The Anarchy Tag Team Championships will be on the line!
1 RP per team @ 2,000 words
The camera opens in Ann Arbor, Michigan—or at least, that’s what the chyron insists.
But the ring is dressed wrong for violence.
Plush couch. Low table. Crystal glasses that absolutely should not survive what usually happens on ANARCHY. The ropes are pushed back just enough to give the illusion of civility, the mat scrubbed clean like someone’s trying to launder the memory of blood out of it. The crowd hums with that familiar Michigan impatience—half curious, half offended—because they paid for chaos and got a living room instead.
Then the screen above the ring flickers.
Satellite delay.
A half-second of static.
And suddenly Queen’s Court exists in two places at once.
On the tron: the MystManagement Compound, Las Vegas.
Not a studio. Not a rental. A compound.
Wide marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over desert night. The Strip glows in the distance like a warning label. Everything is immaculate in that unsettling way—too clean, too deliberate, like the messes happen somewhere else and never reach this room.
The couch is the same.
The table is the same.
The framing is identical down to the inch.
It’s a mirror held up to the ring, except the ring looks smaller now. Cheaper. Temporary.
Jenny Myst sits comfortably on her version of the set, legs crossed, Mortimer nowhere in sight—because champions don’t need props when leverage is enough. She’s dressed like she didn’t even consider Michigan weather. Vegas silk. Vegas confidence. Vegas distance.
She smiles..
“Good evening, Ann Arbor.”
A pause. She listens to the mixed reaction—boos, cheers, confused noise—through an earpiece that cost more than most of the front row’s rent.
“First things first,” she continues calmly, “I want to thank XWF for setting all this up. The ring. The couch. The aesthetic effort. Truly. Very accommodating.”
Another pause. Her eyes flick briefly off-camera, like she’s checking a clause only she’s allowed to see.
“Unfortunately, I will not be there.”
The crowd groans. Jenny nods as if that reaction was expected, budgeted for, approved.
“You see, I am the X-Treme Champion. I carry your belt. I boost your ratings. I trend on your worst days and your best ones. And yet—” she leans forward slightly now, elbows on knees, tone sharpening just enough to cut, “—you want me to wrestle without a signed contract.”
She laughs softly. Not funny. Disbelieving.
“And in a city that smells like Detroit.”
That one lands harder. The ring-side camera catches faces snapping up, outrage bubbling. Jenny doesn’t flinch.
“So no. I didn’t fly to Michigan. I didn’t pack a bag. I didn’t even pretend to consider it. Until ink touches paper, Queen’s Court will continue from wherever I decide the throne belongs.”
She gestures lazily around her.
“Tonight? Vegas.”
The tron zooms out slightly, revealing security in the background. Gates. Distance. Control.
Back in the ring, the empty couch suddenly feels like an insult. A stage dressed for someone who refused to show.
Jenny reclines, completely at ease.
“But don’t worry,” she adds, smiling again. “I’m still here. Live. On your screen. On your show. On my terms.”
She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with playful menace.
“So let’s talk contracts.
Let’s talk respect.
And let’s talk about how strange it is that I’m the only one in this arrangement acting like a professional.”
The crowd noise swells again—angrier now, louder, alive.
The split screen holds.
Left side: the ring in Ann Arbor—ropes, lights, the couch planted dead center like a dare.
Right side: Las Vegas, glass and marble and desert night breathing behind Jenny Myst like the city itself is exhaling confidence.
Jenny waits for the noise to settle. She lets it stretch just long enough to remind everyone who controls dead air.
“Now,” she says smoothly, “normally this is the part where I’d gesture to the championship. The X-Treme Title. My division. My leverage.”
She smiles, tight.
But I want to be very clear—so clear there’s no legal confusion later—neither I nor her”—she emphasizes it, sharp, deliberate—the XWF X-Treme Championship, are in that ring tonight.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. The camera cuts to the couch in the ring.
Charlie Nickles sits there alone.
Relaxed. Hands folded. That familiar Nickles posture—half slouch, half coiled wire. He looks out at the crowd like he’s waiting for a punchline or a punch, whichever comes first.
Jenny’s eyes flick to him on the monitor.
“But,” she continues, voice lightening just a touch, “that doesn’t mean Queen’s Court is empty-handed.”
She gestures toward the ring.
“Because tonight, I’ve invited someone who doesn’t need a belt to understand what extreme actually means.”
Beat.
“Charlie Nickles.”
The crowd reacts—recognition, laughter, scattered boos. Charlie gives a small nod, leaning back into the couch like he owns squatter’s rights to it.
Jenny tilts her head, studying him like a case file.
“Charlie,” she says, “you are sitting in that ring. On my set. On my show. Live on XWF television. And you’re doing it without me being physically present.”
A pause.
“I didn’t bring violence tonight. I didn’t bring weapons. I didn’t even bring her.” Another precise emphasis. “What I brought was perspective.”
Her smile thins.
“Because I am not just a champion. I am a consultant. I advise companies on risk. On optics. On how far you can push a concept before it becomes a liability.”
She gestures toward him again.
“And tonight, The Corporation is pushing the freebird concept to the limits of X-treme!”
The crowd hums.
“So let me ask you—live, on ANARCHY, with no contract inked and no belt in the building—what does X-Treme mean to you, Charlie Nickles?”
She lets the word hang.
“Is it blood? Is it pain? Is it chaos for chaos’ sake?”
Jenny reclines back into her couch, perfectly at ease.
“Take your time, Charlie.
After all—this is a consultation.”
The camera holds the split screen.
Charlie just sighs to himself before lifting the microphone up to his lips.
“Jesus Christ, you really are a self-centered, self-obsessed, talkative BITCH ain’t ya?”
The Nickleman chuckles to himself as Jenny’s face turns sour.
“But you know what? That’s ok, I knew that when I brought you in. And remember that, Jenny….I brought you in. And biting the hand that feeds? Well…let’s just say I know how to put a bitch down, eh?”
Charlie’s smile fades away as his eyes drift to the X-treme Title slung over blonde barbie’s shoulder.
“But as for the matter of the day, what does X-treme mean to me? Well, it means breaking EVERY rule, twisting EVERY word, and always coming out on top! Just like we’ve managed to do with our freebird reign.”
Jenny cracks a cocky smile.
“Exactly right, Charles. Oz has already knocked out our Anarchy defenses, and last Warfare we knocked out all 3 Warfare defenses. All that’s left, is for me to sit back in Vegas and watch business get handled at Snow Pain, Snow Gain…and once we get those final two defenses, that briefcase is as good as mine! Or…”ours”.”
Jenny smirks like a cunt. Nickles raises a concerned eyebrow.
“Surely you mean OURS, as in…MINE, right Jenny?”
But before Jenny can respond-
A BIG DICK APPEARS ON STAGE!
“Cut her feed! Cut her feed! I don’t want to see that WGWF cast-off on my programming!”
“Hey, wait a second! You can’t cut my fee-”
But just like that, Jenny’s face disappears from the X-tron. All that’s left now is a plush set-up in the ring, Charlie Nickles, and the little GM up on the ramp. “Big” Dick Lichter stares down at the ring with a righteous fury as Charlie just raises a curious eyebrow.
“Enough of this shenanigans, Charlie! Enough of this mockery! You know as well as I do that you can not “Freebird” the X-treme Championship!”
“Well that’s where we differ, little man, because I don’t know anything like that. Need I remind you…I’m the brains AND the brawn behind The Corporation- so what I say, fucking goes. Got it?”
Charlie tries to puff out his chest, but it only drives Lichter more insane! Steam starts escaping from his ears as he goes into a rant.
“BRAINS?! BRAINS?! You think you’re the damn brains of any operation?! You IDIOT! You just gave away the X-treme Championship to JENNY MYST…and she doesn’t even wrestle here! How the hell did you expect to get a briefcase from that? Are you wet between the ears, or just wet between the cheeks, you unwashed ass of a man?!”
Charlie stands up, a look of concern quickly flashing across his face.
“Woah woah woah little man, I didn’t “give” away the X title to nobody. The Corporation is FREEBIRDING it. What don’t you understand?”
“What don’t I understand? What don’t YOU understand? You CAN NOT do that!”
“I can do whatever I want! I’m Charlie fuckin’ Nickles!”
That’s when Lichter stops pacing, and suddenly stands still- a quaint smirk starting to spread across his lips.
“Oh yeah? That’s cute. Well how about this…BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME BY THE TRILLIONAIRES, IN MY OFFICIAL CAPACITY AS GENERAL MANAGER FOR ANARCHY, AND AS THE HIGHEST RANKING MEMBER OF THE CORPORATION HERE…..
I’M OFFICIALLY STRIPPING YOU, MR. OZ, DR. CAMBRIC, AND YOUR UGLY SISTER OF THE X-TREME CHAMPIONSHIP!
EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!
YOU’RE ALL FORCIBLY VACATING IT!
And Jenny Myst is now the only OFFICIALLY RECONIZED X-treme Champion!
…..God that sounds so awful to say, so DAMN awful, THAT I WILL MAKE SURE SHE IS FORCED TO DEFEND IT AT SNOW PAIN, SNOW GAIN!
And she will lose!
Just like you’ve lost this battle against The Big Dick!
So tell me, Charlie…who’s the little man now?!”
“No….”
The Nickleman’s face goes pale as the life drains from his eyes.
“YES!”
Lichter exclaims proudly, clearly flaunting his power in Charlie’s face.
Charlie doesn’t answer at first.
His mouth hangs open as his eyes twitch. Something in his face breaks.
Then he starts laughing.
Not loud. Not funny. A dry, choking sound, like something tearing loose in his chest.
“You… you think…”
He drags a hand down his face, practically shaking now.
“You think you just beat me?”
Charlie’s head snaps up.
“YOU THINK YOU JUST TOOK SOMETHING FROM ME?!”
The smile is gone. Replaced by raw, frothing fury.
“I BUILT THIS CORPORATION! I CARRIED IT! I BLED FOR IT! AND YOU JUST STOOD THERE WITH YOUR LITTLE CLIPBOARD AND TOLD ME I DON’T MATTER?!”
He storms forward, veins standing out in his neck.
“NO. NO, YOU DON’T GET TO DO THAT TO ME! YOU DON’T GET TO STRIP ME, HUMILIATE ME, AND PRETEND THIS WAS SOME KIND OF ‘MANAGEMENT DECISION’!”
Charlie jabs a finger at the stage, spittle flying.
“I’M DONE WITH THE CORPORATION! I’M DONE WITH THE TRILLIONAIRES! I’M DONE WITH YOUR RULES, YOUR BOARDS, YOUR LITTLE PAPER KINGDOM!”
