LIVE FROM THE LYSEFJORD
LYSEFJORD, NORWAY TV TITLE TOURNEY ROUND ONE
The Director
- vs -
Centurion PIRATE BATTLE Our Competitors will both captain ships with crews and arsenals they may specify during their RPs!
The two ships will meet off Norway’s northern coast! The Winner shall be the Captain who either sinks the other captain’s ship or manages to take control of their opponent’s vessel! SHIVER ME TIMBERS!
TV TITLE TOURNEY ROUND ONE
Amber Mansley
- vs -
Latoya Hixx Treasure Hunt Match The competitors meet at the island of Jan Mayen! The two will be equipped with shovels and treasure maps! The winner will be the first competitor to secure the buried treasure!
Kristoffer Arroyo
- vs -
Charlie Nickles Rooftop Clatter Spectacular The match takes place on the rooftop of Santa’s Workshop. The only way to win is by shoving your opponent down the chimney.
As Warfare comes live, a drone flies overhead, capturing the action as dozens of boats can be seen across the Lysefjord! The sun reflects off the ice and water like glass, and as it settles on a small yet comfortable cruise liner, hundreds of fans can be seen whooping and hollering in anticipation for tonight!
JC: Folks, I don’t think we’ve ever seen a Warfare quite like this! Forget a Warfare on a cruise ship, because it’s time for Warfare on a cruise fleet! I’m Jacuinde Castillo as always, and I’m joined here tonight by Joe Rogan!
JR: Folks, we’re back on the mainland reacting to this in real time, but I guess that’s all the better. I get pretty seasick pretty easily, and I don’t wanna let that get in the way of what’s gonna no doubt be an exciting night of action!
JC: You said it, Joe! We’ve got fans lined up across each of the ships and each of the landmasses the matches will be taking place in, so you better believe you’ll be able to hear the hype throughout tonight!
In the middle of the cruise liner stands the Universal Championship, held up on a pedestal! And before anything else can happen, the ship’s loudspeaker system comes to life as a familiar tune begins to blare!
JC: Scoops McGee is making his way out to the ring to start off Warfare! Folks, if you don’t know already, that man was the captain of the winning team at War Games, and directly led to Kieran King losing his Universal Championship!
JR: He wasn’t the sole survivor though, Jack, that’s for sure! Scoops made his way to the final four, but it was his teammate, Dickie Watson, who picked up the win!
Whether Scoops picked up the pinfall or not, that doesn’t change the fact that the fans on the ship are coming alive as they hear the legend’s music throughout the sea! And sure enough, coming from inside the hold is Scoops McGee himself! The fans cheer in unison as he looks out amongst the crowd, nodding in appreciation, before he starts walking his way towards the pedestal! He’s got a mic in hand and he’s about to use it as he saunters his way forward!
Scoops chuckles, spinning the mic around his finger for a minute, before he brings it up to his lips.
“Well, boahs,” Scoops begins, looking out across each and every one of the hundreds in attendance on the ship. “I dunno about you, but I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that we got a new Universal champ right about now!”
BIG pop from the crowd in response!
JC: One thing’s for sure, this crowd hated Kieran King with every fiber of their beings!
JR: Not hard to see why, given half the things he says.
JC: Only half?
Scoops continued. “When I came into this company about a year ago now, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve been around the block. Tasted gold a couple times. Mixed ‘em up with the best and brightest this place had to offer. I won some, I lost some. But I can tell you one thing.”
“The best experience that I’ve had in this company… that I’ve had in years… was being able to captain my own team for War Games. And I know a huge part of that is that I couldn’t have been able to enjoy the success I had without the motley little crew I drafted to stand alongside me.”
“Me, Vidya Game Girl, Amber Mansley, and of course y’all know Dickie Watson-” Scoops pauses as the pops come after each name, “-we were like a well-oiled machine out there. The House of Hardcore, we knew we wanted to shake things up. We knew we wanted to make a name for ourselves and watch each other’s backs while we did it. And… it paid off. Because the man I stepped into the ring alongside for the finals, one of the toughest sumbitches I’ve ever seen in this business, got the job done and put King Jackass outta business.”
“DICK-IE! DICK-IE! DICK-IE! DICK-IE!”
The chant rings out across the sea as Scoops nods along with them, the smile still on his face.
“That’s right! Miss Mansley’s getting ready for her tournament match tonight, and Vidya Game Girl’s resting at home right about now, but y’all deserve to talk to the man himself. Put a hand together for your NEW Universal Champ… Dickie Watson!”
And the ship comes UNGLUED! Dickie Watson follows out of the same entrance to the hold that Scoops came out of, and he takes a moment to drink in the applause! He takes a deep breath, collecting himself as he comes right to the middle of the surface!
He shakes Scoops’ hand, the two sharing a quiet minute together before Dickie comes right to the pedestal holding the Universal Championship! He takes the big gold belt into his hands, staring into the metallic reflection looking back at him, a somber note in his eyes…
BEFORE HE RAISES THE BELT UP HIGH!
“DICK-IE! DICK-IE! DICK-IE! DICK-IE!”
JC: I can barely hear myself think right now, Joe…
JR: Can you remember the last time a crowd this small was this loud?
JC: Not in a white…
Dickie rests the Universal title on his shoulder, before finally speaking into his own microphone.
“If I can be quite honest with you all for a minute…” Dickie gave a wistful smile, beginning to pace back and forth. “There’s a part of this that still doesn’t feel real to me.
“It wasn’t that long ago that I felt like I was on the outs with a lot of things. Losing my way in different companies in this industry. Falling from grace. Even when I came into XWF looking for a new beginning, it was touch-and-go for a while. I took a number of big hits while I tried to find just what I was capable of.”
Dickie paused, exhaling slightly as the crowd was hanging on his every word. [font=Lora]“Most men would have quit. There were times I wondered if I should have quit, and wondered if I was going to flame out in the middle of the ring instead if I didn’t. But it was in those moments that I had to get in touch with my own mind again.”
“I had to remember that I had a dream at the end of the day. I wanted to stand at the top of the mountain that I was ousted from again. I wanted to know that I could still do it. I wanted to go out there and find my self-worth in that ring again, even if I had to paint the canvas of that worth in my own blood. Every night in this ring was a do-or-die moment in this ring, and I fought like it.”
A fan quickly shouts after, “WE LOVE YOU, DICKIE!” which brings a smile to his face.
“My… predecessor… said a lot of things while he was champion. Most of it was bullshit, but… there was one thing he said that was true.”
The air sucked itself out of the crowd for a brief moment, before Dickie raised the Universal Championship high once more.
“DREAMS DO COME TRUE!”
THE CROWD COMES ALIVE WITH RAUCOUS APPLAUSE AGAIN! And Scoops is right there leading them!
“War Games was an opportunity for me to do what I always wanted to do, and I wasn’t going to waste my chance. Teaming wasn’t my specialty, but standing with Scoops, GG, Mansley… I wasn’t going to do what I did without them by my side. And now that I’m on top of the mountain… I’m going to continue to fight. To continue to prove my worth, and to continue to stand at the top of the mountain, because I didn’t fight like Hell to get to this point only to get tossed aside at the first chance possible.”
Scoops nods along with the speech, his eyes longingly staring at the Universal Championship. Before he can say anything though, several figures are wheeling a monitor through the crowd!
JC: What the Hell is that?
JR: That looks like some mini-Grok models, Jack! The Trillionaires have business here!
The crowd boos the Groks, but they ignore them as they wheel the monitor right in front of both Dickie and Scoops. The two teammates share a look with each other, but they don’t say anything at first as the monitor powers on to see Elon Musk at his desk… doing paperwork. Behind him, Jeff Bezos and Mark Zuckerberg are in the background playing Patty-Cake together.
JC: Uh…
JR: Does he realize he’s on?
A familiar voice clears her throat. “Mister Musk?”
Elon dismisses her with a wave. “Not now Nadine, I’m busy reviewing the health insurance plans.”
Nadine persists. “Mister Musk, the monitor feed you requested to Dickie Watson and Scoops McGee is up and running.”
Elon looks up, brows scrunched. “Why would I ask for that right now?”
“The Universal Championship situation…?”
“Oh! Right, that. Well, you see-”
“Listen here, you slimy piece o’ shit,” Scoops cuts off Elon to a notable pop from the crowd. “If you got somethin’ to say, then say it already.”
“Bah! I’m getting to that!” Elon frowns and rolls his eyes. It lasts for only a moment before it gets replaced with a fake, lizard-like smile. “First of all, I’d like to congratulate both you two and your other teammates on a hard-fought win at War Games. Truly, it brought a tear to my eye. Thanks to you, we can properly handle the Kieran King situation.”
Dickie rolled his eyes. “We didn’t do that for you, you know.”
“No… no, I don’t suppose you did,” Elon hummed as he drummed his fingertips along his table. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you scratched our back, so we’ve scratched yours in return. How Amber Mansley found herself in the TV title tournament, for instance… or the matter of your tag title match in the main event tonight…”
JC: More like a handicap match…
JR: To be fair to the two of them, they can’t control the fact that SEB purposefully chose not to have a partner tonight.
“Is there a point to any of yer’ yappin’ right about now?” Scoops demanded. “‘Cause if there ain’t, we’ll slide on outta here right now.”
“Now, now, Mister McGee,” Elon chided, his false smile only growing wider. “You of all people will want to hear this, especially considering the way you told me off just last Warfare. Think of this as an… olive branch.”
Scoops paused, squinting. Elon took that as his signal to continue. “You see, we appreciate the fact that you two are trying to stick together, showing that little… worker solidarity thing, or whatever. But there’s a more important matter that needs to be settled… the Universal title picture for Snow Pain, Snow Gain. Kieran’s soon to be fired, so he won’t be involved in the mix, so after that…”
Elon’s grin turned malevolent. “We’ve decided that… why not reward the Captain of the winning team of War Games for a title shot?”
The crowd “oooohs” in anticipation as Scoops freezes in place, face contorted in confusion. Dickie gave a notable side eye to Scoops, slowly stepping back while nodding at him.
“I thought you’d be happier, Mister McGee. After all… you were the one who wanted the chance to win the Universal title, right?”
Scoops quickly shook his head, regaining his composure as he spoke. “There’s a catch. There’s always a catch with you slimy fucks. What is it?”
“No catch!” Elon grinned, putting his hands up innocently. “We wouldn’t want to dilute such an opportunity like this. The only thing you need to do… is to just remember who gave you this opportunity.”
Scoops turned back to Dickie, who had his brows raised towards him. The two spoke to each other, not using a microphone, the camera barely able to pick up on it.
“You’re taking the shot, right?”
Scoops hesitated. “I can’t trust them. I know you don’t.”
“Of course I don’t. But do you remember what I told you before?”
Elon cut the discussion short as he hummed. “You seem a bit confused, Mister McGee, so tell you what. Consider this an open offer. Get back to us about it by next Warfare. In the meantime…. I hope this doesn’t affect your ability to work with Mister Watson in tonight’s main event.”
The monitor feed cuts to black, leaving Dickie and Scoops’ heated discussion with each other.
