We get a shot of The Bro’s back as he stands at an intersection of hallways.  He turns to face the camera, revealing that his arm is still in a sling after Jerry David’s attack on him a few weeks ago.  He holds the microphone up to his mouth and somehow manages to speak quietly while still sounding like he’s shouting.

“Bros.  I’ve gotten word that Crusader X has just arrived here at The Globe.  He should walk through here momentarily.  We’re looking to get a word with him ahead of his match tonight against…”

The Bro pauses for effect.


As if summoned by those two words, X steps into frame and begins strolling right past where The Bro is standing.

“X!  X!  Bro!  BRO!  Hey!”

X keeps walking at a brisk pace.  Not turning his head at all.  The Bro gives chase.  The camera, operated by someone seemingly faster than both, gets in front of X and captures them from the front as they’re walking.  The Bro finally catches up and puts the mic in X’s face.  X’s pace remains unchanged.

“Bro!  X!  Can I ask you some-”

“No.”  X cuts him off.

The Bro whines a bit.  “Come on, man.  You’re normally so good at interviews!  We haven’t been able to talk to you in weeks!  What gives?”

“No comment.” X deadpans as he rounds a corner.  The Bro and the camera keep up with his unchanging pace.

“Bro, pleeeeaaase!  What’s got you in your feelings?  Is it Truth still?  Is it Alfie?  Your court case?”  Bro shoves the microphone in X’s stony face.

“No comment.”

“Come ooon!”  The Bro rolls his eyes and slumps, struggling to keep up.  He falls behind a bit but catches up again.  “You’re facing Alex Reyn tonight!  You’ve gotta-”

“¡SÍ!” X bellows into the microphone.

The Bro jumps backwards with a start.

“¡SÍ!  YES!  I AM FACING ALEX REYN!”  X has stopped walking.

As X shouts, the Bro immediately winces in pain and favors his shoulder with his microphone hand before holding it up to his mouth.

X shakes his head.  His moves are more erratic than usual.  “Do you have any IDEA of the kind of danger I’m in right now, idiota?”

The Bro chuckles a bit.  “Duh, bro.  We all know that Reyn is a crazy motherfu-”

“We’re ALL crazy, dumbass,” says X insulting The Bro’s intelligence for the second time in thirty seconds.  “That’s not what I’m talking about.  Every competitor here in GLOBAL is worthy of being called a professional wrestler… even Schmidt, if just barely.  Every competitor… except for one.”

X turns to the camera.  “Alex Reyn is not a professional wrestler.  He pretends to be one. He thinks he is one. But there’s one thing missing.”

X pauses.


The Bro looks perplexed.  X continues.

“Professional wrestling is about love,”  X states plainly.  He points at the camera.  “The only reason this sport is hanging on by a thread is because its competitors love things that only wrestling can provide them.  Alex Reyn?  He doesn’t love this sport.  He doesn’t love money.  He doesn’t love fame.  He doesn’t love the idea of being the best wrestler in the world.  He doesn’t love being a leech on the belly of the industry like Schmidt.  Yeah, fine, he doesn’t accept help and doesn’t take shortcuts in his matches, but that’s not because he loves wrestling.  It’s because it gives him a sick thrill… like a predaror playing with its prey.  As far as I can see, the only thing that Alex Reyn loves is hurting and maiming people.  To most of us, professional wrestling is the only way we can get the things we love.  To Alex Reyn… it’s an excuse.  An excuse to hurt people.  The only reason why he’s a wrestler and not a serial killer…”

X inhales… and then exhales.

“is because wrestling gives him a better chance of staying out of PRISON.”

The Bro jumps and winces again as X says the word “prison” louder than expected into the mic.

Suddenly, X’s eyes widen.  He flinches and shakes his head aggressively. “God…dammit.  And that’s why I’m in danger.  Reyn doesn’t just attack you physically.  He uses your words, your thoughts, your demeanor, your entire soul against you.  You show any weakness and he’ll smash right through any defenses you have.  Anything I said here could cost me the match if he uses it against me.”

The Bro’s mouth is agape.  X’s expression becomes firm and resolute again.

“But don’t get me wrong. I know who I am and I know what I stand for.  And I know that Reyn is as strong in his convictions as I am.  And that?  THAT is why I will defeat him.  The things that motivate me will always destroy the things that motivate him… as long as someone, anyone, is willing to fight for them.”

Subtitles pop up onscreen as X says, in Spanish:

“And here I am, you son of a bitch.”

X pats the Bro on the shoulder.  “There.  You got your interview, Bro.  Never count on me to keep my mouth shut…”

X walks away.  The camera shows him heading toward the Globe’s backstage training area.

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Beverly Hills, California

April 14, 2024 9pm

The pool water sparkles limpidly under the floodlights, its soft swishing motion providing the only sound in the otherwise still, windless night. Beyond it, the poolhouse appears equally as still, with no light or sound coming from within. All of a sudden, however, the door to the latter opens slightly, with a soft creak, as if struck by an imaginary breeze. A moment later, a human-shaped silhouette – slim, slender, and clad in a face-obscuring hooded sweater – slinks through the crack, gently pushing the door to before walking around to the side of the poolhouse to retrieve a garden ladder. Another moment, and they are up and over the outer wall of the villa, the sound of their receding footsteps echoing softly in the still air for a few moments before, once again, there is silence.

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Backstage, The Informer stands ready, flanked by the Prime Time Athletes. Jimmy Classic, his arm in a sling, raises eyebrows about his readiness for tonight’s main event, while “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Larkin stands by, his gaze warning against any missteps in questioning. The Informer straightens his tie and dives in.

“Thanks for taking the time. Let’s address the obvious: Jimmy, tonight you’re slated to challenge ‘The Legend’ Sean Darring for the Global Championship, yet you’re still wearing that sling. Are you medically fit to compete?”

Trae Larkin steps forward menacingly, but Jimmy halts him with a reassuring hand, responding with a smirk and a tone dripping with confidence.

“I appreciate your concern. Unfortunately, my shoulder’s seen better days. After resting it and consulting with my doctor, the verdict is grim—I’ll need surgery.”

The Informer’s surprise is palpable, but Jimmy quickly elaborates.

“I’ve wrestled with what’s best for me, for Global, and for the fans. And despite this being a once-in-a-lifetime shot, I’ve decided…”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words hang in the air.

“…to defy my doctor’s orders and step into the ring tonight. The chance to compete at this level, to fight with the heart of a warrior I possess, it outweighs the risk. I’ll numb the pain as best I can. Believe me, even one-armed, I’m more than a match for Sean Darring.”

The Informer, momentarily caught off guard, regains composure.

“So, despite the risk and the need for surgery, you’re pushing forward tonight?”

Jimmy nods firmly.

“Exactly. Tonight, I’ll prove that even at less than full strength, I can dethrone Sean Darring and claim the Global Championship.”

The Informer, intrigued, probes further.

“And after tonight? If victory is yours, will you then heed your doctor’s advice, or will the title defenses continue regardless?”

Jimmy’s reply is swift and unwavering.

“As a top athlete and a future legend, winning the Global Championship is just the beginning. I plan to usher in an era of greatness that’ll eclipse even Darring’s. If it means enduring the pain, so be it.”

The Informer, impressed by the declaration, summarizes for the viewers.

“Incredible. Despite doctor’s warnings, Jimmy Classic is determined to face Sean Darring tonight for the Global Championship.”

Jimmy interjects, a reminder in his voice.

“Remember, we’re the only duo to have pinned Sean Darring.”

Trae chimes in, “Twice!”

Jimmy chuckles, confident.

“Tonight makes three. Sean, cherish your time with that title. Soon, it’ll highlight the Prime Time era.”

Without waiting for further questions, they exit, leaving The Informer alone with his thoughts.

“And there it is. The Main Event goes on, but Jimmy Classic’s bold decision leaves us with more questions than answers—a familiar feeling with the Prime Time Athletes.”

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The initial fanfare of British military march “Rule Britannia” elicits the usual mixed reaction, as fans find themselves split between acknowledging the Best of British’s athletic prowess and disapproving of their attitude. It does not, in all fairness, appear to affect the relevant parties either way; indeed, Kerry Buckingham and her two charges are barely even in the moment as they emerge through the curtain, their limbs moving seemingly in autopilot as all three of them glance over their shoulders, the blonde manager not even attempting to hide a nervous grimace. It therefore takes a moment for the group’s focus to return to ringside, at which point Kerry’s face undergoes an admirable, and almost instant, switch from her previous concerned frown to the radiant smile she would prefer to be associated with.

“The Best of British coming out here, as ever…although they didn’t seem quite themselves, there, for a moment…”

While correct and accurate, however, Lucas Quinn’s observation applies to no other moment of the group’s trek towards ringside, which unfolds as it always does, with Kerry leading the way and the two wrestlers who make up the team walking behind, with varyingly dark scowls on their faces. Still, Rupert and Nigel cannot seem to prevent themselves from glancing behind them every so often, as if expecting an attack from behind.

“They are definitely preoccupied about something…but what?”

An answer is, however, not forthcoming as the trio enter the ring, Kerry already armed with the usual microphone and acting perfectly composed as she brings it to her lips for her usual address.

“I shan’t bore you with introductions. If you have been paying attention, you will know who we are, and why we are here.” The manager pauses to take in the mildly mixed reaction to this statement before continuing. “I shall, however, ask for the help of anyone who might be interested in a little cooperative effort with myself and these two fine gentlemen behind me.”

Kerry gestures towards her two charges, turning slightly to glance at them, before continuing.

“You see, try as we might, we were unable to find a worthy cause to support with our efforts this week.” A louder, more negative reaction begins to arise at these words, which Kerry swiftly does her best to stifle. “Which is why we thought we might share the spotlight, as it were, and extend an invitation to anyone who does have a good cause or project they wish to raise awareness for, to join us here in the ring and help us in putting on a little exhibition.”

With that, the manager turns towards the entrance ramp, waiting along with the crowd to see who, if anyone, will answer their challenge.

“The Best of British coming out here this week without any particular team in mind to challenge…which makes a change. Still, that only makes all this more exciting. A genuinely open challenge! I wonder who will answer…”

“Well, Lucas, there’s no shortage of teams wanting to get one back at Rupert and Nigel, who have been leaving a figurative trail of bodies since they decided to make a name for themselves within GLOBAL Wrestling. Not to mention teams they haven’t faced yet. It could literally be anyone!”

“That’s right, Mark. Which, like I said, only makes the situation all the more exciting. Still, I guess we’ll just have to wait and—-”


Quinn’s last word is cut off by the intimation emanating from the speakers, which instantly elicits a thunderous reaction from the crowd. The intro riff to Cockpit’s “Mission to Rock” is, in fact, nearly drowned out by the deafening, wall-of/sound roar which greets the two familiar faces coming throught the curtain.


“It’s official, folks – we’re in the best timeline!”

“We haven’t seen the girls in a while…we heard they had been hospitalized after an awful attack by the Leather Brigade, or whatever they’re called…but they’re here now, and they look like they’re ready to both rock AND roll!”

Indeed, Teagan and Izzy look as confident as ever as they stand just outside the curtain for a moment, taking in the crowd reaction, before requesting – and being given – microphones. They evidently revel in the crowd’s anticipation as they bring them to their lips, stalling for a long moment as they take another look around the stands, before finally giving the people what they have been waiting for – though with a twist.

“IF YOU DON’T KNOW WHO WE ARE—I don’t blame ya! It’s been a while…”

A collective guffaw ripples through the Globe, the camera closing up on Teagan Trouble’s face just in time to see her tip someone a wink as she continues.

“In case you started watching in the last month, though…” The redhead looks up at the stands. “You guys wanna help us?”

There follows an almost perfectly unison chorus of the duo’s well-known introductory spiel, which both girls conduct as if at the head of an orchestra.

“Nobody does it like Trouble Roxx…” Lucas Quinn can barely contain a chuckle as the chanting comes to an end, and Teagan once again brings the microphone to her lips.

“And I know what you’re thinking…’What the heck? I thought you guys were in the hospital! I thought the Goon Squad had beat the crap outta you, and put you in a wheelchair or somethin’!’ Well…” The redhead smiles big as both she and her partner rotate first one arm, and then the other in purposefully demonstrative circles. “…cleared to compete, bay-bay!”

Another raucous cheer follows this announcement, the crowd erupting into a chant of “WEL-COME-BACK!” which makes both girls smile. Teagan is therefore forced to give a moment for the reaction to die down before continuing.

“Yeah…they were never gonna keep us out for very long. You know what they say…you can’t keep a rad human down!” The crowd cheer again for this as the redhead goes on. “And what better way to get back into the swing of things than to face the first team we ever beat?” Trouble now turns her gaze to the ring, the better to make direct eye contact with the two men inside. “As for the cause…well…how ’bout the purse money goes towards our friend Hayley’s medical bills, for her broken neck that those buttwipes gave her?”

Another massive roar erupts from the crowd, along with a chant of “HAY-LEY! HAY-LEY!”.

“Fans here at the Globe chanting for both my girls’ amazing gesture and Hayley herself, whom we wish a speedy recovery. Hope to have you back soon, girl!”

Once the chant has died down somewhat, Izzy Roxx is finally able to take over from her partner.

“I think what my girl Teagan here is trying to say is…” The brunette launches into yet another familiar chant. “…’Trouble Roxx will attack at the speed of light! Surrender now or prepare for a fight!’”

“Meowth! That’s right!” Teagan high-fives her partner even as she helps complete the reference. Then, not wasting any more time, the two young women drop their microphones, shed their respective leather jackets onto the entranceway, and dash into the ring to take on their two self-appointed opponents for the night!

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“Probably the most popular tag team in the short history of GLOBAL.”

“There’s no probably about it, Lucas. It’s not even up for debate,” Allie disagrees.

As the volume increases, Quinn puts it to The Mark again.

“Thoughts on the match?”

“More your department there, Lucas, but I would say all of us know that Trouble Roxx will look to quicken the tempo, use their speed, stick and move to borrow a phrase from boxing, and perhaps keep their distance. Use projectile attacks, crossbody blocks, splashes whereas…”

Quinn finishes it off for Deltzer. “Best of British will look to stop any of that from happening, using their size and power, plus what makes them really stand out, technical knowhow and prowess, to ground the high-flying duo of Trouble Roxx. You make a great point, Mark. In wrestling, we don’t normally talk about projectile attacks, but that is exactly right. Sniper fighting, or wrestling more accurately, is what Teagan and Izzy will be looking to do.”

Allie mockingly raises her hand as if she’s at school.

“Both teams are well-renowned for their teamwork. These teams are such contrasts to one another, but in that regard, they’re one and the same. Of course, like any wrestling match or fight in combat sports, period, nine times out of then, the guy or girl who dictates the tempo will win the contest, and you’re both right to point that out. For me, though, and these two teams are tremendous at it, whoever exchanges the most tags will probably wind up as the winners of this match.”

“Great point,” Lucas confesses.

Trouble Roxx at long last enters the ring, having been stopped multiple times for photo-ops with fans all the way down the entranceway. As they take to the center of the squared circle, Teagan holds up the microphone in her hand, a gesture which is enough to make the cheers from the crowd intensifies, as they anticipate what is shortly to come. And, sure enough…

“If you don’t know who we are…”

“Then, where have you been livin’?”

“They’re my girls, and they’re RIGHT. Most popular team in GLOBAL, get it right Lucas, listen to the crowd,” Reece tells him.

“Let’s find out,” The Mark times that line perfectly as the bell sounds to mark this all-important doubles duel as officially underway.

Izzy and Rupert are poised to kick us off here. Or, at least, Izzy is. That is because Ruper resorts to asshole-like tactics by demanding a Roman knucklelock, and raising his hand high in the air, while enjoying a considerable height advantage makes the logistics of this look difficult by default, let alone when you factor the power stakes either.

“Typical gamesmanship by Best of British,” The Mark informs the viewers at home.

Roxx, to her credit, doesn’t rise to the bait. Rupert, though, takes it one step further by stooping to his knees, smiling smugly at Izzy, who takes no prisoners sticking it to the pompous Brit with a sudden seated senton and a flurry of fiery punches from the mounted position.

“Yes, Izzy, get him,” Allie squeals, rising from her position at the broadcast table, punching the air in perfect harmony with Izzy punching Rupert for real.

Groggily, Royston-Fellowes manages to shove Roxx off after a handful of heavy blows, but undeterred, the former GLOBAL tag team titleholder returns with interest in the form of a beautiful basement dropkick to the side of the head, prompting the first pinfall attempt of the encounter.


Fittingly, it only gets that in return. Izzy, though, is still eager and confident, seeks a hurricanrana, however, Rupert stems the bleeding, figuratively speaking, by depositing her onto the top rope behind him, nearest Allie and company, via a hotshot. The energy visibly leaves Izzy, and a collective groan emanates from the audience that Royce-Fellowes has gained the upper hand.

He gets to work by hauling Izzy up, only to mow her back down with a heavy short-arm clothesline and a cocky cover ensues.