The crowd is deafening now.
“YOU WANT ME OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM?!”
“FINE!”
“I QUIT The Corporation!”
“I will RUIN this Corporation.”
“I will POISON every deal.”
“I will BURN every structure you built.”
“I will tear this place apart the only way I know how…”
He leans forward, eyes wild.
“THE BASTARD WAY!”
Lichter stands defiant at the top of the ramp as Charlie goes ballistic in the ring, flipping over every piece of furniture left from “The Queen’s Court”.
“I don’t need your briefcase.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“By the time Snow Pain, Snow Gain is OVER…”
“I WILL BE THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION.”
He slams the mic down against his chest.
“NOT BECAUSE YOU GAVE IT TO ME…”
“BUT BECAUSE I TOOK IT OUT OF YOUR COLD, DEAD HANDS!”
Charlie straightens slowly, eyes still burning. The camera locks on his face as the crowd roars. Big Dick Lichter doesn’t look away, though: he stares right back into the fire with a rage of his own.
Then, we cut to a commercial!
Todd: Well folks that was an interesting, and unexpected start to the night! Did we just see Charlie LEAVE The Corporation?!
Bama T: He wouldn’t really do that…would he?
Todd: Well either way, we have an…interesting match up to kick things off between Safari Stu and the XWF’s resident thespian Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing.
Bama: Resident what?!
Todd: Thespian, Bama, thespian!
Bama: Oh. I thought you said….something else….
Todd: Anyhow, let’s shoot ringside we’re I’m told Sir Lionel is about to make his grand entrance.
Lionel prances to the ring, dressed straight out of an off-Broadway production of Hamlet.
He does vocal exercises as he strides confidently down the ramp. He steps up the ring steps, and takes into the ring, doing a series of deep knee-bends in the corner as he waits for the show to commence.
As the drums echoed down tonight, the rumble of a Jeep painted in camouflage drowns it out like the blessed rains of Africa. The Jeep continues down the ramp to ringside, where Safari Stu jumps out of the passenger seat. He high fives the gorilla driving the vehicle as a flood of wildlife also files out. Waving to the crowd, Stu gives a monkey to a young fan as a sign of appreciation. He then climbs into the ring and shoots off finger guns in the air while the monkey decides whether it'll rip the kid's face off. Such is the circle of life.
Bama: Gah! Some kind of creature is approaching the announce position from Safari Stu’s truck! Help me, Todd!!!
Todd: That’s an anteater, Bama. Totally harmless. Unless your an ant.
The anteater siddles up next to a very nervous looking Bama as the bell kicks things off.
SIR LIONEL PENNYFARTHING
- vs -
SAFARI STU
SINGLES MATCH!
Safari Stu approaches Lionel, looking to start a lock up. Lionel also looks to start the lock up, before he abruptly turns away and starts monologuing towards the audience. No one can hear him of course because he forgot to ask for a microphone. Stu scratches his head in confusion and simply rolls Lionel up from behind.
1….
2…..LIONEL KICKS OUT!
Todd: It doesn’t seem like Sir Lionel’s ring awareness has improved much.
Bama: …..
Todd: Are you alive over there partner?
Bama: This thing is freaking me out!
Lionel looks distraught and almost betrayed that Safari Stu tried to pin him. We hear him declare something about “not letting this matter devolve into fisticuffs” and Stu just continues to look really confused as he takes a swing at Lionel. Lionel ducks deftly under the blow and skitters to the opposite end of the ring to continue his monologue. Unfortunately for Lionel, he also just set himself up for a big splash in the corner, which is precisely what Safari Stu does! Lionel bounces out of the corner in a daze and Stu follows up with a Scorpion Death Drop that plants the actor! Stu pins again!
1….
2….
3….NO! Another kickout from Sir Lionel!
Todd: So are you going to help me call the action here at all or what?
Bama: It’s looking at me!
Todd: Maybe it wants you to pet it?
Bama: It’s not a dog!
Todd: Just try it!
Lionel again looks simply disgusted by his opponent’s vulgarity as he woozily gets to his feet. He seems like he’s had quite enough! And as Stu approaches Lionel unleashes a thunderous and very theatrical slap to Stu’s face that rocks the young safari boy. Lionel follows that up with a tirade on Stu that again none of us can actually hear. Now Stu looks upset and he grabs Lionel by his prodigious collar, picks him up and slams him down before heading for the ropes and bouncing off them into a picture perfect Lionsault! He covers Lionel again!
1…..
2……
3…NOOOOO! Still a kickout from Pennyfarthing!
Todd: I’m thinking Lionel should just throw in the towel here. How’s it going between you and the anteater partner?
Bama: I….I think it actually likes me!
Stu allows Lionel to get to his feet, and he does so, albeit much more slowly than before. He looks like he’s hurting, and just when you think he’s down and out he turns his face to contrast shadow, making himself look more villanous!
Todd: Uh oh, I think Sir Lionel means business now.
Now, shockingly, it’s Lionel who goes for a lock up on Stu, but instead he punts Stu in the testicles instead! The ref immediately intervenes and threatens to DQ Lionel, but the vaunted actor simply glides past the ref’s tirade and rolls Stu up!
1….
2…..STU KICKS OUT!
Lionel looks shocked and appalled in equal measure, and he forces Stu down for the count again!
1…..
2….STU KICKS OUT AGAIN!
Lionel rises to his feet and tosses his arms out theatrically, beseeching the dramatis personae themselves what to do, scouring the heavens looking for an answer! Calling out to God himself, in a thunderous voice with fist raised high…..! And just as Sir Lionel’s performance seems to reach an apex….Safari Stu hits a Dragon Suplex on Sir Lionel into a cover!
1…..
2…..
3!!!!
Winner - Safari Stu
Todd: Safari Stu is certainly rolling here Bama, picking up another decisive win even if it is just over Sir Lionel.
Bama: I think I’m going to adopt this anteater!
Todd: Only in the XWF….
A trumpet blares.
Military drums beat.
And then…
BAMA T: MY LIIIIIEEEEEEEEEGGGGGGGEEEEEE!!!!
“The Gentle Art of Making Enemies” by Faith No More begins, and the greatest artist at making enemies, the King of the XWF himself, Kieran King, enters the arena, surrounded by his Kingsguard.
Every week the number varies, but no matter how many bodies The King recruits, they all seem larger and more vicious than the previous XWF Security Team that they replaced.
They escort their leader to the ring and spread out around the ring, putting themselves between The King and any would-be ne’er-do-wells.
King Kieran: Bitches and gentlefucks… allow me to speak to you about the State of the Union.
Tonight… thanks to the benefits of collective bargaining… the Kingsguard adds the Anarchy Tag Team Championships to our ranks. And at Snow Pain Snow Gain… again, with the union’s support… I, your King of the Union, become the Universal Champion yet again.
But…
There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding here.
Elon Musk wants to give Scoops McGee a shot to sew discord within the House of Hardcore. You know the guys, right? The super dominant War Games winners who have managed one win out of five outings since. I'm sure we should all be shaking in our boots about that.
And then, continuing the House of Hardcore's failings, Charlie Nickles knocks off Dickie Watson and demands a one on one match for the title himself. And he's so confident in his capacity to do it again that he needs to try to get a 24/7 briefcase in his back pocket!
Well hey… you want to see confidence?
King Kieran clicks his fingers and… the Kingsguard begin leaving the ringside area???
TODD: What's going on here? The Kingsguard are all leaving?
BAMA: It's called confidence, Todd! The King has assessed the situation here in Ann Arbor and thinks he's got it covered himself.
TODD: I can't imagine they're going far though. Two of them have a match for the Anarchy Tag Titles in tonight's main event!
Alone in the ring, Kieran smirks.
King Kieran: If anybody has a problem with your King, now's the time to take your issue up with me personally.
But… I've got a better option.
Because if you want to see confidence, then let me tell you about the Disputes Resolution clause the union is working on. It goes a little something like this…
At Snow Pain Snow Gain…
Dickie Watson defends the Universal Championship against…
Scoops McGee…
and…
Charlie Nickles…
and of course…
The King of the XWF… YA BOI… King Kieran!!
Two extra bodies between me and what's mine? It's all the same to me!
Suddenly, static cuts over the X-Tron and the scene opens up somewhere backstage on the potato-shaped head of Elon Musk. Beside him vapes Mark Zuckerberg while Jeff Bezos drinks a chalice of tomato juice that looks suspiciously like blood.
Elon's dead beady eyes look straight through the camera to Kieran King.
Elon Musk: Deal.
And the fees cuts as quick as it arrived!
The crowd roars as the main event for Snow Pain Snow Gain is confirmed!
Kieran King smirks as the camera fades out.
TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Match One of a best-of-three series, all tonight! The winner of the series becomes the Revolution Champion!
BAMA: And Toddrick, one of these men just proved last Anarchy how capable he is wrestling multiple matches in the same night!! Ya gotta figure we’ve never been in better shape for a title change!
The stage alights in red. Smoke gathers around the stage. Gods by Sleep Token plays as XXXVI appears, rising up out of the red lights amidst the smoke, his hands gathered in prayer. He steps out onto the stage and takes in the mixed reaction from the crowd. He shakes his out his head and shoulders and begins to walk down the ramp, hands still in prayer pose. Then from behind him, appears CIX. She follows him down the ramp.
TODD: Here he is, one of the most dominant champions in the history of the Revolution championship, XXXVI!
BAMA: He’s beaten Thunder Knuckles twice! He’s beaten Summer Page! But, he’s facing tonight one of the toughest competitors in all of Anarchy! And he might have to wrestle him three times in one night!
Half way down, XXXVI spreads his hands apart and reaches out both arms in T-Pose as he crouches, sauntering down the rest of the ramp toward the ring. He climbs onto the apron, outstretches his arms and then enters, rolling backward over the top rope and spins toward the center of the ring, arms outstretched like a helicopter. He then sits, cross legged in the dead center of the ring, hands once again in prayer pose and bows his head. Full black again, then a single, red cone of light bathes him in the ring as fire explodes out of each turnbuckle. Outside the ring, CIX surveys the crowd as they await the match starting.
…
Oswald stands amidst an indie metal band, watching the ring, looking at the band. Soon a choir is heard as the band begins to play his theme song. He walks towards the lead guitarist, clapping him gently on the back so as to not mess up her playing. Oswald, walks down the ramp, the bottom of his white cloak dragging along the ground. Once at the ring, he'd leap onto the apron before launching himself to show how strong and agile he was to lift such mass with such ease right over the top rope and de-cloaked himself, placing it in his corner before stretching out his arms in a lower case t and roaring out to the crowd before going and sitting on top of his cloak, awaiting the bell as he mentally plans out the match, as well as how to try and beat his opponent.