JR: Looks like the Universal title picture is heating right back up! No rest for the wicked!
JC: Scoops isn’t wanting to take that deal, and I can’t blame him! That’s a deal with the Devil right there!
JR: Chances for the Universal title could be once-in-a-lifetime though, Jack! You know how long Scoops has wanted to be at the top of the same mountain Dickie is at right now?
JC: Well, folks, you can’t miss the chance to see these two potential opponents on the same side one more time in tonight’s main event!
Warfare cuts to its first match of the night as Dickie and Scoops walk down into the hold.
JC: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most absurd, high-stakes, and frankly confusing naval engagement in the history of Christmas Specials!
JR: It’s unbelievable, JC. I’ve seen some wild things in the Octagon, but I have never seen a man try to captain a 19th-century Habsburg-class battleship while wearing hot pants and a silk ascot. This is high-level ship-to-ship combat with serious psychological consequences!
The black, churning waters of the Norwegian Sea erupted as Centurion’s battleship plowed through a massive wave. On the bridge, Centurion stood tall. His golden chest plate caught the dim Arctic sun, and his purple silk ascot flapped violently in the gale.
JC: On one side, we have the hero of the people, the man of honor, CENTURION! He’s piloting, a relic of the Austro-Hungarian Navy. 8,300 tons of pure, unadulterated steel.
JR: And look at that crew, JC! Look at the quad development on those sailors! They’ve ditched the tactical gear for neon-pink shorts and orange ascots. It’s like a Jane Fonda workout video met a pirate raid. They’re moving with incredible fluidity. They’re loose, they’re agile, and they’re definitely not afraid of the cold.
Across the water, The Director’s vessel loomed like a jagged splinter of obsidian. The Director stood on the prow, holding a megaphone fashioned from human bone. Behind him, fifty masked pirates stood in silence, clutching pikes and rusted boarding axes.
JC: And his opponent... the man who strikes fear into the hearts of grips and gaffers alike... THE DIRECTOR! He’s approaching from the fog in a vessel that looks like a floating torture chamber.
JR: That thing is terrifying. It’s a literal wooden fortress. He’s got trebuchets, man! TREBUCHETS! That’s a gravity-powered siege engine from the Middle Ages being used against a battleship. And his crew—everyone is wearing these sicko masks. It’s like a fever dream!
TV TITLE TOURNEY ROUND ONE
The Director
- vs -
Centurion PIRATE BATTLE Our Competitors will both captain ships with crews and arsenals they may specify during their RPs!
The two ships will meet off Norway’s northern coast! The Winner shall be the Captain who either sinks the other captain’s ship or manages to take control of their opponent’s vessel! SHIVER ME TIMBERS!
"Action!" The Director screamed.
The massive trebuchet on The Director’s boat deck groaned. A counterweight the size of a small car dropped, and a 200-pound boulder, wrapped in oil-soaked burning rags, launched into the sky.
JR: Oh! He’s going with the classic projectile! That thing is massive! If that hits the deck, it’s going to be a problem.
JC: Centurion is maneuvering! He’s pushing that old Habsburg engine to the limit!
The boulder slammed into the sea just five feet from the battleship’s hull, sending a massive plume of freezing water over the crew. The sailors in their Spirit Halloween pirate gear didn't flinch; they just wiped the salt from their eyes and began chanting Centurion’s name.
"Return fire!" Centurion commanded, pointing a gloved finger. "Give them a taste of the 24-centimeter Lange 40!"
The forward turret of the battleship rotated with a grinding, metallic shriek. The massive barrel leveled.
BOOM!
The shockwave blew the hats off half the crew. The shell roared across the water, but The Director barked an order, and his boat performed an impossibly sharp turn, the shell whistling through the rigging and exploding harmlessly in the distance.
JR: Look at the movement on that wooden ship! It’s like it’s being pulled by invisible wires! That’s the power of The Director. He’s cheating the physics of the ocean!
The Director’s sailed across the surface of the water, drawing alongside the steel hull of the World War 1 era battleship, the masked pirates began throwing grappling hooks.
JC: They’re boarding! The Director is sending in the stuntmen!
JR: This is where it gets crazy. You see those masks? They’re designed to dehumanize. It’s a psychological tactic used to break the will of the opponent. But Centurion’s guys... they’re too confident in their ascots. They don't care!
Spiked wooden boards slammed down, bridging the gap between the wooden rail and the steel deck. The masked pirates leaped across, screaming in unison.
Centurion drew a shimmering gladius from his belt. "Defend the ship!"
The battle on the deck was a chaotic blur of color and horror. Centurion’s crew, despite their lack of trousers, fought with the discipline of Roman legionaries. One sailor, wearing a neon-blue bandana, used a mop to trip a masked pirate before delivering a devastating dropkick that sent the villain flying into the icy depths.
Centurion himself was a whirlwind of gold and muscle. He parried a pike thrust from a pirate wearing a "Weeping Willow" mask, spun him around, and delivered a textbook vertical suplex onto the cold steel deck.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. The Director had leaped from his ship, landing gracefully on the battleship’s turret. He held a boarding axe in one hand and a spiked clapboard in the other.
JR: This is it! The Director vs. Centurion on top of a 24-centimeter gun! The footwork here is insane. The deck is slick with sea spray, and they’re fighting on a rounded steel surface!
JC: The Director swings the axe! Centurion ducks! Oh! A narrow miss!
While the leaders clashed, the battle below became truly bizarre. Centurion’s gunners—three men in matching pink ascots—began firing the 47mm Skoda guns. But instead of aiming for the hull, they were shredding The Director’s sails, turning the black canvas into confetti.
That’s when explosions began rocking the Austro-Hungarian ship! The Director had somehow managed to plant charges on the battleship before the fight even started! Smoke filled the air. The masked pirates redoubled their efforts, swinging from the rigging and throwing jars of highly flammable oil onto the deck.
JR: He’s setting the stage, JC! He’s literally creating a third-act catastrophe!
JC: Centurion’s ship is on fire! The crew is slipping! This looks bad for our Babyface hero!
Centurion stumbled as a blast went off near the funnel. The Director seized the moment, slamming the spiked clapboard into Centurion’s shoulder. Gold plating flew off, and Centurion winced, dropping to one knee.
"And... cut!" The Director sneered, raising his axe for the final blow. "I’m writing you out of the script, Centurion!"
But Centurion looked up, a bloody smile on his face. Centurion grabbed the Director’s ankle and pulled with the strength of a man who does 500 squats a day in silk shorts! The Director tumbled backward, his axe clattering away. Centurion signaled to his troops on the battleship, pointing toward a tarp-covered shape on the aft deck.
From the hold of the battleship, the remaining crew members emerged, but they weren't grabbing more glitter. They pulled back the canvas to reveal a humming, high-tech piece of experimental machinery: a massive, dual-coil electromagnetic railgun!
JR: Wait a minute! Is that what I think it is? That’s not WWI tech, JC! That’s a railgun! Where did he get the capacitors to power that on an old Habsburg ship? The kinetic energy alone is going to be astronomical!
JC: Anarchy’s top babyface has been hiding an ace up his short-shorts! Look at the glow on those rails!
Centurion’s sailors—their ascots fluttering in the magnetic gale—aligned the weapon toward The Director’s vessel. Within seconds, the air around the battleship began to ionize, blue sparks dancing off the crew’s exposed thighs.
JR: OH MY GOD! The Director’s crew is in serious trouble. He’s trying to scramble back to his ship, but the magnetic field from that railgun is literally pulling the metal buttons off his clothes!
Centurion didn't wait. He lunged forward, catching The Director in a crushing bearhug as the villain tried to flee back across the boarding planks. The two men struggled on the edge of the battleship's railing, The Director’s vessel bobbing beside the steel giant. Centurion suddenly shifted his weight, hoisting The Director onto his shoulders in a perfect fireman’s carry.
JC: HE’S GOT HIM! The Director is airborne! Centurion is holding him on his shoulders like a trophy!
JR: This is pure naval dominance!
With the Director draped over his shoulders, Centurion stepped back from the edge. He didn't jump this time. He stood firm on his own deck, watching as his crew engaged the firing sequence.
The railgun fired with a sound that cracked the very sky, a hyper-velocity tungsten slug screaming across the short gap between the vessels. It passed through the wooden hull like a hot needle through tissue paper. The kinetic energy caused the sea beneath the Director’s ship to cavitate, and the wooden vessel essentially disintegrated from the inside out. Splinters the size of telephone poles flew in every direction as The Director’s ship was hammered down into the dark abyss of the Norwegian Sea.
Winner & Advancing in the TV Tournament - Centurion
JR: IT’S GONE! The ship is deleted from the timeline! One shot, JC! That’s high-level physics meeting high-level grit!
JC: And Centurion is still standing there! He’s still got The Director on his shoulders while his enemy’s entire world sinks into the Arctic! Talk about a total shut-out!
Centurion dumps The Director off of his shoulders and into the cold ocean’s waters. The masked pirates who had managed to board were immediately surrounded by sailors in lime-green shorts, their pikes no match for the victory-fueled momentum of Centurion’s crew.
JR: This is a statement victory for Centurion! And just like that, he’s moving onto the next round of this tournament!
JC: HE’S DONE IT! Centurion has completely neutralized The Director and obliterated his vessel!
JR: That was incredible. The transition from the WWI aesthetic to the railgun? That’s the kind of storytelling that wins championships! Centurion just showed he’s got the brains, the brawn, and the experimental weaponry to go all the way in this tournament for Dickie Watson’s newly vacated TV Championship!
JC: Centurion moves on to Round Two in dominant fashion! The Director’s career just hit a major plot hole! What a match!
The camera cuts backstage.
Micheal Graves strolls into frame walking down a hallway like he owns the place.
A production assistant turns the corner carrying a stack of towels up to his chin. Graves steps directly into his path and just looks at him for a moment.
"Busy night?"
The assistant nods quickly.
Graves glances at the wall beside of them.
"You ever think about how many people have bleed right here?"
He doesn’t answer.
Blood leaks from under Graves' mask and dribbles onto the floor.
Our production assistants eyes dart toward the camera hoping it might save him.
"Hundreds? Thousands?
Some fast, some slow.
Some angry. Some scared.
Some just careless accidents.
And the ground… it remembers. the ground never forgets.
You walk across it, and you can feel it.
You think you’re alive… but really… you’re just bleeding out to a ten count."
He pats the kid on the shoulder and strolls off like nothing about that was even remotely alarming.
A stagehand is minding his own business and looping cables nearby as Graves suddenly appears behind him like The Shape (Michael Myers).
"Quick question," Graves says. "You expecting any precipitation tonight?"
The stagehand blinks. "Weather app said clear."
"I wasn’t talking about outside!"
There’s no warning. Graves just launches and grabs the guy by the back of the head bouncing his face off the wall hard enough that the man’s knees give out and he hits the concrete in quickly forming pool of blood.
"Stupid fuckin' haircut. You should definitely change it, DUMMY!"
