…”

The words come out of apparent darkness, causing an instant impact on viewers of the latest video uploaded to a certain YouTube channel. After a moment, the shadows resolve into an androgynous figure, who takes a single step forward as it speaks again.

“You see, some wishes have a way of coming true…in the worst possible way.”

The figure takes another step forward, as the shadows all around it similarly seem to move.

“And when little rats wish really, really hard for certain things…sometimes…they manifest them. And more often than not…they end up wishing they hadn’t.”

The shadows move, resolving into yet more human forms, as the figure steps out into the half-light, its source reflecting briefly on mirrored aviator shades.

“You made a big mistake, little rat. See, you’re about to have your wish granted…but not in the way you think. Because you see…I’m no Fairy Godmother… ”

The figure removes its glasses as it suddenly jolts forward, emerald-green eyes scorching the camera with a glare that matches the demented grin on its features.

“…I’m the Wicked fucking Witch.”

The darkness around the woman in all-black denim and leather moves again, as no less than half a dozen figures step forward to stand behind her, menacing hulks in the semi-darkness, their faces still enshrouded in shadows, but the outlines of their variably muscular physiques somehow perfectly visible in the dimness.

“Go ahead, though. Gather up your Cowardly Lions and your Scarecrows and your Tin Men, put on your little red slippers and head on down the Yellow Brick Road to see Oz the Great and Powerful. Just know that when you get to the end, you won’t find just one man behind the curtain…you’ll find six. And you won’t be in a magical land…you’ll be in your own personal Hell.”

The six shadows behind the woman step forward in almost perfect unison, revealing themselves as six glowering, musclebound men. A grin slowly broaches their ringleader’s features as she speaks up once again.

“That’s right, Toto…you’re not in Kansas anymore. And in this story, the house has already dropped. On Dorothy. And if you think nipping at my heels is going to change anything, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Because all you’re doing right now is annoying me. And if you keep on doing it much longer…I just might have to send my flying monkeys after you again. And then you’ll really be thinking there’s no place like home…and that maybe you should have stayed there in the first place.”

With that, the woman takes a couple of steps back towards the shadows, a gesture swiftly mimicked by her entire entourage. A moment later, they have melded into the darkness once more, leaving the question of whether they were ever there in the first place.

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The collective chatter inside The Globe is rather loud, and suddenly falls silent when they hear a jazz band emerging from backstage, even on commentary, our three- pronged team of Quinn, Deltzer, and Reece have a quick game of:  ‘Is it, is it not?’

Lo and behold, smarter than usual if you can believe it, replacing his tidy jeans with a full suit this time, Jerry David, complete with a smug smile, walks through the curtain AFTER it has been opened for him by security, and he adjusts the collar on his burgundy jacket and red and blue checked tie, looking rather pleased with himself.

“It is, and I thought after Last Laugh, that was Jerry David done, but here he is, in the flesh,” Quinn commences.

“What does HE want?” Reece cattily contributes.

“He’s a fantastic competitor, regardless of what you may think, and just because he lost to Darring does not mean he is DONE.  Far from it.  ANYONE can lose to the champion,” Deltzer reasons.

“No doubt,” Lucas affirms.

“Why is he dressed like he’s going somewhere, though?” Allie asks.

David exchanges some inaudible comments with various members at ringside, simply staring through them while clinging onto his evidently expensive jacket.

Upon reaching ringside, he asks for – and gets – a microphone before scaling the steps to a mixed reception, outstretched arms, basking in the attention and falsely believing himself to be the next messiah.

“It’s good to be back. I can tell you thought you’d seen the last of ‘Good Old Jerry David’ at The Last Laugh, and the looks on all your faces…you’d think you had seen a ghost.  What’s it been?  Three weeks?  Well, more, due to all the hold-ups, but for me, it’s been a minute.  And, despite going through a war, A WAR, I look as good as new, don’t you think?”

Again, he adjusts his suit jacket.

“I think he looks insecure,” Reece analyzes.

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Mark retorts.

“Neither do you, it seems,” Allie fires back.

Back with David. 

“It seems that I couldn’t beat Darring.  Big deal.  The guy’s only been wrestling since he was in the womb, and knows more holds than a Jack of All Trades, though he is a master, I’ll say that.  But, I’m back, because what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and all that.  EZ Rah didn’t come back, did he?  The Jester?  Queen Bianca?  They all walked the plank, and never resurfaced.  Jerry here… I’m no joke.  I’m the real deal.  I’m a KILLER,” he proudly declares.

“He’s got a point,” The Mark weighs in.

“Not like someone who I constantly hear is…OOH…The Boogeyman, The stuff of nightmares…The East Wind…you know who I mean.  The East Wind blows, you say?  I think he straight-up SUCKS,” Jerry shouts, sniggering to himself, proud of that ‘killer’ line, so to speak.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?  Sure, he’s put a few people on the shelf.  Prior to Darring, I put EVERY SINGLE ONE of my rivals up there, broken and beyond repair.  Reyn couldn’t beat Dream, and he lost to Gemini twice, didn’t you hear?  WHO loses to Gemini?  Not a killer.  Not someone like Jerry David.  He, like everyone else in GLOBAL, isn’t in Darring’s league. The only one who’s truly given Sean a run for his money, well, you’re looking at him, suited and booted, and ready to put the boots to anyone who wants to step right up,” Jerry gestures for someone, anyone, to join him in the squared circle and apparently accept his open invitation.

Static suddenly flickers across the tron as the lights dim. Another burst of static. The image fades to show the silhouette of a man leaning back in his chair. Shadows hide his features, but the glimpse of bandages, tape and the stiff movement give a hint to the extent of his injuries.

Yet despite this, the words he speaks are as cutting as sharpened ice.

“Quite the passionate speech, Jerry… Though, I’m afraid you might be running out of material. I hear that’s quite common in your line of work.

Reyn sits up slightly straighter.

“You speak of my shortcomings, and you’re not… entirely inaccurate. I might have even been offended, except I can’t quite shake the feeling that I’ve heard it all before.”

His voice becomes more mocking now.

“Aleczander is nothing! Dream is nothing! They couldn’t get the job done!” How very fascinating to hear you say those words and then end up in the same company as them. Why, the same company as US. You walk in here so proud of yourself, and yet all I hear is self-contradiction. You lost Jerry. Just as Dream did. Just as Aleczander did. Just as I did. If you can hold your head high now… You make yourself a liar. A foolish man whose words were nothing but ignorant bravado. If you spoke the truth, if losing to Darring makes you a failure, a disgrace, in your own words: “A nobody” …Then what does that make YOU?”

One can almost HEAR the smile in his words.

“Which one are you, Jerry? Liar or Failure?”

The crowd breathes a collective gasp at Alex’s accusation.  Jerry’s tongue is lodged in the roof of his mouth, and his hands are on his hips as he shakes his head repeatedly.

“I think that hit a nerve,” Quinn says, and boy, is that an understatement as David then ruffles his hair, seemingly transforming into an alter ego.

“A LIAR?  A FAILURE? Me?  MOI?  Jerry David.  Neither, pal.  I’ve never been any of those things, not then, not, not ever, Scary Man.  I may’ve lost, yes, but I lost to the best.  I hold my hands up.  But, you?  YOU!” David points the finger, peering over the top rope and looking direct at the menacing figure before him on the screen.

“All I’ve been hearing about you is how dangerous you are, but the broken bodies are NOBODIES.  You’ve left a trail of destruction in your wake…I say, you’ve actually done GLOBAL favor by getting rid of those guys, Paul Something-or-other, is it even him?  I don’t know.  NO ONE CARES ABOUT THEM OR YOU!”

David repeatedly shakes his head again.

“You’re not a main-eventer, Reyn.  There, I said it.  You’re not THE guy.  You’re not the man – OR THING!” David feigns being electrocuted when pronouncing thing, which actually makes The Mark laugh.

“The thing to beat Darring.  You’re not.  If I’m not, no one is.  You walk this earth like you’re some kind of God…don’t make ME laugh.  You’re not God.  I’ve SEEN God.  I beheld HIS ORANGE MAJESTY, AND YOU’RE NOT HIM!  YOU’RE NO GOD, DAMMIT!” David screams at the screen, eyes bulging as he stares into space, a sense of vacancy spread all over his face before he ‘snaps’ out of it.

“I’ll show you God when all is said and done.  You, your kind and all these people out here.  You think I’m nobody and nothing?  Jerry David?  You MUST be joking.”


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In the secluded confines of the locker room, the camera homes in on “The Legend” Sean Darring, a figure of focus and determination, gearing up for the night’s climactic battle. The Global Championship belt gleams under the fluorescent lights, casting an aura of prestige around the room. The camera lingers, capturing the rich hues of Darring’s iconic robe, a tapestry of purple, gold, and silver that symbolizes his storied career.

As seconds tick by, the intensity of the moment grows; Darring methodically wraps his wrists and fists with white tape, a silent testament to his readiness for the impending confrontation. His movements are precise, each wrap a step closer to readiness, signalling his preparation for not just any match, but a brawl that demands every ounce of his skill and resilience.

The tension subtly shifts as an unidentified figure steps into the frame, remaining just beyond the camera’s reach. The presence is notable enough to draw Darring’s attention, halting his preparations. There’s a palpable mix of curiosity and guarded readiness in his demeanor, a champion’s instinct to be ready for any scenario.

The room fills with the voice of the newcomer, a statement simple yet laden with significance: “I heard you need a partner tonight.”

Darring’s response is measured, a respectful nod, acknowledging the offer without a word, an exchange between warriors that transcends verbal communication.

The voice persists, sealing the pact with a declaration that cuts through any remaining uncertainty, “Well now you have one.”

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Jerry David steps through the curtain, seething and The Bro, whose leather jacket, black shirt and ripped jeans, is keen to speak to the former number one contender to the GLOBAL Championship. “I’m here with Jerry David, who returned tonight following his defeat to Sean Darring at The Last Laugh.”

“And that’ll be the last time you say that, or I’ll hit the road, BRO, and your career will hit the skids, pal.  Come on.  Ask me a proper question.  Get the scoop, as they say in the trade.  Can you see me?  I’m fired up.  Bring it, man,” David says, face-washing himself, and laughing a little maniacally.

“Reyn said you were running out of material, BRO.” The Bro begins before being cut off by an impatient David, who drags the microphone towards himself.

“Do I look like someone who hasn’t got anything to say?  I’m still the hottest property in GLOBAL, and yet, I’m not being asked serious questions.  We’ve gone from Comedy Hour to Amateur Hour on GLOBAL, folks.  Send him back for training.  I’ve never run out of material, and never will.  Let’s move on,” David shakes his head, disappointed with the interviewer’s line of questioning.

“He also claimed you were a nobody, BRO”

Before The Bro can continue, Jerry snatches the microphone away from him completely, this time.

“What are we doing here?  What are YOU doing?  Last Laugh, you say?  LAST CHANCE, I say.  Okay?”

David checks, a mike check if you will, The Bro has understood, and the interviewer insists he has. Jerry slowly hands it back, a look of disbelief etched on his face.

“So, bro…Alex asked if you were a loser or a fa—AH FUCK,” The Bro screams on live TV.

A quick kick to the groin is the least of the interviewer’s worries when Jerry David takes him down with a suplex, and then a cross armbreaker.  It is no exaggeration to say that The Bro is squealing like a pig in sheer, unfiltered pain.


Security guards are on the scene and surround David, who is not letting go anytime soon, as The Bro pleads with David to let go, apologizing profusely.  David prolongs it for an extra nine, ten seconds before letting go, and suddenly standing up, looking spaced out as Jerry stares straight through them, before walking off.

“Loser…failure…Jerry David?  Not in my dictionary.”


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We see an aerial view of untouched wilderness as upbeat music starts playing, and the camera sweeps over breathtaking landscapes

“In a world where the wild echoes its untamed symphony, one man stands as its unwavering guardian.”

A beige khaki hat sits atop the shoulder-length light brown hair of a man with a matching beige top and shorts.

“Meet “Wildman” Chase Duggan, a force of nature in his own right, dedicated to preserving the delicate balance between humanity and the wild.”

Chase stands in front of a lush rainforest, addressing the camera

“G’day, mates! I’m Chase Duggan, and I’ve spent a lifetime living and breathing the wonders of our planet. But with every adventure comes a responsibility – a responsibility to protect the very essence of life, our wildlife.

The next scene showcases clips of Chase involved in various conservation projects, tree planting, and community engagement.

“From the vast outback to the dense rainforests, “Wildman” Chase Duggan works tirelessly to ensure that the legacy of our planet’s extraordinary biodiversity endures.”

Chase’s hands stop flapping everywhere as he adopts a more serious tone.

“The choices we make today determine the world we leave for tomorrow. It’s not just about saving wildlife; it’s about securing a future for generations to come.”

Text flashes on screen: “Join the Wild Watchers Club – Be a Guardian of the Wild.”

Our soothing narrator steps in.

“Become a part of something bigger. Join the Wild Watchers Club and stand shoulder to shoulder with “Wildman” Chase Duggan in protecting our planet’s rich tapestry of life.”

Upbeat music reaches a crescendo as scenes of community involvement and conservation efforts flash on screen with volunteers rehabilitating baby elephants, tiger and lion cubs, hugging gloriously cute, newborn pandas and, of course, crocodiles.

“Because in the dance of nature, every step counts. Let’s waltz into a future where the wild continues to flourish, guided by the steadfast commitment of “Wildman” Chase Duggan.”

Then, the viewer is left with one final, powerful (or possibly annoying) message.