TODD: And there he is! Fresh off of wrestling three matches in one night just last Anarchy! The absolutely dominant Mister Oz!
BAMA: Oz didn’t run the gauntlet with a perfect record, but he swatted SIr Lionel like he was a gnat and he managed to follow it with a dub over Marisol Vilaro! And he came inches away from pulling it off over Micheal Graves too!
TODD: That impressive performance night didn’t leave him empty handed. It made him the #1 contender for the Revolution title. But to score the gold, he’s got to go through XXXVI! And he’s gotta do it twice out of three tries!
Match 1 will be an X-TREME RULEZ match! The Revolution Championship will be on the line!
HIGHLIGHT REEL
The bell rings and neither man rushes in. Oz stands tall in the center of the ring, arms slightly outstretched, chin lifted like a deity inviting worship. XXXVI circles him, light on his feet, mask tilted as if studying a puzzle.
TODD: Both these men are famous thinkers, two very tactical competitors in the ring…
BAMA: Sure, fine, they’re both thinking seven or eight moves ahead, but one of them has gotta move here and now!
The first man to move is Oz, who steps forward and shoves XXXVI hard in the chest. XXXVI stumbles back… then snaps forward with a sharp dropkick to Oz’s knee, immediately chopping the base down.
TODD: Smart opening strategy by XXXVI! Trying to counteract Oz’s size advantage by cutting down his vertical base.
BAMA: I mean, you could cut Oz’s legs at the knee and I think he’d still be an inch taller than XXXVI!
Oz roars and swings wildly. XXXVI ducks, rebounds, and cracks Oz with a sling blade, sending the larger man rolling to the outside!
Oz rapidly shakes his head, snorting furiously, spinning to re-enter the ring…
But XXXVI is already leaping over the ropes! Sudden tope suicida moonsault to the floor!
Both men go crashing into the barricade!
The crowd erupts!!!
BAMA: Gah LEE! That XXXVI would throw himself into a speeding train if it meant keeping that belt around his waist!
TODD: We saw just how difficult it is to keep Oz down… XXXVI knows he’s got to pull all the stop from the get-go if he wants a chance of retaining that Revolution title!
As Oz shakes his head, snorting mad, almost immediately rising to get back to his feet… XXXVI scrambles over to the timekeeper’s table!
HE GRABS A CHAIR! The crowd is fucking electric!
TODD: Here we go! Match one is X-TREME RULES! And the first one to take things to the X-Treme is the champ!
Oz slowly spins around… WHAM!
XXXVI jabs the chair into Oz’s ribs! Oz staggers backwards into the apron!
TODD: How is Oz still standing?
BAMA: He’s a TANK, Bama! He doesn’t get beat, he gets MAD!
Oz fumes, shoving off the apron!
XXXVI tosses the chair at him!
Oz catches it!
TODD: Great reflexes by the challenger!
…
But XXXVI leaps off the apron! APRON-ASSISTED VAN DAMINATOR!
XXXVI kicks the chair straight into Oz’s face and Oz goes down hard!
BAMA: What the hell was that?!?
TODD: I think something just dented the tank, Bama!
Bloodied pride ignites Oz as he grips the apron, shoving himself back upright….
XXXVI comes back toward the challenger with the chair…
But Oz snatches the chair from XXXVI mid-swing!
TODD: Oz looks PISSED!
BAMA: Oz looking like a HOSS out here!
Oz RIPS the chair out of XXXVI’s grip… and then folds it across XXXVI’s fae with one brutal shot! The champion drops flat onto his back!
TODD: And for the first time since this match started, Oz is looking like he’s in position to deal some damage!
Oz shoves the chair away and drops a boot across XXXVI’s chest!
TODD: X-Treme Rules! Falls count anywhere!
BAMA: Oz might have just taken the first match in the series in a single chair shot!
The official drops on the padded concrete to count…
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! XXXVI kicks out!
TODD: Incredible resilience by the champion! That kind of shot would have dropped anyone else!
BAMA: XXXVI might just be deathproof if he survived that shot!
XXXVI catches Oz with a right hand… a second! A third!
XXXVI back steps toward the ropes to build speed!
…BUT Oz picks him up off his feet!
DOUBLE A SPINEBUSTER!
TODD: This is when Oz is most dangerous! When he’s already on a roll!
BAMA: That’s gotta be it!
Oz hooks the leg, a more serious pin this time!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! XXXVI kicks out!
The crowd is going absolutely nuts!
TODD: This is crazy! How is XXXVI still in this?
BAMA: You know what’s crazy, Todd! No matter how this one ends, both these guys gotta turn around and wrestle AGAIN!
Oz fumes down at his opponent, furious at his defiant will to survive…
Oz rolls outside the ring and reaches under the apron…
TODD: Oh God… Oz is going for a weapon?!?
BAMA: I don’t know what the hell he’s gonna find down there more dangerous than his two fists…
Oz fishes around…
And retrieves…
…
A MEATHOOK!
BAMA: …No, yeah, okay, he found something more dangerous than his fists!
TODD: Insane! Oz pulls out a meathook, the same weapon he used to beat Marisol Vilaro last Anarchy!
Oz rolls back into the ring, setting up the meathook by stabbing it into the corner turnbuckle.. He turns back—
—and eats a spinning backfist from XXXVI out of nowhere!
TODD: Lotta time playing with his toys, Oz forgot he had a playmate!
XXXVI fires up, blasting Oz with a superkick, then a dragon screw that twists Oz down to one knee.
XXXVI springs forward, latching Oz into a frontface lock…
DDT on the mat! Oz’s skull SLAMS into the mat HARD!
TODD: That just might have done it!
XXXVI works with all his strength to turn Oz over onto his shoulders… he hooks the leg!
The official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-OZ KICKS OUT!
TODD: Holy HELL!
BAMA: One of these men has gotta go down at some point, right?!?
Oz exhaustedly rises up to his feet,,, XXXVI calculates…
And sees the meathook sticking out behind Oz!
TODD: Oh my… If we could see XXXVI’s face, I bet he’d be flashing a sickening grin with the idea he just came up with!
XXXVI charges toward Oz, looking for a d-
OZ CLINCHES DOWN ON XXXVI! I FAILED YOU! (Mandible Claw!
TODD: OH MY! Oz just snatched victory from the jaws of defeat!
BAMA: And he just snatched XXXVI’s jaw like it owes him money!
XXXVI’s arms spin wildly, trying to resist as Oz tries to muscle the champ downward!
TODD: This has gotta be it! How could the champ get out of this one?
Oz charges, rushing to take XXXVI off his feet…
…But XXXVI brings his weight down!
AND BRINGS OZ’S SKULL DOWN on his shoulder! Jawbreaker! Oz’s hold breaks!
TODD: Incredible counter by XXXVI!
Oz looks woozy as XXXVI dashes to the opposite corner and sprints out of it…
SHOTGUN DROPKICK!
Oz gets blasted across the ring!
AND GETS STUCK INTO THE MEATHOOK!
TODD: OH MY GOD!
BAMA: You live by the meathook? You die by the meathook!
Oz’s eyes are wide as he slumps forward looking depleted… A massive meathook sticking out of his back…
XXXVI shoves Oz onto his back… somehow his shoulders get onto the mat despite the massive meathook sticking out of it!
The official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE
Winner of Match One: XXXVI
TODD: XXXVI wins the first fall! The Revolution champ takes an early lead!
BAMA: Lotta game left to play, Toddrick! It ain’t over til it’s over!
XXXVI rolls off Oz, clutching his ribs, but pushes himself upright as the referee raises his hand.
Todd: Ladies and gentlemen, this singles contest is about to get underway, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen two belief systems collide quite like this.
Bama: Todd, one of ‘em worships pain and the other one’s been alive since the Bible was still a rough draft. Somebody’s faith is gettin’ tested tonight.
Abel Gracie’s theme plays
"Lord give me a sign!"
The vocal screams through the stadium, dropping it into a hush. The sound of a church organ hits the system, as a choir boy or two begin their harmony. The faithful begin to clap to the beat, some raising their hands as a single white spotlight settles on the top of the ramp.
Abel Gracie steps out through the curtains, eyes bowed and hands clasped in prayer. The light seems to shoot out from him, glancing off the reflecting shoulder pads on his long black leather coat. Abel lifts his chin with an "amen" still on his lips, as a smile too big to be comfortable cuts across his face. He walks down towards the ring, raising a hand to children past and whispering blessings to them. Of course... Their parents try and pull them away from this psycho.
TODD: Abel Gracie made impressive work of Safari Stu in his Anarchy debut, Bama!
BAMA: This guy gives me the creeps! He claims all the answers to life’s mysteries can be found through pain… But his second match, he’s facing an absolute question mark! Is pain gonna answer a problem like the Wicked Witch of Wrestling?!?
He takes the long way around the ring, making sure to bless fans in all four corners and our delightful commentators. Taking the steps up and gently stepping through the bottom ropes, he lets his coat fall to the floor - to reveal his scar-covered body. The lights settle on the middle of the ring now, where he drops to his knees, throws his head back and spreads his arms wide as he awaits his music's end... And the beginning of his worship service.
…
The arena is suddenly plunged into a deep, sickly emerald green and oppressive black as the colossal, pounding choir and tympani of "O Fortuna" erupt across the speakers. The ring announcer's voice booms with a strained tremor, introducing her as the "collector of destiny, the architect of sorrow, the bearer of the Curse of Vanity! Prepare yourselves for the Wicked... Witch... of... WRESTLING!"
A thick cloud of low-lying smoke begins to creep out from the ramp. As the music hits its powerful, sweeping orchestral swell, a single, intense spotlight cuts through the fog, revealing the Wicked Witch of Wrestling standing motionless at the top of the ramp. Her silhouette is framed by her long, tattered black robes, and she clutches her ornate black cauldron in one hand. She slowly lifts her hideous green face, unleashing a piercing, amplified cackle that slices through the powerful chorus, marking the start of her slow, deliberate, and arrogant march to the ring.
BAMA: Now, if you wanna talk about impressive debuts, Toddrick? The Wicked Witch of Professional Wrestling managed to beat two of the toughest femmes this side of the Mississippi Delta in Game Girl and Amber Mansley!
TODD: You’re omitting that The Witch pulled it off while teaming with Centurion, but it is undeniable that the Witch was very impressive in her debut! She’s proven to be a highly capable tag competitor! But this is her very first singles match! Will she melt under the pressure or will we see a little more magic from her tonight?