I guess you could say that is fitting, too.

A whip to the buckle hurts Izzy. Rupert adds insult to injury, smashing his opponent’s head into the top turnbuckle and hitting her with a right hand before tagging out to a grateful Nigel Kensington III.

He makes his presence known from the outset, borrowing a page from the old enemy to hurt Izzy, a German suplex being his favored choice of weapon, and he’s not done just yet, holding on.


This time, he releases rather than going for a hattrick. He hurriedly crawls over.



Nigel stares at Teagan before whipping Izzy back to BoB base and repeated headbutts keep Izzy immobilized.

Rather predictably, he brings Rupert back in, and they double suplex Izzy. Rupert floats over elegantly for another lateral press.



Rupert imposes his will on Izzy, peppering her with four stiff forearm strikes to the neck. In vain, Teagan claps in a bid to get the crowd and Roxx going, and the GLOBAL Nation vociferously responds to the call.

Royston-Fellowes pays them no attention, standing Izzy up, getting away with a blatant back rake. He takes a page from his partner’s book, and tries a German, but Izzy thinks on her feet and has it scouted, snuffing any attempt out with a super titt-a-whirl headscissors counter and THAT gets The Globe going.

Rupert doesn’t take that lying down, and gets back to his feet, only to digest a second headscissors, and this time, he is kept down, leading us to a double down.



Miss a few.

Let’s catch up at 6…

Rupert reaches over and tags in the desperately eager Nigel, who with a spring in his step, sets about stopping Roxx’s path to tag in Teagan Quinn, who repeatedly shakes her hand, ready and chomping at the bit to accept the tag.

“YES,” Allie exclaims once Izzy tags Teagan.

“Here comes Trouble – in more ways than one,” Allie adds.

A running clothesline stuns Nigel, Teagan’s superior speed coming into play immediately. She takes a step back and stuns him with a second one. Rather than go for the charm, she whips Kensington to the left side of the ring, though Nigel manages to reverse it. On the rebound, Teagan effortlessly evades Kensington’s reverse elbow advances, and she punishes Kensington with a technically sound bulldog, taking the biggest competitor in the bout off his feet and leaving him a heap, momentarily at least, on the mat.

“Great agility, explosiveness and speed by Teagan. That’s what you expect out of both members of Trouble Roxx,” The Mark waxes.

A fist drop keeps Kensington in his place.

“Nigel is back up, that’s an ominous sign,” Lucas warns.

Rather than allow him any space, Teagan ignores her namesake’s worries on commentary and whips Nigel, who again reverses it, but what he’s not expecting is an exceptional handspring enzuigiri, and that leads to an even heavier knockdown than the bulldog from mere moments ago.

Izzy joins Teagan for a moment, which the official allows, and they team up to stun Nigel, already wobbly, with a superb stereo dropkick.



Taking no chances, Royston-Fellows proves to be a good fellow, at least to his tag team partner, and breaks up the pinfall attempt.

Izzy is considered legal. She gets to work in the bottom right-hand corner with a planned move that gets everyone off their feet, and it’s well worth the effort…





“The former champions almost recorded a much-needed victory there, it’s a must-win for both in all honesty, and great resilience by Kensington. He didn’t need Royston-Fellowes there, and passed the gut check,” Quinn compliments Nigel.

Roxx runs the ropes…

Crossbody Block-ed!

“Nigel caught her, and what’s he going to do?” Lucas wonders.

“Sit her down with a big-time backbreaker, and that’ll take the wind out of your sails, for sure,” Deltzer asserts.

“He’s not done,” Quinn contributes.

No, he’s not…

…Ramming Roxx spine-first into the top turnbuckle in the wrong part of town, namely Best of British’s corner.

A tag to Rupert, who takes liberties with a back rake, and gets a warning from our assigned official, not that he seems to care. Nigel approves, just in case you’re wondering.

Rupert takes Izzy’s legs from out underneath her with a double-leg takedown, and in one fluid motion, sets her up for a technically proficient Boston crab that the tea drinkers have christened…

“Brought to Heel, and boy has she been,” Deltzer calls.

“No, No, come on, Izzy,” Allie enthusiastically replies.

“This move is as old as wrestling itself,” Lucas throws out there.

“And in the hands of a true technician, which Rupert is, STILL a debilitating move. Izzy needs to get out of there, and get out of there fast,” The Mark mentions.

“It’s not like she’s just sitting there,” Allie bites back.

In fairness, Reece isn’t wrong, but Izzy is struggling while Rupert already thinks this is won, raising his arm in the air. However, he isn’t completely ignorant nor negligent and has maintained his iron grip on bringing Izzy to heel.

On the other hand, Roxx is inching towards the rope, and making her way, ever so slowly yet surely, towards the right part of town. Willed on, she manages to lift herself for all she’s worth, carrying hers and Rupert’s body weight, no mean feat, and with Teagan nodding, urging her on…

She tags Quinn.

Despite the explosion, Rupert doesn’t suspect a thing.

“He’s in for a surprise,” Lucas chuckles.

“Tags Teagan, and here comes TROUBLE,” Allie shouts.

“A handspring cartwheel back elbow, BEAUTIFULLY done, to Rupert and Teagan makes an instant impact, forcing Rupert to release the Boston crab, and yes I know Mark, let me finish by saying that perhaps Rupert has been brought to heel in the end,” Quinn concludes.

“How did Rupert not see her?” The Mark, amazed, asks.

“Damn straight, Lucas,” Reece concurs.

She patiently waits for Rupert to rise, only to mow him back down with a lovely leg lariat.



Nigel’s there.

“Damn him,” Reece complains.

As he turns to head back to the corner, Teagan gives him a goodbye present by dropkicking him through the ropes instead.

“Yes, Teagan, let’s go Trouble Roxx,” Reece applauds.

“What an opportunity they’ve got in Nigel’s absence,” The Mark remarks.

“Watch out!”


“What a HELL of a shot that was,” Quinn, impressed, narrates.



“Wow, what impact, what power, what presence of mind by Rupert, like him or not…” The Mark states.



“We don’t,” Allie speaks on behalf of the people.




“Watch out, Rupert’s up,” Deltzer warns.

He puts Teagan in a Pedigree position, pun intended.

“Assume the po—no, Teagan takes Rupert’s legs out from underneath him this time, and scores with a catapult, sending Rupert into Nigel, who’s only just made his way back to the apron, and he’s back on the floor,” Quinn comments.

“This is it, girls,” Allie stands up.

“Schoolgirl on the dazed Rupert…”





“Did she get it? No, that was close. Gabrielle Harris’s hand was inches away from giving Trouble Roxx the win.”

In his kickout, Ruoert shoves Teagan into Izzy.

“That was an authoritative kickout. Turnabout, perhaps?” Quinn asks. Allie’s NOT happy with that insinuation.

“Could it be the opening Best of British have been hoping for?”

Teagan doesn’t turn around.

She’s swivelled around, and in one swift motion…


“Oh no,” Allie solemnly whispers.

“That. Is. It.” The Mark reads  the last rites.

Hooking the leg, Rupert looks over at a groggy Nigel, and bobs his head along as Harris does her job.






“Best of British have just registered their best-ever win in GLOBAL, and that could be huge for their chances in securing a shot against The Rutherford Guys or Border Control in the near future. Both teams had chances, we know they’ve got amazing chemistry, but perhaps the power of Rupert told in the end, so close to defeat…and then, in the blink of an eye, the boys have won it,” Quinn says.

Allie shakes her head as Jason Brown proclaims Best of British the winners.

“How lucky are they? Trouble Roxx were so close.”

“But, nothing illegal here, a good, GREAT win in fact, for Best of British, and neither Allie nor The Globe are happy with the outcome, but you’ve got to respect them. They’ve really turned a corner in recent months,” Quinn claims.

“I can’t disagree with that, Lucas. They’ve been in impressive form and are in pole position for a crack at GLOBAL gold, not something I would’ve foreseen at the start of Season Two.”

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The setting is a sleek, modern office at GLOBAL Studios, not the usual war room, where Giovanni Ferrari, the President and CEO, sits behind his polished desk, exuding an air of confidence and ambition. Across from him, Mark ‘The Mark’ Deltzer, a passionate wrestling fan with an infectious enthusiasm, eagerly awaits their conversation.

Giovanni Ferrari, complete with a charming smile, extends his hand to Mark.

“Mark, it’s a pleasure to finally see you again. Your enthusiasm for the sport is truly contagious.  Keep up the good work.  We’re so lucky to have you.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Mark shakes Giovanni’s hand enthusiastically, “Likewise, Mr. Ferrari! It’s an honor to be here. I’ve been a fan of wrestling for as long as I can be, and being here and working for GLOBAL is a dream come true.”

Giovanni’s smile widens as he leans back in his chair, his demeanor shifting slightly as he prepares to broach the topic at hand.

Leaning forward, Giovanni adopts a more serious tone. 

“Mark, I’ll get straight to the point. I’ve been following your work closely, especially your passion for wrestling. It’s no secret that you’re planning to start your own podcast, and I believe you have the potential to make a significant impact, just as you have done behind the commentary desk.”

Eagerly nodding, Mark’s eyes light up with excitement. “That’s the plan, Mr. Ferrari! I want to share my love for wrestling with the world and bring fans closer to the action than ever before.”

Giovanni nods in approval before continuing, his gaze locking with Mark’s as he gets to the heart of the matter.

Clearing his throat, Giovanni’s tone becomes more earnest. 

“I have a favor to ask, Mark. As you know, GLOBAL is expanding into the world of wrestling, and we have some incredible talent lined up to make their debut. One of them is Kenshiro Takahashi, a living legend in the industry.”

“Kenshiro Takahashi? The man is a legend! What can I do for you, Mr. Ferrari?”

Giovanni’s expression grows determined as he lays out his request, his eyes fixed on Mark.

Giovanni Ferrari: [Speaking with conviction, Giovanni outlines his proposal.] I want Kenshiro Takahashi to be included in your list of the Top 20 Wrestlers on the planet for your podcast. He deserves to be recognized for his contributions to the sport, and I believe your endorsement could help elevate his status even further.

Pausing to consider Giovanni’s request, Mark nods thoughtfully. 

“I see where you’re coming from, Mr. Ferrari. I’m honored that you trust my judgment. But if I’m being honest, I had Kenshiro ranked around 23rd or 24th on my list, given that he has been injured a lot in the last eighteen months.  If he weren’t, I’m sure he’d be on there outright.”

Giovanni’s brow furrows slightly, but he maintains his composure as he responds to Mark’s assessment.

Giovanni Ferrari: [With a determined glint in his eye, Giovanni leans forward.] Mark, I need your help to make this happen. Kenshiro Takahashi deserves to be in that Top 20, and I’m confident you can make it happen. Can I count on you to move him up to 20th?

Mark meets Giovanni’s gaze, recognizing the importance of this request, and nods decisively.

With a reassuring smile, Mark extends his hand to Giovanni. 

“You’ve got it, Mr. Ferrari. Consider it done.”

Giovanni accepts Mark’s handshake with gratitude, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he realizes that his vision for GLOBAL’s expansion into wrestling is one step closer to becoming a reality.

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The ambiance of the arena shifts to one of charged expectancy as the lights dim, the crowd’s anticipation palpable, vibrating through the air. The opening chords of “Los Consejos De Un Padre” by Gerrardo Reyes cascade through the arena, heralding the entrance of El Principe. The luchador legend, a figure of awe and respect, emerges into the spotlight, his presence an undeniable force. Trailing behind, Masked Maniac hesitates, his movements betraying a mix of uncertainty and resolve, starkly outlined by the shadow of El Principe’s unwavering confidence.

Making their way toward the ring, their approach is narrated by Lucas Quinn’s enthusiastic voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, what we have here is the classic tale of mentor and protégé. El Principe, a master of the ring, and Masked Maniac, eager to forge his legacy under such esteemed tutelage.”

Their theme song dims, quickly replaced by the pulsating beats of “Heart of a Warrior” by Dizzee Rascal, announcing the arrival of the Health Fanatics. Greg Matthews and Damon Somner step into view, silhouetted against a backdrop of dynamic lights, their presence commanding immediate respect. The crowd’s roar swells, a testament to the duo’s embodiment of power and cohesion.

“The Health Fanatics are more than a tag team; they’re a veritable juggernaut,” The Mark adds, his voice tinged with respect. “The synergy between Matthews and Somner is unparalleled.”

Lucas Quinn interjects, “Recall last week’s showdown, where Masked Maniac couldn’t secure the win against Greg Matthews. Tonight, under El Principe’s wing, he’s aiming for redemption.”

Allie, thoughtful, muses, “It’s clear Masked Maniac has been grappling with challenges since his return to Global. The Maniac we see now differs from the vibrant, confident competitor we once knew.”

“The Maniac’s edge has been blunted,” The Mark laments, referring to the constraints imposed by the federation’s Legal and HR departments. “The very essence of what made Masked Maniac a fan favorite has been stifled, leaving many to question if he can reclaim his former glory.”

As El Principe issues last-minute strategies, the Health Fanatics stand ready, anticipation etched into their poised stances. Referee Duncan Sullivan surveys the teams, laying down the match’s rules, setting the stage for a confrontation where strategy, skill, and spirit will collide in the squared circle.


With the ringing of the bell, El Principe strategically motions for Masked Maniac to position himself outside the ring, leaving the luchador legend to face off against Damon Somner, the powerhouse of the Health Fanatics. The two competitors start circling each other, El Principe assessing his larger opponent with the keen eye of a seasoned warrior, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

As they come together in the center of the ring, El Principe skillfully maneuvers Somner into an armbar, showcasing his superior technical prowess.

Lucas Quinn can’t help but admire El Principe’s technique, noting, “El Principe’s mastery of the ring is unmatched in Global. He embodies what it means to be a legend, combining intelligence with skill in a way that makes him an ideal mentor for Masked Maniac. Though his methods may be strict and his expectations lofty, the potential for growth under his guidance is immense.”

The Mark chimes in, supporting the sentiment, “Indeed, if there’s anyone who can reignite Masked Maniac’s spark, it’s El Principe.”

Maintaining control, El Principe deftly twists Somner’s arm further, keeping the powerhouse subdued. With a swift motion, he delivers a punishing kick to Somner’s midsection followed by a resounding knife-edge chop, echoing through the arena. El Principe then cleverly backs Somner into the ropes and propels him across the ring, executing a flawlessly timed standing dropkick that sends Somner crashing to the mat.

Not one to waste a moment, El Principe capitalizes on his advantage, seizing Somner’s right leg and forcefully bringing his knee down onto the inner thigh. He methodically targets the knee and leg area, a strategic move to neutralize the strength of his larger opponent.

Allie nods appreciatively at the strategy unfolding in the ring. “El Principe’s tactics are textbook brilliance. By focusing on the bigger man’s knee, he’s not just leveling the playing field—he’s potentially setting up for a game-changing advantage as the match progresses.”

El Principe, seizing a teachable moment, glances back at Masked Maniac. For those fluent in Spanish, his message is clear, “Así se hace.” (“This is how you do it.”) With a swift approach to the ropes, he propels himself forward, launching into the air and crashing down knee-first onto the already targeted inner leg/knee area of Damon Somner.

Without missing a beat, El Principe transitions into a leg lock, skillfully applying pressure to the compromised limb. This maneuver not only keeps Somner restrained but further exacerbates the damage to the knee, showcasing El Principe’s strategic acumen and technical mastery in real-time.

The Mark can’t help but lavish praise on El Principe’s performance. “El Principe isn’t just performing moves; he’s conducting a masterclass in the ring. He’s often called the prince, but in the world of Lucha Libre, he’s nothing short of royalty—a king and legend, to be precise.”

Lucas Quinn, echoing The Mark’s sentiments, adds, “Undoubtedly, El Principe stands as one of the most illustrious wrestlers within Global. The real conversation revolves around his mentorship approach with Masked Maniac. Is it the right fit?”

Allie weighs in with a different perspective. “Perhaps what Masked Maniac truly needs isn’t a mentor per se. He needs to rediscover his essence, strip away the distractions—be it the allure of the crowd, the catchphrases, or the light-hearted antics that endeared him to fans. It’s akin to Sean William Scott’s journey post-American Pie; finding that new voice wasn’t immediate. Maniac, too, is on a quest to find himself anew within the squared circle.”

As Damon Somner begins to rally, using his formidable strength to escape the submission, Global’s referee, Duncan Sullivan, closely monitors the situation. El Principe, sensing the tide turning, cleverly rakes Somner’s face, halting the comeback. With a seasoned grappler’s instinct, he secures Somner in a headlock, steering him toward the corner to tag in Masked Maniac.

The crowd gives a sympathetic cheer as Masked Maniac steps through the ropes, fueled by a palpable desire to prove himself. El Principe exposes Somner’s ribcage, sharply instructing his protégé. Masked Maniac, responsive to the command, unleashes a precise kick to Somner’s side. Repeating the order in Spanish, El Principe watches as Masked Maniac delivers another targeted strike, demonstrating a clear, mentor-driven strategy.