“”Wildman” Chase Duggan – Embrace the Wild, Preserve the Future.”

The advert fades out to the sound of nature.

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Maximus Armstrong Calvin Kronk, shirtless and lounging on a sofa in LA, is watching “Wildman” Chase Duggan’s conservation advert on television. He grabs his phone and decides to call Baron Clement Botha, who is stationed in a lodge somewhere in Kruger Park, South Africa.


Baron Clement Botha belly-laughs, even if he should be sound asleep at this unholy hour, taking a sip of milk before wiping it away from his light brown mustache. He is in his zebra-skin pajamas. “Ah, Kronk, my friend. Greetings from the heart of the untamed wilderness. What’s got you all riled up about Harwood over there in Hollywood?”


“Well, my friend, there’s more to the wild than just a showcase of fluff and cuteness. Duggan might be onto something noble with his conservation efforts.”


Leaning back, Botha seems rather chilled out about Chase.  “Hating and respecting are two different beasts. While I may not agree with his approach, preserving the wild is a commendable endeavor. Nature’s a fierce opponent, and wrestling in the squared circle is no different.”


Clement sighs.

“Investing in the squared circle, eh? It’s a wild venture, but one that could unleash our untamed energy on a global stage. What’s your gut telling you, Kronk?”


Baron shakes his head in disbelief.

“I didn’t mean literally!  I meant, how do you feel about this as an investment?”


Botha seems deep in thought. “A worldwide wrestling empire, you say? Now that’s a vision as wild as the African Savannah. Let me think about it, Kronk.”


They exchange a hearty laugh as the prospect of a global wrestling venture, pun intended, unfolds, bridging the gap between the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles and the untamed wilderness of Kruger Park.

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The backstage area is alive with energy as wrestlers prepare for their matches at GLOBAL Domination 22 and the next man, conspicuous by his absence, embodies that.  Little does he know that Michelle Miller, with her trademark confidence, spots Darren Best, moments before he steps out for his match. She strides over, ready to deliver her pitch.]

“Darren Best, just the man I was looking for. Mind if I steal a moment of your time?”

Darren, adjusting his black wrestling jacket, raises an eyebrow but nods for her to continue.

“Make it quick. I’ve got a match in a few minutes.”

Michelle laughs.

“Quick it is, then. Darren, you’ve been on fire lately. Two big wins, taking down Keegan and settling the score with Mr. Merchandise. Quite the impressive streak you’ve got going on.”

Darren nods, acknowledging his recent success but remaining cautious.

“I saw your debut against Sean Darring, the GLOBAL Champion. You held your ground exceptionally well. But now, you’re in a prime position, Darren. The iron is hot, and it’s time for you to strike.”

Darren crosses his arms, clearly wary of Michelle’s words.

“I appreciate the compliments, but I’ve been in this business for years, Michelle. I’ve seen others climb the ladder while I’ve had my fair share of setbacks, injuries, and bad luck.”

Michelle looks around and then playfully smacks his arm with her elbow.

“I get it, Darren. You want to earn your way to the top, and you’ve done that. But imagine what we can achieve together. We can turn your recent success into a skyrocketing career. You have the wrestling talents, and it’s time the world knows it.”

Darren remains tight-lipped.

“GLOBAL can make you a star, Darren. Merchandise, endorsements, main events – it’s all within your reach. Don’t let this opportunity slip away.”

A dubious Best opens up a tad.

“I’ve been through too much to take shortcuts, Michelle. I want to earn my way to the top.”

She throws her hands up.

“Fair enough, Darren. Just remember, sometimes the fastest way to the top is to hitch a ride with the right team. Think about it.”

Michelle leaves Darren standing there, contemplating her words, as he heads toward the curtain for his match, the decision weighing heavily on his mind.

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“Darren Best hasn’t been seen for weeks, nursing the bumps and bruises of going to war with the grizzled veteran, Keegan, but tonight, he returns looking to build momentum off winning that mini-series against Mr. Merchandise and then effectively the biggest win of his career at The Last Laugh,” Quinn commences.

“What a welcome-back it is, going up against The Great Wall, one of the biggest, and there’s that word again, men in wrestling today, and in history,” The Mark contributes.

“War Dance” by Shen Yi kicks in with Xiang leading the way, and his 7’2 skyscraper plodding along several paces back.

“What is it with these patriotic pain in the asses?  Listen, Mark, let me finish.  Let me just say this.  Please,” Allie asks as she detects an interjection.

“I love my country, born here, live here, and happy here.  But, between Truth Control and these guys, why do the guys who stand up for great nations like the United States and China have to be assholes?  Just tell me that,” Reece reasons.

“Allie Reece, like Xiang and The Great Wall, entitled to her opinion, and that’s one of the great things about our country, as most people know,” Lucas tries to change direction.

“The Great Wall takes his time getting to the ring, doesn’t he?” Quinn throws out there.

“At his height and weight, with his style, it’s no surprise.  Darren Best’s confidence will be high, but The Great Wall, below-par against Nikolai Sinclair a month ago and let’s give Nikolia credit for making this monster look ordinary, but Xiang and The Wall will be looking to make amends,” Deltzer analyzes.

“A perfect way to do it, at Darren’s expense, who has also had his highs and lows, and here he comes,” Quinn comments.

The late, great Tina Turner’s iconic anthem of “The Best” brings out the in-form Darren, who gets a good ovation.

“He looks as good as new, and time off will do that for a wrestler, but is he ready to go to war again?” Quinn wonders.

“If he isn’t, The Great Wall will swallow him up,” Reece predicts.

“Definitely, Allie.  But I’ve got a feeling that first punch by The Wall will get Darren’s attention in a hurry, and alert him to the grave danger you’re in, whenever you step in there with a super-heavyweight.  They don’t come much taller than The Great Wall,” Deltzer muses.

Best scurries up the stairs, removing his blue and black jacket.  His full-length blue tights have his surname down the right side, while The Great Wall has a similar style, albeit much longer and with red and yellow, emblematic of his homeland and the stars of the Chinese flag rounding things off.

Ding, ding, ding.

“I’ve got a hunch that Darren would rather have faced Xiang,” Reece implies.

“Er…YES!” The Mark confirms.

Darren circles, moving from side to side, while The Wall stands there, glaring through the talented grappler.

“The onus is on Darren to manipulate and move The Wall.  All he has to do is stand there and look pretty,” Deltzer states, extracting a laugh from Lucas Quinn.

“There are many adjectives to describe him, but pretty isn’t one.  Hey, each to their own, though.  I’m sure he’d make a good husband.  Xiang shouting instructions, which very few people in The Globe understand, and we’re underway.  Darren ducks underneath the lunge by The Wall, who was anticipating a collar-and-elbow tie-up to start things off.  Darren cannot get his hands around the Chinese giant’s waist, though,” Quinn calls.

In fact, The Wall, just as he did moments ago, stands there looking rather bemused and simply folds his arms as Best struggles to take him to the ground.

“He can’t do it,” Reece concludes.

“No kidding.  Well, not that way, anyway,” The Mark offers.

Darren walks off as The Great Wall slowly turns to face him.  Best’s ‘best’ isn’t good enough, at least in that exchange.

“Why is he going back for another tie-up?” Reece sounds puzzled.

The Great Wall wins this without exerting any effort.  Barry Snider, our head referee, asks The Great Wall for a clean break after TGW walks Best to the top left-hand corner in the squared circle.

Slowly, he relinquishes his grip, and as he does, Darren stuns him with a stomp to the foot, which looks quite painful.  Then, he kicks at the shin and his third effort targets the knee.  Darren then clings to the leg, which is his mistake instead of sticking to the boots, and The Great Wall with ONE fell swoop puts Darren on his back with an almighty swing to the spine.

“Bless Best for trying, he started that off well, but that went south in a hurry, and so did he,” Lucas sounds sympathetic.

The Great Wall picks Best up, throwing him into the corner where they were seconds ago.


“THAT sounded like a firing squad,” Quinn, clearly impressed, reacts.

It doesn’t take Best to the ground, but he’s keeled over in the corner feeling rather sorry for himself.  The Great Wall grabs him by the chin, forcing Darren to stand upright again, and changes tact with a sore elbow to the side of the head. 

“BIG Biel throw takes Darren out of the corner, almost launching him to the other one.  This is The Wall’s pace, this is his match, and Darren’s in a predicament just seconds into this contest.  Could his good work in the last couple of months be laid to waste by The Great Wall?  That’s the risk you run whenever you step into the squared circle,” Dr. Quinn giving his professional opinion and personal experience there, so listen to it, lads and lasses.

The Great Wall waits for Best to stand, lining him with up with a big bo-CHOP BLOCK BY BEST!

“Darren dodged underneath, but amazingly, it doesn’t take The Wall down…the SECOND ONE WILL, THOUGH,” Quinn tells the viewers.

“Unfortunately, Darren cannot capitalize immediately…where did that kip-up come from?” The Mark asks.

A sharpshooter coming up.

“Can Darren negotiate…no,” Quinn says flatly.

He tries it again, but he still can’t manipulate The Great Wall, who is still physically and mentally well aware of what’s going on.

“Darren sticks the boots to The Wall’s abdomen, hovering closely to the belt line, and an elbow drop…The Wall catches him with a chin lock, but Darren grabs The Great Wall’s leg…oh, what an elbow to the top of the head and even from a grounded position, the giant asserts his authority and Darren falls in a heap next to him.”  Cheers, Lucas.

The camera shows Xiang applauding his charge’s match-altering size and strength, despite being vertical, as Snider quickly conducts a double down.  Who will get to their feet first?

Who do you think?

“Unsurprisingly, The Wall up first, and that’s while taking his time.”

Best runs the ropes, looking for a crossbody block, and gets caught like a child jumping off the bed into their parents’ arms.  Unfortunately for Best, there’s no playfighting or gentle landing.  Urged by Xiang to drop the hammer, The Great Wall walks around with Best first, just in case any of you questioned his power, and let’s use that word again as TGW plants Darren with an earth-shuddering…


No cover. 

No attempt to win.

The Great Wall gets back to his feet.  What’s next?

It’s The Wall’s turn to run the ropes…


Simple, but enough to make Best kick the canvas in pain.  Still, no lateral press.  Is The Wall enjoying it?  No one can tell.  Perhaps Xiang’s enjoying it on behalf of both of them.

“Mark, you know Darren well.  Have you seen anyone ever treat him this way?” Reece puts it to Mark.

“I’ve seen someone beat him more quickly than this, but they were on it, and no, I won’t say who it is.  The Wall is capable of ending this, but for some reason, he’s not going for the jugular.  You shouldn’t play with Darren, because unlike The Wall, he’s built to go the distance and coming off a win against someone who typifies being tough.  Xiang, whatever he’s saying, should be irate right now, and ordering The Wall to go ahead and end it before Darren gets into his groove.  The longer this goes, it favors the smaller, faster, fitter technical wrestler,” The Mark bullishly argues.

Xiang does shout something, and The Great Wall nods.  Picking Best up, he grabs him by the head and effortlessly executes his signature inverted chokeslam facebuster, leaving Best hapless on the mat, down, face-first, doubtless wondering what he has let himself in for.

“That’s more like it,” The Mark says with a tinge of sadness, clearly favoring Best, but admiring The Wall’s handiwork.

“Finish it,” Xiang shouts from the outside.

“We understood that one,” Reece responds.

“More importantly, so does The Great Wall,” The Mark laments.

He shoves Darren’s head between his legs, no, not like that, and is ready to lift Darren up into the air and launch him like Keith Moon dropping a television set from the sixty-first floor, or at least more than eight feet in the air…


As Darren relentlessly flails away, most men would be on the floor right about now, The Great Wall starts to wobble.  Unsteady on his feet…




Not even two.  Best continues the punches from a mounted position, and upon cheering, rouses the crowd with a fist pump.  Darren’s had enough of being a punching bag, and now it’s his turn to dish it out.

He picks The Wall Up, only to drop him with a DDT, and follows up, punishing The Wall for his procrastination, with an OUTstanding moonsault, which gets The Mark out of his chair as Darren, no wasted motion here, flops on top.



Two that time, and The Wall looks like he’s been through a washing machine.  Still, he’s back to a vertical base.  Roared on, Darren leans back, using the ropes for leverage…

Rebound bulldog!

Xiang cannot believe what he’s watching.

This time, Darren does turn The Great Wall, but not for a sharpshooter.

Something similar.

Something better.




The scorpion armlock, with very little build up, is cinched in.  Xiang is up, much to Snider and Darren’s frustration, and Best reluctantly lets go of the most dangerous move in his arsenal to confront the interfering war chief, letting The Great Wall off the hook.

“No, Darren, forget him, and go and reapply that move,” The Mark advises one of his many friends on the GLOBAL roster.  Xiang, not remarkably, drops down to the ringside floor.  When Darren goes back to fetch The Wall, a hammer blow in the form of a LOW BLOW is waiting for him.  Snider, sadly, doesn’t see any of it.

Cue another double down.  Let’s skip to six.

“This time, The Great Wall is going to drop Dao Bomb on Darren Best, no, an inside cradle…can it be?  One..two….close!” The Mark enthusiastically calls.

Drop toe hold by Best catches The Great Wall, who is considerably slower than the native New Yorker, and that paves the way for a regular sharpshooter this time.  Xiang is back up, Darren has his back to the Chinese captain, and Snider ignores him, too.

“Great, finally, wrestlers show some common sense, and referees too,” Reece mocks.

Xiang, suspecting The Wall is struggling to the point he may pass out or tap out, cannot have that, and enters the ring…stunning Darren with his signature STT, a hell of a snap DDT, and Darren is down and OUT.