She walks with a heavy, powerful stride, staring at the crowd with utter contempt; she may pause to dramatically swipe her arm at any fan who dares reach out, dismissing them as a trivial nuisance. As she nears the ring, she briefly pauses her march, dipping a finger into the cauldron and smearing a bit of a dark, oily substance onto herself before the confrontation. She then mounts the steel steps with intimidating ease and stomps into the ring, scaring the hell out of the ref and the fans at ringside.
Once inside, she carefully places her cauldron on the apron and steps to the center of the ring, turns slowly to face all directions of the arena, and finally raises both hands above her head as if concluding a dark ritual, just as the final, dramatic crash of the "O Fortuna" music cuts out, leaving the venue in a terrifying, expectant silence.
ABEL GRACIE
- vs -
WICKED WITCH OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING Singles
The bell rings, but neither competitor advances. Abel Gracie stands perfectly upright in the center of the ring, hands clasped low, chin raised, eyes closed as the crowd’s boos wash over him. He exhales slowly, almost peacefully.
Across from him, the Wicked Witch prowls in a loose circle, hunched shoulders rolling as she studies him like prey. She tilts her head, lips curling into a crooked grin, then theatrically spreads her arms to invite the jeers.
TODD: The fans do not like either of these competitors, Bama!
BAMA: But they’re sure gonna love both of them getting pummelled to near death by the other!
Gracie opens his eyes and finally steps forward.
TODD: And we’re ogg!
They lock up collar-and-elbow. Gracie immediately overpowers The Witch, walking her backward step by grinding step until her spine hits the turnbuckles. He presses his forearm into her throat, boots planted, teeth clenched.
The referee starts a count. The Witch snarls, then suddenly rakes the eyes. Gracie recoils just enough for her to slip under his arm, snap off a Swinging Neckbreaker, and pop to her feet with surprising quickness.
She stomps his ribs, hits a Claw Slap across the jaw, and drops a Hammer Fist to the back of his head as he tries to rise.
TODD: If you thought you might see a nice elegant match tonight, folks…
BAMA: You picked the wrong match to tune in on! Gracie believes pain is salvation so he’s gonna WHUP whoever he’s in the ring with! And the Witch ain’t got a nice bone in her body! She ain’t gonna catch as catch can, she’s gonna grind Gracie’s bones to make her bread!
TODD: That’s giants, Bama! Not witches!
The Witch keeps moving. Snap Suplex, rolls through, Running Bulldog, then drags Gracie up by the hair, whispering something venomous before smashing him face-first into the mat with a DDT.
Gracie pushes up to his knees, blinking hard. The Witch backs into the corner, shielding herself from the referee’s view for half a second as she discreetly uncorks the Vial of Vanishing Vapor, wafting it toward Gracie.
Gracie sways, clutching his temples.
TODD: The Witch is in the driver’s seat and Gracie looks disoriented!
BAMA: For the first time since we’ve seen Gracie, his faith is looking a little shaken! He believes in pain… but pain is being thrust upon him!
The Witch snarls, putting away her vial… As Gracie takes a deep breath, centering his mind…
TODD: Is Gracie entering a meditative state? Is he perhaps… praying?
BAMA: In just a moment, he’ll be begging for mercy from that ol’ Wicked Witch!
The Witch charges at her opponent on his knees…
Suddenly! Fwip! Gracie leaps to his feet!
And BAM! Witch runs straight into a Raised Knee. The impact snaps her head back violently!
In a flash, Gracie leaps from his knees to his feet, immediately following with a Big Boot that knocks her sideways, then grabs her by the arm and hammers her chest with open-handed chops, each one punctuated by a thunderous stomp!
TODD: holy COW! Gracie’s putting a hurting on that Witch!
He wraps his arms around her in a Smiling Bearhug, squeezing tighter and tighter. The Witch claws at his back, shrieking in rage as her feet leave the mat.
TODD: He’s crushing her!
BAMA: Like a woman accused of being a witch getting crushed under rocks!
TODD: As happened at the Salem Witch trials!
The Witch crawls across the mat, looking worse for wear… Gracie slowly stalks behind her… savoring the fact that his opponent is in profound pain…
TODD: I get Gracie loves seeing his opponent in agony, Bama… But I think he wants to take advantage sooner rather than later!
BAMA: Absolutely, Todd! You play with your food too long, you risk it’s gonna grow teeth and bite you first!
As Gracie advances, the Witch discreetly grips the Charm of the Crone’s Grip...
When Gracie reaches down, she suddenly explodes upward to her feet!
TODD: The Witch recovers!
Gracie covers his head with a guard… but in response, Witch simply muscles him off his feet into a powerslam grip!
BACKBREAKER!
A SECOND!
A THIRD!
TODD: Holy cow! This witch must deadlift!
BAMA: Cuz she’s trying to lift Gracie so hard it makes him dead!
She hauls him up again, hooks the head, and spikes him with a vicious DDT. She sprawls atop him, pressing her forearm across his throat.
One!
TWO!
GRACIE KICKS OUT!
This time, The Witch is stalking Gracie, preparing for a decapitating boot to the holy man, currently rising onto his knees…
Gracie rises as the Witch charges again.
He surprises her, blasting her with a Stiff-Arm Clothesline, nearly folding her inside out. He hauls her up into a Fireman’s Carry, leans his head close to hers, lips moving silently—
Then dumps her throat-first across the top turnbuckle.
The Witch collapses, gagging, clutching her neck as Gracie stands over her, breathing deeply.
Gracie drags her up and whips her hard into the ropes. On the rebound, he charges forward and detonates Consecration, his knee smashing into her face mid-stride.
She flips backward and lands flat. Gracie drops to one knee beside her, hands clasped, eyes closed, murmuring a prayer as the crowd boos mercilessly.
Todd: This is worship to him.
Bama: …Both these competitors fucking weird me out, Toddrick.
The Witch staggers upright, swinging wildly. Gracie steps inside the strike, his massive hand engulfing her face—
Gracious Baptism.
TODD: THAT OUGHTA DO IT!
BAMA: It’d take a miracle from a higher power for the Witch to still be in this one!
He lifts her off the mat by her skull and drives her down with brutal finality. He hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
…
……
NO!
Her black boot slams onto the bottom rope.
The referee breaks the count.
TODD: No way!
BAMA: The Witch ain’t done yet! She got slammed like a house got dropped on her and she’s still got some tricks left up her sleeve!
Gracie raises his arms, looking triumphant, glorifying his god of anguish…
When the official directs him to The Witch’s boot on the ropes!
Gracie stumbles backward, eyes wide, hands shaking as he mutters about disbelief and corruption.
Gracie nods to himself, steels his breathing, and hauls her up again.
He reaches for her face—
The Witch snaps to life. She mirrors his grip perfectly, twisting his wrist, sliding her palm across his face in exact imitation.
Todd: Wait—
Glorious Baptism.
BAMA: What the hell!?!
TODD: We saw this on Warfare! The Witch just stole Abel Gracie’s finisher!
She lifts him with mocking precision and slams him into the mat using his own technique. She collapses across his chest, laughing breathlessly.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Winner: The Wicked Witch of Professional Wrestling
The Witch rises, clutching at her chest as if sealing invisible essence into a vial, while Abel Gracie lies still beneath the lights—eyes open, lips moving in a prayer that found no answer tonight.
TODD: And now time for something a little different. Mixed of course, with something very familiar.
BAMA: Centurion has been around forever! And this… Ennui the Clown… is making their debut.
TODD: What a win it would be for Ennui to knock off the living legend in his first match. Meanwhile, the veteran has a chance to make a triumphant statement en route to his Television Title match at Snow Pain Snow Gain!
Centurion enters to a raucous ovation from the Michiganders, nodding in thanks as he makes his way to the ring.
A small car begins to honk its way down to the ring.
When it stops at ringside, another honk blares and clowns begin spewing out of it. One… two… three… they keep coming! 10 clowns in total, all women, file out. Then they pop the boot and drag out the largest clown of them all—Ennui himself!
The clownettes roll Ennui into the ring and he… doesn't stand up.
TODD: Look at this state of affairs, Bama! All of these clown lumberjacks are immensely loyal to Ennui! It's a tough hill for Centurion to climb.
BAMA: Did you know he met them at clown college? Hey–I think that one's flirting with me!
Todd shakes his head as the action turns to the ring.
CENTURION
- vs -
ENNUI THE CLOWN Singles
As the bell rings, Centurion regards the troupe of lady clowns at ringside with a mix of bewilderment and ire. Ennui remains lying on the ground. Centurion looks to the referee for guidance, who shrugs at the situation.
TODD: A very unorthodox start to the match for Ennui the Clown here.
BAMA: Cent might be a hundred years old but I'm not sure even he has encountered something like this.!
Cautiously Cent approaches, but when Ennui still doesn’t move, Centurion darts in with an elbow to the clown's back. In spite of the tooting and honking at ringside, Cent keeps up the assault barraging Ennui with blow after blow. Eventually, the referee steps in and pulls Cent back much to his chagrin.
The ref asks Ennui if he's okay, and he merely replies “I guess…”
He then asks if he wants to continue and gets the same response: “I guess…”
The match resumes, but at least the clown finally gets to his feet. The only expression on his face is the one that's painted on.
BAMA: This clown's a big guy, Todd! Especially compared to Centurion.
TODD: Cent's been through enough bizarre battles in his career to not just rush in. But he's survived enough of those weird wars to not be intimidated either.
Centurion engages, using his vast wrestling experience to slip behind Ennui and catch him with a double leg takedown.
That was a mistake though, as Ennui makes himself comfortable and settles back onto the ground.
Centurion rolls his eyes and decides not to let up, stomping on the clown's limbs until an arm flails up that he can snatch into an armbar. Ennui is pretty close to the edge of the ring and one of the clownettes at ringside grabs his other hand and hangs it on the ropes before much damage can be done. Cent breaks the hold and the ref admonishes the lady clown.
TODD: The ref might not be happy but in lumberjack rules, there's not much he can do about the clowns around the ring doing what they think their job is.
Centurion kicks away at the ringside clowns to make space and uses the ropes for leverage as he drops a knee across Ennui's throat. With Ennui still not moving, Cent drags him towards the centre of the ring hoping to end this early.
Suddenly Ennui snaps upwards and grabs Centurion in a small package!
1…
2…
3—KICKOUT!
TODD: OH MY GOD! With his first offensive move in the XWF, Ennui the Clown just about upset an XWF Legend!
Wide-eyed with surprise, and with Ennui getting to his feet, Cent opts to pick up the pace.
Elbow strikes to the clown's head are followed up with quick kicks to his legs and then a standing dropkick that rockets Ennui into the corner. Cent is relentless, continuing the strikes in the corner now and using pace to keep the big guy out of the game.