“El Principe, like a true ring general, is directing Masked Maniac to attack Somner,” Lucas Quinn observes, highlighting the tactical approach being employed.

“And there’s no hiding Masked Maniac’s eagerness to make El Principe proud,” adds The Mark, noting the protégé’s zeal.

Once El Principe retreats to the apron, Sullivan’s intervention ensuring the match’s fairness, Masked Maniac seizes the moment. He captures the crowd’s attention, reverting to the charismatic showman they’ve adored, signaling for his signature Maniac Spike.

“Maniac’s setting up for the finisher, looking to end this early!” Allie exclaims, anticipation building for the climactic move.

However, the attempt swiftly unravels as Somner, with a burst of power, counters the maneuver. In a display of sheer strength, he hoists Masked Maniac into the air and executes a devastating suplex, the impact reverberating through the arena with a thunderous THUUUUD!

The Mark, unable to contain his reaction, exclaims, “Wellllll… That didn’t go how Masked Maniac expected.” His tone underscores the abrupt turn of events, highlighting the unpredictability that makes wrestling so compelling.

Lucas Quinn, capturing the moment with keen observation, notes, “And look at El Principe. He is not happy.” The camera pans to catch the luchador legend’s reaction, his head shaking in disappointment as Maniac’s overzealous attempt inadvertently shifts momentum in favor of the Health Fanatics.

This lapse allows Damon Somner to tag in his partner, Gregg Matthews, who wastes no time in asserting his dominance. Charging into the ring, Matthews lifts Masked Maniac with ease, executing a powerful scoop slam that sends the masked wrestler crashing to the mat with a resonant impact.

Allie chimes in, providing crucial context, “Don’t forget Matthews defeated Maniac last Domination in singles action.” Her reminder serves to underline the history between the competitors, suggesting that Maniac’s current predicament is part of a larger narrative of rivalry and redemption.

Masked Maniac tries to hop back up, but Gregg Matthews just scoops him up with ease again and slams him down a second time. Matthews just places a boot on the chest of the masked man and flexes towards El Principe as Duncan Sullivan slides down for the count.



Lucas Quinn says. “Matthews went for a cocky cover with a little showboating added, but Masked Maniac kicks up just before the three count!”

The Mark says. “You can just see the lack of confidence in Maniac’s eyes. It’s like Global’s HR department sucked the life and confidence right out of him.”

Gregg Matthews pulls Masked Maniac up and locks an abdominal stretch placing the masked wrestler in a dangerous position.

Allie comments. “This is such a basic control move, but when you add the strength and power of the Health Fanatics behind it, it becomes a lot more dangerous. You can see the struggle by Masked Maniac as Gregg Matthews stretches him.”

From the sidelines, El Principe’s voice cuts through the din, a commanding call to perseverance, “¡No te rindas!” (Do Not Give Up). Despite the odds, Masked Maniac clings to resilience, fighting through the grip of Gregg Matthews who, seizing the moment, tags in Damon Somner. Matthews maintains his hold, leaving Maniac vulnerable as Somner unleashes a series of punishing close-range knees into the midsection of the beleaguered luchador.

The Health Fanatics then launch Maniac into the ropes, setting up for what appears to be a devastating maneuver. Maniac, propelled by a desperate burst of energy, attempts a crossbody on Somner, only to be caught mid-flight. In a display of seamless teamwork and raw power, Somner then turns, tossing Maniac to Matthews, who catches him effortlessly, only to toss him back to Somner in a fluid, underhand pass.

“The Health Fanatics are playing catch with Masked Maniac!” Lucas Quinn exclaims, disbelief tinting his voice as the spectacle unfolds.

“With little to no struggle,” The Mark observes, the ease of the Fanatics’ maneuver highlighting the dire situation for Maniac.

Allie can’t help but laugh, albeit sympathetically, “Masked Maniac is just sort of laying there like a baby animal that his mother is carrying around.”

“Do you blame him?” Lucas Quinn asks, the rhetorical question underlining the sheer dominance exhibited by the Health Fanatics.

The game of aerial pass ends with Somner decisively driving Maniac down with a backbreaker, immediately going for the pin, hopeful to end the contest right there.



“No, another close call, but Masked Maniac kicks out again,” Lucas Quinn’s voice fills the arena, capturing the moment’s tension.

Damon Somner, frustration etched across his face, momentarily contests the count, his disbelief palpable as he gestures towards Duncan Sullivan. The official, firm in his decision, displays two fingers, reinforcing that it was indeed only a two-count.

“I think Damon Somner was convinced he had the three-count there,” The Mark chimes in, observing Somner’s reaction. “And seeing Masked Maniac writhing, clutching at his back, it’s astonishing he managed to kick out in time.”

Masked Maniac, with each labored breath, makes a valiant attempt to reach his corner, seeking respite and support from El Principe. However, his mentor, in a display of stern disapproval, does not extend his hand, leaving Maniac adrift in the tumultuous waters of the match. Observing the moment, Damon Somner seizes the opportunity, gripping Maniac’s ankle with ease and dragging him away from salvation. With precision, Somner unleashes a devastating elbow drop onto the vulnerable luchador.


The impact resonates through the arena, a testament to Somner’s relentless assault. Allie captures the gravity of the moment, “Ouch! El Principe’s decision not to reach out, opting instead for some tough love, leaves Masked Maniac to fend for himself. It’s a harsh lesson in resilience and self-reliance inside the ring.”

As Somner confidently covers Maniac for another pin attempt, Lucas Quinn announces, “Damon Somner goes for another cover.”



“Masked Maniac with a third kick out! And the fans, they’re rallying behind their struggling hero,” Lucas exclaims, the atmosphere electric with the crowd’s newfound fervor.

The Mark, noting the shift in audience sentiment, remarks, “Fickle fans, indeed. Initially, there were boos, and now they’re showering him with support.”

“It’s hard to root against an underdog,” Allie adds, pinpointing the heart of wrestling’s appeal—the resilience of the human spirit.

As the fans’ chants of “MASKED BROS! MASKED BROS!” swell within the arena, El Principe visibly bristles, turning towards the audience with a commanding shout to silence their support. Yet, the fervor only intensifies, fueling the atmosphere with an undeniable energy.

In the midst of this, Damon Somner tags in Gregg Matthews, who quickly asserts his presence with a series of close-range forearm shots, pushing Masked Maniac towards the ropes. However, Maniac exhibits a flash of agility, dodging a wild swing from Matthews. He capitalizes on the moment, launching off the ropes with a graceful springboard, landing a flying body press on Matthews!

“Masked Maniac with a big counter and tried for a quick surprise cover, but Gregg Matthews kicks out! Both men are back up and MATTHEWS WITH A MASSIVE CHOP ACROSS MANIAC’S CHEST!” Lucas Quinn’s voice rises with the action, marking each moment with the urgency it deserves.


The sound of the chop echoes, a visceral reminder of the battle’s intensity. Maniac recoils, the pain etched across his features, but as Matthews aims a big boot, Maniac’s instincts kick in, dodging and rolling Matthews into a small package, a testament to his resilience and cunning.



Another powerful kick-out ensues, the crowd’s support for Masked Maniac now thunderous, their voices rallying behind the underdog’s spirited fightback. Matthews attempts to regain control with a flurry of right hands, but Maniac’s defiance shines through. He reverses an attempted whip, sending Matthews into the ropes and meeting him on the rebound with a potent dropkick.

As Matthews staggers up, Maniac executes a perfectly timed swinging neckbreaker, the move’s impact leaving both competitors sprawled on the mat, a momentary pause in the relentless back-and-forth, a breath in the storm of their clash.

“Both men crawling towards their corners now to make the hot tag to their respective partners,” Lucas Quinn announces, capturing the mounting tension as both wrestlers, drained yet determined, inch towards salvation.

On the apron, El Principe hesitates, his gaze fixed on Masked Maniac’s struggle. In a race against time, Gregg Matthews reaches his corner first, tagging in Damon Somner, who charges into the fray. However, in a moment brimming with desperation and determination, Masked Maniac surges forward, tagging in El Principe, who, in a last-second decision, extends his hand to accept the tag.

“Even El Principe felt sorry for Masked Maniac there, accepting the tag. And here comes the legend!” The Mark exclaims as El Principe leaps into action.

El Principe explodes with a flurry of precisely aimed kicks to Somner’s midsection, setting the pace with his unmatched agility and striking prowess. He then lands his signature Dolores Bell, a bell clap that sends Somner reeling. Without missing a beat, El Principe ensnares Somner, executing a belly-to-belly suplex with seamless strength and technique. But he doesn’t stop there; he maintains his grip, lifting Somner for a second, then a third, belly-to-belly suplex, each throw more forceful than the last.

“EL TRICOLOR BY EL PRINCIPE!” Lucas Quinn bellows, the excitement palpable in his voice as El Principe showcases why he’s a force to be reckoned with.

As Gregg Matthews attempts to intervene, ignoring the referee’s admonitions, Masked Maniac, now revitalized, ascends the corner. With a leap of faith, he soars, crashing into Matthews with a flying body press, a testament to his enduring spirit and agility.

The arena is electrified, fans on their feet as El Principe, seizing the moment, lifts Somner one final time, executing his finisher, The Crowning Moment, with decisive force.


With precision, El Principe secures the pin as Duncan Sullivan dives to count.




“El Principe and Masked Maniac have won! The fans are loving it as Masked Maniac is now up, jumping around, celebrating,” Lucas Quinn announces, his voice echoing the arena’s electrified atmosphere.

Allie chimes in, her voice tinged with warmth, “Look at the pure joy on Masked Maniac, capturing his first win since returning to Global.”

The Mark adds, pointedly, “Yeah, thanks to El Principe.”

As the announcement rings out — “The Winners of the match, the team of EL PRINCIPE AND MASKED MANIAC!” — the Health Fanatics have already exited the ring, leaving the victorious duo to their moment of triumph.

Lucas Quinn observes, “Masked Maniac showing his appreciation to El Principe for his mentorship and for helping him navigate some of his challenges.”

“Allie considers, “El Principe can be a controversial figure, but you can’t help but respect his role in guiding Masked Maniac toward success.”

The crowd’s chants of “MASKED BROS! MASKED BROS!” fill the arena as Masked Maniac, caught up in jubilation, goes for another hug with his mentor. But in a startling turn of events, El Principe pulls his protégé in close, only to lift him up and slam him down with the very same finisher he used on Damon Somner — The Crowning Moment.


A collective gasp escapes the audience, their cheers turning to stunned silence.

“OH NO! EL PRINCIPE HAS JUST HIT MASKED MANIAC WITH A CROWNING MOMENT TOO!” Lucas Quinn’s voice is a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Why, Prince? Why?” Allie cries out, her confusion and dismay mirroring that of the fans.

The Mark, ever the analyst, offers a grim insight, “Sometimes the hardest lessons are the ones we need the most. El Principe just taught Masked Maniac the oldest rule in the book: Trust no one.”

Boos flood the arena as El Principe stands over his fallen pupil, the jeers of the Global fans washing over him. Even behind the mask, there’s a palpable sense of smug satisfaction emanating from him, a chilling reminder of the complexities and harsh realities within the squared circle.

“I don’t understand,” Lucas Quinn muses aloud, bewildered by the turn of events. “El Principe took Masked Maniac under his wing, promised to mentor him, only to leave him defeated and alone in the center of the ring.”

Allie, equally perplexed, adds her thoughts. “Even if Masked Maniac could still chant ‘Masked Bros before Hoes,’ I seriously doubt he’s feeling that camaraderie now. This was betrayal, not mentorship.”

The Mark, however, sees a different angle. “El Principe just imparted the most crucial lesson of all to Masked Maniac. This harsh reality check, if nothing else, is meant to jolt him awake, to realign him on his journey. If this doesn’t snap Masked Maniac out of his funk and set him back on the right path, I’m not sure what will.”

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Rutherford Guys’ theme hits and the tag team champions Nikolai Sinclair and Daniel Dream walk out followed by Richard Rutherford. They stop at the top of the ramp and raise their championships as Rutherford smirks. They continue down the ramp and enter the ring. They take their positions in the middle of the ring and Rutherford raise the microphone. 

“Ladies and gentlemen yet again my clients are not booked for a match by management. Now they are fighting champions, however for once I will thank the management. Resting my clients and avoiding a potential injury before a big PPV is always an advantage. With Border Control and their sneak attacks and interference in their matches as of late, we appreciate the break.”

Rutherford takes a deep breath. 

“Now we can either go home….or direct our focus towards Border Control. Let’s do that shall we? Now they have clearly gotten our attention and we have seen their tactics play out. Cheaters are never easy to fight against but my clients have no plan of letting their championships slip out of their hands any time soon.” 

Rutherford hands the mic to Daniel Dream. 

“We have a goal in mind, and we’re going to direct our focus on Border Control, and we’re going to achieve our goal. This all started because John J. Truth opened his mouth and said he’d be a double champion. These bastards interfered in our match. This is how this feud started. Their sneak attacks and interference, their attacks from behind and low blows, have only added fuel to my fire. And that fire is going to burn Border Control down to the ground.”

Daniel hands the microphone to Rutherford. Before Rutherford can talk Nikolai stretches out his hand. Both Daniel and Rutherford look shocked and slowly hand the microphone to Nikolai. Nikolai stares out over the crowd for a second. 

“Border Control…you are starting to piss me off. All your cheating will come back to haunt you. When the dust settles and the match is over…when I have claimed more victims you all will see why we are the best tag team in the world.”

Nikolai tosses the mic, and he and Daniel raise their championships.

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“Just a few weeks short of End Game, Alfie Button may end up replacing John J. Truth in facing his friend and training partner, Crusader X, for the INTERNATIONAL title, or at least that’s what the vast majority of The Globe hopes,” Lucas says.

“What Alfie Button are we likely to see?  Who knows?  I know him better than most, and if he gets into a groove, he can beat anyone, but John J. Truth has improved immensely during his title reign, impervious, formidable and even more full of himself.  Plus, he has Truth Control in his corner, a great equalizer in any match John finds himself in, I include even opposite Darring, a rematch we all hope to see,” The Mark believes.


Deltzer yelps as Allie gives him a dead arm.

“No way,” Reece shakes her head.

“What kind of condition will Crusader X be in, following his ferocious clash with Alex Reyn earlier on?  Will he be in any fit state to accompany Alfie Button, and even up the odds against Truth Control?” Quinn questions.

Robbie Williams’s classic of “Let Me Entertain You” suggests we’re going to find out.

And the answer is…


In his technicolor dreamcoat, Alfie Button sprints out, something that surprises the commentary team who speculate whether he should conserve his stamina for a fantastic opportunity at GLOBAL’s secondary title.

He manages some showboating by somersaulting over the top rope.

Meanwhile, John J. Truth’s theme hits.  However, he’s not there.  Border Control stroll down the aisle instead, making Alfie wondering where JJT is.  Despite the pleas, Alfie doesn’t hear them – or does he?

“ALFIE, TRUTH IS BEHIND YOU,” The Mark shouts.

As Alfie turns around…

Truth comes steaming out with…


The Mark reacts rather loudly to John’s attempted big boot, but Alfie narrowly avoids contact and attempts a…


Which connects!

However, before Button can capitalize, it sends Truth through the ropes and to the outside where Agents Washington and Lincoln console their captain…

“Suicide dive by Alfie Button onto all three!” Lucas responds.

“What a start by the speedster,” Reece reckons.

Button wastes no time rolling Truth back in.  Sadly for him, Truth has recovered sufficiently to catch the cheeky Cockney with a cheeky kick to the ribs to halt the challenger’s momentum.

John throws Alfie out to the wolves, and attempts to distract our experienced official, Duncan Treacher, but boy has he chosen the wrong referee.

Immediately, Washington and Lincoln start laying the boots to Button and when caught in the act by the wise Treacher, hold their hands up apologetically.

The crowd’s jeers turn to cheers when Treacher shakes his head, ignoring Truth’s protests and waves them off the back before retreating to a neutral corner.

After Border Control collectively enters the squared circle, they surround the referee in the bottom right-hand corner and he crosses his arms, refusing to listen to their reasons, excuses and patter pertaining to the interference.  He stands firm, ordering Washington and Lincoln to leave, and their fury has even more petrol/gasoline added to the fire as the audience waves them off sarcastically.

“I think I speak for everyone in the GLOBAL Nation when I say Treacher made the right call, and we want to see John J. Truth versus Alfie Button, one on one,” Quinn claims.

“Amen,” The Mark echoes.

“Ditto,” Reece affirms.

Truth is still seething and has a few choice words for Treacher. Button rolls back in and stuns Truth with a few European uppercuts, four in total, and flooring him with a fifth.

He comes to the right hand side of the ring, propelling himself poetically through the air to score with a springboard moonsault from the middle rope…


…Only for Truth to roll out of the way at the last possible moment.