Snider calls for the bell.  Xiang looks amazed for a moment, and then gets over it, helping The Great Wall up, raising his arm in victory, which raises the ire of the audience.

“On a night full of tag team action, the one singles bout turns into a handicap match,” Reece half-jokes.

“Not for long…”

Cheers go up as the returning Punch Drunk Purcell strides to the squared circle with vigor and purpose, at least for someone 6’1 and weighing 351 pounds. Xiang and The Great Wall adopt their stance to get ready to lock horns and trade blows with the heavy-handed PDP.

Xiang veers off to the side as Purcell walks straight up to The Great Wall.  TGW moves in slow motion, his punch blocked by Purcell, who fires back with a shot that wobbles The Wall, and another that puts him through the ropes and to the outside.

“Good grief, very few people can put The Wall down with two shots like that.  That was a heck of a one-two by Purcell,” The Mark animatedly shouts.

Purcell helps Darren Best up.

I think we may have ourselves a little tag team match next week, Entertainer.

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Earlier tonight.

We shift to the parking lot of The Globe in Los Angeles, where Michelle, in her signature suit, confidently approaches Declan Rich as he steps out of his car. She leans casually against the vehicle, surveying the surroundings, while Declan signs a single fan’s autograph.

“Nice wheels you got here, Declan. Not bad, but I’ve got a feeling I could turn this into a better model, just like we did for your brother Freddie when he signed with GLOBAL.”

Declan, a young and promising member of The Rich Family, raises an eyebrow, curious about Michelle’s intentions and clearly taken aback by the Freddie reference, too.

“Who are you and what are you getting at?”

Miller laughs that off.

“Declan, you’ve been producing some great performances, both in singles and tags. But let’s be real – you’re being held back by your family. It’s time you stood on your own two feet.”

Declan folds his arms, a mix of agreement and disagreement on his face.

” I’ve got loyalty to my family. We’ve been through a lot together, and my success is their success as much as it is mine.”

Michelle nods. “I get it, loyalty is important. But ask yourself this, Declan – where could your career go if you broke free from those chains? You’re a diamond in the rough, and GLOBAL can polish you into a star. No more living in the shadows.

Declan ponders Michelle’s words, conflicted about the path she’s suggesting.

“I’ve had some success, sure, but we’re a family. We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Miller ambitiously nudges his shoulder.

“Family is great, but sometimes, you need to step out on your own to reach your full potential. Look at the opportunities waiting for you. The singles titles, the main events – it’s all within reach.”

Declan sighs.

Taking advantage, a smug Michelle reassures him.

“Take your time, Declan. Just remember, sometimes the hardest choices lead to the greatest victories.”

Michelle leaves Declan standing in the parking lot, deep in thought, as she heads back towards the arena, confident in her ability to plant seeds of change in the wrestling landscape.

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Rutherford and his clients are seen in the ring. Rutherford has a serious look on his face as he raises the mic. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, last show was supposed to be a good match. Now that match did not exactly end in a decision because of tons of outside interference. I mean from my point of view it was a good match, Mr. Dream put up a good fight but so did Mr. Crusader. It is hard to say what would happen if all these other people did not show up. Border Control, we have noticed you but be aware we are very busy people and do not have time for you right now.”

Rutherford, seemingly frustrated, takes a deep breath. 

“I am confident it would have been a good match and I’m positive Mr. Dream would have won. But let’s hear from him.”

Rutherford hands the mic to Daniel. 

“Last week, I had Crusader X beat, but outside interference prevented me from conclusively securing a victory. I’d like a rematch, but for now, I’ve got to focus on the Prime Time Athletes. They’re the supposed threats to my championship, and I’m not going to let them get the better of me.”

Rutherford gets the microphone back. 

“So as we said last week, tonight is the night to prove yourself. Mr. Sinclair will take on any one of the members of PTA. He will make sure you never earn….”

Nikolai covers the microphone as heavy discussion can be seen between him and Rutherford. Nikolai nods in the direction of Daniel who joins in. The guys can be seen for several moments in discussion before Rutherford raises the microphone. 

“We mean no disrespect to PTA but Border Control have decided to stick their nose in our business just to get a title shot, we know this will not end until they get that title shot…so next PPV Border Control vs Rutherford Guys for the Global Tag Team Championship…..on one condition… pepper spray.”

Rutherford taking a deep breath before continuing.

“As for tonight. Mr. Sinclair was scheduled for a one on one, but my clients have changed their minds and demand a tag team match. In fact we will not leave this ring until a tag team match is granted. You want to throw us out? Feel free to try.”

All three men wait for security to emerge from the back but instead a producer comes running down. He waves Rutherford over. They are seen discussing for a bit before Rutherford nods. He walks back to the middle of the ring and raises the microphone with a smile and continues. 

“My clients have now been granted a tag team match against Border Control. The show is now free to go on as planned.”

Rutherford smirks as his clients raise their championships.

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Earlier today.

The backstage area is buzzing with activity ahead of GLOBAL Domination 22. Michelle Miller, busy with her tasks, is approached by Mr. Merchandise, just as she opens her office door.

“You wanted to see me?”

His bodyguards, the enigmatic Bling I and Bling II, stand silently at his side.

Miller tries to keep her cool, and lets out an uneasy smile.

“Mr. Merchandise, always a pleasure. I’ve been thinking about the untapped potential we have here. The almighty dollar can open doors, and I want to make sure we’re maximizing every opportunity.

Mr. Merchandise, always focused on profits, raises an eyebrow in interest.

“Go on.”

She turns the door open and then beckons for Merchandise AND his entourage to open.

“Bling I, Bling II – Bash 4 Cash, right? Take a seat. You guys could make waves, I saw the challenge you made to The Rutherford Guys, and I could make that match happen in an instant. BUT, I see even more dollar signs in their future. How about we amplify their presence? More merchandise, more exposure, and of course, more gold.

Mr. Merchandise smirks, his eyes glinting with the prospect of increased revenue.

“You’re onto something, Michelle. Mr. Merchandise and Bash 4 Cash is all about the money. What do you have in mind?

Michelle points to them.

“Let’s give them the spotlight they deserve. New merch designs, special promotions, and how about a title run? Imagine the revenue streams flowing in when Bash 4 Cash becomes synonymous with success.”

Mr. Merchandise strokes his chin, considering the proposition.

“You make a compelling case. But remember, Michelle, the bottom line is what matters. If we can turn their chaos into profit, then we have a deal.”

Miller smiles.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind. Let’s make The Merchandise Consortium the hottest commodity in GLOBAL.”

“Cha-ching,” Merchandise jokes, raising an imaginary class and making the sound associated with generating money.

The trio, Michelle and the two masked bodyguards, exchange nods, sealing a deal fueled by the motivation of the almighty dollar, ready to turn The Merchandise Consortium into a lucrative force within the wrestling world.

LOGO b&w


“Hey, Alfie, a little bit of help out there would’ve been nice,” Darren Best shouts down the hallway at his friend, Alfie Button, who presses his index finger.


Best points at himself incredulously.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he says.

Alfie grabs his friend.

“Listen, I don’t know what went on earlier, I’m sorry I wasn’t there, but I’m a bit busy right nah.”

Darren shakes his head.

“No, that’s bullshit.  What’s going on?”

“Keep your voice dahn, Dazza.  When I lost to Dream the ovver week, I saw someone in the front row, and I’d seen them a few weeks before, as well, when talkin’ to Valorie,” Alfie explains.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m bein’ followed, and it ain’t by some fangirl, I wish it were, or even Amber…d’ya remember an interviewer who used ta work ‘ere?”

“Steve Blaine?”

“No, not ‘im.  The funny guy from my part ov the world.  The geezer wiv the green ‘at and all that, satchel bag, a bit weird, innit?”

Best nods.

“Tobias Bellamy.”

Button snaps his finger.

“Bingo, ‘im.  ‘e’s wonderin’ arand ‘ere, and every time I see ‘im, ‘e runs off somewhere and I swear, ‘e’s in the bog over there right nah, so I’m sorry for bein’ a crap mate or whatevah, but I’ll make it up to you.  I’ve got to go in there and sort this geezer aht.”

“Whatever rocks your boat.”

Button shakes his head.

“It ain’t like that at all, and you know it.  I was smitten wiv Amber, and I’m as straight as a die.”

Best nods along in agreement.

“Want me…?”

“Nah,” Button says, slapping his former partner’s chest.  “I don’t wanna scare him off.”

Best leaves while Button slowly walks into the restroom, and there’s no one around.  He does, however, suspect there may be someone in the stall.

“Tobias Bellamy…why d’ya keep followin’ me, mate?  It’s Alfie Button, no one else speaks like me, and no one can sure as ‘ell impersonate me, so why don’t ya come out, and tell me why I keep seein’ ya weird-looking arse every so often?”

Cue silence.

“Okay, Tobias, you don’t come out ‘ere in free seconds flat, I’ll superkick that door open and beat it out ov ya.  Easy as one, two free,” Button threatens.


And then the door is unlocked.

Lo and behold, Tobias Bellamy stands before Alfie with his brown hair tucked behind a camouflage hat, a laptop bag, a knee brace on his left leg and blue eyes looking up at Button.

“Watch ya?  Alfie.  But, you know that don’t ya?  What do you want?”


The cockney cackles at his compatriot.

“Out wiv it before I bury your body in the bog there,” Button promises.

“Have you noticed things around here?”

Alfie laughs again.

“I noticed you, didn’t I?  Yeah, sure, I ‘ave.”

Bellamy proceeds cautiously.

“Such as?”

Button locks eyes with Tobias.

“You first.”

Bellamy stands his ground this time.

“No, YOU first.”

Button, realizing his threats have run out, puts his arm on the stall and tuts, reeling names off by raising a finger each time.

“Darren Best, Freddie Rich, Todd, Declan, Darring, me, Dream, Sinclair.”

“What about them?”

Alfie sighs.

“They’ve all ‘ad ‘istory wiv Alex Reyn somewhere else, and they’re all gavvered ‘ere in GLOBAL conveniently,” Button states.

“So, you do know something?”

Button looks taken aback.

“What do YOU know?”

“No way,” Bellamy rejects the question.

“Okay.  Freddie and Darren came in on big, fat contracts way abuvv their pay grade, no disrespect to them.  Everywhere Reyn goes, the place shuts dahn and the last free places ‘e’s wrestled, former victims, rivals, opponents, whatevah, they’re all ‘ere.  Sinclair and Dream from IBW, and a bunch of us from nbW and SCW, jOlt even, where me and Dazza first met the nutjob.”

Bellamy nods.

“Right, Tobias, what are ya tellin’ me?  I’ve spilled my guts.”

Tobias leans in, and whispers, handing a card to Button.

“When you’re ready to talk, come to this address and come alone.  Make sure no one follows you.” 


LOGO b&w


“Major tag team action in store next, as the champions, The Rutherford Guys, take on Truth Control,” Allie announces.

“You mean…The Rutherford Guys?  You had one job,” The Mark moans.

“I said it correctly,” Reece insists.


“If you think John J. Truth isn’t going to be involved in this match, then I’ll change what I said to Border Control right now.”

Arms folded, The Mark nods.

“You have a point.”

Lucas thankfully takes over the baton.

“We have company in the form of another member of Truth Control, the controversial Lexi Darlington.  Welcome, Lexi.”

“Is that it, Lucas?  Not lovely?  Wonderful?  Controversial?”

Their conversation gives way to “Stars and Stripes Forever” and boos emerge from all corners of The Globe.  And I dare say, it’s probably not limited to the 2,500 spectators on hand for live action in Los Angeles, save for a certain guest commentator, of course.

“Here they come, Washington and Lincoln leading the way, they are the subordinates of this group after all, waving American flags as if they’re proud patriots,” Quinn starts.

“They ARE proud patriots.  They defend this country in a way ninety-nine percent of the ungrateful public will never understand.  I’ve never seen such true Americans in American be booed for waving the American flags.  Maybe an ex-president and soon-to-be-once-again president was right on the state of this nation,” Lexi insinuates.

“You, and these guys, make me and everyone else here sick.”

The boos, of course, grow louder once the spotlight is directed at John J. Truth, bringing up the rear, standing and glaring at those ringside observers hurling insults his way, the INTERNATIONAL Championship laying on his left shoulder.

“The only thing that means as much to him as his country, so close to his heart,” Darlington spews.

“Does she really believe this?” Reece looks at Deltzer and Quinn as Darlington stands up and applauds ‘her boys’ and the boos reach a crescendo as Washington and Lincoln stand up on the apron, seemingly seeking accolades that aren’t coming anytime this century.

“They’re a great team, they’ll make it rough, they’ll get in Sinclair and Dream’s faces, and I’d be surprised if they didn’t at least make things difficult in a way some recent opponents haven’t been able to do, particularly for Nikolai Sinclair.  Washington and Lincoln have got the credentials and with John J. Truth…” Quinn is cut off.

“General John J. Truth, the only ever INTERNATIONAL Champion, the TRUE title here in GLOBAL, because of that man, and you’re all so welcome,” Darlington declares.

“Unbelievable,” Reece musters.

“Glorious Domination” brings out the champions and the cheers, for this week at least, as Richard Rutherford carries the gold straps in either hand, smiling, as Daniel Dream and Nikolai Sinclair strut down the aisle behind him, looking ready for battle.