After driving his shoulder into Ennui's abdomen several times, Cent switches again, this time delivering a knife edge chop. In the process, he clips a flower pinned to Ennui's chest and it shoots water out into Cent's face!
BAMA: I guess we should have expected that…
Cent looks a little flabbergasted but shrugs it off and charges with a corner splash. Ennui uses Cent's momentum to power him up and over the corner post, all the way to the outside!
Cent lands hard.
As he recovers, the clowns around him swarm. As experienced as he is, Cent still doesn't fancy his odds and he quickly ducks back into the ring to avoid them.
TODD: Wise move by Cent there.
BAMA: Wise… or cowardly?
TODD: Oh come on, Bama! Definitely wise.
He's met right away by the laziest biel toss anyone has ever seen. The lack of effort actually makes it hard for Cent to land well, and so he scrambles awkwardly to his feet only to find the massive Ennui looming over him. Ennui starts clubbing away at Cent who retreats to the ropes.
But the edge of the ring isn't a safe place.
BAMA: Here be clowns!
Cent sees their painted smiles and ducks back again only to be scooped up in a fireman's carry by Ennui and then just… dropped.
Cent lands awkwardly again and one of the ringside clowns hands a long balloon to Ennui.
TODD: It looks like Ennui is creating some sort of balloon animal?
BAMA: That's not an animal, Todd!
In the middle of the ring, Ennui twists the balloon into a noose!
TODD: He's going to strange Cent with that balloon noose!
That's too much for the ref to allow, as he rips the balloon animal from Ennui's hands.
The clowns at ringside honk up a storm in protest. Many climb up onto the ringside apron and as the referee orders some of them down, others pop up.
Ennui whips Cent towards the ropes and one of the clowns yanks the top rope down causing Cent to tumble over to the outside.
Clowns swarm.
TODD: Uh oh.
BAMA: This circus is starting to feel like it might turn into a horror movie for Centurion!
One clown begins to juggle bowling pins, and then starts hurling them at Cent! They hit!
As Centurion reels, another clown crawls down on their hands and knees and hides behind him. A bike horn startles Cent and he trips backwards over the grounded clown!
He falls… onto a whoopee cushion!
The clowns all play it off like a geriatric accident and wave away the pongs of Cent's ‘gas.’
More balloons appear. These ones are fashioned into swords which start wailing away on Centurion.
TODD: The numbers game is coming into play! Centurion is at the absolute mercy of these clowns!
BAMA: …It's just balloons though. They shouldn't be hurting him.
TODD: Oh yeah…
Cent seems to recognise this just as Todd does.
He just stands up as the clowns keep wailing away, looks from one to the next and…
POW! Centurion starts laying into each of them with right hand after right hand.
Centurion is clearing house! The clowns can't do much about it and in the ring Ennui can't be bothered to help!
Suddenly, a clown whacks Centurion in the head with an oversized shoe and Cent drops!
The clowns roll a dazed Centurion back into the ring and as the referee focuses back on the in-ring action, the clown with the shoe shows off for the crowd. From the shoe that she whacked Cent with, she pulls out a brick!
TODD: Oh no… that damn clown played the biggest trick yet!
The effects on Centurion are clear. He groggily tries to stand and Ennui blasts him with a big boot of his own.
TODD: Centurion's got a Case of the Blahs!
Cent crumbles and Ennui lies down on him.
1…
2…
3—NO! Shoulder up!
Ennui rolls right over Centurion’s face as he gets off. Cent howls at the weight on his face.
Ironically, it gives Cent a bit of an adrenaline boost that helps him to his own feet and gives him the needed spark that when Ennui tries to set him up for The Doldrums, Cent snaps Ennui's legs out and flips over him for a bridging pin.
1…
2…
KICKOUT!
They both rise and the crowd rallies behind Centurion.
He ducks another Case of the Blahs and responds with a V-Trigger.
And another!
And another!
Ennui stays standing!
TODD: What will it take to knock this inhuman freak down?
BAMA: That's offensive. Just because he's an actual alien, that doesn't make him a freak.
TODD: Oh would you stop?
A Bloody Symphony finally does the trick!
Ennui is down!
Centurion covers.
1…
2…
KICKOUT!
With Ennui reeling, the clowns at ringside honk up a storm again. They begin climbing the ring apron and there's too many for the ref to deal with.
One of them swings a giant rubber mallet at Centurion!
But he wrestles it away from them!
With an oversized hammer in hand, Centurion clears out the clowns once more until all that's left is the clown who had walloped him with a loaded shoe!
They've got a cream pie!
BAMA: I LOVE CREAM PIES!
They swing the pie at Centurion!
Who ducks!
Ennui gets pied!
The devious pie-wielding lady clown gets whacked with the hammer by Centurion who then turns his attention to the cream-covered Ennui!
1000 Mile Slam!
Then, Cent locks him straight into the Fall of Rome!
The referee is in perfect position to see how Ennui responds!
“Do you give up?”
[red“...I guess.”[/red]
And the referee calls for the bell!
Winner: Centurion
Centurion drops the giant legs of Ennui and celebrates as the referee raises his hand.
Meanwhile, all of Ennui's clown friends carry him back to the car and stuff him back in.
Backstage, XWF co-owner Elon Musk is seen walking with three assistants, who are all furiously typing into their phones as he speaks. As they walks down the hallway, they stop in front of a door that says "Anarchy GM" on it. Musk puts one hand on the door handle as he talks to his assistants.
Musk: Ok, I'm going to take all of this into my meeting with Mr. Lichter. One of you text me with the short version of our conversation so I know what I'm talking about when...
The faint sound of pounding against metal can be heard from inside the room, which causes Musk to quickly open the door. He looks around the GM office to find...
nobody.
However, the sound of pounding metal and muffled yelling is even louder, which causes Musk and the assistants to investigate further. After a few seconds, the sound is traced to a set of lockers sitting in the very back of the room. Musk and the others quickly run to the locker and open it, revealing GM Dick Lichter stuffed inside.
Lichter: Guah! Hah! Thank you, I couldn't breathe in there!
[color-"green"]Musk: What were you doing in there?[/color]
Lichter: It was that prick Centurion! He came in here all aggressive like, and when I told him to get out of my office, he stuffed me in the locker! Like I was a kid in grad school or something!
Musk looks at his assistants, who all seem horrified.
Musk: This is horrible. Something must be done...
Lichter: You're right, something MUST be done...but it's your turn to deal with him! He knows you gave the order to humiliate him, he said it to me himself. He said he was going to continue to harass me until you speak with him personally.
Musk angerly looks at Lichter before pointing at him in the chest.
Musk: You were brought in to take care of these things, remember? You were given this show because I'm a friend of your cousin's and he said this is something you could handle. Now if he was WRONG about that, I can go find someone else to do it...
Lichter: No, no, I can take care of it. I'll just need some more resources. Some contacts. And some money.
Musk looks back at his assistants before snapping his fingers.
Musk: Consider it done.
BAMA: Hot damn, baby! Have you ever seen Mister Oz get packed up like that recently? 36 is on fire in that ring!
TODD: 36 is in control right now, but that might not last for long as we get set for the second stage here tonight! Oz wanted three matches, he’s got his chance to push this to a third match!
Match 2 will be a TABLES match! The Revolution Championship will be on the line!
DING! DING! DING!
36 takes his time coming to his feet, taking a deep breath as he fully collects himself, but as he turns around, he turns STRAIGHT INTO A CLOTHESLINE FROM MISTER OZ!
BAMA: Oz just exploded up off of the mat! I don’t think he took that loss too kindly!
TODD: And he’s got some no doubt evil intentions here. 36 is the leader in this series so far, but he can’t afford to rest on his laurels, or else Oz can tie things up at a moment’s notice by sending 36 through a table!
36 uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet once more, but Oz is right there. A big clubbing knee to the gut sends 36 back into the corner. Oz looks to quickly press his advantage, but the smaller and quicker 36 darts himself out of harm’s way!
And now he’s looking to bring the fight to Oz! Rights and lefts! Upstairs, downstairs! He’s quickly forcing Oz to have to cover up to try and prevent himself from taking any more damage in this match!
36 leaps for a Hurricanrana- CAUGHT BY OZ! 36’S FACE PALES AS HE REALIZES HE’S IN TROUBLE!
TODD: Oz putting that freakish strength on display! 36 is like a lawn dart right now!
BAMA: He’s about to get thrown like one, too!
36 quickly rains down more punches onto Oz’s skull, but it’s not stopping Oz as he runs towards the ropes!
But 36 quickly springs into action! He drags himself back while grabbing onto the top rope, vaulting Oz over the top rope and sending him tumbling down onto the floor as he grits his teeth!
BAMA: That’s some smart thinking by 36!
TODD: Now he’s got to try to capitalize here, though! He could end this match right now if he just manages to put Oz through a table!
Oz turns around, but 36 is running along the apron! A running kick to the skull drives the man back, staggering across ringside! That gives 36 just enough opening to JUMP OFF THE ROPES TO HIT A MOONSAULT ONTO MISTER OZ!
TODD: I talked a bit about Mister Oz’s abnormal strength, how about 36’s abnormal agility? Because he just pulled off one of the most crisp moonsaults I’ve ever seen!
BAMA: That boy’s got a fire lit under his soul, baby! Look at the man work!
36 wastes no time as he comes right back up to his feet! He takes a quick look right underneath the ring, before FINALLY pulling out a table! The fans pop like crazy as he sets it up around ringside, before forcing Oz right back to his feet and drapes the big man across it!
And he manages to perch Oz across the table! 36 is starting to feed off of the fans’ energy as he tries to roll his way back into the ring!
BAMA: Ozzie better perk up soon! If he loses this stage of the match, that Revolution Championship is as good as gone!!
Mister Oz manages to bring himself back up to his feet with gusto, grabbing 36 by the ankle and dragging him down and out of the ring! 36 quickly tries to throw a punch, but Oz grabs the man in a death hug before throwing him down onto the floor with a belly-to-belly!
BAMA: Look at that boy fly!
TODD: You give Oz an inch, he’ll take a mile. But 36 is still in this match in spite of that fact…
Oz tries to put this match to rest! He hoists up 36 into the Spinebuster position, eager to try and throw him through the wood! He starts to saunter towards the table…
BUT 36 CINCHES IN A CHOKE OUT OF NOWHERE! HE’S COUNTERED THE SPINEBUSTER AND NOW HE’S TRYING TO CHOKE THE LIFE OUT OF THE XTREME CHAMP!
BAMA: Does that boy know the Submission match is meant to be the third stage?