He continues down the hallway until he reaches a door marked:
KRISTOFFER ARROYO
ANARCHY CHAMPION
Graves reaches into his cape and pulls out a piece of paper that reads:
NOTICE OF IMMINENT VIOLENCE
He presses it against the door and drives a nail through it with his forehead in one clean shot.
The camera moves in tight:
THIS IS YOUR COURTESY WARNING.
I'M NEXT!!!
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
"Ho… ho… ho, motherfucker. All that stands between you and me is Mister Ozzy—meaning—I’m about to stuff your stocking with every tooth in your fuckin' head!"
He spreads his arms wide.
"Deck the halls with blood and marrow, fa la la la la… la la… la… DIE!"
JC: Folks, we have two competitors that are coming off War Games feeling majorly successful!
JR: But only one can advance to the next round of the TV title tournament!
The cameras pan over the icy waters of the island of Jan Mayen!
…Suddenly, off in the middle distance, two ships head for shore!
The lights went dark!
The sound of thunder Ker-ACKS throughout the arena!
Over the island’s PA system, a woman laughs…
A Storm…
Is…
COMING
Suddenly, the lights off a nearby dinghy turned blue! Rain falls along the shore line above as Latoya Hixx emerges from the top of the dinghy the top of the ramp, flexing her muscles!
JC: Latoya Hixx is one of the strongest competitors in all the XWF! And she just celebrated her very first PPV victory in her career at War Games! Can she chase that momentum by advancing through the Television Title tournament and securing her first belt?
JR: Hey, how did the ring crew make it rain outdoors for Latoya’s entrance?
JC: According to my notes…
…
JC: God.
The lights return to their default dinghy settings as Hixx walks straight down the plank and she slaps a few hands of wrestling fans!
JC: Hixx eliminated Dwayne ‘The Grok’ Johnson in that four-on-four elimination match! A massive elimination that played a major part in her team’s victory!
JR: But tonight, she’s facing a much bigger challenge than four wayward weirdos! She’s facing THE INFLUENCE!
Hixx steps onto the beach…
The lights dim and she flexes her muscles one final time!
…
“Break It Down” by Lil Debbie plays the island’s surround sound system, (which is a bunch of speakers hooked in through the icy tundra! The audience (in their boats) immediately boos the young athlete emerging from the small boat arriving on the shore! Amber smiles at the hatred she receives. Amber stands center stage with her hands on her hips, staring out to the audience before doing a slow twirl where a spotlight shines only on her, creating the illusion of a silhouette. Once she faces the audience again, she snaps her fingers, and the lights return to normal before strutting down to the ring like on a model’s runway.
ANNOUNCER: "Introducing on her way to the ring! Hailing from Boca Raton, Florida! At five feet, seven inches tall, weighing in at 143 pounds! She is “The Influence” Amber Mansley!
JC: And here she is! ‘The Influence’ Amber Mansley! The anchor member of the winning WarGames team, The House of Hardcore!
JR: Amber was no slouch either, Jacuinde! She managed to eliminate the opposing team’s captain, Solomon Kline! And, as a result, for a few precious moments, Amber Mansley was the XWF X-Treme champion!
JC: She was pinned shortly thereafter, Joe. Such is life! But it was her first piece of title gold in the XWF! And that first taste makes a competitor all the hungrier to get the next belt! This it the first round of the Television Title tournament! And both these women are looking to send a message about how deep they plan to go to score Television gold!
Amber stops before the beach, then looks both ways at the fans at ringside booing her. She gently leans over the apron, shrugs her shoulders, and then kisses the camera. Amber spins herself into the beach, lying on the sand in the center. The camera transitions to a sky-view with a single spotlight on her in the arena, and from the camera’s point of view, it looks like an artwork of Amber in a silhouette fashion. She gets back on her feet, snaps her finger to alert production to brighten the lights, and silences her music…
…
Our two competitors are approached by the official who hands them both a shovel and a pirate treasure map!
JC: Now, these two competitors will be attempting to find the treasure of the great Norwegian pirate, Icebeard! He was famously paranoid and had frosted tips in his beard!
JR: A man after my own heart!
JC: The first competitor to secure the chest containing Icebeard’s treasure and open the chest… will be the victor and will advance to the next round!
TV TITLE TOURNEY ROUND ONE
Amber Mansley
- vs -
Latoya Hixx Treasure Hunt Match The competitors meet at the island of Jan Mayen! The two will be equipped with shovels and treasure maps! The winner will be the first competitor to secure the buried treasure!
HIGHLIGHT REEL
JC: Here we go! A Treasure Hunt match, taking place on the one of the most remoted islands in all of the world and…
KERACK!
JC: …And Latoya Hixx just snapped her shovel in half over her knee!
JR: It’s a bold strategy, Jacuinde! Like Cortes burning the boat he sailed on, but instead of burning, it’s snapping, and instead of the ship, it’s the most effective means Latoya has to dig for the buried treasure.
JC: …So, nothing at all, like Cortes, right Joe?
JR: Oh man, I mean, when you put it like that…
Indeed, Latoya Hixx chucks away the two shovel halves she’s just destroyed into a nearby snow bank… and, for good measure, immediately throws away the map as well, punting it into the snow!
While Amber tries to read her map, to determine the location of the treasure… Latoya charges immediately, going straight at Amber Mansley!
JC: Latoya going after Amber like a freight train! Or like a bulldozer!
JR: Or like… a big powerful thing that could knock someone over!
JC: …Joe, analogies don’t work like that. You should compare the wrestler to something they aren’t literally.
Latoya charges at Amber with a…
LARIAT!
…But Amber squeals, nimbly ducking under the clothesline attempt! Hixx blows past, spins on a dime…
Straight into a map-assisted eye poke! Latoya drops back-first onto the icy beach as Amber follows the first instruction… Fifteen paces north of the beach!
JR: Mansley strikes the first blow and is laser-focused on getting the treasure!
JC: Now, Icebeard could have hidden the treasure anywhere on the island! The instructions to find his treasure are sure to be convoluted and complicated, nigh impossible to follow to avoid people that might accidentally stumble onto the treas-
JR: And Amber is on top of the X!
Indeed, the Influence has followed the map to an X!
JC: …The treasure was just fifteen paces north of the beach? How has it never been found?!?
Amber kicks her shovel into the X!
…Mostly so as to not lose it, because she immediately pulls out her phone to snap a quick selfie!
JC: Does anyone actually want to win this match?!?
JR: Hey, treasure is cool. You know what’s cooler? #CONTENT.
Amber spends a little time getting the angle juuuuuust right… picking the right filter… perfect pic, as always… now for the caption…
JC: Oh my God!
JR: I know! I’m on the edge of my seat. Do you think she went with sepia filter or monochrome?
As Mansley’s thumbs rapidly dance across her phone screen…
THE STORM
IS
COMING! Charging across the beach, right at her!
Stinger Splash against Mansley’s back! She flops flat onto her face… As Latoya scoops up the scooper Amber embedded into the ice and starts digging!
JR: Oh my Gosh! Hixx is going straight for the treasure, using Mansley’s shovel!
JC: Of course, Icebeard would have buried his treasure DEEP into the beach in order t-...
THUNK!
JR: And Hixx has hit pay dirt!
JC: Are you serious?!?
Hixx tosses the shovel away and retrieves a treasure chest! She pulls it out of the ground as Amber slowly rises to her knees!
JR: There it is! Icebeard’s treasure!
JC: Literally 15 feet from the beach and buried… maybe a foot in the ground?
Hixx throws the chest open!
…
It’s ICY LAUNDRY! LOTTA SHIRTS PIRATE VESTS!
JR: Oooooh, lot of Jolly Roger underwear… and that’s been vacuum sealed in a treasure chest so that smell has gotta be rancid!
JC: ….Ohhhhhhhh! Icebeard must have buried decoy treasure spots around the beach!
Hixx throws the dirty laundry out of the chest… and under it… is another map!
JC: That might be the REAL treasure map!
JC: Latoya has managed alternate between physically manhandling The Influence… AND digging up several more X’s on the island! But none of them have been the X that marks Icebeard’s treasure!
JR: But she has found the next most valuable thing! Knowledge! Did you IceBeard was an avid bowler? How else did he have a whole treasure chest of bowling trophies?!?
Hixx furiously BOOTS the treasure chest she just unearthed, which is full of third place bowling trophies… It hurts, she briefly hops on one foot from the boot…
As from behind, Mansley forces herself up off the knees… And scoops Hixx off her foot and onto Mansley’s shoulders!
SNAP LIGER BOMB ONTO THE FROZEN BEACH!
JC: Holy COW! What a move by Mansley!
Mansley STEPS on Hixx’s gut as she marches toward the treasure chest… she buries her arm in the chest of bowling trophies…
And retrieves the map!
JC: Hey, that one looks tattered and old! Like a pirate map! Could that actually be the map to Icebeard’s treasure!
Amber follows the last instruction of Icebeard’s map… And arrives…
At empty, unmarked cliff! The only thing in sight is the cliffside… and two frosty palm trees rooted just in front of the cliff…
JC: What the Hell!?! Mansley did 24 paces northwest, spun 285 degrees west, and did fifty bunny hops straight ahead! The treasure should be right here!
JR: Maybe the real treasure is the friends we made along the way?
JC: THAT’S NOT HOW THIS MATCH WORKS!
Amber scratches her head… She double-checks the instructions… X marks the spot!
Amber glances up again… and sees the two palm trees… and her eyes alight with an idea!
JC: Despite no obvious signs of an X, Amber is determined to find one!
JR: But the ground is X-less, Jacko!
Amber circle-steps around the beach… the two askew palm trees, rotating in her vision…
Until they form, before her…
AN X!
JC: …Oh! Clever!
JR: The map doesn’t say the X is gonna mark a spot on the ground! It could just mean, dig at the spot where you see an X!
Amber takes the shovel and digs at the spot where she’s found an X!
JC: Okay! This is almost certainly the real treasure! Which means Icebeard likely buried it DEE-
CLINK!
JR: And Amber’s got it!
JC: *sounds of a microphone disconnecting in frustration*
Amber unearths… a BIG looking treasure chest! She pulls it out of the hol-
WHAM! From behind, Latoya drops Mansley with a bicycle kick to the back of the head!
JC: Oh my! There’s reason to believe we have the treasure…
JR: But it ain’t over until one of these two opens that chest, Jacuinde!
JC: These two have been fighting tooth and nail over the treasure chest! But no one has secured it long enough to get it open and claim the buried treasure!
Latoya exhaustedly cradles her gut on the cliffside as Mansley crawls arm over arm up to the chest… She manages to get a hand on the chest’s top and tries to push it open…
When Hixx springs into action! Rear waistlock from behind, followed by a…
GERMAN SUPLEX!
Mansley’s back KERACKS against the frozen sands… but Hixx doesn’t let go!
JR: We might be looking at a threesome of suplexes, Jacuinde!
JC: …I didn’t know Hixx could count that high.
Hixx works Mansley back up to her feet…
RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX! Chucking Mansley as far as she can… almost off the cliffside!
JC: Oh my God! That’s a big drop off the cliff!
…
But Amber hangs on!