“No nights off, not taking a back step, yes, Border Control may get in their faces, but Richard Rutherford needn’t worry about these guys.  It may be non-title, but should Border Control win tonight, they have to be instated as number one contenders, and Sinclair and Dream know that as well as anyone.  In their minds, this may as well be for the belts, no second chances, and that is the best mentality and approach in wrestling.  Wrestle every match as if it’s your last, Game Seven so to speak for all you basketball fans out there, and I know Daniel Dream is one,” Quinn narrates.

Fireworks go off as Dream and Sinclair enter, with Rutherford holding the belts up for all to see.

“They’re not on the line, just to reiterate that fact,” Lucas mentions.

“They will be next time, and it’ll be the same result,” Darlington reckons.

The bell sounds, and there’s a moment’s hesitation between the two teams before we find out who’s going first for their units.

“What an opportunity for Border Control,” Deltzer pipes up.

“Real power isn’t given – it’s taken.  John took the INTERNATIONAL title,” Darlington begins.

“You’re right – stole it in plain sight, with your boys over there,” Allie interrupts.

“You’re tiresome.  Is she always like this?”

“Yes, Lexi,” The Mark answers only to get a dead arm for his troubles.

Daniel Dream and Agent Washington are going to kick things off for their respective teams.  Cautiously, keen to avoid handing the initiative to such a strong team on the other side, they circle one another for five-six seconds before curiosity gets the better of both cats and they embark on a collar-and-elbow tie-up that goes back and forth for a similar amount of time before Washington ‘scores’ with an eye poke that, in fairness to Staggs, he doesn’t see.  The crowd does, however, and isn’t happy with Washington’s shenanigans thus far.  Lexi Darlington, on the other hand, is a different story.

“Now that is how you gain an early advantage. Agent Washington really excels at assessing each moment and finding the best course of action for each situation. I have no problem stating I’m proud to have that man as an employee. He really is an invaluable asset. They both are, in different ways.

While Daniel holds his eye, a sledge to the back gives him something to worry about, and a second one puts him on the ground, showcasing Washington’s power.

“Both of these men pack a punch,” The Mark underlines.

“Mr. Dream lacks Agent Washington’s street expertise, though. Mr. Washington treats every fight the same way, whether it is in or out of the ring.

Repeated elbows, four in total, keep Daniel nailed to the canvas, Washington threatening to make himself dizzy with the nippiness in between strikes, and a rake to the eyes with the bottom of his boot.

“Come on, Staggs saw that one,” Reece complains.

“Dream didn’t, did he?” Lexi slides in.

“And he still can’t,” Lucas laments.

Washington cackles sadistically, rather pleased with himself.  To quote my parents:  Who’s your friend?

As Staggs turns away for a SPLIT second, entertaining Sinclair’s dissent, Washington takes advantage with a blatant LOW blow.

“It has started,” Deltzer throws his hands up.

“Started?  Are you and Dream suffering from the same thing?  That’s three things they’ve got away with, and it’s no surprise that Shane Staggs is the man in the middle,” Allie insinuates.

“Actually, I would like to take this opportunity to clarify a misconception which has significantly harmed Mr. Staggs’ professional standing. While he is a close friend, he has never been, and will never be, offered a bribe of any kind for preferential treatment for us. I find it absolutely outrageous that that idea has ever even been entertained, let alone allowed to go viral…!’

Staggs, seemingly oblivious to anything that has just taken place, sees Washington drag his man up, ramming Daniel’s head into Washington BC, see what I did there, territory. That means Dream’s bonce bounced off the top turnbuckle, and Lincoln gets a clean tag amongst a lot of dirty tactics.

“Washington is no small man, but he’s the brains, and this man, Lincoln, he’s the brawn of the outfit,” The Mark reminds viewers.

“Scary thought,” Quinn concedes.

“It has been a solid start by your boys, Lexi,” Allie half-mocks and half-commentates. 

“Indeed, it has. Shame it isn’t for the titles,” Darlington mentions. “Oh, well, in due time, I’m sure. I know the General has mentioned that he wants those two men to reign alongside him as Tag Team Champions, as something of a reward for their loyal services. He is such a magnanimous leader…”

As Lexi gives off a little swooning sigh, Lincoln keeps Dream pinned in the corner with three Nash-esque elbows to the side of Daniel’s head prior to taking a few steps back.  He launches himself at Dream and EXPLODES onto Daniel’s chest with an impressive corner splash before throwing Dream down, as if he wasn’t going to fall, anyway.

“Richard Rutherford looks a tad concerned over there, as he should be, and this has been one-way traffic for Border Control,” Quinn admits.

Truth tells Lincoln to tag out, ending his cameo, which may come as a surprise.  Lincoln does what he’s told, swapping places with Washington.

“Frequent tags are the key to success, and have been since the beginning of time,” Deltzer declares. Lexi, however, is caught frowning slightly at this decision, an expression she quickly erases from her face when she notices the camera is on her.

Whatever her thoughts on the matter, Washington returns, kneeling and making a cover.


“Not that successful,” Reece playfully digs at Mark.

“Too much time has elapsed,” Quinn dryly replies.  He’s not wrong.

“You’re acting as if that wasn’t deliberate. To me, it was an obvious wear-down tactic…but then again, I know these men, and how they think and operate…while you only know whatever fits your preconceived notions about them. Hopefully, some of these people in attendance will bother to do their own independent research, rather than simply believing whatever they are told by the likes of you three.”

An uncomfortable silence descends over the announce table after this tirade, as, in the ring, a reverse chin lock slows the tempo and impact right down. It’s a sound strategy, perhaps even older than time itself, and asks a lot of questions of Daniel Dream when it comes to determination, fitness, desire, and fire, especially in what it essentially a no-stakes, non-title tussle between two of the best tandems in GLOBAL.  In fact, the champions, number one by virtue of those belts, look second best by a distance right about now.

“The pace is slow, which suits these brutes down to the ground, and if they have anyone there in GLOBAL, Dream, Darring, Reyn, Truth himself…I don’t care who you are, you’re in trouble,” Quinn reckons.

“Oooh, yes. Very much so. You see, another wrongful preconception about those men is that they are one-dimensional fighters. They can certainly do more than simply hit hard…as Agent Lincoln is evidencing just there.

“Lincoln leans back here…BIG BOOT, AND WAS IT EVER,” Lucas animatedly calls.



Just two. Dream is looking somewhat desperate, though, as is Sinclair, eager to get in there and reverse the predicament the kingpins find themselves in.

“And right back to the reverse chin lock, we go.  You may not like it, it may not be entertaining, it is elementary and it is certainly effective,” Quinn points out to the GLOBAL Nation.

“They’ve identified Daniel Dream as the weak link, and I’d love to know how they came to that conclusion, but I’m sure Lexi won’t share that with us,” Lucas probes.

“A professional strategist never shares their secrets. Especially not with people like…you.” Before anyone can call her out on this remark, Lexi’s attention is drawn back to the ring, as she says the quiet part out loud. “These are the Tag Team Champions?”

“Well, yes, Lexi, but there is more to this situation than just demerit on the Champions’ part. Border Control have looked better against The Rutherford Guys than anyone in weeks, perhaps even ever, in GLOBAL,” Reece responds.

“Oh, honey, you actually thought the boys were serious those other times…bless your heart!”

“Dream’s going to give it a go, though,” Lucas calls as he sees Dream make Washington budge with another shot downstairs, fairly of course, and a second. Washington can’t help but release when Dream rains in with a third and a fourth. He does have a counter in a clothesline lined up, but Dream anticipates that and ducks underneath.When Washington turns round, he is SUPERKICKED TO FUCK, which Truth curses on the outside, and we’re not going to repeat it.

“The General is so demanding, so…so exacting. He tolerates absolutely no mistakes or slip-ups. A natural born leader if ever I saw one. Such a temper, though… But even that is just part and parcel of leadership, isn’t it?” Lexi once again appears ready to propose to Truth, as Lucas pipes up rather smugly.

“Dream’s a weak link, really?”

Staggs, do your job for once, son.



“Agent Washington is going to be first to his feet,” Lexi says, hopeful and confident of that.  Or, is she?



“You’d think,” Recce puts the cat among the pigeons.


“YES,” Lexi claps. “I never doubted him for a second.”

Her little prediction proves to be right.  Washington drills Dream’s leg into the mat, the very one that got his attention a moment ago, and he does it again under the orders of you-know-who on the outside.

“The general giving his orders,” Lexi marvels. “Such a brilliant strategist… So intelligent, so, so…” She struggles to find her words, prompting a little “help” from Allie.


Honey! You’re bound to traumatize the children with language like that! I thought this was a family show!” Lexi actually gasps in indignation, before evening out her tone for the response. “You call it…that…I call it opportunistic. He always knows how to take advantage of the circumstances, and that is why he and the boys work so well together.”

“Nothing to do with you, then?” Mark Deltzer has a hard time hiding his sarcasm, but Lexi appears to take his comment utterly seriously, judging by the tone of her response.

“Gosh, no! I’m just the arm candy, darlin’…”

Truth applauds it when Washington, his lieutenant general, does it a third time and then slaps a knee bar on for good measure.  That definitely makes Daniel sit up and take notice.

“See, there’s that wearing-down strategy I was mentioning earl—wait, what is that other man doing?!”

Having had his fill of what he has seen so far, Sinclair simply walks in and kicks Washington in the forehead, which the crowd ironically cheers, given what Border Control has got away with.

“WHAT?! Can he just do that?! And everyone applauds him for it?! I shudder to think of the reaction if one of my associates did that! This only goes to prove the amount of odds and bias those two men…those two heroes…have to go up against every single day!”

Lexi, however, appears alone in her indignation, as evidenced by Lucas Quinn’s next call.



“Nikolai, you do that one more time, and you’ll be disqualified,” Staggs tells Nikolai.

“He can’t be serious?!” Reece reacts.

“Oh, but he is, honey. Deadly serious. ” Darlington points out. “Thank goodness Mr. Staggs is an upstanding member of his professional class! For a moment there, I thought that awful individual was going to get off scot-free for that…that unprovoked assault on poor defenseless Agent Washington!”

Washington is still holding his head and kicking the mat in frustration.

“That was one hell of a kick, and Nikolai is one of the most powerful men on the planet in full flow, but I do wonder if Washington might be overreacting,” Lucas questions the agent’s antics.

“Overreacting?” Lexi queries. “That was a horrible, despicable assault on a vulnerable and unprepared victim. If I’m honest, I’m surprised Agent Washington is not out cold or seriously injured. That man could have caused some permanent brain damage! How dare you insinuate…” Suddenly, Lexi’s tone changes from righteous anger to a sneer. “Then again, what made me expect any better from someone like you?”

Lucas, perhaps to his credit, shies away from confrontation in this instance; Allie, however, has no such qualms.

“Oh, let’s see, shall we?  A non-title match in which Border Control have been dominant, granted, and could pick up a disqualification victory over the TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS?  I wonder why he may be keen to get out of there, unharmed, with a future match and the belts on the line…”


“’Unharmed’?” Once again, Lexi reacts in gasping disbelief. “He is lucky to be alive right now!”

Nikolai shakes his head, livid that he has received a warning, and Richard Rutherford has a few choice words for the quality – or lack thereof – of the officiating in this encounter.  Shane Staggs isn’t the most popular person in The Globe, and Truth tells Lincoln to get in there, just as Dream rises to his feet.  Conveniently, because Staggs is hearing a complaint from Richard, defending his performance, Lincoln’s allowed to just wander in and take over where Washington left off, and in an amazing turnaround, Washington rapidly rolls to the outside on the north side, closest to the commentators, while holding his forehead, yes, but no longer static. That isn’t something lost on 75% of our current commentary team.

“’Lucky to be alive‘, huh? Suuure.” Reece smacks her own head.

Here comes Lincoln, but with a shout from Rutherford and Sinclair in unison, Dream beats the biggest man in the bout with an excellent uppercut before teeing off on Lincoln with four shoot kicks, a pair to each leg, alternating left, right, left right, like an old 8-bit console cheat code.

Dream follows up on his good work, by cornering Abraham’s namesake and cracking him with a fabulous forearm.  When Lincoln comes out of the corner, Dream, ready, willing, and now able, DECKS his man with a high running knee right on the chin and this is an instance where it’s true concerning the bigger they are and all that jazz.

“What a knee, the bee’s knees,” The Mark calls.

“And you’re NOT British, you say?” Reece replies.

“No, I am NOT,” The Mark insists.

“You’re not very demanding, either, are you, darlin’? That was a six out of ten, at best…”

“…and yet it took your man down like a redwood tree…”

Allie’s barb is, however, either ignored or missed by Lexi, who simply continues on with her train of thought.

“Besides, the only person it hurt was himself, look…!”

Dream is on the canvas, nursing said knee, which Washington went to work on post-superkick, and now it has had a definite effect, saving Lincoln’s backside and Border Control’s prolonged sense of dominance, at least momentarily.

Cue a double down, and Staggs is taking it slowly.


So slowly, the crowd can count along, and they oblige.


“My god,” Allie doesn’t hold back.


“Mr. Staggs is methodical, honey. My goodness, I shudder to think what you’re like with a partner…”


“Can Dream get there?  They’re both on the way home,” Quinn questions.


Lincoln tags Washington.



“Nikolai Sinclair is in, and Washington is down in an instant due to that INSANE clothesline, which almost turned Washington inside out.  What impact,” Quinn enthusiastically calls.

“Mr. Staggs will soon take care of that brute. He can’t just… I mean, we’re not animals!”

Roll up…roll up…Lincoln gets the same treatment, and that was no softer, lads and lasses.

“…any moment now…” For the first time, Lexi’s tone has an edge of concern, which Allie appears to appreciate, judging by the dry, sarcastic chuckle heard just then.