TODD: I think he knows that well, Bama, but if he can stop Oz’s assault here, it’ll leave him in prime position to put him through the table!
Oz is forced down to a knee! 36 is slaying the beast right before the fans’ eyes as they will him on!
BEFORE OZ ROCKETS FORWARD TO DRIVE 36 INTO THE METAL GUARDRAIL! 36 GROANS BUT HE’S STILL GOT THE HOLD CINCHED IN!
OZ HOISTS 36 UP AGAIN! HE’S LOOKING TO GO FOR THAT SPINEBUSTER AGAIN! 36 CINCHES IN THE CHOKE HARDER, BUT OZ IS MOVING!
TODD: Neither one of these men are going to give up, but no matter what Mister Oz throws at 36, he’s finding a way to battle through it!
BAMA: You ask me, baby, I think all those repeated matches are catching up to Ozzie.
36 manages to force himself back to his feet, and the exhaustion is starting to settle in now. Oz is already on all fours, and he knows he’s got to work fast here before this gets out of hand. He looks to try to Irish Whip Oz into the table…
But Oz isn’t budging! He’s like a bulldog trying to stand his ground right now, and he’s too big and strong for 36 to throw him around! He shakes his head at 36 before Oz Irish Whips him right back in return, this time into the steel steps!
WHAM!
36’s body cracks into the steel steps, echoing around the building! The fans wince as he holds onto his ribs precariously, getting banged up more and more in this match!
Oz takes a deep breath, collecting himself as he slowly pushes himself upright. He walks over past the steps, ready to end this…
…
But 36 is missing?
TODD: Oz didn’t see it because he was taking too long! 36 rolled underneath the ring!
BAMA: There it is again, baby, that’s that smart thinking!
Oz is utterly baffled as he looks around, trying to see where 36 could have gone! Now it’s he who’s looking underneath the ring, but there’s no sign of him!
Oz comes back to his feet, BUT HE DOESN’T SEE 36 PICKING UP THE TABLE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RING! HE RUNS ALONG THE APRON-
AND BULLDOGS THE TABLE RIGHT INTO OZ’S BACK TO WIPE HIM OUT!
TODD: WOW! That’s some ingenuity with the weapon right there!
BAMA: Desperate times call for desperate solutions baby! That might have taken Oz out of the picture!
36 can’t waste even a single moment as he forces himself back to his feet once more! Adrenaline fuels him, the crowd chanting for him demands he give it his all as he assembles the table up at ringside! And he manages to force Oz to lie down on the table, the big man still out of it!
36 rolls into the ring! He’s lining up his mark… BEFORE HE SPRINGBOARDS OFF THE ROPES!
FLIPS IN THE AIR!
KICKS HIS LEGS OUT INTO A LEG DROP!
TO HIT THE FINAL COUNTDOWN ON OZ THROUGH THE TABLE!
BAMA: That Shooting Star Press was a work of art, baby!
TODD: And it was Oz’s Final Countdown as 36 secures the win!
WINNER and STILL Revolution Champion: XXXVI!
The referee rushes out to the wreckage at ringside, draping the Revolution title over 36’s battered body before he raises his hand high!
TODD: Folks, this is a very atypical match you’re about to witness! Micheal Graves challenged ‘Spoiled’ Summer Page to a match on Anarchy! Perhaps a little tune-up before his Anarchy Title match at Snow Pain, Snow Gain against Kristoffer Arroyo…
BAMA: Although Graves wanted a lingerie pillow fight against Summer and… this is NOT that.
S&M By Rhianna will play throughout the arena as the crowd cheers while Summer walks down the aisle. Summer gets to the ring side and walks up the ring stairs.
TODD: Summer Page is one of the brightest, most dominant stars on Thursday nights!
BAMA: She’s also been gunning for that Anarchy title since day one!
TODD: You gotta imagine she’s eager to climb back into the title hunt, Bama. And what better way could she do it than scoring a win over the #1 contender to the Anarchy Title tonight!
BAMA: Not only that! But she’d have a victory over the longest reigning Anarchy champion of all-time! Micheal Graves had that belt for over a year!
TODD: …Bama, I don’t know how to tell you this but… that Micheal Graves wasn’t….
…
TODD: Ugh, never mind.
Summer looks out at the crowd and raises her arms out to the crowd as the crowd cheers louder.
Summer turns her attention to inside the ring where she motions to the referee to open the bottom and middle ropes so they can enter. Summer walks over to the closest ring corner and climbs up to the middle turnbuckle.
…
Green lasers scatter across the stage.
Graves steps through the curtain. His head tilts, his jaw clenches, and he just stands there long enough to make the crowd feel uncomfortable.
The drums kick in.
The lights sweep the arena in a blast of lime and purple.
Graves lazily starts down the ramp.
Fans reach out, but he pretends not to notice them.
The cameras catch quick cuts on the XTron of Graves smashing faces, laughing mid-beating, spraying mist, weapons, blood, ugly mayhem.
TODD: And there he is! Micheal Graves! The Dark Warrior!
BAMA: After making a miraculous recovery from the concussion that ended his year-long Anarchy Title reign!
TODD: …right. Graves has… possibly drawn the ire of ‘Big’ Dick Lichter, Anarchy’s General Manager… because he’s going to be forced tonight to compete in… well, you’ll see in just a second folks…
He reaches the ring. Stops. Looks around. Then he slides in under the ropes, stands up slow just as the song hits—
♪ IT'S YOUR FUCKIN' NIGHTMARE ♪
Graves backs into his corner, sliding his cape off his shoulders tossing it aside.
He cracks his neck once and stares across the ring as the music fades.
[blue]TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, we are scheduled for singles action here on Thursday Night Anarchy—
BAMA: Scheduled, Todd, but I don’t think the lunatic in the ring is exactly… equipped to begin.
The bell doesn’t ring.
The official stands in front of Micheal Graves, arms crossed, pointing emphatically at the silver, medieval-looking chastity belt dangling from the referee’s hands.
Todd: It appears the referee is refusing to start the match until Micheal Graves complies with the General Manager’s… stipulation.
Bama: I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this on television, but that man is bein’ told to lock it up for public safety.
Graves loses his mind.
He paces. He screams. He drops to a knee and howls at the ceiling like a rejected supervillain.
He holds the belt at arm’s length like it’s poison to his eyes…
TODD: Gravy’s acting like that chastity belt is radioactive!
BAMA: Not even, Toddrick, I think Graves would rather have his nards exposed to radioactive fallout than even have a moment where he ain’t got full access to hs junk!
The crowd roars with laughter as Graves squints furiously at this belt…
Summer Page leans back in her corner, arms folded, smirking like she ordered this humiliation personally.
TODD: Summer Page seems perfectly content to let this circus play out.
BAMA: She’s enjoyin’ this way too much, Todd.
TODD: I think given the fact that she’s a legitimate competitor and Graves tried to challenge her to a lingerie pillow fight, she’s enjoying this a perfect valid amount…
Finally—furious, muttering, and defeated by bureaucracy—Graves straps the belt on.
The ref checks it.
The bell rings.
SUMMER PAGE
- vs -
MICHEAL GRAVES
CHASTITY MATCH!
It’s just a normal singles match, but Micheal Graves must wear a chastity belt because I DON’T TRUST HIM!!!
[amatch]HIGHLIGHT REEL
The moment the bell rings, we’re off!
Graves charges forward with wild intent…
…Oooh, but he’s not as fast… he pinches the underside of his tights, trying to free up some room…
TODD: I think that chastity belt is working like a boot on a car! Gravy’s got no get up and go!
BAMA: Probably because with that belt on he can’t get it up!
Gravy tries to throw a clothesline on Summer… But she seemingly effortlessly dodges it… and Gravy almost loses his footing from a simple lariat!
TODD: Gravy moving with the agility of a pregnant cow out there!
Summer darts in and SNAPS a Snap Suplex, floating over with a quick cover.
ONE!
Graves kicks out!
TODD: I don’t think we knew this about Graves but apparently chastity belts are his kryptonite!
Graves swings a heavy-handed bitch slap—Summer ducks and fires back with a High Knee, snapping his head back.
Graves tries to retaliate with a Big Boot…
—but the moment his leg comes up, The belt shoots up and cinches right under his… family jewels!
TODD: oooooooh
BAMA: ooooooouch
Crowd: OOOOOOOOOOF
Gravy winces, staggers, and clutches his midsection, gritting his teeth in agony, holding onto the ropes…
Page impatiently taps her foot…
Gravy takes a deep breath… still trying to pull the belt to find some position that isn’t digging right into his manhood…
He sighs, nodding, ready to get back to i-
WHAM!
SUMMER SPEARS HIM CLEAN OUT OF HIS BOOTS.
She pops up instantly, hair flying, and grins at the hard cam.
[blue]TODD: Summer Page taking full advantage of Graves being… mechanically compromised.
BAMA: That thing’s chafin’, weighin’ him down, throwin’ his balance off—he’s a mess!
TODD: Graves, possibly trying to buy himself a little time to get his head on straight here…
Graves drops to the mat, trying to roll under the bottom rope to regroup…
But the belt snags on the bottom rope!
TODD: Oh my God!
BAMA: That belt might have a mind of its own and that mind fucking HATES Micheal Graves!
Graves desperately tries to scamper, not realizing he’s caught on the ropes..
In a snap, Summer pulls him back inside the ring by the boot, before ripping him off the mat and into a front-facelock…
WHAM! Slingshot suplex! Graves hits the mat so hard he rebounds back to his feet, where Summer’s waiting for him with a…
SPOILED ROTTEN! (Backstabber!)
TODD: That just might do it! This would be a judge upset!
Summer goes for the cover on Graves!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! Graves kicks out!
TODD: Graves somehow finds a way to force his shoulder off the mat!
BAMA: Probably because there’s not a chastity belt on his shoulders, Toddrick! If you put a chastity belt on Graves’s chest, I think he’d stop breathing!
TODD: Graves still isn’t quite out of the starting block, but at the very least, he’s starting to try and chain moves together!
Summer latches Graves into a waistlock!
But Graves throws a desperation back elbow, catching Summer in the side of the head!
Summer looks dazed… Graves hitches her off her feet into powerslam position…
FALLAWAY SLAM!
…
But with the chastity belt, he can’t get any torque on the throw! He collapses backward under his own lack of momentum!
Summer’s on top! The official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-Graves kicks out!
TODD: I think Graves just gave himself a cross-body using Summer Page’s body!
BAMA: Not how I think Graves wishes that Page was on top of him!
TODD: Summer smells blood in the water! She’s looking to finish it!