Alfie, however, anticipates this, landing on his feet, and readjusting with a standing shooting star press, otherwise known as…


The Mark does his best Jason Brown impression on commentary to mirror Button’s quick thinking, on his feet literally you could say, though you still shouldn’t, and this has been a bright start for Button.

Alfie scoops the INTERNATIONAL titleholder up, whipping him into the set of ropes closest to the commentary table before uncorking a cracking corkscrew elbow, completing what is called Wheel of Fortune.

Button, who has been accused of pandering to the masses in the past, simply walks away, out of the ring and starts climbing to the top rope.  Hundreds of people join in unison, awaiting what Alfie has in mind, which is a fabulous frogsplash!

He is slow in getting up, but then, while nursing his ribs, Alfie aims to repeat the feat from the diagonally opposite corner.

“Can he get it?” Allie asks.

“YES!” The Mark replies.

For some reason, only known to the English contender, Alfie elects not to complete a cover.

“Alfie, and I hate to jinx it, is in fine form tonight.”

The crowd claps as Alfie patiently waits, ready to detonate a…


“We could have a new champion, folks…oh no,” The Marks’ groan is upon seeing Truth duck underneath Button’s flailing leg, and then in an instant, a chop block by the champion potentially alters the entire course of the contest and the audience, all upright a moment ago, sit down, slightly dejected.

“Champions find ways to win, especially when they’re up against it,” Quinn praises Truth.

The heavy breathing and bug-eyed look show that Truth is still recovering from Alfie’s onslaught, and he’s probably still fuming that Border Control aren’t out there, minding his back, but what’s an INTERNATIONAL Champion to do, lads and lasses?

Kick the challenger while he’s down.  A punt by the cun-ning challenger ROCKS Button’s world and boos reverberate around The Globe for the odious kingpin of GLOBAL’s secondary title.

In fairness, after covering his ears, the unhinged Truth again shows sound decision-making skills by dropping a knee to Button’s forehead and then setting Alfie back down, repeatedly choking him as Treacher reaches four.  Truth stares daggers right through Duncan, who remains unmoved, undeterred and totally focused on his mission as the man in the middle of that ring.

Neither is Truth, who again employs the illegal chokehold and breaks on four and a half, bending the rules but not risking disqualification, even though the challenger must beat him rather than the other way round.

Truth, wobbly, almost doesn’t know where he is and does a 180 spin.  Then, he hoists himself up onto the middle rope, square on, and lands with a diving elbow, driving it through the big heart of the big-mouthed yet likeable lad from London.



No more than that, John.

Truth mutters to himself, patiently waiting for Button to rise to his feet, not unlike Alfie merely moments ago, which shows how much this match has turned on its head.  Speaking of head, that is where Truth is aiming for with a rolling elbo—oh hello…


“Alfie meets fire with fire, and gets the superkick that time, but this time, sadly, cannot capitalize,” Quinn enthusiastically purrs.







Truth stirs.

He gets to a knee.

So does Alfie.

As they both stand up, Truth rakes the eyes, eating a second warning from the no-nonsense Treacher and the audience lets their feelings known, annoyed at the champ’s cheap tactics and antics.

“Treacher is the best-qualified official for this assignment, but not even he really wants to see this end in a disqualification, and rob Alfie of a wonderful opportunity to snare some gold,” Quinn muses.

“One way or another, you’d rather see a winner, even if it is Truth,” The Mark adds.

“Er…not sure about that,” Allie shudders.

Meanwhile, Truth comes to collect and whips Button to the top right-hand corner, sternum-first, taking the breath out of the Brit’s body, and by extension, the crowd.

John stands Alfie up, and peppers the pacesetter’s ribs with a quarter of stiff shots, alternating between left and right, and that should slow the speedster down even further.

A hip toss…

Alfie puts the brakes on, and shakes his head at Truth, who tries again.

Alfie does a mini-cartwheel…

“CLOTHESLINE BY TRUTH, TURNS ALFIE INSIDE OUT,” Quinn yells after witnessing the remarkable impact of the sport’s most common maneuver.

John follows up with a knee drop…



JJT seems somewhat surprised by the rebuttal, so he goes back to the well with a second knee drop, and tries again, hooking the leg for all it is worth…



Identical result.

John chances his arm by trying it on, and insisting it is 3, not 2.  Treacher insists it is 2, and there’s no further discussion on the matter.

Truth picks Button up and plants him. 

“The proud American with a Russian legsweep,” Allie sarcastically states.



“John visibly frustrated.  I don’t know why.  He’s in complete command,” The Mark bemusedly says.

He marches Alfie to the opposite corner this time, the top left set of buckles, and strikes Button, only to have it blocked, and eats a European uppercut and another, and Alfie is suddenly on a roll.  After weathering four, there’s some separation between challenger and champion, enabling the former to go for yet another…


Truth catches Alfie’s leg, and immediately takes the bold pretender to HIS throne, which he has worked so hard to capture and then keep.  It could be crucial, like the chop block earlier on.

Ramping things up, out of desperation or viciousness, perhaps both, Truth drops a handful of hard knees on Alfie’s knee, bone on bone, softening the popular flyer up considerably.

“Very few, if anyone, can win a match from the floor, and not someone who’s as reliant on speed and agility as Alfie Button,” Lucas predicts.

 Truth then removes Button’s knee brace, and it’s his turn to ignore Treacher’s instructions, holding the trophy high above his head before dumping it over the top rope to the sound of books from 2,500 observers. 

In fact, the brace lands right in front of our three-pronged team.

“Truth has launched a vicious assault on Alfie Button, and probably feels hard done by, we know he loves a conspiracy theory, and in his warped mind, he’s got plenty of reasons to fell that way, what with Border Control being ejected early, Treacher, the crowd against him…” The Mark reminds us.

“A figure-four may end this, no, Alfie kicks back and then kicks Truth off…”

The Londoner limps to his feet very shortly after Quinn’s comments…

“Watch out, Alfie,” Reece cries in vain.

But, Alfie counters with an inside cradle, can he get it?




European uppercut, albeit on one leg, and another….

Truth counters with a clothesline and before Button can fall, applies a standing crossface, which Alfie counters himself with a page from a former partner and eternal friend’s playbook…

“Backdrop driver, an ode to Darren Best, and it just got Alfie Button out of a hole,” The Mark declares.

Duncan, get that double down started.








Alfie springs into a life with a kip-up that he’ll probably regret later, but it gives him and the crowd the impetus to believe in the here and now.

“He’s heading up,” Reece calls.

So, it proves.  Button goes to the top once again, top left-hand corner once again…

“ALFIE BUTTON….COME ON DOWN!  YES, NEW INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION,” Deltzer punches the air, and he high-fives Allie.






“NO, NO, NO, SO CLOSE, but nobody can question Duncan Treacher’s authority,” Deltzer admits.

“Stay on him, Alfie,” Allie urges the challenger just as a roar goes up from the crowd, pretty much mirroring the pink-haired commentator and lifelong fan’s support, as everyone senses blood and a potential title change, willing to believe Button can do it.

“SUPERKICK TIME…TIME AND TIME AGAIN.  If he hits this, I believe he can do it.  The volume in here is rising to deafening levels and should Button hit this…” Quinn trails off as Alfie sets up his favorite choice of weapon…

…”No, Truth ducks underneath.” Quinn reports to everyone.

All of a sudden, the champion grabs the challenger by the arms and nobody can believe what they’re witnessing as his Unprettier maneuever, aptly named in this case, rips Button’s chances of becoming champion away in the blink of an eye…

“TRUTH HURTS, and does it ever,” Quinn narrates, apologizing to Deltzer and Reece, who mutter obscenities underneath their breath.







“John J. Truth has retained the INTERNATIONAL Championship here on Domination, and why is he signallng for help when the match is won?  OH NO, they’re back and Truth has just knocked Treacher down to the ground.  Back in the day, that would’ve been a hell of a match…”

“Totally different story, I believe,” Deltzer implies, given Treacher’s tremendous track record as multi-time champion, and formidable foe for anyone who crossed his path.

“That’ll be a fine, but does he care?  Will it stop?  NO,” Allie bemoans, fed up with Truth Control’s antics.

“They’re back, and they’ve got BATS,” Quinn sounds genuinely worried for what John, Washington and Lincoln may have in store for Alfie Button.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than ringing the bell to bail Alfie Button out.  You cannot reason with arguably the most unreasonable wrestler on the roster at the best of times, let alone when he’s clearly got it into his thick head that he needs to hurt, which is more to get at Crusader X than it is any real animosity towards Alfie.”

“Does it matter, Mark?”

“It makes it worse, Allie,” Deltzer responds.

Truth holds Alfie up.

Washington and Lincoln dig their bats into Button’s ribs.  Truth scoops the hapless Button up…

“DON’T DO IT!” Quinn exclaims.

The crowd falls silent, as does our commentary team.  The only noise in The Globe…

…coming from an inconsolable Englishman, who is experiencing pain like perhaps never before, after Lincoln and Washington practised their baseball skills simultaneously on his legs.

“We may’ve just seen the last of Alfie Button, and it’s such a shame,” Lucas mourns.

“You’re right.  Best case scenario is he returns, a step or two slower than he was before, because if there’s someone who relies on their speed, it’s Alfie Button, but you’d take that over the alternative.  OH GOD, they’re going to do it again.  He may not have a career at all if they do this…” The Mark’s voice trails off, his blood running cold as he has a close-up view of what is happening to someone he considers a friend.


How fitting.

“WAIT A MINUTE,” Quinn roars.


Deltzer and Reece react together.


“The two people Alfie needed right now, and look at Truth roll out of the ring like a thief in the night, leaving Washington…BIG BOOT BY AMBER LEE, knocking the bat out of his hand.  Lincoln swings and misses…a hard right by Best, and another, make it three…DO IT, DARREN!  BASEBALL BAT ACROSS THE BACK!”

Darren tosses it down in fury, and then drags Lincoln back up, steering him towards the corner.

“Alfie needed his best friends, and now The Globe wants, NEEDS, to see…BEST OF BOTH!!”

Lincoln goes crashing into the middle turnbuckle in the top-right corner, courtesy of Darren’s deadly wrist-clutch exploder as Amber and Darren bend down and tend to their fallen friend.

“What damage have these heartless cowards done to Alfie Button?” Lucas, uncharacteristically, slams Truth Control.

“It mars what was, in my opinion, an excellent performance from Truth, who won fair and square, and didn’t need to do that.  Crusader X is now here…Truth is trapped…no, he takes off over the rail, as do Washington and Lincoln…they really are heartless cowards, like I said,” Lucas criticizes.

“Are you all right?”

The Mark can barely speak.


“I’ll be okay, Allie.  I hope to God, Crusader X destroys him at End Game.”

“You and two and half thousand others at The Globe a month from now, Mark,” Lucas attests.


LOGO b&w


The arrival, with no fanfare or entrance music and during a downtime in between matches, of a tall, muscular blonde woman to the ringside area of the Globe causes significant confusion both among fans in attendance and at the announce desk. The commentators posit that she may be part of the ring technician crew (then, when she requests, and is given, a microphone, of the sound crew) but the lack of any ring-proofing or sound-checking quickly dispels that notion, leading all but a few members of the assembled crowd to resume hypothesizing about who she might be. Speculation comes to an end, however, when the woman herself, now stood in the center of the ring, bring the microphone in her hand to her lips, and begins to address the crowd.

“Most of you don’t have a goddamn clue who I am.”

A mixed reaction from the crowd confirms this statement, causing the blonde to nod as she continues.

“I don’t blame you. Most of you were probably in elementary school the last time I got in a ring like this.” She hops up and down for a moment, as if testing the springiness of the mat. “This is a damn good one, too. I wish I had one this good in my dojo. Anyway, you get my drift – unless you followed the indies for the last ten years, you don’t know who I am.”

At the mention of independent companies, a faint, one-man chant of “GPW! GPW! GPW!” drifts up from one section of the arena, causing the blonde to smile and point in its general direction.

“…that guy knows…” She then turns towards the section, as though addressing the specific fan who spoke up. “How ’bout that ten-year reunion show, huh? Yeah, I was excited about that, too. Guess somebody got lazy… Or maybe Superbitch just left them so broke, they’re still saving up…”

She shrugs as the one fan is clearly heard laughing amid the stone silence from the rest of the Globe, then quickly returns to her point.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter right now. That OR my name. In fact, just call me Coach.”

“Oooh, is this the famous ‘Coach’ Trouble Roxx and Angel are always talking about backstage?” Allie Reece is now clearly interested in the woman and what she has to say, which marks a stark contrast from the rest of the arena. That mood changes somewhat, however, with the blonde’s next few words.

“No, what matters right now is that SOME GODDAMN BITCH has been having her little flying monkeys run around beating the shit out of my students outside hospitals, when they’re just there to visit their friend. What matters is that SOME GODDAMN ASSHOLES put six kids and a grown-ass man in that same hospital, because they’re TOO FUCKING CHICKENSHIT to step up to them INSIDE THIS RING…” The woman jabs an index finger downward three times to emphasize her point. “…instead of sneaking around with a bunch’a weapons attacking civilians in their downtime. And since the cops won’t do a damn thing about it…” This statement brings a jeer from the simmering crowd, one which turns into a cheer with the woman’s next few words. “…I guess I’m gonna have to!” The blonde turns towards the ramp. “So, whoever’s calling the shots over there in your little Goon Squad…get your bitch ass down here so I can kick it!”

For a moment after this fiery challenge is laid out, there is no sound or movement inside the arena, other than the uncertain, hesitant hush of the fans, as they wait to see if the newcomer’s call will be answered. The camera pans in on the blonde huffing and rolling her eyes irritably at the lack of response, and for a few more seconds, it appears as though nothing will come of her address. The impasse is, however, eventually broken by the opening guitar noodling of Pantera’s “Cowboys From Hell”, which immediately sets the audience to booing, and the blonde newcomer to glaring towards the entrance curtain, through which a half-dozen figures have just emerged, each holding a weapon. The men’s demeanors range from intense scowling to almost laid-back smugness, but even the least livid of them appears ready to rush the ring at a moment’s notice and engage the woman within.

“Welp…she wanted ’em, and she got ’em. Miranda Wright’s goons are here in, pardon the pun, full Force.”

“I don’t think it’s them she wants, necessarily, Mark…”

“Well, whatever the case may be, it’s them she’s about to get…in, sorry again, Force!”

Deltzer’s statement proves, however, to have been a tad pre-emptive, as, before any of the men at the curtain can so much as take a step forward, every one of their gazes turns back towards the backstage area, their body languages relaxing from fight-or-flight tension to a no less relaxed state of at-ease as they line up either side of the entrance way like Praetorian guards. A moment later, yet another figure crosses through the curtain – a slender woman with short, dark hair, in aviator shades and an all-leather ensemble, whose appearance only causes the levels of noise inside the Globe to increase.

“There’s the ringleader herself… To her credit, I never expected her to actually come out here…”

“You give her way too much credit, Lucas.”

As the announcers comment on her arrival, former Los Angeles Police Corporal Miranda Wright slowly, almost methodically makes her way down the entranceway, a smirk on her lips, deliberately making the woman inside the ring wait. This tactic is clearly having the desired effect, as the camera once again zooms in on the blonde to find her pulling all sorts of annoyed faces and muttering under her breath. Still, Wright is very much in control of the pace here, and there is nothing the self-styled Coach can do but wait until her counterpart deigns to join her inside the ring. It therefore takes another long moment before Wright, clearly relishing every moment of having the upper hand, slowly makes her way up the steps and into the ring, the blonde newcomer glowering daggers at her every step of the way. This does not, however, intimidate Wright, who takes the time to give her interloper a long once-over look, circling around her as if inspecting a prize animal. This only serves to further irritate the blonde, who is clearly fuming by the time her opponent finally halts her steps, less than a foot from her face, and brings the microphone in her hand to her lips, to speak three simple, yet impactful words.

“Finally…the leader.”

Despite being presumably intended as a compliment, this makes the blonde scowl, a reaction Miranda totally ignores as she continues.

“I was wondering when I would be able to confront someone at my level…”

This is finally enough for the blonde, who cuts across her counterpart’s last few words.

“Listen, cupcake, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t give a shit, either. But if you’re talking about my students, sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m not their ‘leader’. They don’t need a ‘leader’. They can think for themselves and make their own goddamn decisions.” Coach gestures beyond Miranda, towards the men lined up by the entrance curtain. “Which apparently is too much for your bunch’a bozos…”

Miranda’s body tenses up for a moment at this, but her tone remains as composed as ever.

“Are you sure it’s my bunch who are the bozos?” The brunette turns away from her interloper for a moment, gesturing towards her squad herself. “I mean, when I look at those six men, I see a group of hapless nobodies who, with the right leadership and guidance, became a Force to be reckoned with. A Force so powerful, it has even brought the director of the daycare out of her office…” Wright directs another smug smirk towards her glowering opponent. “Now imagine what your group could do if only they were organized like that, instead of being allowed to run loose like unruly children…” She once again points at the men waiting outside the ring. “See…what I do…what we do…we don’t just do for fun. We do it to set an example. An example of what adequate leadership can accomplish, and how harmful a lack of direction can truly be.” She turns her gaze back towards the Coach, grinning once more. “We aren’t the villains here. We’re not the enemy. What we are…what we aim to be…is role models.