Sinclair tosses Lincoln out of the squared circle, like taking out the trash, and then does the same to Washington, standing tall and finally, The Rutherford Guys are in of control over, er, Border Control.

General Truth gets the troops together for a little Guardiola talk.

“They’re in retreat mode,” Allie believes.

“Oh, honey, bless your heart. I don’t quite know which end of a football to kick, but even I know a time-out when I see it. And you’re a sportscaster…? Your daddy must have some very good connections. See, what the General is doing there is giving the troops new instructions. A change in tactics. To create unpredictability, and give them the element of surprise. It’s masterful, really. And I find your attempt to reduce it to something as cowardly and un-American as ‘retreat mode‘ frankly quite offensive. You need to check your bias, sweetheart.”

As Lexi unloads on GLOBAL’s female announcer, Lincoln rolls back in and not-so-politely asks for a game of Roman knucklelock.  Sinclair nods his head, game and definitely obliging.  As he locks up, and they’re about to come together, Lincoln kicks him not once, but twice, taking a shortcut by heading straight for the stomach.  Sinclair doesn’t go down.  He holds his gut, however, because you don’t get a pair of those for free by someone with Lincoln’s credentials and street cred, and no-sell it.  Sinclair wanders right into a powerslam, and the operative word is power.

“Agent Lincoln doing what he does best. I would just love for him to manhandle me like that…”

As Lexi once again appears to be…shall we say emotionally moved?…by the match, the referee drops down to count.



But, by whom?  Both of them, you say?  Yes, I concur.

Sinclair tries to shake the cobwebs loose.  Lincoln stays on him with some kicks to the back, and as Sinclair gets up, Lincoln underlines that awesome size and strength, picking Nikolai up like he’s a baby with a sidewalk slam. Then, Truth orders him to the corner and has a quiet word, well by his standards at least. Lincoln points at Washington, tagging his partner in.

“They’ve fared well against both Dream and Rutherford,” Quinn reminds us.

“So well,” Deltzer puts an even more positive spin on Border Control’s PR campaign.

“Washington is the smaller and arguably less powerful, but he’s the smarter of the two, and a better tactician than Lincoln.  Isn’t that right, Lexi?” Lucas seeks their guest’s input and insight.

“Yes. That’s right. They complement each other well in that regard.” Lexi’s tone appears a little flat and curt, but Lucas chalks that up to her being engrossed in the match, and seeks to do the same himself.

Washington sends Sinclair to the east side of the squared circle, and criminally lowers his head.  Sinclair stands there.  When Washington raises his head, realizing the error of his way and resembling a rather large rabbit stuck in the headlights…


Nikolai’s take on the Claymore Kick extracts a collective gasp from The Globe.

“GOOD LORD,” Lucas Quinn can’t hold back.

“What are they playing at out there?” For the first time since joining commentary, Lexi’s social tone drops, her real feelings coming through in the husky half-growl.

Sinclair stumbles to the mat himself, though he’s not out…Washington certainly is. 

“The tactician made the wrong move,” Reece sticks the knife in.

“Did he ever,” Deltzer not helping things there.

“Mm.” For once, Darlington is rendered speechless, though when the camera catches her, she is visibly livid, her fists clenched and her body almost vibrating with anger.

Will Staggs go slow or fast here?  Who knows?  WHO CARES…?

You’ve got a point.

One, two…skip a few.

No, not ninety-nine or even nine.





“Not what Border Control wanted, though they’ve done remarkably well, no matter who’s been in there, and Washington gets to Lincoln…OH, WHAT A DROPKICK, sending Lincoln back into the corner so, so hard, and the back of his head…that, believe me, will hurt in the morning.  Staggs, and I don’t know how The Rutherford Guys will take to this, has given Washington the nod to come in and substitute his fallen partner…great thinking on Dream’s part, as he hits Washington with a spinning heel kick, sending him off the apron before the new man could enter, and that’s the highlight for our capacity crowd in California in this non-title match between two elite teams,” Lucas breathlessly blurts out.

Lexi continues to simply glower and shake with tension as Truth goes over to see what the hell is going on, anxious, and a baseball slide by Dream catches the INTERNATIONAL titleholder unaware, dividing opinion on whether that was a cheap shot or not on the shop floor.

“DREAM GETS A WARNING,” Reece incredulously responds, even rising to her feet in protest and rubbishing Shane’s ruling.

“He’s clearly on the make,” Allie adds, unable to contain herself comes out and tells anyone willing to listen to her.

“Oh, WHAT are you all talking about?” Lexi rejoins the conversation in the most forceful manner, cutting off whatever thoughts anyone else might have been ready to put across. “That man assaulted an innocent bystander! The General was not doing absolutely anything except checking on his employee. If that had been the other way around, with one of our men attacking the other team’s manager, you all would have been baying for blood!”

Another uncomfortable silence descends over Truth and Washington, both on the ringside floor.  Daniel Dream is gearing up for a suicide dive, but a shout from Richard Rutherford makes its way to the amazing all-rounder, who upon hearing the echo, does a U-turn reversal, making Washington and Truth ‘wince/budge’ if you like, and instead, he looks extremely cool hanging out on the middle rope, like someone sitting on their front step until…



“That does not work if your opponent is…you know what, nevermind.”

As Mark Deltzer uncharacteristically bails on a sarcastic remark, Washington cackles on the outside, but Lincoln shows he CAN manage on his own, bringing Dream back down to earth for the second time in the matter of seconds…or he would have had Dream not scarpered out into the backyard.  Lincoln receives a shout from Truth, who’s now back on his feet, helping Washington up…

…but just too late, as Dream drills Lincoln following a leg-feed enzuigiri that echoes throughout The Globe like a GUN SHOT.

“Daniel Dream may not have produced his best-ever performance, but even on a bad day by his sky-high standards, he shows you why he’s among the elite in GLOBAL, and leaves Lincoln something to remember him by.  WHAT. A. SHOT.”  The Mark, not Lucas, paying compliments to the Georgian grappler there, ladies and gentlemen.


And Dream makes a leap for it, literally, tagging in the big guy, Nikolai, and a cheer goes up as Sinclair starts his second spell in the squared circle much like his first, ratting Lincoln’s teeth with a ferocious European uppercut.  Sensationally, Lincoln still has the presence of mind and automatically returns fired, but his equilibrium is scrambled and Sinclair effortlessly avoids contact, punishing the agent with a belly-to-back suplex, unlike Lincoln’s own effort on Dream merely moments ago, which has led to this upturn in the champions’ fortunes.  Insult to injury?

Either way, Nikolai wants Lincoln back on his feet, presumably to inflict more punishment, and the tough-as-nails Lincoln doesn’t disappoint, rising to his feet, only to be put back where he came from with a stunning Superman punch.

“That man should be excised from this sport!”

“…for…being competent at it…?”

“If by ‘competent’ you mean ‘murderous’…

Nikolai is left standing tall, so General John J. Truth decides to bring him down a peg or two.  He proudly hoists the belt up on his shoulders, posing for a hostile crowd and then points at the tag belts in Rutherford’s hands and goes ‘those are next!

Lexi is the only one who applauds.  Virtually every single one of the 2,500 members of the GLOBAL Nation housed in The Globe for Domination 22 boo John’s take on the tag titles.

“I did tell you about the General’s intentions earlier, didn’t I? And there he just made them clear to everyone. As a true leader should. What a leader! What a man!

Rutherford looks somewhat surprised, and puts the declaration to Sinclair, and they both shake their heads.

“NAH,” they shout to one another in perfect unison.  Daniel Dream has a grin on his face, one that complements their rather decisive assessment and dismissal of Truth’s prediction.

“WHAT?! What disrespect towards the General!! How dare they?!”

Why get mad, when you can get even and take it out on someone?

This is what Sinclair does with a DEVASTATING double hook DDT, aptly-named I’m sure you’ll agree as he hits…


Truth gets up onto the apron, and Nikolai glares at him.  They’re not playing here, and John jumps down when Nikolai swings for him and narrowly misses, the crowd producing an OOH at how close Truth came to getting clocked and wishing it had happened.

“AGAIN. Assault on an innocent bystander. Grounds for multiple lawsuits, if not jail time.”

“Things have broken down, and is Staggs the man to handle this?”



I’ll let you guess which way the women, with Women’s Day having just passed, voted.

Washington is in…only to be intercepted by an…

“UNCLE SLAM by Daniel Dream,” Quinn calls, and that’s an Angle Slam, by the way.

“PATRIOT LOCK – LOCKED IN,” The Mark follows up, and Dream has got Washington’s ankle more twisted than a Charles Bronson evaluation, and Washington is in real trouble of not walking out of here if this continues.

“Back in a moment,” Lexi tells her broadcast partners, who naturally know she’s up to no good.

She confronts Sinclair, Staggs standing between both of them…

“From behind, there’s Truth…who hits Dream in the back of the head with his PRESTIGIOUS INTERNATIONAL TITLE,” The Mark yells.

Naturally, Dream collapses, and Washington grabs his ankle, evidently in agony.

“And Staggs didn’t see any of that,” Allie feigns yawning, clearly tired of Truth Control’s antics, and Shane’s inability to officiate when they’re involved in a match. 


“It happened against Alfie Button and Crusader X.”




“What would you know?  Look who’s here.  Like the fans, Crusader and Alfie have had enough, and they’re running out there to even up the score, and oh, welcome back, Lexi,” Lucas narrates.

“And, oh, goodbye again, Lexi…”

In fact, it appears Lexi’s return to the commentary table had no other purpose than to collect a can of pepper spray from her purse – presumably a replacement, after Alfie Button confiscated her original one two weeks ago. Once in possession of the item, she trundles back towards ringside like a woman possessed, signals for Lincoln to intercept Alfie, spins Crusader X around…

…and promptly gets maced with her own (former) can by the masked man!

“X and Alfie pulling a bait-and-switch here, and our friend Lexi there fell for it, hook, line and sinker. X had the can of mace, not Alfie! So much for ‘master strategist’…” Allie Reece can barely contain her mirth as she admires the spectacle of Truth Control’s manager dancing around in her Loubotin heels, while shrieking and clawing at her eyes in a most undignified manner. Her screech of “GET THEEEEEMMM!” is worthy of Rita Repulsa, and spurs the men in her group to action, as they rush forward to engage their opponents.

“This could get out of real hand, real fast,” Quinn predicts.

“Not helped by Lexi over there, and Shane Staggs isn’t the referee I want out there for this.  We need Snider, and definitely Powell out there, right now,” Reece reckons.

Only they’re not coming, and the crowd doesn’t mind for that one bit as the battle lines are drawn.

Crusader X make a beeline for John J. Truth, who thinks about retreating, but stops, decides to engage and Crusader X throws the first punch, which John weathers before returning fire with a right of his own that does more damage.

Lexi SLAPS Alfie Button, and instantly regrets that when he smiles, shurgs it off and is about to superkick here.  She, however, ducks, and he points and laughs before Lincoln clotheslines Button out of his boots, which makes Dream retaliate on Alfie’s part with THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE, knocking Lincoln spark out.

Washington decks Dream before Sinclair wanders over, and squares up to Washington.

FINALLY…every referee, and I mean EVERY referee, gets between Sinclair and Washingto to break this up as the vast majority of The Globe boos the interruption.

“This is far from over…it’s just getting started,” Lucas waxes.


LOGO b&w


Moments after From A to So Pee It earlier on.

Michelle, ever determined, catches Alfie Button in the hallway, just as he steps out of the bathroom. Alfie, slightly flustered, raises an eyebrow at Michelle.

“Alfie, mate! Just the bloke I wanted to see. Quick word?”

Raising an eyebrow, and still flustered by his conversation with Tobias Bellamy moments ago, Alfie shakes his head. “What’s the fuss? Can’t a bloke use the loo in peace? And is that you ‘aving a laff, by tryin to impersonate an English geezer?  Stick to the day job in future.”

Miller shrugs that off and apologizes. “Sorry to interrupt your, uh, private moment, but I’ve got something important to chat with you about. You’re a megastar waiting to happen, Alfie. You’ve had some cracking matches, even headlined against Sean Darring and Daniel Dream.”

“Yeah, had me fair share of good scraps, innit? I’m all abaht ‘avin’ it large and ‘avin’ it off, not that I’m propositionin’ you, darling. Anyway, what’s all this abaht?”

Michelle sensationally leans in and sniffs Button’s neck, which perturbs the English upstart, almost causing him to jump out of his pants.  Regardless, Miller persists and presses on.

“Alfie, you smell and dress well, you’re loved by both adults and kids, and those T-shirts with your face on ’em are flying off the shelves. You’re the full package, mate!”

“PUCKER!” comes the Cockney’s chirpy reply.

“Exactly! Now, I was thinking, a bit of elocution might do wonders for you, but—”

Interrupting, Alfie raises his hand, and not in that way. “Whoa, ‘ang abaht, love. Elocution? Nah, no need for fancy words, love. I speak the language ov the GLOBAL Nation, in and aht the ring, innit?”

Rather than nail him for proving her point, again, Miller circumvents, nodding along like a puppy dog to appease Alfie.

“Fair enough. But Alfie, imagine the heights you could reach with a bit more polish. You could be the face of GLOBAL, the people’s champion, the GLOBAL Champion, even.”

Alfie, leaning against the wall, and from a family of market traders, doesn’t appear to be sold on Miller’s sales pitch. “Look at the example of Daniel Dream. Didn’t do ‘im any good, bein’ the face ov the company, did it?”