Graves slowly rises up to his feet… as Summer Page is in the corner, tuning up the band!
Graves turns around… Just in time for Summer to fire off a…
TOTAL KNOCKOUT! (Superkick!)
…
Dodged! Somehow, Graves finds it in himself to duck the kick! Summer’s boot sails past!
TODD: Graves manages to survive!
Graves wraps Summer in a waistlock… Summer grabs the top rope, pulling herself to the edge of the ring… The official barks at Graves to break the hold, but Graves won’t let go!
TODD: Graves might be trying to get DQ’d!
BAMA: Or he might just be enjoying touching Summer before she knocks him unconscious!
Summer gets irritated and launches a low blow backwards to Graves!
CLANG.
The arena goes silent for half a second.
Then—
CRACK.
The chastity belt SHATTERS, pieces clattering across the mat.
TODD: THE BELT JUST BROKE!
BAMA: OH LORD—SHE DONE UNLOCKED HIM!
Graves freezes.
Looks down.
Looks up.
Then he smiles.
A wide, unhinged, liberated grin.
TODD: Holy cow! This match has turned around in what feels like an instant!
Graves EXPLODES.
Headbutt.
Backfist.
Heavy-handed bitch slap that echoes through the building.
Summer staggers—
NECK BREAKER.
Graves is moving differently now. Faster. Meaner.
He drags her up—
INVERTED DDT.
…No! Summer manages to twist out and go for a rollup!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-Graves kicks out!
Summer scrambles up to her feet… Straight into Graves’ arms
He hoists Page high.
GRAVES CONSEQUENCES.
TODD: Oh my God!
BAMA: Couldn’t have done that while chastised!
Graves folds her in half and hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Winner: MIcheal Graves
Todd: Micheal Graves wins it! A strong win headed into his match for the Anarchy Title!
Bama: But how will ‘Big’ Dick Lichter feel about Graves finding a way around his stipulation! What kind of match will Graves meet Kristoffer Arroyo in at Snow Pain, Snow Gain!
The bell rings and the referee raises Micheal Graves hand!
TODD: "He overcomes the stipulation to pick up the win over Summer Page!"
BAMA T: "Graves gets the dub, baby!"
RING ANNOUNCER: "Your winner of this Chastity Match—MICHEAL GRAAAAAVES!"
Graves snatches his arm away from the ref and turns toward the announcer.
Graves lunges and catches him with a vicious right to the gut that doubles him over! Graves then takes the microphone out of his hand and paces around him, seemingly enjoying the suffering. Then without warning, a brutal knee to the face sends the poor bastard flying between the ropes and to the outside!
TODD: "That's going to be a huge fine, Mr. Graves!"
BAMA T: "I don't think he cares, Todd!"
The crowd boos as Graves paces the ring breathing heavily. He adjusts the chastity belt that's still locked on over his gear, before finally speaking into the mic.
"Cut the music... CUT IT!"
It cuts.
Graves leans over the ropes, staring daggers up the ramp.
"Vamp boy! You sittin' back there polishin' that Anarchy belt, thinkin' you're some kinda untouchable sadistic prince? I just beat Summer Page with this goddamn cage locked around my dick because some paranoid dick licker pullin' the strings doesn't trust ME not to sodomize the pretty lady on television...
At 'Snow Pain, Snow Gain', I'm comin' for that belt, Kris. And when I get my hands on you in that frozen hellhole that is Antarctica, ain't gonna be no cage preventing me from sodomizing your ass until you bite your own tongue off. I'm gonna make you bleed prettier than any of your little Teatro Grottesco knee parties, cause ain't nobody more tormented than me, until this night that is, andwhen I'm done with you, that Anarchy title'll be comin' home with the real violence-loving monster on Anarchy—ME!"
The arena 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 through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades. He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross. He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas.
Kris doesn’t even get the chance to reply before Gravy explodes, lunging forward as he spears Kris so hard his pink shades fly into the front row!
BAMA T: "The time for talkin's over, baby! Graves is unleashing some ruthless aggression!"
The turnbuckles rattle as they crash into the corner and Graves unloads a flurry of rights and lefts straight to the face.
Kris fires back with a vicious thumb to the eyehole of Graves' mask.
TODD: "The champ's fighting back with some ruthless aggression of his own!"
Graves staggers back!
Kris explodes out of the corner with a knee lift!
Graves doubles over and staggers as Kris grabs him by his hair and lands a headbut square to his masked forehead!
—THUD—
Graves stumbles back, but doesn't go down. Instead he roars in frustration and charges, tackling Kris through the ropes and sending them both spilling to the floor!
TODD: "Somebody get security out here quick! These two are gonna kill each other before we ever make it to Snow Pain, Snow Gain!"
Graves snatches the steel steps and hurls them all his might into Kris’s ribs.
BAMA T: "Oh, baby, that HAD to hurt!"
The champ drops, but places a hand on the steps, and on Graves follow-through, he rams them straight into Gravy’s gut, then across the back—CLANG!
Graves doesn't stay down long, and soon both men are up and swinging wild!
TODD: "IT'S AN ALL-OUT BRAWL!"
Graves grabs a chair and cracks it over Kris’s spine. Kris eats it, rips the chair away from Graves, and folds it around Graves’ skull. Graves staggers back and drops to a knee with blood streaming down his mask. Kris approaches to finish him off, but Graves pops back up and powerbombs Kris outta nowhere!
But No!
Kris slips free, sliding down Graves back. Graves turns to face him, but Kris latches on, sinking his fangs into Gravy's neck!
TODD: "Is he... IS HE BITING HIM!?"
Kris recoils and shoves Graves away. He arches in agony and doubles over, spitting out blood as Graves dives under the ring and yanks out a barbed wire board.
Graves douses the board in lighter fluid, strikes a match off his boot, and ignites the weapon, holding it high as it's flames reach for the ceiling!
BAMA T: "Oh baby, things are about to get a whole lot worse for the champ!"
Suddenly, the locker room empties as refs and staff flood the ramp!
Graves swings the board right into Kris's gut as staff begins pulling, dragging, and separating them. They continue to claw and swing over the pile of bodies holding them back, but there's just too many staff to overcome.
TODD: "Thank goodness security finally broke this up, or we'd be heading to 'Snow Pain, Snow Gain' without a champion OR a challenger!"
Graves gets hauled backward up the ramp as blood pours from under his mask and neck.
BAMA T: "These two monsters just tried to kill each other, baby! No matter who walks away champion, I think Anarchy ain't gonna be the same after Antarctica!"
Kris is held back at ringside, spitting blood and screaming at Graves.
TODD: "You're right about that, BAMA!"
The feed cuts hard to commercial.
The arena is already in a state of controlled madness as the lights dim.
Todd: “Ladies and gentlemen… it is time for the MAIN EVENT of Anarchy!”
Bama T: “Two champions. Two challengers. One ladder. And about twenty different people who absolutely should not be allowed within a hundred feet of this ring!”
Above the squared circle, the Tag Team Championships hang from steel cables, swaying slightly in the stale heat of the arena. Ladders are already stacked at ringside. The crowd buzzes with anticipation, the kind that only comes when everybody knows something ugly is about to happen.
The house lights cut completely.
A low, droning tone rolls through the speakers. The screens flicker with distorted imagery: static, fractured symbols, silhouettes writhing in slow motion.
Then—
The champions emerge.
Clutch Cassidy strides through the curtain first, rolling his shoulders, eyes scanning the arena like a general surveying a battlefield. The Tag Team Championship glints over her shoulder.
Beside her stands Samael Dyson.
The reaction is immediate and hostile.
The crowd doesn’t boo so much as recoil. Sam’s eyes are cold, distant, like he’s already watching something the rest of the world can’t see. The second championship rests against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the gold plate as though it were something alive.
Todd: “The champions have arrived… and if anyone in this building thinks tonight will be business as usual, you have not been paying attention.”
They enter the ring, Clutch climbing the ropes and raising his title with a grim nod. Sam simply stands in the center, staring upward at the belts hanging above, lips moving in a silent murmur.
The music cuts.
Suddenly, the arena lights flare gold.
Trumpets blare through the sound system as the video wall ignites with royal imagery—banners, crests, a crown descending in slow motion. The stage becomes a procession.
And then comes Kieran King.
Draped in regal arrogance, Universal Champion at his waist, Kieran steps out with the confidence of a ruler who has never once doubted his authority. Behind him, flanking the ramp in formation, march the Kingsguard—row after row of uniformed enforcers, each one identical in presentation.
At the front: Kingsguard #6 and Kingsguard #7.
They stop at the base of the ramp.
Kieran doesn’t look at the ring at first. He looks at the crowd—at the champions—at the titles above the ring.
Then he smiles.
Todd: “And here comes the self-proclaimed king of this company… and the army he brought with him.”
Bama T: “This is not a tag team. This is a regime!”
The challengers enter the ring. The referee calls for the belts, holds them high, then hands them off to be attached above. Around the ring, the Kingsguard tighten their formation, creating a living barricade on all four sides.
The Anarchy Tag Team Championships will be on the line!
Kingsguard #6 steps forward first, methodical, posture straight, hands up in a disciplined stance. Kingsguard #7 circles wide, measuring Clutch with predatory patience.
Clutch meets #6 in the center, collar-and-elbow, the two grinding for position. #6’s strength is immediately apparent—driving Clutch backward with raw force. Clutch plants her foot, pivots, and snaps #6 down with a crisp arm drag.
#7 rushes in—only for Sam to intercept him with a sudden, snapping kick to the ribs.
Todd: “Right out of the gate—no feeling out process here!”
Sam follows with a second kick, then a third, each one landing with surgical precision. #7 stumbles back into the ropes. Sam grabs him by the wrist and whips him across—#7 rebounds and gets dropped by a spinning back elbow.
Clutch, meanwhile, is already on top of #6, wrenching the arm and grinding him into the mat.
Bama T: “The champions are controlling the pace. That’s what tag-team experience looks like.”
The Kingsguard regroup quickly. #6 shoves Clutch off and then works with #7 to rush Sam—double shoulder block, driving him into the corner.
#6 follows up with a corner splash. #7 follows with a rising knee. Sam drops to one knee. #6 drags him out of the corner and plants him with a short-arm spinebuster.
Clutch storms in to break it up—only to be cut off by #7, who floors her with a running forearm!
The challengers stand tall, momentarily.
They glance up at the titles.
And the first ladder slides into the ring, courtesy of Kieran King himself.
Kingsguard #6 unfolds the ladder and sets it center-ring. #7 moves to climb—but Clutch recovers and barrels into the ladder, tipping it over.
Sam is back up, eyes locked on #6.