Hixx has one hand on the treasure chest!
JC: If Hixx can make it to the second round of the TV title tournament, it would be a MAJOR upset!
JR: Don’t get Amber out yet! She has zero quit in her!
Indeed, Amber… teetering near the side of the cliff, barks to Hixx to come at her!
…Hixx looks down at the chest… possibly seconds from victory…
…And decides to shut it!
And she charges at Mansley!
JC: It looks like Hixx wants to win this one with Mansley unconscious!
Hixx goes for a…
SPEAR!
…
BUT MANSLEY LEAP FROGS OVER!
JC: Hixx coming in like a linebacker! Dangerously close to that cliffside!
Hixx bowls through, extending her arms out to put on the brakes!
…
She teeters dangerously close to toppling over the edge!
JC: Oh, I can’t look! I’m gonna be sick!
JR: SEA sick!
…
Hixx manages to stay balanced….
JC: Phew, what a close call…
Hixx turns around…
…
STRAIGHT INTO AN AMBER MANSLEY BICYCLE KICK!
SLAY, BOO!
JC: Mansley hit that one FLUSH on Hixx!
Hixx staggers backwards!
…
OFF THE CLIFFSIDE!
She falls twenty feet!
SPLASH! INTO THE ICY WATERS BELOW!
JC: …I think Hixx is gonna have to put those muscles to work and use those legs to kick to shore!
JR: Use those SEA legs!
…Amber pumps a fist, as she walks back to the chest!
And opens it!
DOUBLOONS! And a ticket to the next round of the Tournament!
WINNER AND ADVANCING TO THE NEXT ROUND OF THE TV TITLE TOURNAMENT: AMBER MANSLEY!
JC: A zany, hard-fought victory for Amber Mansley! Hixx pulled out every stop she could to pull the victory over Mansley! But Amber advances and may be on her way to her second title victory in her XWF career!
Aboard their superyacht where the Trillionaire Triumvirate watches the night’s proceedings, they move inside to escape the cold, Norwegian air.
MARK ZUCKERBERG: Chat, this night is bussin’ hundo p.
ELON MUSK: Refreshments, anyone?
MARK ZUCKERBERG: Let's do kegstands!
JEFF BEZOS: I'll just have a small glass of the tears of a child laborer, thank you.
Elon nods and rummages through the fridge.
ELON MUSK: Who took the last Diet Coke?
???: Sorry, that was me.
The corporate overlords spin to find royalty sprawled out on the couch.
Kieran King is making himself at home, sipping Elon’s last drink.
The three look at each other before Elon’s weird face makes a weird, lizard person smile.
They circle King, with Zuck and Musk sitting on either side of him while Bezos looms behind.
ELON MUSK: Mr. King… I don't believe you were scheduled to be here.
KIERAN KING: Sometimes… plans change.
He turns to Zuckerberg.
KIERAN KING: How's the face?
ELON MUSK: Our superior eugenics–I mean genetics mean that Mark's face has healed immensely quickly from your kick the last time we were all in the same space.
KIERAN KING: Pity his balls haven't grown back and you still seem to be calling the shots.
MARK ZUCKERBERG: I have huge balls! Ask your mom!
Bezos nods approvingly, mouthing the word ‘huge’.
KIERAN KING: Gross.
ELON MUSK: We are actually glad you're here, Mr. King, because we wanted to talk to you about what happened at War Games. I can't help but notice that you're missing something gold and shiny. The Universal Championship perhaps?
Elon sniggered. Kieran smirked in reply.
ELON MUSK: I seem to recall a conversation with a lawyer about how we couldn't fire you while you were champion. And now you're not. Mark… since you're then one he attacked, would you like to do the honors here?
Zuck grins.
MARK ZUCKERBERG: YOU'RE… CANCELLED!
Elon sighs.
ELON MUSK: C'mon Mark, we practiced talking like a human and not a weird facsimile of pop culture. Just say it normally…
MARK ZUCKERBERG: YOU'RE… COOKED!
ELON MUSK: That's even more ambiguous!
MARK ZUCKERBERG: Right, right, right. Sorry. WE… ARE GONNA… YEET YOU FROM THE XWF!
ELON MUSK: Oh for f— …Jeff?
Bezos leans forward over Kieran's shoulder, salivating.
JEFF BEZOS: YOOOOOUUUUU'RRRREEEEE FIIIIIIRRRRRREEEEEDDDDD!!!!
Spit flies from his mouth, grossing everyone out.
Kieran glances up at Bezos, then over to Zuck, and then finally to Musk
KIERAN KING: No I'm not.
The air gets sucked from the room.
ELON MUSK: I beg your pardon?
KIERAN KING: I… am not… fired. Or cancelled. Or cooked. Or being yeeted anywhere.
ELON MUSK: You don't really get a say in the matter. Guys…
He looks to Jeff and Mark, confused.
ELON MUSK: …does he get a say in the matter? He doesn't, right? No? So he's fired?
KIERAN KING: Nope… not fired. Not according to… THE UNION.
Bezos recoils at the sound of those two words, like someone pouring water on the Wicked Witch.
ELON MUSK: What union? There isn't an XWF union.
From a small black satchel, Kieran produces a stack of papers and slides them over.
KIERAN KING: These are copies, so don't try to eat them…
He glares at Zuck.
Musk rifles through.
ELON MUSK: What is this?
KIERAN KING: You know how you love to take credit for things that you didn't create, but try to convince the world you did?
ELON MUSK: Yeah, it's one of my favourite things to do. We're here in Norway because I founded Norway.
KIERAN KING: Well see… sometimes those things have histories that you're not aware of. And I'm not even talking about history going back to 1999. I'm just talking about the 4th of August, this year.
JEFF BEZOS: What happened on the 4th of August?
MARK ZUCKERBERG: Australia announced they were going to rob me of the brains of Under-16 year olds!
JEFF BEZOS: But no Under-16 year olds even use Facebook?
KIERAN KING: Not that. There was an XWF Board Meeting that day. Dolly Waters presented the idea of a union.
ELON MUSK: And we crushed that.
KIERAN KING: No. I did. Or… I delayed it. Using my man on the board, I gave Dolly 90 days, within which she had to get 60% of the roster to sign on. Just enough time to keep her distracted through Relentless so that I could take the Universal Title from her.
JEFF BEZOS: Show me that…
Elon, still confused, handed the docs to Jeff while Kieran continued.
KIERAN KING: Anyone want to guess what percentage Dolly got to before I crushed her dreams so hard she upped and vanished?
MARK ZUCKERBERG: 6-7!!!
KIERAN KING: That's… not how that meme works. And that would also mean she was successful. Which she was not. But she was close. 55% in fact. Which meant only a few more names were needed.
JEFF BEZOS: HE SIGNED IT!
Rage flashes in Bezos's soulless eyes as he taps on the paperwork.
ELON MUSK: But… he's just one person.
Suddenly, black-clad figures step from the shadows.
Kieran's Kingsguard.
KIERAN KING: You guys really need to get better security. Oh that's right! The best security work for me! And they are all now XWF roster members. And they also… all signed. Jeff, please read the date next to everyone's names.
JEFF BEZOS: November 11, 2025…
KIERAN KING: 89 days after Dolly first went to the Board, the threshold was reached, and I went into War Games with a Plan B ready to enact. Flip the page, please Jeff. What do you see?
JEFF BEZOS: It's minutes from an official union meeting… wait… there was already an election for union president?
Kieran smiles.
KIERAN KING: No… not president. We had enough of my guys for a quorum.
Reaching into the satchel again, he pulls out the crown of the XWF that he has won two years running.
KIERAN KING: I think you guys forgot who the fuck you're dealing with.
He hands the crown to one of his security team, who ritualistically places it upon Kieran's head.
KING KIERAN: I am STILL King of the XWF. And I am… THE KING OF THE UNION too. So no… you won't be firing me. Instead, the union demands you make right what you did at War Games, or your entire roster walks.
ELON MUSK: …Make what right?
KING KIERAN: I don't give a fuck what you promised Scoops McGee earlier today. You are contractually bound to offer ME a rematch for the Universal Championship. And I will be taking it at SNOW PAIN SNOW GAIN!
Kieran leans forward, the strong arm of his new union behind him.
KING KIERAN: This is not up for negotiation.
He rises and his Kingsguard close around him.
KINGSGUARD: LONG LIVE THE KING!
They file out to a waiting boat, leaving the Trillionaires to stew.
ELON MUSK: Get our man on the phone…
Mark Zuckerberg nods as he starts dialing and the scene cuts away.
JC: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are live on the rooftop of Santa’s Workshop, and the only way to win is to shove your opponent down that chimney!”
JR: “That is insane. That’s not even wrestling anymore, that’s folklore violence.”
Snow whips across the rooftop. Christmas lights flicker. A wide stone chimney looms center-stage.
JC: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are live on the rooftop of Santa’s Workshop, and the only way to win is to shove your opponent down that chimney!”
JR: “That is insane. That’s not even wrestling anymore, that’s folklore violence.”
Snow whips across the rooftop. Christmas lights flicker. A wide stone chimney looms center-stage.
Bullet With a Point begins to blare over the loudspeakers as CHARLIE NICKLES makes his way up Santa’s fire escape up to the roof... He flashes a shit-eating grin at the audience members as he stands on Santa’s roof, eager to inflict pain!
JC: Here he is! Charlie Nickles! The self-proclaimed Corporate Champion!
JR: Charlie Nickles knows what best for business! As long as what’s best for business is Charlie Nickles!
JC: We didn’t see Charlie try to repeat at WarGames, despite being a finalist last year *and* being on the winning team! But, he seems eager to close out his XWF year strong… but can he beat his opponent… possibly the hottest rookie in the XWF right now?
…
The roof of Santa’s workshop is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps up the fire escape on the opposite side of Santa’s roof, looking cool and confident behind his bright pink shades. He saunters up the steps, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide onto the roof. He then steps onto the roof, where he wraps his legs around the gutters and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross!
JC: As far as pay-per-view debuts go… I don’t think anyone in recent memory has had a better one than Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo!
JR: No doubt, Jacuinde! We’re talking multiple eliminations! We’re talking leaving War Games as the Anarchy champion! And, maybe if the stipulations were like previous years, and the Universal title wasn’t on the line… there’s every reason to think Arroyo and Kieran might have won War Games by teaming up to take out Dickie Watson.
JC: But Arroyo called his own number, went to take the Uni title for himself… And wound up finishing third in an incredibly talented field of 24 competitors! Arroyo is clearly on the fast-track to bigger and brighter things! But can the Nickle train derail Arroyo’s shuttle to the top of the card!
Vamp smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.
Kristoffer Arroyo
- vs -
Charlie Nickles Rooftop Clatter Spectacular The match takes place on the rooftop of Santa’s Workshop. The only way to win is by shoving your opponent down the chimney.
HIGHLIGHT REEL
Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo stalks forward first, coat flapping in the wind, eyes locked on the chimney like it’s an altar.
JC: The man some call Vamp is certainly… unorthodox!