Michelle, realizing Button’s got her wrapped up in a figure four leglock, tries to wriggle out of it. “Well, Alfie, you’re not Daniel Dream. You’ve got the charm, the grit, and a connection with the fans that he never had.”

“You reckon?”

Michelle confidently states her case. “I know, Alfie. You’re a diamond in the rough, and with a bit of polish, you could shine brighter than anyone in this business.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys, don’t you, ya saucy minx?  Wiv a little bit less lippy, you could be dynamite yaself.”

Blushing and giggling, Michelle nods.

“Fair enough, Alfie. Just remember, sometimes a little change can open up a whole new world of opportunities”.

Alfie Button gives Michelle a nod and heads off down the hallway, leaving her with a thoughtful expression as she watches him go.

LOGO b&w


Masked Maniac, usually the embodiment of fun and enthusiasm, is seen sitting alone, his usual energy replaced by a hint of dejection. El Principe enters the scene, clad in his regal wrestling attire, his presence commanding attention. The two wrestlers exchange a nod before El Principe begins to speak in Spanish.

Masked Maniac, mi amigo, ¿cómo estás?”

A surprised Masked Maniac looks up, and instinctively shakes the 4th-generation star’s hand. “El Principe! Hola, amigo. I’m, uh, hanging in there. You know how it is, the highs and lows of the wrestling world, or the world, period, bro.”

El Principe nods repeatedly.

“Entiendo, hermano. El cuadrilátero, es como una tempestad, arrojándonos de un lado a otro. Pero en la tormenta, encontramos nuestra fuerza.

Masked Maniac nods along in agreement. “Yeah, usually, I’m the life of the party, you know? But lately, it feels like I’ve lost the beat. The fans, the ladies, my fellow masked amigos—they all expect the Maniac to bring the joy, party, and I can’t seem to find it.”

Principe takes a moment, trying to work Maniac out.

“No nos definimos solo por nuestras victorias, sino por cómo nos levantamos del lienzo cuando el mundo espera que permanezcamos abajo. Tú, Masked Maniac, eres un faro de alegría. Incluso en las sombras, tu luz brilla.”.

That perks Masked Maniac up. “Gracias, El Principe. I needed to hear that, man. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget why we step into the ring in the first place.”

The Mexican star beats his chest.

“Nosotros luchamos por pasión, por el amor al arte de la lucha.  LUCHA LIBRE!”

Masked Maniac looks reinvigorated, a spark returning to his eyes. Principe motions for MM to stand up, which he does.

“You’re right, El Principe. I need to rediscover that joy, that passion que me trajo aquí in the first place. Thanks for the pep talk, hermano.”

Principe clasps Maniac’s shoulder, and leaves, feeling his work is fone. They exchange a firm handshake as the energy of the locker room seems to shift, a newfound determination resonating in the air.

LOGO b&w


As the aggressive beats of “Legacy” by Dirty Palm and Benix reverberate through the arena, the atmosphere intensifies. Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin, collectively known as the Prime Time Athletes, emerge to a chorus of boos. Their entrance, marked by swagger and a palpable confidence, is a stark contrast to the reception they receive from Global-Nation, whose disdain for the duo is almost tangible.

Lucas Quinn doesn’t hold back his observation. “These two may have become the most despised figures in Global,” he notes, acknowledging the sheer volume of animosity directed their way.

The Mark, almost drowned out by the crowd’s vehement reaction, adds, “The noise is deafening. Should they manage to secure a win against the champion, it might just be safer to have security escort them out.”

Allie, never one to hide her feelings, concurs with a simple, “I know, I sure hate them.”

In a display of arrogance and disrespect, Trae Larkin snatches a sign from a young fan, passing it to Jimmy Classic who, upon reading ‘Prime Time Cry Babies!’ bursts into laughter. The act of mockery, highlighted by the camera for all to see before the sign is discarded, only fuels the crowd’s ire.

Upon reaching the ring, the Prime Time Athletes make a show of their entrance, rolling under the ropes and triumphantly raising their hands. The spotlight, a mix of gold and green, singles them out in the ring, highlighting their readiness for “Prime Time” and setting the stage for a confrontation that promises to be as much about settling scores as it is about athletic prowess. The stage is set, the players are ready, and the drama of the night is about to unfold.

Lucas Quinn offers a piece of history that adds an extra layer of significance to the impending match. “It’s important to note, despite it being in a tag team context and the involvement of Jerry David, that these two stand as the only competitors to have pinned our champion, Sean Darring, to date.”

The Mark, contemplating the legacy of this moment, provides some foresight. “In ten years, the only detail that will resonate will be their victory over the legend. The particulars, like Jerry David’s involvement, will fade into the background.”

Allie, ever passionate and defiant, counters with determination. “Not if I have anything to say about it. I’ll ensure that anyone I speak to knows the full story!”

As the iconic strains of “The Final Countdown” by Europe surge through the PA system, the atmosphere within the arena undergoes a palpable shift. The electrifying intro acts as a beacon, igniting the audience into a spontaneous eruption of excitement and adulation. On their feet, the crowd’s enthusiasm reaches a fever pitch, a testament to the arrival of their hero, their champion.

In this moment of anticipation, Sean Darring, the Global Champion, known to fans and foes alike as “The Legend,” makes his grand entrance. The entranceway is bathed in a majestic blend of golden and purple lights, spotlighting the champion as he steps forward, his presence alone commanding attention. Clad in his signature robe—a striking ensemble of gold, silver, and purple—he stands at the threshold, a figure of resilience and strength. His robe, as much a part of his legacy as his victories, glimmers under the lights, each hue reflective of his journey and his achievements within the squared circle.

As he pauses, absorbing the energy and support from Global Nation, there’s a shared sense of belonging and pride. The fans, each voice contributing to the deafening chorus of cheers, celebrate not just the athlete before them, but the symbol of excellence and determination he represents. This moment transcends the sport; it’s a connection, a collective acknowledgment of battles fought and victories won, with the promise of more to come. The Legend, Sean Darring, stands ready, a warrior in his arena, fueled by the unwavering support of his followers.

Lucas Quinn encapsulates the essence of Sean Darring’s storied career, “There aren’t many men who have accomplished what this guy has in our industry. You may not always have agreed with his methods, but in Global, he has carried our torch and led the way, and these fans love him for it.”

The Mark, reflecting on the broader impact of Darring’s career, adds, “He’s a role model, setting the standard for everyone around him to follow. Imagine the magnitude of the statement the Prime Time Athletes would make with a second victory over Sean Darring.”

Allie, however, pivots the conversation to the lingering mystery that has captivated everyone’s attention, “The real question remains: who will be his partner tonight? Who was behind that enigmatic voice we heard earlier?”

Basking in the wave of cheers, the champion embarks on his journey down the aisle. Bathed in a golden beam of light that follows his every step, he extends his gratitude towards the Global fans, sharing high-fives and embracing the younger audience members with warmth and kindness.

Lucas Quinn observes, “The mutual admiration and respect are palpable here tonight. It’s clear the legend holds a deep appreciation for the nation that has supported him through thick and thin.”

Arriving at the edge of the ring, where the Prime Time Athletes await, the champion exhibits no signs of hesitation. With a determined stride, he ascends the stairs and crosses the threshold into the ring, a lone warrior poised for battle in anticipation of his partner’s arrival.

Lucas Quinn comments, “The Champion stands ready, undeterred by the odds against him. His confidence remains unshaken in the face of adversity.”“Mark, you’re usually good with this type of thing. Who could it be?” Lucas poses the question to his partner.

“No idea,” he replies.


“I know nothing – I just work here,” she answers.

No music.

No video package.

At the top of the ramp, a familiar face with a leather jacket and an orange pattern on the back, matching tights and boots, illuminating four letters.

No, not those words.


Not seen in a ring since Domination 6, this is the first time “The First” has been since in A YEAR. More or less, to the day, something the eagle-eyed Mark Deltzer picks up on, but let that marinate for a moment.

The crowd goes WILD.

Freddie turns, surveying the crowd, doubtless with goosebumps all over his body, enjoying the sensation of being back and, by far, the most outstanding ovation of his career. Partnering Sean Darring and going against a couple of real pains in his ass, too? They’re not insignificant in terms of incentive or motivation, either.

The following words accompany Freddie’s walk to the ring, his eyes locked on Classic and Larkin, who gulp at the sight of the six-three two hundred and forty pounder and PISSED-OFF returnee, who has never looked better despite his abrupt departure.

“Three hundred and sixty-three days ago, Freddie Rich walked to the squared circle, fresh off costing Alex Reyn the GLOBAL Championship, knowing it may be the last time he ever made the long walk, and so we thought it might have proved. Yes, he has made appearances in the last twelve months but has shown little signs of progress and stayed in the shadows. The looks on Larkin and Classic’s faces now tell you the one person they were not expecting to see is a ghost from Easter Past, so to speak, and that is the man they’ve mocked relentlessly. I would not like to be in their shoes because, with the way I know Freddie, I guarantee he remembers every insult directed at him and, worse still, his family better than they do. Words don’t break bones, but they do break hearts, and don’t be surprised Freddie, assuming he’s back to one hundred percent, gives them a little payback.”

“WOW, and you’re telling me you didn’t know?” Allie tuts and holds her arms out in protest.


Freddie scales the steps and, teary-eyed, hits his chest and points to the name on the back of his jacket.

“He may not have done it all, he may or may never fulfill that phenomenal potential, titles have eluded him, but this man’s surname is apt when you consider the love and affection he is getting, rightly I may add, here in The Globe. Freddie is a very rich man, pun absolutely intended, in that department, and he will never forget this moment for as long as he lives,” Deltzer rounds off.

“WOW, and YOU didn’t know?” Allie again asks.

“I may have had an inkling,” The Mark confesses, as Freddie steps through the ropes, a spring in his step, and he stands alongside the GLOBAL Champion, the best in the business, “Legend” Sean Darring.

“It’s go time at The Globe,” Quinn virtually whispers, capturing the essence of what’s about to happen.

As the adrenaline surges through the arena, Sean Darring and Freddie Rich, clad in their wrestling attire, stand as titans of the ring, the embodiment of wrestling excellence. The atmosphere is electric, charged with anticipation, and the legends waste no time. They launch into a barrage of precise, devastating right-hand strikes against Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin, their actions a testament to their seasoned prowess. The crowd’s reaction is immediate and explosive, their cheers a thunderous accompaniment to the action unfolding before them.

Lucas Quinn, caught up in the fervor of the moment, can’t help but shout, “DARRING AND RICH ARE TAKING THE INITIATIVE! THEY’RE UNLEASHING HELL ON THE YOUNG CONTENDERS!”

Allie, echoing the sentiments of the electrified crowd, cheers on, “YES! Show them what real champions are made of!”

In the midst of this chaos, Referee Barry Snider, tasked with the Herculean effort of maintaining some semblance of order, signals for the match to officially begin. The bell rings, slicing through the cacophony, marking the start of what promises to be an unforgettable showdown.


Lucas Quinn, recognizing the gravity of the encounter, remarks, “Barry Snider knows the weight of this match. We’re at a boiling point, and at its heart, this is a showdown for the ages, where respect is earned, not given.”

Sean Darring and Freddie Rich, fueled by the energy of the crowd, continue to dominate. Freddie zeroes in on Trae Larkin, each fist driving home a message of retaliation and resolve. Across the ring, Darring has Classic cornered, delivering a series of knife-edge chops that resonate through the arena, each impact leaving a visible mark of the legend’s wrath on Classic’s chest.


Lucas Quinn’s voice rises over the crowd, “This is a momentous night, folks. Freddie Rich’s return to a Global ring, alongside Sean Darring, is a masterclass in wrestling. They’re teaching the Prime Time Athletes a harsh lesson in respect, and we’re all witnesses to this historic event!”

Trae Larkin, attempting a comeback, finds his efforts futile against Freddie’s unyielding onslaught. A powerful, spinning Texas-style clothesline from Freddie sends Larkin over the ropes and crashing to the outside. Simultaneously, Darring launches Classic with an Irish whip that culminates in an inverted atomic drop and a clothesline, sending Classic tumbling out of the ring to join his partner.

The crowd’s cheers reach a deafening crescendo, their support for Darring and Rich unwavering as the Prime Time Athletes regroup outside, their plans unraveled by the legends’ relentless assault.

Lucas Quinn, barely able to contain his excitement, exclaims, “DARRING AND RICH ARE ON FIRE TONIGHT! They’ve dispatched Classic and Larkin with authority, and this arena is alive with the spirit of wrestling!”

Allie, sharing in the jubilation, adds, “This is wrestling at its finest! Darring and Rich are proving that the heart of a champion never dims, teaching the Prime Time Athletes a lesson they won’t soon forget.”

Outside the ring, the Prime Time Athletes make their case to referee Barry Snider, insisting he takes control of the match. They’re pointing fingers and labeling the fan favorites as “legendary cheaters,” demanding that one of them exits the ring to establish order and fairness before they re-enter the fray.

The Mark, watching the situation unfold, finds a sliver of rationale in the Prime Time Athletes’ argument. “I hate to say it, but the Prime Time Athletes have a point. In a tag team match, rules dictate that one partner from each team should be inside the ring at any given time.”

Lucas Quinn counters, acknowledging the technicality but also highlighting the opponents’ reputation. “True, but let’s not forget, the Prime Time Athletes themselves are no strangers to skirting the rules.”

Amidst the commotion, Sean Darring and Freddie Rich share a moment of amusement, fully aware of the Prime Time Athletes’ tactics to sway the momentum in their favor. With a nod to the importance of the match—and to allow Freddie Rich his moment in the spotlight upon his return—Darring voluntarily steps outside the ring.