“She…has a point there, I have to admit.”

“Oh, please, Mark! That’s the biggest load of BS I’ve heard since the last time John J. Truth was out here! ‘Role models’ my ass! They are villains, they are the enemy, and what she does to her guys isn’t leadership…it’s dictatorship.”

“I have to agree. She leads by fear, not by example.”

“All right, all right… I can see I’m outnumbered here…”

When she finally has a chance to respond to her interloper, the blonde woman in the ring further compounds Deltzer’s misery.

“Seriously?” She snorts. “You think you’re a leader?” She gestures towards Miranda’s assembled soldiers again. “You think those guys respect you?” She shakes her head. “Not a chance, cupcake. Those guys fear you. The only way you’re leading them is by fear. And that’s not what a real leader does. A real leader leads by example. A real leader only uses discipline when they have to. When it’s going to actually make a difference. You? You just get your kicks out of ballbreaking guys who don’t love themselves enough to see through your bullshit and tell you to stick it.” It is the blonde’s turn to smirk. “Well, if they won’t…I will. Except I won’t just tell you…” The grin widens. “…I’ll make you.”

“Oh, really?” The predatory smirk on Miranda’s face also widens. “And how do you intend to do that?”

Coach snorts. “Pfff…like you don’t know.” She leans forward, her gaze almost scorching through her opponent’s Ray-Bans. “By whupping your wannabe Vladimir Putin ass all over this arena, and then stretching it ’till you’re screaming for Daddy!” The crowd erupts as Coach puffs up her chest to bump the other woman’s. “You and me, right here, right now, cupcake. Let’s BLEEPing go!”

The crowd explode once again, in anticipation of a fight – as do the commentators.

“Whoever this woman is, she has just done what nobody else in GLOBAL has had the courage to do so far – challenge Miranda Wright directly!”

“Yeah, RIP Coach Blondie…”

Wright, however, appears impervious to her counterpart’s threats and intimations, maintaining the same calm and collected tone as she speaks up again.

“Oh, I like you…!”

“It ain’t mutual, cupcake.”

Once again, however, Miranda brushes off the taunt. “Yes, I like you. I knew I was right to come out here and give you a chance, instead of just taking you out like I did your kindergarten class.” The cheers swiftly turn to jeers as the leather-clad brunette continues. “Just the fact that you had the guts to BLEEPing threaten me, to my face, when you know I could have my entire squad put you in hospital right next to your precious kids…” More booing almost drowns out the leader of the GLOBAL Force. “…I have to respect that. And yes, I do want to fight you…” Another explosion of excitement is quickly dulled by the former policewoman’s next few words. “…but not now.” Miranda smirks again as she gestures around the stands. “See, if I’m going to give these people the privilege of seeing me break you, embarrass you and show those kids what happens to their fearless leader when she crosses my path…I’m going to do it where an entire nation can see it.”

It is the blonde Coach’s turn to brush off her opponent’s threats, as she proves bold enough to cut across Miranda before she is finished – an act which finally brings a scowl of rage to the Force leader’s features.

“Cut the crap, cupcake. I know what you’re doing, and I’m calling your bluff. You want a big event beating, that’s fine by me. But if I’m gonna be the leader, I’m gonna do the leader thing and let the kids join in, too. It ain’t fair to them to miss out on a big match while their old busted-ass Coach gets all the spotlight. Besides…” Another smirk contorts the blonde woman’s features. “…I bet they’re dying to whup your guys’ asses, too.” Coach now turns to the stands. “So…in two weeks’ time…at the big event…it’s gonna be me, and my kids…” She points at Miranda, then at her men, still standing by the curtain. “…against you, and your Goon Squad.” The crowd cheers as the blonde smiles again. “Unless you’re all talk…”

For a long moment, the tense silence from before returns; then, it is Wright’s turn to smile, as she removes her shades for the first time, the better to lock eyes with her opponent.

“Oh, I really do like you…” Then, before Coach can interject another sarcastic comment, she nods. “You’re on.”

The crowd erupts once again at the prospect of that match, their excitement mirrored by the GLOBAL announce team.

“WHAT A MATCH has just been made for GLOBAL Magnum Opus!”

“Wow. I think I stan Coach. Imagine coming in here, as an outsider, and getting in Miranda Wright’s face like that, and getting her to agree to the match you want. How many people do you know who could, or even would do that? That’s a leader…”

“To be fair, I’m just surprised Miranda—”

Before Deltzer can conclude his remark, all hell breaks loose at ringside, as Miranda, having given her new rival a sarcastic finger-wave, finally gives her men permission to surge forward and punish the newcomer for her audacity – a command they are all too happy to fulfill, much to Allie Reece’s displeasure.

“Of COURSE. What else would she have them do? We couldn’t have a real woman upstage her, now can we?”

The blonde Coach further earns the respect of the crowd by attempting to fight all six men off by herself, and without resorting to weapons, but it is without surprise that fans in attendance and at home see her efforts quickly come to nought, as she succumbs to strength in numbers and gets summarily laid out by the increasingly hated group. The camera quickly cuts back and forth between the unconscious blonde lying on the mat and Miranda Wright taunting her from the ramp, before the dominant brunette calls her attack dogs back to her and begins to make her grand exit. The last image the camera captures before the feed cuts elsewhere, however, is that of the least remarkable member of the group looking back at the blonde in a mixture of wistfulness, awe, uncertainty and confusion, before having his arm roughly yanked by his commanding officer and following the rest of the squad through the curtain and back towards the backstage area. A moment later, only the blonde’s prone body remains of what can be considered to have been GLOBAL’s very first in-ring leadership meeting.


“So…you gotta be Coach, right?”

The Latina teenager gives the stern-looking blonde walking beside her a bright, toothy grin, but the older woman barely breaks her stride, let alone her expression of frowning concentration. Still, the youngster’s attempt at an icebreaker does not go completely unheard or unacknowledged, as evidenced by the next few words from the muscular valkyrie.

“So…you gotta be the annoying street kid that’s got all those other guys risking their asses every week, right?”

The attempt at sarcasm is, however, lost on the younger woman, whose smile grows even wider as she holds an expectant hand out to the blonde,

“Damn straight! Angel motherfuckin’ Ramirez. How you doin’?”

Her attempt is once again unsuccessful, however, the older woman choosing to skip the pleasantries and go straight to the point.

“And I see you got no more brains than the rest of ’em.” The blonde finally turns to face the girl, scorching her with her steely blue glare. “If you were a guy, I’d say you were thinking with your dick. What’s YOUR excuse, cupcake?”

The teenager bristles at this. “Man, I ain’t gotta tell you shit! You those guys’ Coach, not mine!”

The show of petulance is, however, just as ineffective as the rest of Angel’s attempted tactics, drawing no more than a shrug from her interloper.

“Suit yourself, cupcake. To be honest, I like you better with your mouth shut…”

Faced with the older woman’s indifference, the young Latina chooses to adopt the same tactic as she has a moment earlier, and cut straight to the chase.

“I wanna help.”

“Say what?!” This finally manages to get Coach’s attention, and she whirls around to face her young interloper.

“You heard me, lady. I said I wanna help.” The older woman opens her mouth to protest, but Angel cuts her off. “Look…I heard what you said out there. I seen you get in that ‘pendeja”s face an’ call her out on her shit. An’ I know you one down for this match you havin’ at the big show…’cause you know Saul’s arm still fucked up, right? He gonna try to tell you different, but don’t you believe his ass. Don’t you let that boy do nothin’!”

The blonde nods, which seems to assuage Angel’s fears.

“Right. So, you don’t got Saul, an’ you don’t got Hayley. Which means you got…” The young Latina counts on her fingers. “…Teagan, an’ Izzy, an’ Hayley’s fam. That’s five people. With you, makes six. There’s seven a’ them motherfuckers, countin’ that ‘puta‘ they all be simpin’ for. You one short. You need one more.” The teenager once again grins big as she holds her arms out and puffs out her chest. “An’ I’m ya girl!”

For a moment thereafter, neither woman speaks, the older woman clearly considering the younger’s offer. Then, at length, the blonde finally speaks again.

“Look…kid…I appreciate the offer, but…”

“…but I’m too young, right?” The youngster’s harsh glare matches her tone. “It’s too dangerous. All that BS.”

Coach’s eyes likewise flash irritably as she snaps back at the teen. “Actually, what I was gonna say was, I don’t know you from Adam. For all I know, you’re not even trained. And first impressions so far are NOT good, I can tell you that for nothing…”

“Oh yeah?!” Angel steps forward, bristling, her eyes matching the blonde’s for fiery intensity. “Well, fuck you too, lady!” The blonde’s mouth sets into an extremely fine line, but she keeps her silence as the teenager unloads a few months’ worth of pent-up tension on her. “You know what it’s like to not have nobody, like, ever? You know what it’s like to not have no friends? You know what it’s like when you can’t get close to nobody, ’cause you can’t trust nobody?” Angel’s eyes brim with tears, her voice growing hoarser. “An’ then when you find a squad that you for real wanna hang out with, shit starts goin’ down, an’ you wanna help, but you can’t, ’cause ain’t nobody lettin’ you do shit? So you gotta sit there every fuckin’ week an’ watch your squad get hurt, an’ then when you talk to them, they stay sayin’ they don’t want your help, an’ to just sit your ass back down?” The youngster shakes her head vehemently. “Nah, fam…that shit ain’t gonna fly this time. This time, I ain’t sittin’ on my ass in no poolhouse watchin’ that bunch’a ‘pinche pendejos’ hurt my friends.” The youngster matches the blonde’s scorching glare with one of her own. “This time, they need me. YOU need me. So you can stick that ‘I-don’t-know-you’ shit right up your ass. Comprende?”

For a long moment after this outburst, not a word is spoken between the two women, the air between them hanging heavy with tension; when words do come again, they are all but growled by the older, blonde woman.

“You do realize, if any of your friends ever dared to give me even close to that kind of attitude, I’d stretch the everloving shit out of all their limbs, one by fucking one…right?”

The threat does not, however, faze the Latina, who stands her ground. The older woman raises an eyebrow at this, chuckling dryly.

“I’ll give it to ya, kid…you got a set of brass ovaries the size of my fist.”

Angel nods. “Damn straight!”

“Too bad you use them to think, instead of your brain…”

“Yeah, well, them’s the breaks, lady. Don’t like it, that’s your problem.”

“You’re right….I don’t like it. And I don’t like your attitude. What I do like is your spunk. And I definitely like your loyalty to that bunch of goddamn airheads I call my students.” The woman pauses for a moment. “So…I know I’m gonna regret this…but…” The blonde sighs deeply and dramatically. “…OK. You can help. You can be our seventh person.”

FOR REAL?!” Seemingly instantly, the Latina’s attitude changes from defiance to jubilant glee, peppered with her usual brand of boundary-pushing motormouthing. “Y’know, I always liked you, Coach. Real talk.” She holds up her hand. “High-five…!”

A single pointed look from the older woman is, however, enough to convey the intended message, and the teen drops her arm back to her side dejectedly.

“…yeah. A’ight. Whatever.”

Those are the last words uttered by either woman as they both make their way back to the locker room area of the GLOBE.

LOGO b&w


“How must Darren Best be feeling after what happened to Alfie Button earlier on?”

“Well, Lucas, he rejected an entrance and is already in the ring with Punch Drunk Purcell, which I’m sure will please The Xiang Dynasty, who are on their way to the ring and at least get an entrance,” The Mark retorts.

“Not a lot of happy faces on show,” Allie weighs in.

“Gee, I wonder why,” Deltzer scoffs.

“Lighten up,” Reece reacts.

Before Deltzer can destroy Allie verbally, Lucas steps in.

“Most people aren’t all smiles when they’re about to go to war, let alone when their best friend may’ve been put on the shelf, for a long time or perhaps even permanently,” Lucas reasons.

“This match was effectively set up at Domination Twenty-Two.  Darren Best found himself in action against The Great Wall, and was saved by the returning Punch Drunk Purcell, who was involved in an escalating rivalry with The Great Wall prior to his departure,” Quinn commences.

“That rivalry is BACK on,” enthuses Allie.

“We have teams that are mirrors of one another in terms of technique and strength:  Darren Best and Xiang are the tactical and technical brains of their respective operations while Punch Drunk Purcell and The Great Wall undoubtedly provide the brawns and raw power, albeit in different ways,” The Mark begins.

“Punch Drunk, the clue is in the name guys, gets by on punching power.  The Great Wall will hurt you more with slams and powerbombs, but don’t discount the other when it comes to the other’s forte.  Punch Drunk has weapons in his arsenal, he’s a big guy in his own right at six-one and three fifty-one whereas The Great Wall can turn your lights out in an instant, I’ve seen him do, with a right hand of his own,” The Mark continues.

“War Dance” by Shen-Yi.

Xiang brandishes the Chinese flag, drawing some boos for that simple gesture, proudly carrying it thereafter, while The Great Wall cuts an imposing and impressive sight, the stoic skyscraper focused on avenging his recent disqualification defeat to Darren Best and exacting revenge on PDP for sticking his oar in.  No doubt, his below-par performance against Nikolai Sinclair with also wrangle with him.

“The Great Wall has more lives than a litter of kittens, but when you’re that big and strong, you’re always a threat, a run of form away from challenging for the top honors.  It may not be fair, life isn’t ladies and gentlemen, I have to work with Allie Reece twice a month, but that’s the way it is,” The Mark half-jokes.

“Tell it like it is:  You’re blessed.  You’re blessed they chose you, and after you realized you’d be working with me, you called your imaginary girlfriend and told her:  Baby, we’ve done it – break out the red panties,” Allie rips off a certain well-known fighter.

The boos and noise die down, albeit temporarily, for the late, great Tina Turner’s iconic anthem of “The Best” to bring out Darren Best.

“Speaking of form, after overcoming Mr. Merchandise in their mini-series, he defeated Keegan and then The Great Wall a fortnight ago.  Darren has turned his life and career around, and a win along with Punch Drunk Purcell, may propel him towards rematches with the main eventers in GLOBAL, rematches, chance of revenge with one sadistic customer in particular, as you well know, Mark,” Quinn hints.

Darren exchanges high-fives, and as he steps through the ropes, The Great Wall steps to him, having been urged on by Xiang, and The Artist of War gets in on it too, beating Best down to the ground and then sticking to the boots to him.  His body, without the bout officially underway, ravaged by this two-pronged assault as Gabrielle Harris, in vain, tries to quell The Xiang Dynasty’s pre-match ambush on Best.

“It’s a mugging,” Quinn offers.

Jeers turn to cheers as Punch Drunk Purcell jumps the gun, no entrance music required, and gets there as quickly as he can to save his partner, and thus the match from ending prematurely.

“Look at Xiang, the coward, backing off,” Allie animatedly calls.

“He’s smart,” The Mark replies.

“Honestly, you’re a pain in the ass,” Allie complains.

Meanwhile, Edmond rocks The Wall once with a huge haymaker, then twice and three times a lady, he doesn’t love The Wall, though he sure enjoys hurting him and the seven-two skyscraper is sensationally on the floor and on his back, due to PDP’s heavy-handedness.

“Not many people do that to The Wall, and The Globe loves it,” Lucas remarks.

“So do I,” Allie attests.

TGW rolls out of the ring to regroup as Xiang puts an arm on his shoulder and whispers some tactical advice, presumably in their mother tongue of Chinese, and to settle his massive charge down.

That is, until, he complains to Gabrielle Harris, the least experienced official amongst the GLOBAL quote of referees, and this really annoys one Allie Reece.

“Oh yeah, attack poor Darren before the match, get your asses kicked and complain about it.  Real noble, Xiang,” she sarcastically quips.  She does have a point.

Meanwhile, Purcell and Best have a conversation that largely revolves around the latter’s physical and mental state, as he refutes the notion that he’s not ready and insists on kicking things off, as does Xiang.

“Let the generals kick things off, establish the pace and bring your big-hitters off the bench,” The Mark mentions.

“Look at you, thinking you know stuff about other sports. It’s cute,” Reece mocks him for it.

“Well, they’re both evenly matched, standing at the same height and just two pounds apart in weight.  This should be a good matchup between Best and Xiang,” Lucas steering us back on track, professional as ever – for the most part.

They circle one another, Xiang pawing away ambitiously, looking for a limb.  After several seconds, he eventually succeeds, grabbing Best’s left hand, and pulling Darren towards The Great Wall, stationed at the top right hand side of the ring, immediately tagging him in. Fortunately for him,  Best breaks apart and walks away from the wrong part of town.  Seeking safety, PDP offers his services and asks for the tag, which the crowd is ready to see.  It didn’t take long, but now the two generals have paved the way for the two enormous soldiers to engage in combat.