JR: That’s one way to put it. Another way is he’s a fucking ACTUAL VAMPIRE!
Charlie Nickles doesn’t bother posturing—he charges, boots crunching on icy roof, straight toward Arroyo!
JC: Oh my! It looks like the Nickleman doesn’t care whether or not his opponent is a vampire, werewolf, or creature from the black lagoon! He’s gonna bring the fight right to ‘em!
Arroyo’s eyes widen, not with surprise but with intrigue, as he braces his feet, ready to meet Nickles!
And we’re off! The two collide in a flurry of chops and forearms! Arroyo snaps Nickles’ head back with a precise European uppercut, while Nickles answers with rapid-fire, ugly clubbering forearms!
JC: No feeling out process here! This is a flat out war!
JR: The ultimate battle: Vampire versus… whatever a Nickleman is!
JC: After that initial exchange of aggressive brawl of wild, chaotic fists versus technically, precise strikes, Charlie takes control!
JR: Arroyo is learning firsthand that you can’t hope to contain Nickles! You just gotta pummel him until there’s literally no life in his body to fight with!
Nickles muscles Arroyo backward with a series of clubbing forearms to the back of the skull… Arroyo drops to a knee…
Nickles grabs him by the throat and hurls him spine-first across the roof!
Into a stack of wrapped presents sitting on the roof, boxes exploding open as toys scatter across the roof!
JR: Hey! Some of those were for the little Timmys of the world! And one of those could have been the nun-chucks I asked Santa for!
JC: Joe, aren’t you a little old to be receiving presents from Santa Claus?
JR: What, you’re saying an alpha male can’t accept gifts from another man without losing what makes him alpha? I’ve thought of that, and I have several thoughts that allow gifts from Santa Claus.
JC: No, because Santa is not r-...
…
JC: Never mind.
Arroyo scrambles, shoving off bits of broken toy train and red flyer wagon…
Charlie charges, looking to scoop the vampire off his feet…
But Arroyo’s legs sweeps the roof in a circle! Nickles’ ankle gets clipped and he snaps backwards onto the icy shingles!
JC: Incredible counter by the man they call Vamp! …Er, actually the vamp they call… Vamp.
JR: Thanks for correctly species-ing a vampire, Jacuinde. I’d rather not have us get cancelled by vampire twitter.
JC: Arroyo has masterfully managed to slow down Nickles’s chaotic offensive barrage with a series of life-draining submission maneuvers! Though, I *am* surprised he hasn’t tried to bite Charlie yet…
JR: Can you imagine how bad Charlie tastes? Over the course of his career, he’s had almost as much blood outside his body as it’s been inside his body!
JC: There’s scientifically no way that’s true, Joe!
Nickles cradles his elbow, trying to force himself onto his arms off the icy roof, but Arroyo STOMPS onto the back of his head, forcing him back down onto the roof…
As Charlie seethes, his teeth grit… Arroyo latches his mitts around Nickles’ wrist… And pulls it backward behind Charlie’s spine! Fujiwara Armbar!
JC: Fascinating choice by Arroyo to go for this many submission moves! Reminder to the crowd: Neither competitor can win this match by submission! The only way to secure the victory is shoving your opponent down Santa’s chimney!
JR: Counter-point, Jacuinde! It’s gonna be a lot easier to shove Nickles down the chimney after Arroyo snaps his arm clean off his shoulder!
Arroyo wrenches back as Nickles howls! Nickles slams his fist against the roof… Arroyo twists with all he’s got, not going for the submission, but breaking Nickles’ arm!
Nickles’s face seizes in agony…
…But Nickles bites down on his free arm! Focusing the pain somewhere else…
And in a flash, Nickles manages to forward-roll, dragging both fhimself and Arroyo forward!
JC: Incredible acrobatic counter by Charlie Nickles! That would have been it for a lesser opponent!
JR: But not for the XWF’s Corporate champion, Jacuinde!
Arroyo bashes Nickles with an another European uppercut, staggering him backwards against the chimney!
JC: Oh my! Arroyo might be lining up the killshot to knock Nickles down Santa’s chimney!
JR: …Hey, does anyone deliver presents to Santa? That just dawned on me, feels like a bad deal for the old elf. Brain surgeons can get brain surgery from other brain surgeons, but there’s only one Santa. Who gets him presents?
JC: …Joe, you’re a 58-year-old man.
JR: …
JC: …*sigh*... Mrs. Claus buys him his present.
JR: Ah, that makes perfect sense. Thanks, Jacuinde.
Arroyo grabs Nickles by the throat, driving him forward with brute strength, trying to manhandle him down the chimney…
But in a flash, Nickles side-steps Arroyo’s bullrush charge, wrapping his arm around the back of Arroyo’s neck…
RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP! The back of Arroyo’s skull SLAMS into a metal ventilation pipe! Arroyo cradles the back of his skull as Nickles howls, in equal parts agony and determination!
JC: Holy shit! Charlie Nickles is pulling out every stop to stuff Kristoffer Arroyo down that chimney!
Arroyo winces… his skull aching… as he struggles to climb back to a vertical base…
Nickles smells blood—literally and figuratively… He reaches over the side of the roof… and grabs a loose length of twinkling Christmas lights!
JC: Oh my! It looks like Charlie is about to deliver unto Arroyo some festive Season’s BEATINGS!
Nickles manages to spool up a handful of lights… Arroyo manages to crawl up to his knees…
KERACK! Nickles whips them across Arroyo’s back! Arroyo’s spine reels back in agony, his face seizing in indescribable pain!
…As Arroyo throws his head back, Nickles takes the lights in his hands… AND WRAPS THEM AROUND ARROYO’S THROAT LIKE PIANO WIRE!
JC: Jesus Effing Christ! Nickles is turning some symbols of Christmas cheer into an X-Treme Rules HELL for Kristoffer Arroyo! This isn’t what the season is about!
JR: I dunno, have you ever seen the Santa Clause movie with Tim Allen? Santa gets defenestrated and DIES like in the first act. And that movie’s for CHILDREN, Jacuinde!
JC: Arroyo’s gotta dig deep here… Otherwise, Nickles is gonna inevitably stuff him down that chimney like Saint Nick himself!
Arroyo staggers, crawling away from the chimney to buy himself time to recover… but Nickles seizes Vamp by the ankle and drags hims back across the roof…
WHAM! In a desperate act of survival, like a cornered animal, Arroyo catches Nickles with a kick to the face!
…Nickles sneers, a little blood running down his nostril as he smiles sadistically…
JC: If anything, a bleeding Charlie is more dangerous…
Arroyo retrieves his boot and tries to shove himself back to a vertical base on the icy roof…
But the Nickleman dives ontop of him! He shoves his elbow into Arroyo’s face… grinding his forearm across Arroyo’s nose, as a smattering of blood drips into the snow...
Nickles hoists Arroyo up and plants him with a…
SNAP POWERSLAM!
JC: Ho Ho Oh NO! What a move!
JC: The door might be closing for Arroyo to make a comeback… Nickles is dragging him toward the chimney!
JR: Cinderella is about to turn into a pumpkin for the cinderella story of the rookie that came in third at War Games! The clock is ticking!
Nickles drags him toward the chimney, boots scraping as Arroyo claws at the roof…
Nickles reaches down, gripping Arroyo by clutches of his long hair… before Vamp hits him with both boots, driving Charlie back towards the chimney!
JC: Oh my! We thought the sun was rising on the vampire, but he’s not ashes yet!
Nickles extends both arms, preventing himself from slipping down the chimney! He shoves himself forward, looking to take the fight to Arroyo…
But Arroyo fires back suddenly!
CHOP! WOOOOOOO!
Kick!
CHOP! WOOOOOOO!
Nickles staggers backwards, before charging in with a desperation…
CLOTHESLINE!
…But Arroyo dips under! Charlie skids by on the icy roof, before spinning around…
Where Arroyo leaps onto his shoulders!
HURRICANRANA! Arroyo’s legs snaps around Nickles’ neck, hurtling Charlie onto his back!
JC: Arroyo might just be a vampire, because it’s like he’s immortal! He is impossible to put down!
Nickles stumbles wildly, nearly losing his footing on the roof edge…
But he finds a way to put the brakes on… As Arroyo rises up to his feet, Nickles charges in with a spear, dragging Arroyo up off the roof, off his feet… and goes to shove Vamp’s head and shoulders into the chimney, trying to overpower him!
JC: Oh my! Looks like Charlie’s done wrasslin’ here… He wants to manhandle Arroyo down that chimney and call it a holiday!
Arroyo flails, boots kicking against the brick as Nickles leans his full weight forward, trying to force Vamp down the chimney… Vamp’s feet start to tilt upward… Like he’s about to start sliding down the chimney…
JC: Nickles might just have this one! One more push oughta do it!
Nickles roars and repositions his hands for additional leverage…
…But that moment…
Arroyo turns his head toward Nickles…
AND BITES.
JC: Oh my GOD!
JR: A sudden, savage bite to the jugular from Kristoffer Arroyo! And I think you were right, Jacuinde, Charlie must taste pretty gross from the way Vamp’s face is looking!
Nickles screams and staggers back, clutching his neck, shock overtaking fury.
Arroyo rises slowly, blood on his lips, eyes dark with scorn…. He grabs Nickles, kisses him deeply…
ROMEO’S LAMENT!
then with inhuman strength lifts and shoves Nickles headfirst into the chimney, stuffing him down as Nickles’ boots kick wildly in the air.
A final, brutal stomp to the back—
Phoooooooooooooo…
THUD.
Snow drifts gently as the echo fades.
WINNER VIA SHOVING HIS OPPONENT DOWN SANTA’S CHIMNEY: KRISTOFFER ‘VAMP’ ARROYO!
JC: What a match! What a dominant showing! Charlie Nickles pulled out the most vicious, horrifying tactics he’s ever pulled out, possibly in his career!
JR: But the Vamp came for BLOOD! And blood is what he got! On his hands, on his teeth, and up on the rooftop, click click click! What a victory for the reigning Anarchy champion!
Arroyo stands alone on the rooftop, bloodied, smiling, staring down into the darkness below—
As the scene goes to commercial.
As we come back from the commercial break, we are treated to the sight of the ring, the ropes, the turnbuckles, and the aisle itself, decorated with gold and red meant for a red carpet affair. In just one minute-long commercial break, the entire scene has turned into a Red Carpet mega-movie premiere or some important Royal family event.
If the decorations aren’t enough, the camera shines a single spotlight on the ring announcer. But it’s not the usual one we see in XWF. Oh, no no no. This is special. Too special. This calls for someone who is GOATED among all things combat sports announcing.
The crowd is ecstatic seeing Bruce Buffer, because this man ONLY announces major stuff.
Joe Rogan: Yoooo, am I tripping? Is that my boy, Bruce Buffer, in there? It feels like I got teleported again—this time, from Warfare to another event.
JC: You’re not tripping, Joe Rogan. I dunno what this is. It wasn’t in our program notes. But whatever it is, it’s obviously huge. Probably something from the Trillionaires.