Freddie Rich, appreciating the gesture from his partner, focuses back on the match. This shift in attention proves to be the opening Trae Larkin needs. Seizing the moment, Larkin swiftly dives under the ropes, catching Rich off guard with a double axe handle to the back.

Trae Larkin, intent on capitalizing on his surprise attack, unleashes a barrage of forearms on Freddie Rich, culminating with a spinning kick aimed squarely at the Texan’s midsection. Attempting to maintain his offensive momentum, Larkin tries to send Rich across the ring with an Irish whip, but his plan is thwarted as Rich showcases his resilience and ring savvy by reversing the maneuver. With precision, Rich counters with a powerful clothesline, taking Larkin down to the mat.

Larkin, demonstrating his own tenacity, quickly gets back to his feet, only to find himself caught in an arm wringer by Rich. Freddie then begins to deliver a series of punishing, close-range punches directly to Larkin, underscoring his intent not just to compete but to dominate, leaving Larkin reeling from the unexpected ferocity of the assault.

Lucas Quinn, observing the unfolding drama, can’t help but remark on the dynamic at play. “There’s no denying the Prime Time Athletes’ skill and natural talent—by some accounts, they’re among the most gifted competitors in all of Global. However, tonight, they’re up against the unparalleled experience and strategic mastery of Sean Darring and Freddie Rich.”

Allie, chiming in with her own insight, predicts the trajectory of the match. “Given what we’re seeing, it looks like the Prime Time Athletes are in for a long night. The depth of experience and ring awareness from Darring and Rich is proving to be a formidable challenge for them.”

Trae Larkin, demonstrating his resilience and agility, attempts an escape from Freddie Rich’s grasp with a series of acrobatic flips. However, his efforts only lead him into a more precarious position as Rich expertly transitions him into a tight rear chin lock. Meanwhile, Jimmy Classic, not one to stay silent, launches a verbal assault from his corner, hurling insults aimed at the Rich Family in an attempt to rattle Freddie.

The Mark takes this moment to highlight the intense rivalry that’s been brewing for months. “The feud between the Rich Family and the Prime Time Athletes is deep-rooted and bitter. Declan and Todd Rich have been at odds with these two for the better part of a year. The animosity is palpable, and tonight, it’s reaching a boiling point.”

Jimmy Classic’s words, sharp and cutting, eventually find their mark. With a phrase too harsh for the cameras to capture, he succeeds in getting under Freddie’s skin. In a moment of heated response, Freddie releases the chin lock on Larkin, strides across the ring with purpose, and confronts Jimmy Classic directly. Without hesitation, Freddie delivers a resounding slap across Classic’s face, the impact echoing through the arena.


The reverberating slap that Freddie Rich delivers to Jimmy Classic electrifies the audience, but Trae Larkin swiftly exploits this moment of vindication. Seizing the opportunity, Larkin ensnares Freddie from behind and executes a devastating dragon suplex.


Lucas Quinn, capturing the moment, remarks, “While it may not have been the most elegant strategy, given Jimmy Classic might be nursing a bruised jaw tomorrow, it nonetheless created the perfect opening for a brutal dragon suplex.”

In the aftermath of the suplex, Larkin swiftly tags in Jimmy Classic, who, fueled by a mix of revenge and the lingering sting of the slap, enters the ring with a newfound intensity. He immediately targets Freddie, delivering a merciless knee strike to the head that sends the wrestling veteran crashing down to the mat, drawing a chorus of boos from the spectators.

The energy in the ring shifts as Jimmy Classic, after executing a precise springboard sidekick to Freddie Rich’s head, goes for a casual pin, exuding confidence.



But it’s not enough. Freddie Rich, demonstrating the resilience that has defined his storied career, powers out with a shoulder up, much to the fans’ relief.

Lucas Quinn captures the moment, “Freddie Rich with a shoulder up.”

Allie, echoing the audience’s sentiments, adds, “It’s going to take more than that to keep Freddie down.”

Undeterred, Jimmy Classic continues his assault, locking Freddie in a front chancery and driving knee after knee into his midsection. With calculated precision, he drags Freddie towards his corner, tagging in Trae Larkin for a fresh onslaught.

Larkin, seizing the moment, elegantly flips over the ropes and charges at Rich. He slides under the still-locked front chancery, delivering a mule-like double kick straight into Freddie’s midsection. This seamless transition between the Prime Time Athletes showcases their strategic coordination and their intent to dismantle Freddie Rich piece by piece.

The Mark, always quick to recognize skill in the ring, can’t help but praise the Prime Time Athletes’ teamwork. “What an innovative double-team move,” he exclaims, admiring their seamless execution.

Meanwhile, Trae Larkin, basking in the momentum of their advantage, begins to taunt Sean Darring from the ring. Darring, driven by a mix of concern for his partner and anger at Larkin’s arrogance, attempts to intervene. However, referee Barry Snyder is quick to enforce the rules, stepping in to prevent Darring from entering the fray. This diversion perfectly sets the stage for Jimmy Classic to exploit the situation further, slipping back into the ring to choke Freddie Rich under the guise of the distraction.

Lucas Quinn observes the unfolding scene with a critical eye. “Sean Darring is letting his emotions get the better of him here. He isn’t doing his partner any favors by keeping the official distracted,” he notes, pointing out the strategic misstep.

Frustration visible, Darring is forced to retreat, leaving Rich at the mercy of the Prime Time Athletes. Seizing the opportunity, Larkin and Classic hoist Rich up for a meticulously executed double suplex, sending him crashing back down to the mat with a thunderous thud.

The Mark reflects on the dynamics at play. “Sean Darring is now in The Prime Time Athletes’ world. They are arguably the top tag team in Global,” he comments, highlighting the precarious position Darring and Rich find themselves in.

Jimmy Classic strategically exits the ring, leaving Trae Larkin as the legal competitor. Larkin, seizing the moment, lifts Freddie Rich from the mat and secures him for a capture suplex. With precision and force, he executes the move, sending Rich crashing to the mat with a resonant thud.

Without hesitation, Larkin capitalizes on the momentum, draping himself over Rich for the pin attempt, hooking the leg to secure the victory.



But Freddie Rich is far from finished. With a burst of determination, he powers out of the pin, forcefully kicking out and signaling his refusal to succumb to defeat.

Allie, impressed by Rich’s resilience, voices her admiration, “Freddie Rich won’t be defeated so easily.” Her words echo the sentiment of the crowd, who rally behind Rich, inspired by his tenacity and fighting spirit.

Trae Larkin, seizing a moment of pause in the match, drops down next to Freddie Rich for a quick series of push-ups, flaunting his physical prowess. Without missing a beat, he springs up, executing a flawless backflip to showcase his athletic abilities. Following this display, Larkin tags Jimmy Classic back into the fray. Classic, energized, and ready, he uses the ropes to launch himself into a breathtaking split-leg moonsault aimed squarely at Rich.




But just as the referee’s hand is about to hit for the third count, Lucas Quinn excitedly announces, “No, Freddie Rich, with complete ring awareness, gets a boot on the ropes to break up the pin. Heads up ring awareness by Freddie Rich.” This move, a testament to Rich’s veteran instincts and knowledge of the ring, keeps him in the match.

Jimmy Classic, momentarily stunned by the near-fall, sits on his knees, absorbing the audience’s disdain. He locks eyes with Sean Darring outside the ring, confidently gesturing that the championship title will soon belong to the Prime Time Athletes.

The Mark adds to the commentary, “Jimmy Classic is sending the champion a message. He’s telling him that title is coming home to Prime Time.”

Not one to be counted out, Freddie Rich seizes an opportunity as Jimmy Classic attempts to press the attack. Rich counters, reversing the momentum and sending Classic crashing back-first into the corner with a powerful Irish whip. Classic, caught off guard by the reversal, stumbles out from the corner directly into the path of Rich, who delivers a devastating, point-blank dropkick.


Allie, caught up in the moment, can’t help but shout, “FREDDIE’S NIGHTMARE!” The crowd erupts as Rich lands the signature move, a critical point in the match that could very well shift the momentum in his favor.

Freddie Rich, momentarily gathering his bearings, glances towards Sean Darring, who is eagerly reaching out for the tag. Yet, Freddie signals for a brief pause, indicating he has one more move planned. With determination, he lifts Jimmy Classic, positioning him for his signature cradle piledriver. However, Classic, showcasing his own quick thinking and agility, counters with a swift maneuver, rolling Freddie into a small package.



Freddie manages to break free, and as both competitors quickly rise to their feet, Rich aims a powerful right hand at Classic. Anticipating the move, Classic adeptly ducks, countering with a precise bicycle kick that connects squarely with Freddie’s face, catching him off-guard.

The Mark, impressed by the exchange, can’t help but commend Classic’s performance. “Look at the athleticism of Jimmy Classic, and you have to give him some props for his ring awareness, too,” he says, highlighting Classic’s ability to turn a precarious situation to his advantage.

After a moment of recuperation on the mat, Jimmy Classic manages to muster the energy to roll towards his corner, tagging in Trae Larkin. Larkin, with a burst of determination, races to intercept Freddie Rich, who’s inching towards his corner in a desperate bid for a tag. Grasping Rich’s boot, Larkin taunts, “Not this time, old man.” Yet, Rich, undeterred and drawing upon his veteran instincts, uses his free leg to push Larkin away forcefully, propelling himself towards his corner to make the crucial tag to Sean Darring.

Lucas Quinn exclaims, “There is the tag! The Champion is in!”

Darring enters the fray with explosive energy, immediately taking Trae Larkin down with a formidable right hand. Larkin, quickly on his feet again, is met with a powerful scoop slam followed by Darring rebounding off the ropes to deliver a punishing fist drop to Larkin’s forehead. Jimmy Classic, disregarding the tag rules, rushes into the ring in an attempt to curb Darring’s onslaught but is swiftly met with a clothesline that sends him crashing to the mat. Darring, without missing a beat, turns his attention back to Larkin and plants him with a devastating DDT.


As Jimmy Classic retreats to his corner, Sean Darring seizes control of the match. Freddie Rich, from the apron, extends his boot between the ropes. Darring, with precise coordination, rams Trae Larkin’s head into Rich’s waiting boot, showcasing their teamwork and strategy.

Lucas Quinn, impressed by the turn of events, remarks, “Now Darring and Rich are showing the young pups why they are legends!”

Jimmy Classic, undeterred by the recent dominance of Sean Darring and Freddie Rich, makes a bold move to capture Darring’s attention from the outside. His actions and provocations are clear – he’s seeking a direct confrontation with the champion.

Lucas Quinn observes the unfolding challenge, “It appears Jimmy Classic wants in with the champion. He is daring Sean Darring to face him.”

The atmosphere in the arena electrifies as the fans witness Darring accept the challenge. With a strategic maneuver, he rolls the Suplex Ninja towards Jimmy Classic, effectively inviting him into the ring by facilitating the tag.

The Mark, pondering the implications of this decision, raises a critical point, “Was that the smartest move by Sean Darring? He had the upper hand, and he just gave Jimmy Classic, the freshman, a chance to enter the ring.”

As Freddie Rich vocally supports his partner from the sidelines, Sean Darring and Jimmy Classic engage in a tense standoff, circling each other with a focus that cuts through the charged atmosphere of the arena. Their eyes are locked in a silent battle of wills, each man ready to prove his dominance.

Allie captures the intensity of the moment, “This feels like a defining moment in the match.”

Finally, the two competitors collide in the center of the ring, their physical struggle for supremacy commencing with a lock-up that sees them vying for control. Initially, Jimmy Classic appears to have the upper hand, managing to corner the champion and deliver a heavy right hand. However, Darring’s experience and ring savvy quickly come to the fore. With a swift maneuver, he reverses their positions, trapping Classic in the corner instead.

Then, the champion unleashes a barrage of knife-edge chops, each one landing with a force that resonates throughout the arena.







Lucas Quinn, caught up in the relentless display of power, exclaims, “The champion isn’t letting up. He is turning Jimmy Classic’s chest into raw hamburger!”

Sean Darring, not content with just the chops, escalates his attack on Jimmy Classic by dragging his opponent’s head across the ropes, causing a painful rope burn. Referee Barry Snyder is quick to intervene, admonishing the champion for the illegal maneuver. Darring, with a knowing smile, acknowledges the warning, subtly agreeing with the referee’s call.

Allie, clearly siding with Darring’s tactics, comments with a mix of approval and excitement, “Sean Darring knows he broke the rules, but dangit, Jimmy Classic deserved it!”

Seizing the moment to further capitalize on their advantage, Darring tags Freddie Rich back into the match. Before exiting, Darring secures Classic, allowing Freddie to unleash a brutal four-punch Texan combo, demonstrating their flawless teamwork. Trae Larkin, witnessing his partner’s plight, attempts to intervene. However, the referee is quick to block Larkin’s path, maintaining the integrity of the tag team rules.

With the referee preoccupied, Darring and Rich share a complicit smile and, in a moment of unity, begin to choke Jimmy Classic against the top ropes, applying significant pressure. This act of defiance not only showcases their determination to dominate but also their willingness to skirt the rules to inflict maximum damage on the Prime Time Athletes.

The Mark, observing the tactical play, remarks, “Sean Darring and Freddie Rich are really bending the rules to get revenge on the Prime Time Athletes, and Trae Larkin is like a rabid pitbull trying to get past the referee to save his partner.”

Allie, caught up in the fervor of the moment and firmly behind Darring and Rich’s aggressive tactics, encourages further rule-breaking, “Choke him more!”