As Wall steps over the top rope, ponderously of course, PDP launches himself at Wall with a charging Clothesline that sends The Wall back into the corner where he came from, although it doesn’t take the biggest man on the GLOBAL roster, at present anyway, off his feet.

However, as PDP storms in…BIG BOOT!  PDP goes down in an instant.  Ever the opportunist, Xiang tags TGW in, drawing boos and a bemused look from the big man, who doesn’t have far to go for his rest.

“Look at Xiang, he’s such a coward.  I can’t stand him,” Allie squeals.

A running flipping senton, gorgeous technically, irrespective of one’s personal feelings towards the import, gets Xiang up and running, and he hopefully covers Purcell.


Only 1.

“Good, watch him leave in the next few seconds,” Allie reckons.

She’s actually wrong. Xiang sticks around for a bit longer, kicking PDP in the back, which Purcell shrugs off.  Xiang allows Purcell to get to his feet, and for someone so smart I would question that logic right there, but Xiang runs the opposite ropes, dodging Purcell’s lariat attempt on the way back. Xiang, instead, comes back with a crossbody block in mind, but it proves to be a poor idea as Purcell catches him coming in with an UNBELIEVABLE OVERHEAD BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX.

“Good grief,” Lucas gulps.

Xiang lands on the other side of the ring, and helplessly falls out onto the apron nearest his corner.  TGW reaches down, tags in and PDP doesn’t have time to see, imagine that, a slow and methodical 7’2 tower grab the back of his head…

RONGYAO (Inverted chokeslam Facebuster.) 

“I cannot compute to you how difficult it is to do that to someone who weighs three hundred and fifty pounds.  Darren suffered from it a fortnight ago, and speaking of which,” Quinn cuts himself off.

A FRONT chop block leaves The Wall in a heap, and Gabrielle Harris asks Darren to leave.  PDP and TGW are still legal, just as a reminder, and Harris gets a bit of breather, beginning a double count.


“Sound strategy by Darren, even if it wasn’t the cleanest of actions,” Quinn tells us.


“Necessary, though,” Reece responds.



“The Great Wall rises first, but Punch Drunk Purcell, as tough as they come, isn’t far behind…what a headbutt by The Great Wall, and I don’t care who you are, you’ll feel that.”

The sheer weight and force behind it force, ahem, PDP back.  Purcell leans against the ropes and returns with a superb shoulder tackle that now puts The Great Wall on the opposite ropes.  Neither man going down, despite doubtless feeling the effects of the other’s power.

“What wonderful work by Punch Drunk Purcell, and he isn’t done, though he might be…OUCH…after that reverse elbow by The Great Wall catches him coming in.  The Great Wall runs, if you can call it that, into Punch Drunk, who sees it coming and that’s one of the biggest back body drops I’ve ever seen!  I bet it’s the biggest one The Great Wall has been on the receiving end of,” Lucas narrates.




PDP gets to his feet. Best calls for the tag and we get a reconstruction of Domination 22 when Purcell gives into Best’s request.  Darren sets about TGW with a rebound bulldog…NO, THE GREAT WALL counters it, and does so with a BACKDROP DRIVER!

“One of Darren’s greatest weapons used against him by the master of strong style,” The Mark says, 100% seriously.

“Who?!  The Great Wall?” Allie asks.

“Just an inside joke you wouldn’t get,” The Mark smiles to himself.




It’s over.  No, it’s not.  But on the double-down count of 3, TGW makes a cover, and it might be in a few seconds from now.






“Almost.  Xiang wants back in, he’s a vulture, a creep and a coward,” Allie whines.

Xiang comes in with a bag, taking Best by the head and looking for a TORNADO DDT—DARREN PLANTS HIM DOWN…BEST. OF. BOTH!!! Darren cannot recover!

“WOW,” exclaims The Mark in reaction to what he has just witnessed.  Due to the close proximity of the Chinese corner, The Great Wall reaches in, and drags Xiang the short distance, no sooner having left and now tagging himself in.

“COME ON,” Reece shouts.

“It’s smart, whether we like it or not.”

“I agree with Mark.  It’s not ideal, and they’re definitely bending the rules, but I can’t say I wouldn’t the same in their shoes,” Quinn offers insight.

“Men,” comes the short and pissed-off reply.

Anyway, The Great Wall lifts Darren up, getting a shock when he gets grounded by a lovely drop toe hold…



“Of course, Gabrielle Harris doesn’t see it!  Who on earth picks these officials for these matches?”  That is Deltzer, who has repeatedly made this point.  Who indeed?!

Darren is down.  Gabrielle didn’t technically see it, even though she’s got more than an inkling what went down.  TGW covers Darren…



PDP is there to pull TGW off, and The Wall moans at Harris in Chinese.

“The front on this guy,” Reece shakes her head.

The Great Wall is poised to confront Punch Drunk Purcell, who shows no signs of backing down, when Best suddenly takes The Great Wall down with a chop block from behind, perfectly softening up and setting The Wall up for…


Best covers…






“AW, I thought he had it,” Reece punches her left palm with her right first.

“A whisker, and I mean a whisker away.  They have to capitalize, the crowd is firmly behind them and they’re on the cusp.  Xiang isn’t a factor, The Wall is wobbly…go for it, guys,” The Mark encourages them.

“Amen to that. Mark, call it…”


The scorpion armlock is locked in.  Xiang recovers, but wanders right into…


Purcell ‘popped Xiang up’ for a hell of a landing with the right hook on the way down.

With no one to help, The Wall is fading.  He doesn’t submit, but his eyes are in need of some rest, and he’s on his way to sleep, pronto.

Harris raises his huge left hand.

Going once…


Going twice.

Could it be?

Sold to the team of Purcell and Best!

Ding, ding, ding.

Take it away, DJB.

“The winners of this match via technical knockout/submission, DARREN BEST AND PUNCH DRUNK PURCELL!”

“An amazing win for Punch Drunk Purcell and Darren Best. A massive assist by Punch Drunk on that one, as they hug and listen to this crowd go wild.  Another massive scalp for Darren, who we’re informed will be one out of five in a match scheduled for the next Domination, coming after End Game, signed to include El Principe, Greg Matthews, Declan Rich and his rival Mr. Merchandise.  That’ll be on Domination Twenty-, and you have to believe that Punch Drunk Purcell and The Great Wall between the last two weeks have renewed their hostilities, and they’ll face off, probably on pay-per-view,” Quinn announces as “The Best” plays Darren and Edmond out, following a fantastic triumph against a well-oiled unit in The Xiang Dynasty.


“Hey, I’d like to see them together as a team,” Deltzer pipes up with.

“Matchmaker Mark, save it.  We wanna see Punch Drunk and The Great Wall, one on one, and I’m delighted with that.  Xiang is so annoying and satisfying to see The Great Wall punched out and then made to pass out,” Reece has the final word.

There are no smiles in the ring.  Just a handshake between two no-nonsense competitors as Darren shakes his head, hands on hips, saddened by Alfie’s horrific injuries earlier in the show.

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The sun beat down mercilessly on the convertible’s cherry red paint as we cruised on the open road, the wind tousling our hair. With my trusty camcorder in hand, I turned to Abby, her vibrant energy infectious under the scorching sun. “Guess where we’re going?” I prompt, as I aim the camera her way.

Abby’s eyes sparkles with excitement as she ponders for a moment, then exclaims, “Disney?”

A grin spread across my face as I nodded in affirmation. “You nailed it, babe,” I reply as I capture her jubilant reaction on film.

As we cruise a few more miles down the road, I glance over at the sprawling landscape ahead, then back at Abby, who’s still beaming with excitement. “The happiest place on Earth, they say. I’ve always thought it looked more like a corporate dystopia, but what do I know?”

How does this girl look even cuter frowning than she does smiling?

“What’s a dys…what’s that? Is that like a word for when you don’t like Disney or whatever?”

Oh, yeah. I forgot. Rich blonde girl from Malibu. No big words.

“Something like that, honey. Nevermind.”

Abby’s laughter rings out, her joy infectious even as she leans back in her seat. “The happiest I ever was,” she begins. “was when I met you.” She pauses, a playful twinkle in her eye. “A close second was when I was almost nominated for a Kid’s Choice Award, though.” 

Abby’s excitement bubbles over as she launches into a ramble about her almost-nomination for a Kid’s Choice Award. “It was for, like, this Nickelodeon original movie that I did back in the day?” she begins. “I play this spunky sidekick to the main character.” She giggles. “But imagine, Pookie,” she continues, her voice tinged with a hint of dreaminess. “If I had been nominated for that Kid’s Choice Award, I’d be one step closer to achieving the ultimate dream…” Her breath catches in her throat in a gasp. “…an EGOT.” 

I raise an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in my eyes as I cautiously ask, “Honey, what do you think an EGOT is?” My tone is gentle.

As a motorcyclist zooms past us, I can’t help but grumble internally. “Hey, watch it, pal! I just got this detailed! You’re gonna scratch the paint! You break it, you buy it, buddy!” The nerve of some people risking damage to a perfectly good convertible. But before I can voice my irritation to Abby…. “Huh, what is an EPCOT?” she yells back, oblivious to my muttered frustration.

“EPCOT? Oh, it’s this theme park,” Abby exclaims, her voice rising above the motorcycle’s roar. “It’s, like, totally ‘avant-garde’, and get this, it’s shaped like a golf ball!” She grins. “I know you’re upset that you weren’t invited to that celebrity golf tournament, but hey, remember that basketball player we met in San Francisco? He totally won it!” Her enthusiasm peaks as she suddenly realizes, “OH?! Are we going to EPCOT?”  

“Yeah, sure, honey,” 



Allen, you freaking idiot! EPCOT isn’t in California—it’s in Walt Disney World, in FLORIDA! 

Panic sets in as I mentally shout to myself, “No no no no!” I force a fake grin, unwilling to ruin Abby’s excitement. With a heavy heart, I make a swift turn on the road, silently cursing my forgetfulness, and begin heading in the opposite direction, hoping to salvage the day with a new adventure.

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The first few chords of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” are enough to completely change the mood inside the Globe, from euphoric elation to vociferous displeasure. By the time the superstar represented by the song emerges through the curtain, accompanied, as ever, by his posse, trash has begun to rain down from the seats to either side of the entranceway, pelting both the man in question and the various members of his entourage.

“Our capacity crowd making their opinion of the International Champion perfectly clear here…”

“Hey, do you guys remember that one show where we didn’t have to put up with these assholes? I remember it like it was last week…oh, wait, it was. Good times…” As ever, Allie Reece uses sarcasm as a filter, lest she should lose her temper again, while, by her side, her younger commentary counterpart does his best to facilitate such a situation.

“He’s the American Champion, Quinn. Get it right.”

Reece can almost be heard mentally counting to five as, at ringside, the quartet known as Truth Control continues to suffer the undying hatred of the crowd; and while three of them manage to remain relatively stoic about it, the fourth – the one with the belt around his shoulder – appears significantly more agitated. As the camera zooms in on him, he can clearly be heard asking to be given “a goddamn mic, right now” – then, when none is forthcoming, snatching the one being held by distinguished GLOBAL ring announcer, “Downtown” Jason Brown, a gesture which causes indignation at the commentary table.

“Hey! He can’t—! He can’t just—!”

“He could, and he did, Al…”

Indeed, the GLOBAL American Champion (or is it International?) does not even so much as glance back at the indignant Brown as he and his entourage make their way up the steps and into the ring, the female representative of the group visibly and audibly gushing to the Champion about his bold and assertive nature. It is, therefore, only natural that the most hated man in GLOBAL has a small smirk on his lips as he takes to center-stage (or center-ring), looks up at the positively incensed crowd, and utters his trademark opening line.

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

Showers of jeers once again rain down from the stands, their volume increasing with each passing second, as Truth goes on with his address, the smirk disappearing from his lips as he points at his female companion.

“I call bullshit on a company which allows an innocent American to be assaulted by two foreign terrorists, inside their premises, during working hours, and does not even so much as bat a goddamn eye! This poor woman was so affected by the incident, she couldn’t even bear to come to work for over two weeks!” Truth drapes a protective arm around his manager, who is affecting a distraught reaction. “Oh, but when she tries to retaliate…in self-defenceTHEN there’s a problem! THEN it’s against company policy! THEN we have to ban the pepper spray from ringside!” The International (or is it American?) Champion chuckles dryly. “Give me a goddamn break…!”

“Oh, drop the white knight act, Johnny-Boy!” At the announce desk, Truth’s number one hater makes herself heard once more. “We all know you’re a mysognistic pig! I bet you wouldn’t be so worried about your friend if it had been anybody else out there that time! Not to mention, she started it! If anyone was acting in self-defence, it was Crusader X and Alfie!”

All of Allie’s sound and fury signifies nothing, however – at least, not to the Champion, who barely even appears to hear anything other than the sound of his own voice as he resumes his address, his tone, body posture and expression still as aggressive and confrontational as they ever were.

“You know what, though? If none of you bastards is going to do anything about it…I will. After all, as the American Champion, it is my sworn duty to stand up for the American rights of American citizens…such as the right not to be assaulted in their workplace!”

Truth pats the belt on his shoulder, his companion batting her lashes in an affected swoon, as volume levels inside the Globe once again turn nuclear.

“Only someone like Truth could get an American crowd to boo a statement like that…”

“He really does represent the very worst our country has to offer. What a despicable little man. And I’m not talking about his height…”

No prizes for guessing who said that, just as Truth turns towards the entrance ramp, as if addressing an invisible opponent in the back.

“That’s why I’m calling out that little Alphabet Brigade bastard who tried to incapacitate this fine, upstanding, hard-working American woman. You know…the illegal’s little Alphabet Brigade butt-buddy? Yeah, I’m talking to you, pal. You know what you did. And now it’s come home to roost. And since the powers that be don’t seem to want to do a damn thing about it…I think it’s time for you to face some good, old-fashioned, all-American vigilante justice. So get your little nancy-boy ass down here, so I can whup it.”

With that said – and barely audible over the ear-splitting din now echoing off the rafters of the Globe – Truth literally drops the mic, folding his arms in front of his chest as he waits to see if his intimation will be answered.

“The International Champion, John J. Truth—”

“—American Champion—”

—shut. Up. Mark—

“—laying down the challenge to Alfie Button, after he used Lexi Darlington’s pepper spray against her during a ringside confrontation last month.”

“I hope Alfie accepts. I hope he comes down here and kicks that idiot’s ass so hard, it’s still sore at Magnum Opus II. And then I hope Crusader X kicks it again—all the way out of this company!”

As Lucas Quinn tries to talk an incensed Allie down from another epic rant, the mood inside the Globe changes from indignation to elation, as a familiar Robbie Williams hit starts up on the arena speakers, indicating that, yes, Truth’s challenge has very much been accepted!

YES!! ALFIE’S HERE!! Oooh, you’re in for it now, Johnny-Boy!”

Allie’s glee at this turn of events is echoed by the crowd as the man in the Technicolor Dreamcoat appears at the top of the ramp, opening his arms out wide for the thunderous reception.

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The monitor flickers to life. Again it show Reyn in his chair. This time, more lively, more animated. The fully head Reyn leans into the camera.

“Crusader. I wish to give you my apologies. I honestly should have come to test you sooner. You’ve earned that regard. It was, afterall, you who felled the East Wind in the battle for the international title, and your talents alone are worth my attention. Please understand that this was not out of disrespect. I simply wished to give you the chance to conquer your own challenges.”

A glare creases his features.

“That said… seeing you struggle against the spurious, spineless simpleton and his symposium of servants… I cannot help but suspect your standards are slipping. We will see later tonight.”

He relaxes again.

“That said, I must apologise once again. As much as I would like to give you my undivided address, there is a child desperately begging for my notice. I assure you, you will have my full attention in our match, but for now…”

He smiles.

“Hello again Jerry. Let us continue our talks from before. I understand you haven’t come out throwing another tantrum. So I will continue this tete-a-tete for you with a question.”

He leans in.

“Who are you?”

He lets the question linger in the air before he continues.

“Who is Jerry David, really? First you were a servant of the crowd. Hanging onto their everyword. When they asked you to make them laugh, you danced for their amusement. When they asked for violence, you sacrificed their body for their joy… and when you felt alone. When you felt desperate and needy… you turned to another master. You forsake your previous and became a puppet of that Amber Scar Upon Reality. Over and over again, you follow the desires of one master and then discard them upon the whims of the next.”

He tilts his head.

“Is that all you are Jerry? A puppet? A slave? A pair of ill-fitting clothes swapped out for their next wearer? Or do you have your OWN will? Your own identity?”

His eyes bore into the camera.

“Who are you Jerry David? When you’re not the puppet of the Scar? The puppet of the fans? When you are alone, by yourself, and the only one to judge you is yourself… Who IS Jerry David? what does HE want? what does HE stand for, besides pleasing someone ELSE?”

A final chuckle.

“You don’t have any idea.”