Bruce Buffer: Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, XWF and Warfare proudly bring to the Lysefjord your REIGNING…. DEFENDING…. XWF X-Treme Champion of the WOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLDDDDD… The GOOD Doctor… The Scapel of the Corporation… The COUNTESS of Monty Sicko…. DOCTOR! HOLLY! CAAAAAAAAAAAMBRIC!
The festive happiness the Norwegians were feeling a moment ago is dumped quicker than Amber Mansley’s reign with the very championship being announced. An avalanche of boos greets Dr. Cambric as she emerges with her music playing. She pays them no mind and smooths out her fancy red and black pantsuit while the cameraman gets an up close shot of the prestigious X-Treme title attuned to her waist.
From here, she simply walks to the ring. No pazaz. No theatrics. Just business. She enters the squared hell and actually smiles a rare smile as she shakes hands with Bruce Buffer. He gives her a parting nod and steps aside while she brings the talking stick to her cherry reds.
Dr. Holly Cambric: Well, well, well, and…well. Boo me all you like, good people of Norway, I do not mind, for I’ve seen what you cheer for.
OH boy, do they ever BOO the fuck out of her. She lets them. No emotion. No anger. No annoyance. No mocking. After they die down out of necessity, she gives them a polite nod and continues.
Dr. Holly Cambric: I’m sure you think I’m out here to make a big deal about Wargames, and how I rendered Ms. Amber Mansley the answer to XWF trivia questions in the years to come. Hmmm, yes indeed. When asked who had the shortest title reign, the answer will be Amber Mansley, and I’ll be attached to that.
Oh yes, the crowd is HOT now, and not in the good way. Holly wags her head cockily.
Joe Rogan: Holy shit, Holly’s showing a little bit of personality out here. Usually, she’s expressionless. She’s out here flashing a smile and wagging that head like she’s the rule of the roost.
JC: What’s gotten into her? Did she get laid?
Holly holds a finger up amid the wall of jeers and wiggles it back and forth..
Dr. Holly Cambric: No, dear Norway. Unlike the powers that be here in XWF, and you, the fans, and most of the locker room, I am not impressed by that woman who is more plastic than flesh. Me icing her so quickly and easily was a formality. I’m also not here to gloat about outsmarting the rest of her team. Outsmarting that crew is nothing to brag about, considering how hopelessly, utterly stupid they are.
She scoffs, and once again, a storm of boos wallop her.
Dr. Holly Cambric: I’m here to brag about the Corporation. I’m here to celebrate Solomon Kline, Mr. Oz, Jennie Nickles, and Charlie Nickles. We in the Corporation have huge news to bring you just in time for Christmas. 2026 will be the year the Corporation Makes XWF Great Again! Don’t take this news from me; allow my constituents to regale you all about it. Mr. Buffer, please do the honors.
Stepping in again, Bruce Buffer serenades the audience with his majestic voice as he announces the rest of the Corporation while their theme music begins blaring through the PA system!
Charlie, Jennie, Kline, and Mr. Oz all appear at the top of the ramp with golden grins and sinister smirks. The crowd boos as they saunter down to the ring with overbearing confidence! With the Corporation in full force inside the ring, the ground at The Lysefjord quakes from the sheer volume of heel heat the group is getting.
Charlie Nickles: Take a look at this, Norway! Take a long, hard look at what peak efficiency looks like. You see, I told Dr. Cambric that her number one priority at War Games—her only priority—was to ensure that the X-Treme Championship remained property of The Corporation at all costs.
Charlie offers a shallow, toothy grin to the crowd as the boos intensify.
Charlie Nickles: Now, I know what you’re thinking. "Charlie, how can one group contain so much greatness?" It’s simple: We don’t follow the rules, we -MAKE- them. And as the architects of the New XWF, we are implementing a few policy changes.
Starting right now, The Corporation is FREEBIRDING the X-Treme Championship! This championship belongs to the entity, not the individual. And here is the best part: once we reach our five mandatory defenses—which, let’s be honest, will take us about two weeks—this title transforms. It becomes a golden ticket! A briefcase that any member of this elite circle can cash in on the Universal Champion at any time, any place. We aren't just holding a belt; we are holding the entire main event scene hostage!
Charlie turns his attention back to Holly, his eyes gleaming with corporate greed.
Charlie Nickles: But we aren't monsters. We believe in corporate social responsibility. That’s why I am proud to announce the 2026 X-Treme Charity Tour! We are going to take this prestigious title and defend it against the absolute dregs of this roster. The jobbers, the "has-beens," the "never-weres"—the underprivileged and the utterly undertalented. We’re giving back to the community by giving them the beating of a lifetime. It’s philanthropic, really.
Charlie winks at the camera, then looks at Holly Cambric.
Charlie Nickles: Now, Miss Cambric…if I may have this dance?
Charlie does a gentlemanly bow and gracefully gestures to the mat. Holly replies in kind, and he takes her by the hand, gently easing her to the canvas. He “attacks” her with a playful hammerfist on the forehead. She playfully reacts in “pain” and goes inert. The ref rolls his eyes but does his duties as Charlie pins Holly with a comically fundamental and traditional leg hook pin for the one… the two… AND the three!
The bell rings.
Bruce Buffer: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner and NEW XWF X-Treme Champion…. The Niiiiiiiiickleman, Charlie! Nickles!
“Psycho” Solomon: You know what? Honestly? This is bullshit! First, I have to endure Charlie picking Jennie over me in the War Games captain’s match. Then when I lose my X-treme title, Doc Holly is there to take it back. I would appreciate it if it meant I was getting MY title back, but what has Charlie done lately for anyone here but himself? If we truly worked together in the first place, Jennie and I could have been on the same team. There would be no need to bring back the good doctor as a contingency plan and maybe I would still be champion. Honestly, I’m not really sure where I fit in the Corporation right now.
Jennie reacts before Charlie can try diplomacy. She grabs the mic from Charlie and gets in Kline’s face.
Jennie Nickles: The only thing that’s bullshit is you calling this bullshit. Charlie deserves this because he bailed your ass out when Sarah and TK ghosted you. Holly was the only one smart enough to pull off the x title heist cause we know you’d stupidly fight all four of them. And at least Holly won it in a match being contested instead of sucker punching a man at a bar like you did. You’ve had the belt several times over the last few months so instead of bitching you should say thank you to Charlie and holly because, if not for them, the fakest woman in wrestling, Amber Mansley, would be running around with it!
Charlie stands between them, the X-Treme title draped over his shoulder. He doesn't look angry; he looks disappointed, like a big brother watching his little siblings squabble over a toy. He places a hand on Solomon’s chest, not quite a push, but a firm reminder of the hierarchy.
Charlie Nickles: Solomon... look at me. Look at the suit. Look at the belt. You "fit" exactly where I tell you to fit. Don't let your ego cloud the vision. Take a breath, remember who brought you to the table. Now let's go celebrate our success, ‘Champ’.
Charlie turns his back on Solomon with total indifference, beckoning Jennie and Holly to follow him. They exit the ring, leaving Kline standing alone in the center. Only Mr. Oz remains for a lingering, uncomfortable moment. He doesn't offer a hand or a word of comfort; he simply stands like a silent sentinel, watching Solomon with the cold, predatory eyes of a hawk monitoring a liability. Finally, Oz gives a sharp, robotic nod and follows the group, leaving Solomon isolated in the ring as the scene cuts to black!
JC: Folks, we're hearing there is something going on backstage.
JR: Let's go back there and see what's happening.
The camera pans to a shot of someone lying on the concrete floor backstage, blood pooling around his head. The camera zooms in and it's "Psycho" Solomon!
JC: Who would do such a despicable thing?! We need medical staff to check on him immediately.
JR: I don't know. If you ask me, he deserves it. Remember what he did to his own friend and mentor, Aidan Collins? Ever since he joined the Corporation he's been a real prick!
JC: Wait, I thought you liked the Corporation?
JR: I like the Trillionaires. There's a difference. Who knows, maybe after his words earlier, Charlie or the Scarlet Verdict took him out. I wouldn't count anything out at this point.
JC: Regardless, that man has a family. Someone needs to get in there and check on him.
Medical staff arrives and checks on Solomon, who is unconscious. They place him on a stretcher and wheel him to a waiting ambulance.
As Charlie tumbles down the chimney below, their unconscious form is soon greeted by the warm, merry lights of Santa’s Workshop, shining upon them in the unlit fireplace.
JR: Yeah… I dunno if Charlie is gonna be getting up any time soon from that.
JC: Well, they’re about to be a spectator to what comes next, Joe! Because it’s time for our main event for the tag team titles!
Two ships come into port right outside the walkway to Santa’s Workshop! The fans line up along the sides, waiting with bated breath as Kristoffer Arroyo curiously spectates the scene from on high.
The show is quickly interrupted by the sound of a distant synthesizer, followed up by horses neighing and galloping through the dirt. It fades out, leading into the riff of a guitar strumming a fiery tune. There's an inherent electricity building within the air of the Lysefjord, culminating as the drums kick in. As they do, the steadfast figure of Scoops McGee comes out from the ship, a look of no nonsense etched onto his face as he takes a long look at the crowd and Santa’s Workshop.
JC: There’s the old warrior himself, Scoops McGee! He’s looking ready for a fight as he’s making his way down to the workshop right about now.
JR: Jack, is it just me, or does this entrance feel like a red flag?
JC: How do you figure?
JR: When these two men worked together as a team at War Games, they entered together for both of their matches. Hell, they trusted each other enough to fly in on a damn helicopter. But now, with the tag titles on the line… they’re choosing to enter separately?
JC: That’s… hm. An eyebrow raiser to be sure, here, and a potential sign of some tensions, but nothing quite so clear-cut yet.
He nods, steadily walking to the workshop and absentmindedly high-fiving any fans stretching out their hands who happen to be right in his way. Without a second thought, however, he walks right into the workshop and waits for the match to begin.
The lights from the ship die without warning. Not a fade, but a full blackout that sucks the air out of the arena like the calm before a fire. Then, a strobing light, lime green, flares from the side of the ship. Another, quicker and sharper. A third, holding longer now.
The distorted bass of “DEATHLIST” by Code: Pandorum and GHØSTKID blares across the arena’s speaker system low, grinding and industrial. It doesn't start like music, but more like a warning. Like the hum of something broken beneath concrete. The speakers rattle, and with them the crowd begins to stir as the opening continues to play, rhythmic and angry. Noise from the crowd rolls through like a cold draft in a sealed room, a few cheers, a few chants. But mostly unease.
"Do I love you? Or do I hate you?
Can I trust you without failing you?
Gonna tell you what the secret is...
You're number one on my DEATHLIST."
Whispered, the lyric doesn't rise above the crowd but cuts under it, precise and personal. The music drops out completely, not a fade, and not a glitch, just the same as the lights as they die out entirely. But then, detonation as the bass slams back in without warning, twisted and violent, louder than before. Strobe lights erupt in a manic wash of toxic green, casting sharp, flickering shadows across the sate. It's disorienting, like a spotlight wielded as a weapon. Motionless in that moment, Dickie Watson stands framed in light. No grand pose, no war cry, hair falling in his face and shoulders loose like man who doesn't need to prove he belongs here -- he already knows he does.