As referee Barry Snyder refocuses his attention on the match, he promptly ensures that Sean Darring exits the ring, adhering to the rules. With the official’s gaze redirected, Freddie Rich seizes the moment to further incapacitate Jimmy Classic. Grasping Classic by the back of the head, Rich forcefully introduces his opponent’s forehead to the turnbuckle, much to the delight of the fans who enthusiastically count along with each impactful slam.


With each count, the energy in the arena builds, culminating in Jimmy Classic staggering away from the corner, visibly disoriented and struggling to maintain his balance. Seizing this opportunity, Freddie Rich channels his momentum into a devastating 360-turning right hand that connects with precision and power.


The impact resonates through the arena, silencing the crowd for a moment before Lucas Quinn breaks the silence, his voice filled with excitement. “FREDDIE RICH DROPS JIMMY CLASSIC WITH ONE BIG TEXAN RIGHT HAND!” His proclamation captures the moment’s significance, highlighting Freddie Rich’s ability to dominate with sheer force.

Freddie Rich, capitalizing on the moment, quickly drops down to cover Jimmy Classic, hoping to secure the victory right there.




The arena erupts in excitement, the fans are on their feet, and even Lucas Quinn is caught up in the moment, proclaiming victory, “HE GOT HIM!” But the celebration is premature. Referee Barry Snyder, with keen eyes and precise judgment, leaps up and emphatically waves off the pin attempt, signaling that Jimmy Classic, in a last-ditch effort, managed to get his boot on the bottom rope, invalidating the pin.

The revelation that the match is not over sends a shockwave through the crowd, turning their cheers into a collective gasp of disbelief. Trae Larkin, Jimmy Classic’s partner, who had momentarily lost hope, is now seen visibly relieved, clutching his head in his hands, grateful for the narrow escape from defeat.

Freddie Rich tags Sean Darring back in as the two men give a nod of respect, and the champion grabs the right leg of Jimmy Classic and begins to turn it, and he puts him into an old-school figure four leg lock.

Lucas Quinn says. “The Figure Four! Sean Darring has put many men away with this hold, and look at Jimmy Classic. He is waving his arms around in pain.”

The Mark says. “Jimmy Classic is in a bad spot, he isn’t anywhere near the ropes and Sean Darring really has the move clinched in tight. After the onslaught he has recieved he may be done for here guys.”

Allie says. “We can only hope.”

After a strategic tag, Freddie Rich passes the baton back to Sean Darring, their mutual nod a silent testament to their partnership’s strength and respect. Darring, seizing the moment, targets Jimmy Classic’s right leg, methodically positioning it before expertly applying a figure-four leg lock, a move renowned for its effectiveness and the excruciating pain it inflicts.

Lucas Quinn, recognizing the significance of the maneuver, can’t help but highlight its history. “The Figure Four! Sean Darring has put many men away with this hold, and look at Jimmy Classic. He is waving his arms around in pain.”

The Mark, analyzing the situation, points out the dire predicament facing Jimmy Classic. “Jimmy Classic is in a bad spot; he isn’t anywhere near the ropes, and Sean Darring really has the move clinched in tight. After the onslaught he has received, he may be done for here, guys.”

Allie, expressing a mix of concern and anticipation, succinctly adds, “We can only hope.”

Sean Darring leans back, really locking in the hold. Jimmy Classic has nowhere to go. He shakes his head, refusing to give up as Barry Snyder checks in on him, asking him if he is in pain. Sean Darring continues punishing. Classic leaning backward and lifting up for more leverage for the hold.

Lucas Quinn says. “Jimmy Classic stuck in the middle of the ring he has tried to maneuver himself, but the legend knows how to win with this hold and Jimmy Classic is in trouble.”

Jimmy Classic holds his hand up and debates whether he should tap or continue to fight. With each second that goes by, he grits his teeth and screams. However, before he can tap – his partner Trae Larkin rushes in and saves his partner stomping on Sean Darring.

Allie protests. “What is this? Come on!”

Lucas Quinn adds. “Trae Larking knew his partner was in trouble, but now he is stomping on Sean Darring. BUT – HERE COMES FREDDIE RICH!”

Freddie Rich joins the fray, and he takes down Trae Larkin with a football-sacking tackle, picking up the Suplex Ninja and driving him down on the ground with intense force.


Sean Darring, fully committed to securing victory, intensifies the pressure on the figure-four leg lock, leaning back to maximize the pain inflicted on Jimmy Classic. With Classic trapped in the center of the ring, his options dwindle rapidly, his determination not to submit evident in his vehement head shakes and screams of refusal, even as referee Barry Snyder hovers close, questioning his ability to continue.

Lucas Quinn highlights the dire situation, “Jimmy Classic stuck in the middle of the ring he has tried to maneuver himself, but the legend knows how to win with this hold and Jimmy Classic is in trouble.”

As the intensity of the hold escalates, Jimmy Classic contemplates surrender, his hand hovering in a torturous debate between tapping out and enduring the agony. His resilience is palpable, his screams filling the arena, testament to the pain coursing through his body.

Before Classic can make a decision, his partner, Trae Larkin, intervenes in a desperate attempt to save the match for his team. Rushing into the ring, he begins stomping on Sean Darring, breaking the hold and providing a momentary reprieve for Classic.

Allie, clearly frustrated by the disruption, exclaims, “What is this? Come on!”

Lucas Quinn provides the play-by-play, “Trae Larkin knew his partner was in trouble, but now he is stomping on Sean Darring. BUT – HERE COMES FREDDIE RICH!”

In a display of loyalty and teamwork, Freddie Rich charges into the melee, targeting Larkin with a tackle reminiscent of a defensive lineman taking down a quarterback. The impact of Rich’s tackle on Larkin is explosive, sending shockwaves through the arena as he drives the Suplex Ninja to the mat with a force that echoes throughout the venue.


As Freddie Rich and Trae Larkin continue their brawl outside the ring, inside, Jimmy Classic staggers to his feet, visibly affected by the aftermath of the figure-four leg lock. Lucas Quinn notes the chaotic scene, “Jimmy Classic is up, and he isn’t happy. Barry Snyder is leaning over trying to get control of the match, shouting at Freddie Rich and Trae Larkin.”

In an attempt to seize the moment, Jimmy Classic begins to hoist the champion, Sean Darring, to his feet. Darring, however, quickly resorts to his signature move – a devastating low blow that catches Classic off-guard. The crowd’s reaction is instantaneous, a mix of shock and excitement as Classic reacts dramatically, mirroring the impact of a heavy blow.

The Mark can’t help but comment on the move’s effectiveness, “That will hurt in the morning!” with Allie chiming in, “And right now!”

With a grin, Sean Darring recovers, seemingly setting up for his finisher, the legend lock, signaling what many assume to be the end of the match. However, Jimmy Classic, displaying unexpected resilience, manages a swift recovery. In a surprising twist, he rolls the champion up, cunningly grabbing the tights for added leverage—a desperate move for a desperate moment. The referee, turning just in time to witness the pin, dives down to count.





The abrupt and controversial ending to the match leaves the commentators and fans alike in a state of shock and disbelief. Lucas Quinn, struggling to process the sudden turn of events, voices his confusion, “Wait, what just happened!?!”

Allie, equally stunned, tries to piece together the outcome, “How did… Wait?”

As the reality of the situation begins to set in, Sean Darring’s immediate protest is overshadowed by the ring announcer, Marcus Anthony Newman, declaring the match’s winners. His voice fills the arena, “The winners of the match – Trae Larkin and Jimmy Classic… THE PRIME TIME ATHLETES!”

The revelation prompts The Mark to question the significance of this outcome, “Is this the second time the Prime Time Athletes have beaten our champion, Sean Darring?” to which Lucas Quinn, with a tone of resignation, confirms, “In tag team action, yes.”

The scene in the ring is one of confusion and frustration as Freddie Rich joins Darring in seeking clarification, both men unable to fathom how the match slipped away. Meanwhile, Trae Larkin and Jimmy Classic make a triumphant, albeit battered, retreat up the aisle, their victory marred by controversy but nonetheless significant.

The plot thickens as Jimmy Classic stops mid-aisle to reveal his strategy. Removing an athletic cup from his trunks, he displays it for all to see, especially Sean Darring, showcasing his preparedness for the champion’s notorious low blow. Lucas Quinn, piecing together Classic’s gambit, remarks in astonishment, “Is that an athletic cup? Jimmy Classic came prepared, knowing Sean Darring would try to use that low blow, and he sold it, acting like he was in dire pain, drawing Sean Darring in.”

The Mark, appreciating the cunning behind the move, comments, “Kind of genius, don’t you think?”

Trae Larkin, not missing the opportunity to rub salt in the wound, flashes two fingers at Darring, a silent reminder of their victories over him. Darring’s frustration is palpable as he shakes his head, a mix of disgust and disbelief at the cunning of the Prime Time Athletes. Freddie Rich, ever the supportive partner, offers a consoling gesture, even as their opponents continue their celebration, laughing and reenacting the moment of the supposed low blow, reveling in their clever ruse and controversial victory.

Lucas Quinn, though disappointed by the evening’s conclusion, professionally wraps up the broadcast. “Well, folks, this wasn’t the outcome any of us wanted. The Prime Time Athletes STOLE another victory from the champion, and that now makes the second time they have pinned him in a Global ring.”

Allie, ever the optimist, finds a silver lining amidst the controversy. “While that wasn’t the result we all hoped for, it was fun watching Freddie Rich back in the ring, and Darring and Rich did smack around the Prime Time Athletes.”

The Mark, reflecting on the night’s events, summarizes the sentiment of all involved. “It’s never a dull night here in Global, that is for sure. We end tonight with more questions than answers.”

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Cedars-Sinai Medical Center Parking Lot

Beverly Hills, California

March 11, 2024


“See? I tol’ you guys wasn’t nothin’ gonna happen! Them pendejos ain’t shit unless they at work where they asses covered. Man, I could’a been there with you guys!”

“We had no way of knowing, Ange… But hey, you can come next time, OK? Promise!”

Teagan “Trouble” Quinn briefly lifts her eyes from the video-call on her phone as she gently nudges her partner, who is talking to the four men beside her – three black-clad youngsters and an older man in Army surplus fatigues – and points towards where her Harley-Davidson motorcycle is parked, a few feet away. Izzy Roxx (née Collingwood) nods in acknowledgment, nudging the man in fatigues, who similarly veers his course slightly to the right towards the vehicle. As Izzy begins to make her goodbyes to her friends, whose beat-up pickup truck is parked on the adjacent section, Trouble motions for them to hold on for a moment, as she once again turns towards her phone.

“Hey, Ange, you wanna say goodbye to your boyfriend?” The stream of Spanish insults that emanates from the phone after this makes the redhead chuckle. “Whooooa…dude…chill! I’m just messing with ya! Anyway, yeah, the Robinsons are just about to go home. You wanna say goodbye to them? OK, hang on a minute.”

As Teagan lifts up the phone, screen facing outwards towards the three smiling men, an SUV and a sports motorbike, both late-model and black, suddenly pull up behind the group, the car doors opening before it has even properly come to a stop, to let out a half-dozen masked figures. Before Saul Morgan or either of the teams known as Metal Militia and Trouble Roxx can react, the men have grabbed them in vice grips and covered up their mouths, preventing them from screaming. The youngsters thrash, kick, and even attempt to bite, but to no avail, as each of them is overpowered by their respective captor. Even the biggest of the group – the muscular Robinson elder – is capable of no more than a couple of hard kicks to the shin of his girthy opponent before the latter tightens his choke hold on the youngster’s neck. His partner, leaner and with a much more defined physique, is then quick to smash a beer bottle over the captive’s head, effectively knocking him out cold. He then hands the girthy man a pair of brass knuckles, donning one himself as the pair join the other four elements of the masked gang, currently taking directions from the woman who has dismounted from the motorcyle.

One of the smaller men in the group, who has been landing punches to Chris “Brutalizer” Robinson’s gut while repeatedly shrieking “HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, HUH? WHO’S YA DADDY, BOY? SAY IT! WHO’S YA DADDY?”, soon finds himself pushed aside to make room for his two bigger counterparts, but knows better than to attempt to confront them, instead merely uttering an indignant “HEY!” before wandering off to join the three men working over the smaller members of the youngster group. One of the trio, however, cuts him off before he can reach the two downed girls, the blond teenage boy and the crew-cut thirtysomething thrashing on the tarmac, stepping in-between him and his prospective victims with a visibly confrontational attitude.

“Where d’you think you’re going, Lassie Come Home?”

“Let me through, Marx.” The smaller man’s tone struggles to remain firm, but he does not back down from the confrontation. “I got as much right to help as any of you. Hell, I’ve got more. Remember who won the match for us last time? Because I do…and it sure wasn’t you.

Before the man called Marx can respond or react, however, deceptively strong hands grip each of the two adversaries in a particularly sensitive part of their anatomy.

“If you two ladies are done bickering…I think we’ve made our point here. Let’s go.”

With that, the woman in black leather all but drags her two captives away from the writhing youngsters on the floor, stopping only long enough to summon the rest of her group as she loads the two onto the back of the still illegally-parked SUV, before mounting her motorbike. A moment later, the squeal of tyres and the roar of two powerful engines are all that remains of either vehicle, both sounds quickly fading into the distance, away from the grunts, moans and groans of the five young people laid out on the concrete, and – from somewhere nearby – the faint, tinny but recognisable sound of a concerned Angel Ramirez calling out to her friends from Teagan Trouble’s cellphone speaker.

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