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Backstage, the camera zeroes in on “The Legend” Sean Darring, a focused look in his eyes as he meticulously prepares for battle against Jimmy Classic in the night’s main event. He methodically wraps his wrists with white tape, a pre-fight ritual that has accompanied him through countless wars. As he secures the tape around his left wrist, he begins to weave a tale, his voice steady and seasoned.

“In this business, we all start with dreams bigger than ourselves. That first time stepping through the ropes, the harsh slap of reality hits. It’s a stark reminder that everyone starts at the bottom.”

He continues wrapping, the white tape snug against his skin, each rotation a metaphor for the journey he’s describing.

“Over time, those initial shocks become part of the routine, milestones in our relentless pursuit of greatness. If we’re fortunate, the pieces start falling into place, and the path becomes clear.”

As Darring shifts to his right wrist, his tone shifts slightly, hinting at the complexities of the wrestling world.

“But just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, life hits you harder, challenging you to rise once more, this time with a newfound resolve.”

A small smile plays across his lips as he secures the tape on his right wrist, ready for what’s to come.

“Jimmy Classic, you might believe you’re on top of the world. But you’re standing at the precipice of a lesson every wrestler learns—the path to true greatness is fraught with setbacks.”

Darring flexes his taped wrists, testing the tightness, a warrior bracing for the fray.

“You and the Prime Time Athletes have tasted success early on, even managing to pin me, which I respect. There’s no doubt your future is bright, filled with accolades and moments that will define your careers.”

His voice hardens, a steely resolve underscoring his words.

“But not tonight. Tonight, I am the mountain you’re not ready to climb, the lesson in humility you’ve yet to learn. The day will come when this title might find a new home, but that day is not today, not against me, not in front of these fans, in this ring that I’ve ruled.”

Picking up the Global Championship, Darring gazes at it, a mix of pride and determination in his eyes.

“You think surgery is your biggest challenge tonight? You should be more concerned with overcoming the arrogance that blinds you. You’re stepping into this ring unprepared for what it truly takes to hold this title, to carry this legacy.”

He shakes his head, the title gleaming in his grasp.

“A therapist might do you more good than a surgeon. You dream of making this title ‘Prime Time,’ but under my watch, it’s already reached legendary status. Welcome to the big leagues, Jimmy. You’re about to learn exactly what it means to step into my world.”

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“Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is set for one-fall! Introducing first! Now residing in San Antonio, Texas, weighing one hundred and ninety pounds…CRUSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEEEEEEER X!”

“Crusader X with a lot on his plate recently. Just three shows ago, he had an amazing match against Daniel Dream cut short by interference from our International Champion.”

“You mean National-?”

“I do not.” Allie firmly responded to Mark’s teasing. “Point is, he’s dealing with that, and is now going up against one of, if not THE most dangerous man on the roster. Will he be able to focus on this match?”

Next to her, Quinn shrugs. “And Reyn has got Jerry David to worry about. That’s the life of the wrestler. You have to keep your head on a swivel and be ready for anything.”

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

“Either way, a win over Alex Reyn could be HUGE for X tonight and a loss could set Alex back far.” The Mark chimes in, getting serious now as they wait for Reyn to appear. Was Alex Reyn a man of his word?

A soft chant begins to spread throughout the arena, interrupting Quinn’s soliloquy, or so it feels like, and the buzz around The Globe is palpable.  Starting as a whisper but growing into a chorus as the lights darken while images begin to flicker on the viewers screens. Images of violence, war, and a solitary figure watching it all.

The chanting has grown louder now and the drumbeats of Nightwish’s “Seven Days to the Wolves” rise in volume as mist spreads throughout the stadium, ghostly images of great heroes and villains forming two parallel lines along the ramp.

The rock part of the song kicks in and thunder roared while fire erupts on the stage, revealing the cowled form of the East Wind Alex Reyn, his hands outstretched over the flames. He’s shirtless, save for an open black cloak with a wolf skull mask. His body covered in ancient symbols and markings that seemed almost to glow and move in the firelight.

And his opponent! Weighing in at two hundred pounds! The First Predator! The East Wind! Alex REYN!!

The flames spread down the aisle in a flash! Igniting the signature Red Carpet and turning it ash black as Reyn begins to walk forward, and the ghostly figures kneel as he approaches them, only to rise up as he passes them as if more energized, turning to watch as he walks, Reyn himself never breaking eye contact with the ring.

“It’s the full entrance! Looks like Reyn really is taking this seriously!” Allie comments.

“Yes, but is that good or bad for X right now? I’m sure it’s what he wants, but will this be a story about being careful what you wish for? Reyn is healthy, rested, and motivated following that BRUTAL win over Malta!”

“Don’t ignore X in this match, he’s no underdog.” Quinn says firmly. “He’s had one of the best Win/Loss records out of anyone in GLOBAL, he has never been  pinned or submitted in a one on one match, he’s beaten Alfie Button, Darren Best, Amber Lee, all great competitors. Even our International Champion hasn’t been able to beat him. AND he went toe to toe with the one man in GLOBAL history to score a pinfall over Alex Reyn, you may call this David vs. Goliath, it’s not. This is Quetzalcoatl vs. Tezcatlipoca!”

“Howl! Seven days to the wolves

Where will we be when they come?

Seven days to the poison

And a place in heaven

Time drawing near us

They come to take us.”

Reyn climbs atop the top rope and stares down at the crowd for a few seconds.  Thereafter, coldly, Reyn steps down removing the cowl and placing it on the ring post before turning to stare down his opponent.


As the bell rings, X looks to be starting this match out with a basic Collar & Elbow tie-up, but Reyn takes advantage of the clear opening to attack with a palm strike to X’s chin, the trap becomes clear in seconds however, as X catches Reyn’s wrist and brings The East Wind down with an armdrag!

“I didn’t think the collar-and-elbow would get too far with Reyn,” The Mark jokes.

“Crusader X soon countered it,” Reece replies.

First blood to X, and he springs onto the second rope, going for Parasite’s Bane (Stylin DDT), but Reyn rolls under the attack, hitting the rope for a Spear that X leapfrogs over, then suddenly drops to the mat to dodge an incoming Claymore to the from behind like he has spider sense!

“This is eerie,” Quinn calls.

That puts both men on the mat…

Kip-up in stereo! No time wasted in a face-off! X attack with a roundhouse, Reyn ducks and slips behind! East Wind Cutter! (Lifting Rolling Cutter)

“As eerie as that, Quinn?” The Mark wonders.

“Maybe not,” Lucas admits.

“This could be over,” Allie enthusiastically and fearfully exclaims.

No! X kicks off the ropes as Reyn lifts him up, twisting out and turning the move into his own Tornado DD-

Reyn blocks the impact with a handspring! Running Shooting Star Pre- X gets his knees  up, but Reyn is a step ahead, landing on his feet to avoid impact and grabbing X’s legs. Rolling X into a standing position and grabbing the Inverted Facelock!

“After all of that, we get an inverted facelock – but not for long,” The Mark animatedly follows the action.

East Wind- X with an overhead kick! Reyn parries, but he has to release the facelock! X is on the mat! Reyn with a superkick to the back of his head, but again the precognition-like reflex let X avoid the strike! X is behind his opponent!


“That’ll get his attention,” Reece reckons.

The fans cheer at that! X has scored big time in that sequence! He’s backed up into the corner, calling for Reyn to rise, calling for the Running Cross Canadian Ragweed (Running Canadian Destroyer)! 

“I wonder if this might be too early,” The Mark says aloud.

The fans boo as Reyn rolls out the ring, collapsing against the barricade and holding his head in his hands.

“It’s not often you see Alex Reyn this vulnerable,” Quinn asserts.

Then cheer as X looks to be going for a Suicide Dive!

Reyn gets his hands up to try and counter, but X suddenly changes course with a backflip back into the ring!

“Beautiful thinking, timing and athleticism by Crusader X,” Quinn waxes.

Beneath his mask, Crusader X winks at the East Wind.

“THAT is confidence,” Lucas continues.

Alex Reyn’s mouth is set in a thin line, he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. Yet at the corner of his mouth, you can see the faintest hint of a smile.

“Begrudging respect and admiration between two tremendous competitors, and both of them realise this could go a long way towards eventually challenging the man at the top of the mountain, the one and only, Sean Darring,” Lucas narrates.

Alex slowly slides back into the ring, but as he does, he seems to hesitate, his hand suddenly going to his neck area and X seizes the opportunity! Grabbing Reyn for the Cross Canadian Ragweed!

X isn’t the only one who can set a trap.

Too late does X realise he’s put himself in perfect position for Reyn to roll him up into a Calf Slicer! The ropes are right near them and X reaches out, but the legs aren’t Reyn’s real target, it’s another feint as he floats into a mount on the Crusader’s back and bashes his skull in with a DISGUSTINGLY violent elbow to the back of his head!

“It’s basic, but brutal, and it changes things in an instant,” The Mark informs the viewers at home.

The blow actually smashes X’s face into the mat with the force, but Reyn is merciless. Elbows repeatedly aimed to the base of his opponent’s skull as X can barely defend himself. 

“And he won’t stop at one,” Deltzer promises everyone listening.

The East Wind moves to dig a knee into X’s spine, grab his chin and pull his neck back with a modified camel clutch!

“For such an amazing wrestler, he’s horrible to watch,” Allie offers as a paradox, and is she wrong?  You be the judge.

X cries out as his spine is bent unnaturally, but using his greater technique, he’s able to roll his weight into Reyn, converting the submission into a roll-up pin!

“What ring craft, awareness, intelligence by Crusader X,” Lucas raves.

ON-Reyn is out! He grabs X’s head, looking to knee him in the temple, but a defiant X blocks the blow, instead catching the East Wind in a schoolboy pin!

ONE-! Reyn shoves X into the ropes but a determined X comes back with a sunset fli- Reyn rolls out! Penalty Kick! No! X catches the leg, rolling with the momentum to counter the kick into a Single-Leg Boston Crab! X won’t go down without a fight! He tries to chain it into his signature Surfboard Stretch, but that lets Reyn twist onto his back and boot Crusader X across the jaw! Now holding X by the wrist, he repeatedly lashes out with hard kicks across the Crusader’s face from the mat as the increasingly battered X tries to pull away, even as Reyn rises to his feet.

“Breathless stuff by two of the best going toe to toe here on Domination Twenty-Four,” Quinn comments.

Reyn switches his grip, going for East Wind, but that second of an opening allows X to escape and roll out the ring.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he’s safe.

ASCENDANT’S WRATH (Running Suicide Crossbody)

Or not.

Instead, Reyn backflips off the ropes and back into the ring.

From the three-point stance, Reyn locks eyes with X and smirks.

“Alex is an incredible athlete in his own right,” The Mark mentions.

X glowers, one hand pressed against his head to get the throbbing ache to quiet down. Reyn stands up and steps back with his arms wide in invitation.

X slides back in the ring, but Alex is on him in an instant! Trying to knee X’s head off, but X slips behind his opponent, going for another Poison Rana, but a Back Elbow to the jaw cuts him off!

East Wi-!!

No! X reverses! Reyn is in position for the Cross Canadian Ragweed! The X taunt goes up, but that second of hubris gives Reyn the opportunity to counter! 

“You cannot give someone like Reyn that chance,” Deltzer moans.

“I second that,” Quinn adds.

Calf Slicer! No! X sees it coming this time and blocks the attempt! Countering into the Tequila Sunrise, but Reyn is able to roll on his back, lashing out with another kick that X blocks! Before X can follow up, however, he finds himself pulled down into a Guillotine Chokehold!

Wait! X rolls with it! Reyn’s shoulders are down!


“Smart stuff by Crusader X,” Deltzer drops in.

Both of them are on their feet! Reyn unloads a storm of strikes at Crusader X’s head, but despite the fog in his head, the Crusader moves quicker than the East Wind, dodging and weaving between the blows!

A sharp kick to Reyn’s knee interrupts his momentum! X grabs him, looking for the Ragweed again, but Reyn drops flat onto his stomach to stay out of the move. Switching gears, X steps back and as Reyn gets back to his knees, fires a thrust kick at Alex Reyn’s head!

“They are letting it all hang out here,” The Mark effectively cheers.

Reyn caught the leg! Dragon Screw!

X drops, and again Alex’s target is the head, STOMPING down on the back of X’s skull to drive his face into the mat! Kneeling over X’s chest, he lays into him with surgical strikes to the head and face as X tries to cover up! He’s able to grab one of Reyn’s wrists and pull the East Wind into a guillotine, Reyn tries to roll it into his own, but X continues the momentum, sending them under the bottom rope and falling out the ring!

“I don’t know how Crusader X is still awake,” Allie wonders.

The fall separates them and X stumbles as he tries to get some distance, blood can be seen dripping from beneath the mask, his legs feel like jelly and he practically collapses against the ringpost, leaning against the cool metal.

“OH NO, GET AWAY FROM THE—,” The Mark’s shout is in vain, for he has seen it too many times before, and he cannot prevent it this time, either.

A ringpost that Reyn superkicks his head into.

“THAT DAMN MOVE,” The Mark curses.

The ‘bang!’ is sickening. X goes limp. Reyn grabs him by the back of the neck and tosses his body into the ring.




“Crusader X is trapped,” Quinn warns.

He hadn’t wasted a second! Locking in the blood choke to the barely conscious Crusader the second his shoulder had left the mat! Arm snaked around his neck and squeezing, even as X thrashes and struggles in the hold, trying to escape the lock! Valianatly fighting to his feet even as Reyn tightens his grip! Refusing to submit!

Unfortunately, bringing them into a standing position while in the inverted facelock was not the soundest plan.


“FANTASTIC,” The Mark stands up.


It was a shock attack, but it hasn’t dug X out of the whole yet, as Reyn is up first and repeatedly crashes his knee into the masked wrestler’s temple with violent savagery!

“Just like that,” The Mark clicks his fingers.

Allie taps Mark on the back and tells him to relax.

“I can’t, no one can with him in the ring,” he laments.

There is a cold look on Reyn’s expression as he drags X to the ringpost. Looking for a second super- X PULLS ALEX REYN INTO A TRIANGLE CHOKE THROUGH THE RINGPOST!!

“Hey, WAIT A MINUTE,” Allie points.

The fans roar at that counter! X is holding on as long as he can, but even before the count hits three, he drops to the floor, clutching his own head, the throbbing pain keeping him for maintaining the hold for long.

“Can Crusader X keep him there?”

As the fans cheer him on, though, he can feel them urging him on. Feel his strength returning even as Reyn stumbles back from the ringpost, giving X the energy he needs to keep fighting!


Alex Reyn is rolled in the ring, momentum may be building! X climbs up top! Looking for a top rope attack!

“What’s he going to do?  He HAS TO make this count,” The Mark cheers X on.

He’s unsteady on the top though, his throbbing skull sending flashes of dizziness and pain that let Reyn kickout the rope from undernea-

No! X is a step ahead and drops down on the apron! His injury slows him though, and Alex blocks a punch and kicks out his knee! Pulling his throat down onto the top rope and whiplashing him off the apron! 

“DAMN IT,” Deltzer dejectedly yells, sitting down in a huff, frustrated at the resilience and bouncebackability (remember when that was a word?) of Reyn.  Fuck you, I’m old.

X hits the floor HARD and Reyn dashes to the opposite side, hitting the ropes and coming out with the ASCENDANT’S WRATH!!

“Oh no,” The Mark almost whispers, a far cry from his default volume as of late.

Gunshot like impact! X has the crown of his head RAMMED into the ring edge before his body is tossed in the ring as Alex Reyn goes high.





“I don’t know, Allie, and I don’t know if you can hear me either,” Quinn reacts.

The crowd ERUPTS at that kickout! A loud, steady chant of “X! X! X! X!” echoing like thunder in the arena!

Reyn doesn’t care.

He’s in a mount again, mercilessly beating his opponent into a bloody pulp even as the fans roar their support! Roar for X to rally against the East Wind! Urging their hero on!

They are not disappointed.



“This time, what I mean is, yet again, Reyn shows his character and resilience,” Quinn corrects himself, realizing they’ve both passed the gut check multiple times in this match alone.

“This is not what either man needs ahead of End Game in a few weeks’ time.” Hear that?  That’s your pay-per-view name, guys.  Revealed by The Mark.

Both are up! X tries a roundhouse, his aim is off and Reyn cuts the Crusader down with a spear!

“Such a useful, practical and DAMN WELL ANNOYING WEAPON in Alex Reyn’s arsenal.”  Settle down, Deltzer.

He lifts Crusader X up by the neck! Looking for East Wind, but Crusader X is struggling in the hold!

“Inevitable, I guess,” Reece resignedly states for the record.

GTR from Reyn! He grabs X’s arms and drops him on his head with a Tiger Suplex!

“Not so fast.”

Reyn goes to grab the Crusader again for the East Wind, but X plays it smart and slips out the ring.

But not out of danger.

He knows it’s coming. He knows he won’t be able to withstand another Ascendant’s Wrath.