JR: Dickie sure doesn’t look like a man who’s on top of the mountain right now with how grim he looks.
JC: Well, Dickie’s got a lot to prove in this match, Joe. SEB has been a figure he’s always wanted to be able to beat, even going back to before Dickie even stepped foot in the XWF. Tonight is his best chance at doing that, considering the circumstances.
JR: But when you factor in this sudden tension with Scoops… it feels like a recipe for disaster is coming.
He holds this, eyes floating over everyone, and then moves a beat later. Not with urgency, not with showmanship. Just steps forward like the rest of the world is moving slower than him. He doesn't look to the sides, doesn't soak it in. He's not here for the moment, he's here for the thrill. Every movement is precise, like a blade being unsheathed. Quiet, measured. He walks down the walkway towards the workshop, eyes still glancing off to the side, turning his head slightly to acknowledge fans and enemies alike. He reaches out and slaps a few of the fans’ hands not necessarily out of respect, but more of obligation. These are the people who kept him alive for so long, and what he does this for. Without a moment more of hesitation, he steps inside Santa’s Workshop to get ready for the match.
With each of the hits of the word “Fame” a spotlight flashes back and forth between the walkway and a random spot in the audience.
After the final Fame, the lyrics end.
Na, na, na, na…
As the beat drops, Sebastian Everett-Bryce flings his arms wide, lit up by a bright spotlight, his head covered by the hood of his jacket. He stands in the middle of the walkway, the lights beating down on him, before looking out at the crowd. He wears a long jacket, zipped to the waist. The jacket, which is cut away at the bottom and only runs down the back of his legs, is patterned with an elongated Union Flag, but it appears to be cracked, and broken. Distressed. His tights are short, with the initials S.E.B. emblazoned upon the front.
Fame makes a man take things over
Fame lets him loose, hard to swallow
Fame puts you there where things are hollow
It's not your brain, it's just the flame
That puts your change to keep you insane (sane)
JR: Well, Jack, you wanna talk about a man with a lot to prove right now? Sebastian Everett-Bryce has plenty to prove right now.
JC: A man with the odds stacked against him, but he’s no stranger to that! Made it to the finals of War Games as the sole representative of his team, and he gave one helluva fight before he was finally eliminated!
JR: He’s never beaten Scoops McGee before, and if he manages to sneak a win over the Universal Champion at the same time, the Trillionaires might have no choice but to name SEB the Number One Contender instead! That’s normally a tough ask, but…
JC: He might have a small chance after what happened earlier tonight.
The lights lift and Seb makes his way to the workshop, stretching his neck from side to side as he walks, he slaps hands with fans as he walks, stopping with a random fan and staring into the camera and shouting “My Empire, right here!”. He climbs up the steps and steps through the front door of the workshop.
As SEB walks inside the front door, he finds Scoops and Dickie both waiting for him as they’re leaning against one of the nearby walls. Santa’s Workshop was practically a catacomb, with looming walls, stockings everywhere, a tall Christmas tree in the center of the living room, the unconscious frame of Charlie Nickles still slumped in the fireplace…
JR: It’s like I’m staring at the dream house of a ten-year old right about now…
JC: That’s the holiday spirit for you, Joe!
SEB throws his jacket aside, assuming a fighting stance and motioning for both Scoops and Dickie to bring it.
Scoops and Dickie glance at each other, an intense discussion taking place as it looks like both men want to try to start here…
JR: Not a good sign if both men are arguing before the bell even rings.
JC: Dickie wants his win over SEB, while Scoops wants to try and assert himself at the top of the title rankings without handouts from the Trillionaires. I can hardly blame either man, but…
Finally, Dickie steps forward while Scoops is mid-sentence! He curses, but lets Dickie have the fight as he and SEB begin to circle around…
DING! DING! DING!
And we’re off!
Rapid-fire warfare begins from both sides, neither man wanting to make a mistake in the early contest as SEB tries to use his height and weight advantage to practically bully Dickie in the collar-and-elbow tie-up. However, this doesn’t last long as Dickie manages to flip his way out and duck down underneath to sweep SEB’s legs out from under him!
SEB quickly gets up only to eat a dropkick from Dickie, sending him right back into a wall full of stockings! Dickie moves in for a running crossbody, but SEB sidesteps! Dickie stops himself just in time, but SEB reaches into one of the stockings… and pulls out a pair of nunchaku?!
JC: What the Hell kind of stocking stuffers are these?!
JR: My kind! Santa should get me some this Christmas!
Dickie’s eyes widen as SEB swings for his head, but he quickly ducks underneath. He can’t escape the second swing that comes right for his torso though, quickly eliciting a black-and-blue bruise on his ribcage. SEB follows by swinging it upward, practically acting as an uppercut that drives Dickie right back!
Scoops swears again under his breath, reaching into a different stocking and this time pulling out a pair of brass knuckles! He slips them on tight, before using his free hand to tag himself in as Dickie was forced back to him!
JC: Looks like both of these men are going to prioritize getting themselves into this…
JR: It’s a far-cry from how they were fighting at War Games. SEB needs to press that advantage if he wants to win here.
SEB swings with the nunchaku, but the sturdier Scoops holds his arms up to block the impact. He moves in with a jab with the brass knucks, which now has SEB on the defensive to try and get away from that metal shot.
SEB quickly parries another jab, but before he could take advantage, Scoops lurches forward with a headbutt!
SEB staggers back, but Scoops follows up with a CRUSHING body blow that takes the wind right out of SEB’s sails! He collapses back onto the steps, and Scoops rushes in with a full head of steam to try and take it to him!
BUT SEB DIGS DOWN DEEP AND HITS SCOOPS WITH A BACK BODY DROP TO SEND HIM RIGHT BACK INTO THE UNFORGIVING STEPS!
JR: Can you imagine having to take that kind of impact on your back in your sixties?!
JC: Scoops is gonna be lucky that he doesn’t get put into a wheelchair after a fall like that!
SEB staggers off, taking a moment to try and catch his breath after those hard shots, but Dickie sees his opening! He walks over to Scoops’ body and forcibly tags himself in!
SEB doesn’t realize it, though! Instead, he corrects himself, only to see Dickie darting straight towards the Christmas tree! He leaps into the air and swivels himself around on it, only to fall right onto SEB with a Tornado DDT!
JC: The numbers game is catching up with SEB right now!
JR: The brutality of Scoops, the high-flying ingenuity of Dickie! It’s hard enough already for any man to handle it!
JC: But SEB is still in this match so far, Joe!
SEB’s head snaps off the hardwood as the Tornado DDT plants him flush, ornaments rattling violently on the tree above them as Dickie rolls through to his knees. He doesn’t rush the follow-up. He never does. Instead, he watches SEB’s hands first — the twitch, the reach — before acting.
Dickie lunges in with a sickening CHOP, pinning SEB against the base of a very tall Christmas tree. Another follows, then a third, each one sharp and economical, Dickie intent on slicing the fight out of SEB…
JR: Dickie’s not wasting motion here. Every strike has a purpose.
JC: Dickie has first-hand experience with how dangerous it can be sharing the ring with SEB... One mistake, one overextension, and SEB can turn this whole thing around in a heartbeat.
The Universal champion hooks the arm and drags SEB away from the tree, looking for space, looking for leverage, before pulling SEB up and snaps him down with a…
NECKBREAKER!
JR: You know Dickie’s Russian, cuz that move looked like a Tchaikovsky ballet!
Watson nimbly rolls without releases the hold on SEB’s neck, floating over instinctively for the cover!
ONE—
SEB KICKS OUT!
JC: WOW! SEB refusing to give Dickie even the feeling of a two-count on him… You can feel how bad Dickie wants to right the record between himself and SEB…
JR: But outside, on the apron, you can feel how bad Scoops wants to prove he’s not being gifted a chance at the Universal title… He wants to know he’s earned it and he feels he can prove that by being the man that pins SEB tonight!
Dickie’s unfazed by SEB’s defiant kickout at one… already moving, rolling through and springing to his feet as SEB scrambles to hands and knees. Dickie grips SEB by the scruff of the neck— but SEB snaps off sudden mule kick that catches Dickie square in the gut!
Dickie stumbles, balance compromised for just a split second.
It’s all SEB needs.
He flips backward! PELE KICK! His boot catches Dickie atop the dome, as Dickie staggers into a long workbench littered with half-finished toys! Wooden blocks scatter like shrapnel…
As SEB unloads with clubbing forearms, each one thudding heavier than Dickie’s frame would like to absorb. Dickie tries to break through SEB’s barrage with an ear clap… But SEB breaks Dickie’s strike with a knee to the gut! Dickie doubles over, and SEB hauls him up —
SNAP SUPLEX, dumping Dickie hard onto the floorboards!
JC: Speaking of vibes, it’s important to remember! This is SEB’s first night as both tag-team champions!
JR: And you can see how much he feels he has to prove! The world is waiting on him to cash-in that briefcase for a shot at the Universal title… Could you imagine how obvious it would make the argument that he deserves a shot at the Uni if he can beat BOTH the Universal champion *AND* the Trillionaire’s choice for number one contender In a HANDICAP match?!?
SEB presses the advantage, grabbing Dickie by the hair and dragging him toward the center of the workshop. He glances once toward Scoops — still clutching his lower back on the steps — and smirks.
Then he runs.
RUNNING KNEE DROP straight to Dickie’s ribs!
Dickie gasps, rolling instinctively toward the nearest obstacle, clawing for breath. SEB doesn’t give him time. He pulls Dickie up again and whips him toward the fireplace —
Dickie twists mid-throw, planting a foot on the hearth and rebounding back with a sudden desperation clothesline! SEB drops to his back, rolling onto his feet…
But it buys space for Dickie to make a move towards his corner! Dickie collapses to one knee, chest heaving, eyes scanning.
He sees Scoops.
Scoops sees him.
Dickie dives, fingertips stretching — and tags Scoops back in!
The crowd ROARS as Scoops storms forward, pain forgotten, rage remembered. SEB turns just in time to eat a SHORT-ARM LEFT FOREARM that snaps the tag champs’ head sideways like it’s been yanked on a wire!
JC: CATTLE PROD! RIGHT ON THE BUTTON!
JR: That forearm has ended careers!
SEB stumbles, barely upright, and Scoops doesn’t hesitate. Another forearm. Then a third. Each one uglier than the last. Scoops grabs SEB and hurls him shoulder-first through the ropes and out onto the snow-dusted walkway outside the workshop!
Scoops follows immediately, stepping through the ropes with purpose. He hauls SEB up and rams him spine-first into the wooden railing, then again for good measure. Scoops draws back —
— AND DRIVES SEB THROUGH THE ROPES WITH A SHOULDER TACKLE, BOTH MEN CRASHING BACK INSIDE THE WORKSHOP!
JR: PRAIRIE DOG THROUGH THE ROPES!
JC: Scoops McGee just turned Santa’s Workshop into a warzone!