Sam charges—#6 swings wildly—Sam ducks, snaps off a leg kick, then another. He grabs #6’s head and drives him face-first into the ladder lying on the mat.
The metallic crack echoes through the arena!
#6 rolls out of the ring, clutching his face in pain!
Todd: “Face-first into steel!”
#7 rushes Sam again—Clutch cuts him off with a spear that folds him in half.
Clutch pops up and shouts to Sam. Together, they grab the ladder and drive it forward like a battering ram, smashing both challengers into the corner.
The crowd roars.
Clutch lifts #7 and slams him into the ladder again, this time back-first. Sam pulls #6 up and cracks him across the back with a stiff forearm, then shoves him through the ropes and out to the floor.
Sam turns.
Too late.
#7 clips his leg and sends him down.
#7 pulls another ladder into the ring—this one taller, heavier—and starts to climb.
Clutch scrambles to stop him. She grabs the ladder and rocks it violently.
#7 leaps down, tackling Clutch before she can topple it.
The two roll across the mat, trading fists.
Outside, Kingsguard #6 regains his bearings—and that’s when the numbers begin to shift.
The Kingsguard at ringside start to move.
One by one, they step toward the apron.
The referee shouts at them to back up.
But they do not!
Kingsguard #6 pulls Sam out of the ring and throws him toward the barricade. Before Sam can recover, three members of the Kingsguard converge—blows coming from every direction.
Bama T: “Here we go. This was always going to happen.”
Clutch sees it and tries to dive out to help—
But Kingsguard #7 cuts her off with a vicious forearm smash, then a snap DDT that spikes Clutch onto the mat.
Outside, the Kingsguard swarm Sam.
They shove him into the ring post. They club him to the mat. They stomp him down.
The referee threatens disqualification—but it’s a ladder match.
There is no disqualification!
Todd: “This is legal! There are no count-outs, no disqualifications—nothing to stop this!”
Inside the ring, #7 sets up the tall ladder again and starts climbing.
Clutch forces herself up, grabbing the ladder leg.
#7 stomps down on her hand.
Once. Twice.
But Clutch refuses to let go!
Then #6 slides back into the ring and hits Clutch from behind with a running knee that sends her sprawling.
#7 continues the climb.
Sam, battered and bloodied, drags himself up at ringside. Two Kingsguard members grab him—another kicks his legs out.
Sam collapses again.
The crowd starts to sense it.
The champions are being overwhelmed!
The numbers are too much!
#7 reaches near the top.
His fingertips brush the leather straps of the championships.
Todd: “This could be it!”
Bama: “We are about to have new tag-team champions!”
Suddenly—
A deep engine roar cuts through the arena.
“VROOM, VROOM!”
The entire crowd turns toward the entrance.
The massive screen above the stage shows movement in the loading bay.
Headlights flare.
A box truck backs into position at the mouth of the ramp.
Bama T: “What in the hell…?”
Todd: “What’s going on here?! Is that…is that Kristoffer Arroyo, our Anarchy Champion, behind the wheel?!”
The truck comes to a stop.
The back door rattles.
Slowly… it begins to lift.
Inside the cargo bay—shadows.
Movement.
And then—
They pour out.
Dozens of figures spill onto the stage: townspeople twisted into something sick. Their skin is mottled with unnatural swellings. Thick, dark pseudopods writhe from eyes and mouths, pulsing and twitching as if reacting to some unseen signal.
The crowd explodes into chaos—screams, shock, disbelief.
Todd: “WHAT… IS THAT?!”
Bama T: “That is NOT security! That is NOT production! That is—oh my God—”
Samael Dyson slowly rises at ringside with a sinister smirk.
He turns toward the ramp.
His eyes lock onto the creatures.
And he raises one hand.
The abominations move as one.
They surge down the ramp-
Straight toward the Kingsguard!
The Kingsguard at ringside freeze for half a second.
Then they react.
But it’s too late!
The abominations crash into them in a tidal wave of limbs and chaos. The Kingsguard scatter, striking at them, trying to retreat—but the creatures do not feel pain the way normal people do. They grab, they cling, they swarm.
The crowd erupts in horrified disbelief.
Todd: “This is absolute bedlam!”
Inside the ring, Kingsguard #7 freezes atop the ladder, staring at the scene unfolding outside.
Clutch sees the opening.
She charges and shoves the ladder.
#7 tumbles off, crashing hard onto the mat.
Sam slides back into the ring, eyes still burning with that unnatural focus.
Bama T: “Samael Dyson just evened the odds in the most horrifying way possible!”
Outside, the Kingsguard are fighting for their lives. Several are dragged down under the mass of writhing bodies. Others scramble over the barricade, trying to escape.
Kieran King backs away, disbelief written across his face.
He shouts orders.
But they are not being followed! His Kingsguard is more scared of the creatures than they are of Kieran!
Sam steps to the ropes, watching his creations at work.
But then—
Something changes.
One of the abominations turns.
Not toward the Kingsguard.
But toward the front row.
The pseudopods lash out!
Security panics!
Another creature follows.
Then another.
Dyson’s control is slipping!
Todd: “Wait—wait—these things are turning on the crowd!”
Bama T: “Samael’s lost control! This is out of control!”
Sam’s expression tightens.
For the first time all night—uncertainty.
Clutch shouts at him.
Inside the ring, #6 and #7 struggle back to their feet, shaken but alive.
They look at each other.
Then up.
At the championships.
They both see it.
The abominations can’t climb ladders.
This isn’t about domination anymore.
It’s about survival!
#7 shoves past Sam and grabs the ladder, setting it up in the ring as quickly as humanly possible.
#6 throws himself at Clutch, tackling her to the mat. The two trade desperate strikes—neither gaining ground.
Sam lunges for #7—
But the ring shudders as another group of abominations crashes into the apron. The distraction is enough!
#7 starts climbing.
Sam recovers and starts after him—but #6 grabs Sam’s leg, dragging him back down.
Clutch breaks free and rushes the ladder.
#7 is almost there.
Clutch climbs from the opposite side.
They meet near the top.
Fists fly.
The ladder sways violently beneath them.
Outside, chaos continues—Kingsguard, abominations, security, fans fleeing in every direction.
Kieran King shouts from ringside, pointing at the belts.
“FINISH IT!”
#7 headbutts Clutch.
Clutch wobbles.
Sam tries to climb again—but #6 yanks him down and smashes him face-first into the ladder.
Clutch reaches.
Her fingertips graze the straps.
#7 grabs her wrist.
They struggle.
Then—
#7 rakes Clutch’s eyes and pushes her off!
Clutch loses her grip and crashes to the mat below!
#7 is alone at the precipice.
He reaches up.
Unhooks the championships.
The bell rings!
WINNERS AND NEW ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS:
KINGSGUARD #6 & KINGSGUARD #7
The arena is in shock.
The crowd is screaming—some in rage, some in disbelief, some still reacting to the chaos outside the ring.
Kingsguard #7 drops from the ladder, clutching both championships like lifelines. #6 scrambles to his feet and pulls him close.
They survived!
Todd: “They did it! By any means necessary, the Kingsguard have stolen the Tag Team Championships!”
Bama T: “They didn’t outfight them. They didn’t outwrestle them. They outlasted the apocalypse!”
Sam kneels in the ring, staring at the belts now in enemy hands. His creatures still rampage outside, but now, they’re outside of his control.
Clutch pulls her up using the ropes, eyes locked on the new champions.
But before either can react—
ANOTHER GROUP OF MONSTERS HITS THE STAGE!
The crowd roars again as four figures storm down the ramp.
Charlie Nickles.
Dr. Holly Cambric.
Jennie Nickles.
Mr. Oz.
They hit the ring like a hit squad!
Charlie tackles #6.
Holly drops #7 with a brutal strike to the back of the head.
Jennie levels Sam.
Oz hammers Clutch.
Charlie hauls #7 up and drives him down- DEVIL HOOK DROP!
Jennie throws #6 over the top rope!
No speeches.
Just violence!
Todd: “CHARLIE’S BASTARDS ARE CLEARING HOUSE!”
Charlie and the crew don’t discriminate, they lay out everyone inside the ring before they hit the outside and start searching for Kieran King!
They shove past Sam’s abominations and drop them where they stand.
Holly cracks a creature across the jaw with a steel chair.
Mr. Oz dismantles another abomination with cold efficiency.
For a moment—
The bastards stand tall.
Charlie looks at the fallen bodies around him.
At the wreckage.
At the titles lying on the mat.
Then—
KIERAN KING FLIES INTO THE SCENE WITH A STEELCHAIR, CRACKING CHARLIE IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD!
Oz sees the commotion and rushes in- but he gets whacked, too!
And then Cambric!
It isn’t until Jennie Nickles comes flying in with a missile dropkick that causes Kieran to drop the chair! Only then do they finally get an advantage!
Charlie, Oz, and Cambric rise- and each start pounding boots into Kieran’s flesh!
But then the lights flicker again.
And the Universal Champion’s titantron flashes across the screen!
THE HOUSE OF HARDCORE IS HERE!
The crowd explodes.
Dickie Watson.
Scoops McGee.
Amber Mansley.
Game Girl.
They storm the ramp like an invading army!
Bama T: “NO WAY—IT’S THE HOUSE OF HARDCORE HERE TO SETTLE THE SCORE!”
They charge down the ramp in a blur of motion.
Dickie drops Charlie with a brutal lariat.
Scoops tackles Mr. Oz.
Amber wipes out Jennie with a running strike.
Game Girl vaults in and takes out Holly.
The Kingsguard try to recover—
And get flattened!
The abominations are driven back, beaten down, forced out of the ring.
Todd: “EVERYBODY IS GETTING WIPED OUT BY THE HOUSE OF HARDCORE!”
Dickie stands tall in the center of the ring as bodies litter the canvas.
Scoops picks up the Universal Championship from the mat.
He stares at it.
Longingly.
Hungrily.
Dickie steps beside him.
Scoops hands it over begrudgingly.
Dickie raises the title high.
The House of Hardcore stands united in the wreckage of Anarchy.
The camera tightens on Scoops’ face.
On the look in his eyes as he watches ‘Big Gold’.
Bama T: “I can’t believe it! We just crowned new tag champions, but The Kingsguard never had a moment to celebrate!”
Todd: “The table is all set for Snow Pain, Snow Gain! You won’t want to miss it!”
Thanks to all our match writers
PETER PRINCIPLE
KRISTOFFER ARROYO
LIAM DESMOND
KINGSGUARD #5
And our segment writers
MICHEAL GRAVES
KRISTOFFER ARROYO
CENTURION
JENNY MISSED
KIERAN KING
& ELON MUSK
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