Time seems to slow down as Crusader X moves on pure will, adrenaline and instinct.

As he springs onto the top rope at the same time as his opponent.



“What more can these two do to one another?” Allie asks.

“These fans can’t wait to find out, and neither can I,” Quinn’s inner fan comes out.

It is a carnage of bodies on the outside! A human car wreck up on the floor! X shudders in pain as Alex is barely moving on the floor. The fans cheers urge X to stand, to try and capitalise on that AMAZING counter as the ref starts his count.



X stumbles to his feet. He took a decent fall himself, his head still feels like it’s filled with lava. He leans against the apron.


X rolls in the ring. Reyn clearly took most of the impact, and in THIS instance, a count-out victory is earned.

Reyn begins to stir…

“I sure wish he would stay down.”

You know who that was.
His limbs are twisting like a spider. He’s slowly pulling himself to his feet.
Doubt is creeping into X’s mind. Is a ten count too long? Is he giving Reyn more time to recover?

“Could it end in a draw after all of that?”

Let’s find out, Quinny, lad.
X grabs the East Wind! Tossing him back into the ring! A ten count is too slow! He needs to beat him the old-fashioned wa-!


Panic fuels X’s adrenaline! He rolls to his feet! Vertical Suplex into a CRUCIFIX POWERBOMB!!

He doesn’t go for the pin! He knows he needs more! He backs into the corner. Calling for the Running Cross Canadian Ragweed!

“COULD THIS BE IT?” The Mark and a capacity crowd of two and half thousand rise to their feet to find out.


“For FUBAR’S SAKE,” The Mark screams.



“Almost, Crusader X believes, as does The Globe.  Keep the faith, Mark,” Allie encourages her co-commentator.

Both are on their feet! Moving with a sense of urgency! Reyn with a kick to X’s head! X ducks, dropping low to catch Reyn in a schoolboy! The intent is not a pin though, instead rolling Reyn into position for the Ragweed! No hesitance this time! No taunt!


The fans scream in shock at that! Reyn now has X in perfect position for an Air Raid Cra-

“What in The Globe?”

That’s Allie.  Meanwhile…


It’s another yell of shock from the fans as Alex drops Crusader X and falls to his knees! A livid, relentless Jerry David has grabbed his rival immediately! Locking his leg into a kneebar and wrenching, even as the bell rings loudly!

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM?!! I KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM!!” Jerry can be heard screaming loudly even as security and referee’s drag him off the East Wind, trying to separate the two. Holding Jerry back even as he yells obscenities at his rival.

Trying to keep Jerry at bay, some EMT’s go to check on Alex Reyn.

…But the East Wind is no longer there.

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Backsage, El Principe, adorned in blue and yellow attire, stands tall, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips.  He is rewatching the end of his performance earlier. Suddenly, he executes his signature move, the Crowning Moment, on Masked Maniac, catching his partner off guard and sending shockwaves through the arena.

El Principe sees an incensed Masked Maniac, and Principe goes on the attack immediately, shoving his fingers into Maniac’s chest.

“No somos los nuevos Masked Bros, Maniac. Eres solo un niño ingenuo jugando a disfrazarse!”

Masked Maniac, stunned by the unexpected betrayal, his eyes burning with determination. Ignoring the pain coursing through his body, he meets El Principe’s gaze with unwavering resolve.

“You want to settle this, Principe? Fine. Let’s do it at End Game. One-on-one. No excuses. We’ll see who’s the real deal.”

Principe nods, ignoring Maniac’s offer of a handshake deal.  Instead, the member of Mexican wrestling royalty spits on the floor.

Lo que te he dicho, intentado enseñarte, y aún así no escuchas. Eres patético. Un niño, hermano.”

Maniac chuckles bullishly. “We’ll see who’s pathetic, Principe.  Like I said, bros before hoes, and that’s something I tried to teach you, but you didn’t listen,” he prods Principe in the chest.

“And now you’re gonna pay,” he says with a second poke to Principe’s midriff.

With a defiant challenge issued, Masked Maniac exits left, leaving El Principe alone to ponder the repercussions of his actions. As the crowd buzzes with anticipation, the stage is set for a showdown of epic proportions at End Game, where the fate of their partnership hangs in the balance.

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As “Downtown” Jason Brown makes his entrance, the energy in the arena shifts palpably, anticipation building for the climactic showdown. “Folks, it’s Main Event time,” Lucas Quinn announces, his voice echoing the crowd’s excitement. “This match has been MONTHS in the making. Sean Darring and the Prime Time Athletes have been embroiled in conflict ever since that shocking tag team win when Jerry David betrayed Sean Darring.”

The Mark weighs in, his tone reflective. “Since that pivotal moment, the balance of power has seemingly favored the Prime Time Athletes, with two tag team victories over the legend himself. But tonight, Jimmy Classic faces the dual challenge of contending with the most dominant champion in pro wrestling while nursing a severe shoulder injury.”

Allie’s sarcasm cuts through, “Oh, I feel so sorry for him.”

As the announcers frame the narrative, “Legacy” by Dirty Palm and Benix thunders through the PA system, eliciting a massive wave of boos from the fans. Trae Larkin steps out first, donning his wrestling gear with a “Prime Time Era” t-shirt layered over it. Close behind is his partner, Jimmy Classic, the night’s challenger. Despite his readiness to compete, the arm sling conspicuously supports his injured shoulder, a silent testament to the adversity he’s set to overcome.

Lucas Quinn voices his concern, “I’m not sure about the wisdom of Jimmy Classic’s decision here. Yes, he’s a top contender, and there’s a certain honor in competing despite injury. But a loss tonight could very well mean his last shot at the Global Championship fades away.”

The Mark contemplates the stakes involved. “And yet, this is Jimmy Classic’s inaugural title shot. Opting for surgery and sitting out for months on end—will he ever get another chance at the Global Championship?”

Allie succinctly sums up the grim reality, “Probably not.”

The number one contenders for both the tag team and Global Championship titles, the Prime Time Athletes, stride down the aisle, engaging with the chorus of boos that greet them. Trae Larkin feigns a punch at a particularly vocal fan, pulling back at the last moment with a chuckle, while Jimmy Classic theatrically gestures towards his injured shoulder. He plays up his injury, signaling to the Global Nation that he’s the man to watch, even with just one arm functioning.

Reaching the ring, the Prime Time Athletes ascend opposite turnbuckles, basking in the crowd’s disdain, their confidence unshaken by the negative reception.

“Jimmy Classic is going to have to adopt a defensive strategy, leveraging his speed and agility, given his compromised shoulder,” Lucas Quinn analyzes the challenger’s predicament. “Facing Sean Darring is a formidable challenge at the best of times, let alone when you’re not at full strength.”

The atmosphere in the arena shifts dramatically as “The Final Countdown” by Europe heralds the arrival of the champion. The fans’ roars reach a fever pitch, their excitement palpable as the camera captures the sea of cheering supporters. Sean Darring, “The Legend,” emerges, clad in his iconic purple and gold robe, a vision of wrestling royalty. He takes a moment at the entrance, absorbing the wave of adulation from the Global Nation before embarking on his march to the ring, a journey marked by the respect and admiration of fans old and new.

“There is the champion! Sean Darring is here, not just to defend his title, but to impart a harsh lesson,” Lucas Quinn proclaims as Darring approaches the ring. “Sympathy has no place in this contest. Despite his injury, Jimmy Classic poses a significant threat, and the champion is more than prepared to school him in the harsh realities of championship wrestling.”

The Legend, Sean Darring, completes his ceremonious walk down the aisle, every step imbued with the gravity of decades spent in the ring. He ascends the steps deliberately, his gaze never wavering from the Prime Time Athletes, his challengers for the night. Once inside the ring, he stands opposite them, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. Trae Larkin makes a move to step forward, perhaps to initiate a confrontation, but referee Barry Snyder is quick to intervene, asserting control and ensuring the match’s integrity.

“You know it’s a big match and moment when both ‘Downtown’ Jason Brown and referee Barry Snyder are both inside the ring,” The Mark points out, underscoring the significance of the encounter ahead.

With a dramatic flair, Sean Darring unveils the Global Championship, the golden prize that has sparked countless battles. The belt glistens under the arena lights, a tangible representation of wrestling excellence. Jimmy Classic, despite the adversity symbolized by his sling, smiles and nods, his intentions clear as he mouths, “That is why I am wrestling hurt,” a declaration of his determination and the lengths he’s willing to go for glory.

As Sean Darring hands over the championship to referee Barry Snyder, “Downtown” Jason Brown seizes the moment to elevate the anticipation further.

“Ladies and gentlemen. It’s time for our MAIN EVENT!” The announcement sends a wave of excitement through the crowd, their cheers echoing the magnitude of the impending showdown. Brown continues, his voice carrying through the arena, “This match is for the Global Championship. Introducing first, the challenger… Accompanied to the ring by his partner, Trae Larkin. Standing at six feet one and weighing in at two hundred and fifteen pounds. Wrestling out of Los Angeles, California. He is one-half of the Prime Time Athletes. One of the top contenders for both the Global Tag Team Titles and the Global Championship. JIMMY CLASSIC!”

The reaction from the fans is immediate, a chorus of boos directed at Jimmy Classic as he raises his good arm in a defiant gesture. Despite the audience’s disapproval, his resolve is palpable, supported by Trae Larkin’s pat on the back—a silent exchange of confidence and strategy. Larkin’s glare, fixed on the champion, sends a clear message: they are here not just to compete, but to conquer.

Jason Brown’s voice cuts through the anticipation, “Introducing the champion.” At his words, the arena erupts, a tidal wave of cheers for the beloved champion washing over the space. “Standing at six foot two and weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, wrestling out of Miami, Florida. He is the GLOBAL CHAMPION… ‘THE LEGEND’… SEAN… DARRING!”

“The Legend” Sean Darring steps forward, acknowledging the roaring support with a grateful raise of his arm. His gesture, a simple yet profound thank you to the loyal Global fans, resonates deeply. He completes a full 360 turn, revealing the full splendor of his purple and golden robe, a symbol of his storied career and status within the wrestling world. Standing resolute across from the Prime Time Athletes, Darring exudes a calm confidence that has become his trademark.

Trae Larkin, feeling the intensity of the moment, discreetly takes a few steps back, allowing the spotlight to remain on the imminent showdown. Referee Barry Snyder, embodying the role of mediator and guardian of the match’s integrity, steps between Jimmy Classic and Sean Darring, the Global Championship in hand. He presents the title to both competitors—Classic greets the sight with a smile and an affirmative nod, his demeanor a mix of respect and anticipation. Darring, however, maintains unwavering eye contact with his challenger, the championship a familiar weight he’s carried many times before, its significance now reflected in the depth of his gaze rather than a mere glance.

Barry Snyder then lifts the championship high above, showcasing the night’s grand prize to the crowd, a visual promise of the epic battle that lies ahead. The fans’ excitement reaches a fever pitch, their anticipation for the clash between these titans of the ring—an indomitable champion and a formidable challenger—signaling the culmination of months of rivalry, strategy, and personal vendettas.

Lucas Quinn’s excitement is palpable as he captures the essence of the moment, “It doesn’t get any bigger than this tonight! The biggest prize in our industry, on the line between two of the biggest names!”

Echoing that sentiment, The Mark succinctly adds, “High stakes on Domination,” encapsulating the enormity of the match in just a few words. The stage is set for a clash that’s more than just about the championship—it’s about legacy, pride, and the unyielding spirit of competition that defines Global Wrestling.


As the bell signals the start of this much-anticipated match, Trae Larkin strategically positions himself outside the ring, ready to offer support to his partner. Inside the squared circle, Sean Darring casts a wary glance at the referee, his attention drawn to Jimmy Classic’s slinged arm, signaling his reluctance to engage fully with an ostensibly injured opponent.

“Allie comments on the champion’s hesitation, “Sean Darring is a bit unsure what to do. He doesn’t want to hit a man with a sling on, and I don’t blame him.”

The Mark questions the logistics of the match given Classic’s condition, “How is Jimmy Classic supposed to fight without the support that sling provides to his injured shoulder?”

“It’s a valid concern,” Lucas Quinn responds, “but it seems Barry Snyder, the referee, is siding with the champion. He’s insisting Jimmy Classic remove that sling if he’s to compete tonight.”

Despite Jimmy Classic’s protests and attempts to reason with the referee, Barry Snyder remains adamant, his decision unwavering in the face of Classic’s objections. Trae Larkin, unable to stay silent, leaps onto the ring apron, engaging in a heated debate with Snyder, further intensifying the standoff.

Lucas Quinn observes the unfolding drama, “Both Prime Time Athletes are making their case, but Barry Snyder is not budging from his stance.”

As Sean Darring momentarily diverts his attention towards Trae Larkin, Jimmy Classic seizes the moment with a deceitful maneuver, reaching into his sling to reveal not an injury, but a concealed iron crowbar. In one swift, treacherous motion, he brings it down hard on the back of Darring’s head.


The arena, moments ago buzzing with anticipation, falls into a stunned silence, the impact of the crowbar reverberating both physically and metaphorically through the space. Classic, discarding the sling with a laugh, watches as Darring collapses to the mat, the victim of a calculated ambush rather than a fair contest.

Referee Barry Snyder, taken aback by the sudden turn of events, doesn’t hesitate to call for the bell, signaling Jimmy Classic’s disqualification. Trae Larkin, quick to capitalize on the chaos, joins Classic in the ring, both men unleashing a barrage of stomps on the incapacitated champion.

After a brief moment of shocked silence, Lucas Quinn finds his voice, incredulity lacing his tone. “OH MY GOD! It’s been a ruse! Jimmy Classic’s supposed injury was nothing but a facade, a sinister plot culminating in this despicable attack. And with Freddie Rich absent, there’s no one to come to the champion’s aid.”

The Mark, equally appalled, adds, “This was a premeditated assault, a dark strategy from the Prime Time Athletes. And now, they add insult to injury, attacking a defenseless Sean Darring. This is beyond competition; it’s a disgrace.”

Allie, her voice heavy with emotion, condemns the act. “Blood is seeping from Sean Darring’s head after that vicious attack with the crowbar. This isn’t wrestling; it’s outright violence. The Prime Time Athletes’ actions tonight are unforgivable. They should face severe consequences for their actions.”

The atmosphere in the arena is one of shock and outrage as the fans process the violent turn of events. The appalling scene continues as Sean Darring lies defenseless, the Prime Time Athletes escalate their assault. Jimmy Classic cruelly positions the crowbar under Darring’s chin, wrenching it back to choke the unconscious legend, while Trae Larkin mockingly steps back, measuring his target before delivering a devastating superkick straight to Darring’s exposed face.


The sound of the kick is sickening, echoing through the arena as a chilling testament to the violence unfolding. “This is horrible!” Lucas Quinn exclaims, his voice a mixture of outrage and disbelief. “Barry Snyder is doing everything he can to intervene, but it seems even his background can’t bring order to this chaos.”

“The message has been sent, loud and clear—this is the Prime Time Era,” The Mark observes grimly. “They may not have secured a pinfall victory tonight, but they’ve outsmarted the champion in the most devious way possible. And in their eyes, that’s a win far more damaging.”

The relentless booing from the fans fills the arena, a vocal expression of their collective shock and disapproval as officials and security personnel rush the ring, attempting to halt the Prime Time Athletes’ ruthless beatdown. Amid the turmoil, Jimmy Classic seizes the Global Championship, lifting it high for all to see—a bold declaration of the Prime Time Athletes’ dominance and intent to redefine the hierarchy within Global Wrestling. Trae Larkin, holding the crowbar, surveys it with a look of satisfaction, as if admiring the instrument of their betrayal and aggression.

Lucas Quinn, grappling with the aftermath of the shocking events, attempts to put the night into perspective. “Folks, I don’t even know where to start. For weeks, Jimmy Classic wore that sling, claiming an injury, and it all culminated in tonight’s deceit. He used it as a strategy to outwit and physically dismantle Sean Darring in the ring. The question now is, where do we go from here? More questions than answers, as usual. But of this, I am certain—our champion, the legend, will not let this night’s events stand unanswered.”

The Mark, reflecting on the physical toll of the assault, brings up a crucial concern. “But, when will he be cleared to wrestle after that attack? Tonight, we were led to believe Jimmy Classic was the one battling injury, but in a cruel twist, it may now be Sean Darring who’s left questioning his return to the ring.”

Allie, ever the optimist, adds with a firm conviction, “Sean Darring will make the Prime Time Athletes pay for their actions tonight. And I will so be here for it!”

As the tumultuous night draws to a close, the final image etched into the memories of the Global Wrestling fans is one of sheer chaos. Amidst the flurry of officials and security trying to restore order, Jimmy Classic stands defiant. In a bold, taunting gesture, he tosses the Global Championship down towards the fallen champion, Sean Darring. This act, brimming with contempt and challenge, sends a clear and resonant message: Jimmy Classic has set his sights on the title, and tonight’s betrayal is merely the beginning of his quest.

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