Scoops rolls to his knees, breathing heavy now, age and impact finally making themselves known. He wipes sweat from his brow and looks over his shoulder at Dickie.
Their eyes meet with a flash of acknowledgment.
JC: Lot of emotion here, Joe! Both these men realize they’re among the most effective pairs in the XWF today when working together!
JR: But they both want the top prize around their waist, Jacuinde! And one of them has it… and the other has spent almost five decades of his life chasing it!
Then Scoops turns back to SEB, grabs him by the collar — and SEB suddenly snaps awake, hooking Scoops’ arms and rolling through!
SMALL PACKAGE!
ONE—
TWO—
SCOOPS KICKS OUT HARD!
SEB scrambles back, wide-eyed now, realizing just how close that was. Scoops pushes up slowly, jaw clenched, fury simmering beneath the surface.
JR: That was inches away from disaster.
JC: And SEB knows it. One more mistake, and this could slip away from him fast.
SEB lunges forward again, desperation driving him, but Scoops meets him halfway — not with speed, but with mass and timing. He absorbs the impact, plants his feet, and hammers SEB with another stiff forearm that echoes off the workshop walls. SEB staggers, trying to reset, trying to build momentum, but Scoops clamps down, dragging him into a side headlock and grinding him to the floor.
This isn’t pretty. It’s deliberate.
Scoops keeps SEB grounded with short punches and elbows, smothering the spark before it can become flame. He hauls him up and dumps him with a back suplex, staying on him just long enough to remind SEB who controls the pace now.
JR: Scoops is doing exactly what he needs to do — slowing this down, cutting SEB off at the knees.
JC: Experience talking, Joe. Five decades of it! Scoops knows exactly how you stop a comeback before it ever gets started.
Scoops goes for another forearm—
—but Dickie steps in, slapping Scoops sharply on the shoulder.
TAG.
Scoops turns, eyes flaring. He growls at Dickie, but Dickie doesn’t acknowledge him with even eye contact, already moving towards SEB.
JR: Uh-oh.
JC: That tag didn’t look consensual.
Dickie slides under the ropes and darts in, snapping off a quick shin kick to SEB’s leg, then another, forcing him back. Scoops stands on the apron now, jaw tight, pacing like a caged animal.
Dickie peppers SEB with strikes — not powerful, but precise. Low kicks. A running elbow. A snapmare into a basement dropkick to the back of the head. He hooks the leg!
ONE—
SEB KICKS OUT!
JC: Again! SEB refuses to even let Dickie have a two-count on him!
Dickie rolls through and sits back on his heels, glaring toward Scoops.
Scoops bristles, gripping the top rope hard enough to shake it.
JR: You can feel the tension boiling over here.
JC: The House of Hardcore is winning, Joe — but right now, it feels like some bizarre tag-triple-threat match instead of a handicap match!
Dickie pulls SEB up again, looking to keep him on the back foot — but this time, SEB answers. A sudden elbow catches Dickie in the jaw. Another follows. SEB stumbles forward and drives Dickie into the corner, unloading with forearms of his own.
Dickie fires back, but his strikes lack the same stopping power. SEB shoves him away and swings —
Dickie ducks, rebounds off the ropes, and snaps off a running crossbody that sends both men crashing down in a heap.
Both crawl.
Both reach.
Dickie stretches toward Scoops.
TAG.
Scoops steps in, eyes never leaving Dickie as he does.
Scoops hammers SEB back down with a lariat, then another body shot that folds him in half. He drags SEB up and plants him with a sidewalk slam, then pauses — breathing heavy, hands on his knees.
JR: Scoops needs to be careful here. He’s blowing up.
JC: And SEB can smell it.
Scoops reaches down again — just a beat too slow.
SEB snaps his arm free and drills Scoops with a sudden DDT!
JC: DDT! FROM OUTTA NOWHERE!
JR: Sebastian Everett-Bryce refuses to lose!
The workshop erupts as both men hit the floor hard.
SEB crawls, shaking, pulling himself upright with the ropes. He’s not fast — but he’s moving. He’s surviving.
Dickie slaps the mat from the apron, shouting for the tag. Scoops rolls toward him, frustrated, exhausted —
TAG.
Dickie vaults in, adrenaline overriding pain, and immediately takes SEB back down with a low dropkick to the knee. He keeps moving, keeping SEB guessing, but now SEB is timing him. Reading him. Waiting.
A missed kick. A stumble.
SEB surges forward with a sudden German suplex, dumping Dickie hard on his shoulders!
JR: That’s the opening!
JC: SEB is clawing his way back into this match!
SEB pulls himself up again, slower now, but steadier.. As Dickie slowly rises…
Dickie and SEB collide again in the center of the workshop, both men moving on instinct now rather than strategy. A forearm from Dickie. A kick from SEB. Another forearm. Another kick. Neither gives ground, each strike shaving seconds off what little margin remains.
SEB suddenly pivots, planting his foot and drawing back—
JC: EMPIRE KICK—!
JR: NO!
Dickie sidesteps, the kick tearing through empty air as SEB stumbles past him. Scoops slams a fist against the apron, shouting for the tag, urgency bleeding into his voice.
Dickie doesn’t even glance his partner’s direction…
JC: Things have gotten ICE COLD between Scoops and Watson!
SEB recovers quickly, snapping a boot into Dickie’s gut and hauling him up, muscles coiling as he looks for the vertical suplex. Dickie fires back, elbowing SEB sharply in the side of the head — once, twice — slipping free and spinning behind him.
Dickie hooks the arms.
JR: DICKIE’S REVENGE—!
SEB drops his weight and rams another boot into Dickie’s midsection, breaking the grip. He shoves Dickie hard and sends him sprinting toward the ropes with an Irish whip.
And that’s when Scoops snaps.
He steps through the ropes, brass knuckles already discarded, forearm cocked and ready.
SEB turns, sees Dickie rebounding — and charges.
EMPIRE KICK!
At the exact same moment, Scoops surges forward from behind, swinging with everything he has left.
Dickie slides under the kick — survival instinct screaming — but has nowhere else to go.
CRACK.
The CATTLE PROD catches him square in the face.
The sound is sickening.
Dickie crumples instantly, skidding across the floorboards in a heap, eyes glassy, body limp.
JC: SCOOPS JUST ACCIDENTALLY DROPPED HIS OWN PARTNER!
JR: You sure that was an accident, Jacuinde? Scoops looks like he just let some steam off, straight into Dickie’s gob!
Scoops freezes.
Just for a fraction of a second.
He looks down at Dickie — at what he’s done — conflict flashing across his face like a storm breaking through fog.
Then SEB turns around.
And Scoops doesn’t hesitate again.
He roars, grabs SEB by the head and waistband, and drives him down with a SCOOP SLAM PILEDRIVER!
BIG SCOOP!
The workshop SHUDDERS as SEB is planted into the floor.
JR: BIG SCOOP! BIG SCOOP RIGHT ON THE MONEY!
JC: We might be looking at new tag champs!
Scoops hooks the leg and drops into the cover!
…
…
The referee waves it off.
Not legal.
Scoops’ head snaps up in disbelief, fury and panic crashing together. He curses loudly, scrambling to his feet as he realizes what he’s done.
JC: That’s right! Scoops McGee is NOTt the legal man!
JR: This could cost them EVERYTHING!
Scoops storms over, grabs Dickie by the wrist, and starts dragging him toward the corner, shouting at him to move, to wake up, to breathe.
Scoops drags Dickie the rest of the way, muscles screaming as he hauls dead weight to the corner. He hooks Dickie’s arm over the rope and slaps the tag with finality.
TAG.
The referee points. It’s official.
Scoops steps back through the ropes, chest heaving, eyes already locked on SEB as The Empire Builder slowly pulls himself upright. SEB shakes the cobwebs loose, one knee down, one foot planted, instinctively squaring his shoulders for what feels like the end.
And then—
The lights go out.
Total blackout.
Santa’s Workshop disappears into nothing but breath, shuffling boots, and a rising murmur of confusion from the crowd.
JR: What the—?!
JC: Oh no…
The lights snap back on.
Standing beside Sebastian Everett-Bryce.
Across from Dickie Watson.
Isaiah.
King.
JC: Oh my God! Isaiah King! There he is!
JR: The other half of the Exiles is in the building!
The reaction is immediate — shock detonates through the workshop like a bomb. Scoops freezes mid-step. Dickie’s eyes go wide despite the pain, disbelief cutting through the haze.
SEB eyes King with shock… As King eyes him coldly. SEB nods at his former partner, before taking a fighting stance, ready to go after Scoops and Dickie!
JC: It looks like Isaiah’s here to even the odds! And SEB, for once, isn’t turning down his help!
SEB turns toward Scoops, looking to charge…
…
But immediately Isaiah King tackles him from behind!
JR: ISAIAH KING JUST TOOK SEB DOWN!
King mounts him instantly, raining down fists to the skull, brutal and unrestrained. Elbows. Knees driving into SEB’s ribs. SEB tries to cover up, tries to roll, but King is relentless, snarling as months of resentment pour out through violence.
The referee doesn’t hesitate.
He throws his arms up and waves it off furiously.
NO CONTEST!
JC: The official has no choice! This match is over!
JR: Absolute chaos!
King hauls SEB up by the collar and dumps him under the bottom rope, following him outside and continuing the assault on the walkway. SEB finally fires back, desperation fueling him as he rams King into the barricade and, with a burst of strength, hurls him over it into the crowd!
The two disappear into the sea of bodies, fists still flying, security scrambling too late to matter.
Back inside the workshop, Scoops is screaming at the referee, veins bulging in his neck, pointing furiously toward the chaos he never asked for.
Behind him—
Dickie Watson pulls himself up by the ropes.
Slow.
Unsteady.
Eyes burning.
He steps right into Scoops’ space.
The arguing stops.
The words don’t.
Faces inches apart, the two trade venomous barbs — about trust, about pride, about that forearm. Scoops jabs a finger into Dickie’s chest. Dickie shoves it away. The tension snaps tight enough to cut steel.
JR: This is about to explode—
JC: WAIT—!
BOOM.
Charlie Nickles erupts from the chimney, soot-covered and furious, launching himself forward with a SPEAR that wipes out both men in one violent collision!
JR: CHARLIE NICKLES FROM THE FIREPLACE!
JC: X-TREME CHAMPION JUST TOOK THEM BOTH OUT!
Bodies everywhere.
[white]JC: Oh my God! What does this mean for the Tag champions?!? What does this mean for the Universal championship!?! What does this mean for Snow Pain, Snow Gain!?!
SEB and King fighting in the crowd.
Scoops and Dickie laid out in the workshop.
Charlie Nickles standing over them, chest heaving, eyes wild.
Pure pandemonium.
The camera struggles to keep up.
And then—
The feed cuts to black.
THANKS TO OUR MATCH WRITERS
‘Big’ Dick Lichter
Liam Desmond
Peter Principle
OUR SEGMENT WRITERS
Kieran King
Scoops McGee / Dickie Watson
Charlie Nickles / Doctor Holly Cambric / ‘Psycho’ Solomon
Micheal Graves
‘Psycho’ Solomon
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