April - 27 - 2026 LIVE FROM CHASE CENTER SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA Deena Hixx & El Landerson - vs - Doctor Clown, MD & Patient Clown Tornado Tag - #1 Contender’s Match for the XWF Tag Team Championships Asher Hayes - vs - John Black Singles Jordan Penn - vs - Frances Marigold Flaming Tables XXX-Travaganza First Man to Put Their Opponent through a Flaming Table Wins Rowan Vance - vs - Remi Storm Submission Match Dickie Watson - vs - Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo Singles XWF Television Championship Yelena Gorgo © - vs - Korvayne 15 Minute Time Limit XWF Universal Championship Scoops McGee© - vs - Betsy Granger Texas Deathmatch A competitor must first pin their opponent and then ensure they fail to respond to a 10-count to win.

Every screen in the stadium flickers for a moment before bringing you, the fan, into the most intimate spaces of backstage… The locker room. And not just any locker room - the locker room of rising star and internet sensation - Korvayne.

Soft lighting.

Korvayne stands near her locker, bedazzled with lights and a full body mirror. She pouts her lips, flutters her eyelashes and checks if any bruises have been left from her previous fight. Her eyes flicker to the pathetic face of a yearning simp.

Her hand shoots to press against her forehead dramatically. Her simp slides beside her to dab at the nonexistent drops of sweat on her forehead. He has his other hand clutching a cheap replica shirt and nodding along like shes actually speaking.

Korvayne | I was robbed. Robbed of my moment… my triumph… MY ART!

SIMP | Yes, my queen, totally robbed… Like SPIRITUALLY ROBBED.

Korvayne | It was supposed to be perfect.

SIMP | A statement. A masterpiece.

Korvayne | Don’t interrupt me.

SIMP | Of course, my queen. It still was though. Honestly… like emotionally.

Korvayne | You don’t know what that means.

SIMP | I don’t! But I feel like you do.

Korvayne lets out a sigh that's both deep and theatrical.

Korvayne | I needed control and domination… Instead I got-

She glances at him.

Korvayne | Interference.

SIMP | We can fix that. I can help! I can be better.

A shadow falls over them.

Korvayne’s SIMP turns comically on his heel, his eyes widening as wide as can be.

“Relax… I ain’t here for you.”

Dramatic gulp sound.

“Unless you plan on getting in my way again, you sweaty pitted tit.”

The SIMP shakes his head aggressively and backs up as the camera pans out to reveal Isaiah King.


SIMP | Nope… Sir, not at all! I am done. I am RETIRED even.

He tips his fedora at King quickly then scurries off to his little rat hole. Korvayne watches him go, unimpressed.

Korvayne | Useful, in small doses.

Isaiah | You call that useful?

Korvayne | It worked didn’t it?

Isaiah | You call last week a success?

Isaiah studies her for a moment. Not angry - just curious.

Isaiah | You got a pin.

Korvayne |... And you got a….whatever that was.

Isaiah | A tap. That’s what it was.

Korvayne brushes it off, a shrug, a bitch-face. But not denying he in fact got a tap.

Isaiah | And somehow neither of us got a win.

She nods.

Korvayne | And that bothers you.

Isaiah | Infuriates. Ain’t that what you feel?

She smirks faintly.

Korvayne | You’ve tapped out a lot of people. Nobody has seen a meanie greenie rookie like me counter it, so like, that’s kinda sorta a win. Trillionaires were so impressed they gave me a Television Title shot tonight. But whatever.. He was supposed to get me a shot at gold.

Isaiah | Nickles… You really trusted Nickles.

Korvayne | How was I supp-

Isaiah | Did you do any research on him? Did your simp at least?

Korvayne | Two former Universal champs.

Isaiah | Yeah… It was your time to shine.

Korvayne | I thought since he’d just beat you-

Isaiah | Rookie. Mistake.

Korvayne | I had a chair teach me that.

Isaiah | Never. Trust. A. Bastard.

Korvayne | Noted.

Isaiah takes a step towards her, towering over her slightly but not imposingly so.

Isaiah | Next time - just you and me. Leave your Simps at home.

Korvayne studies him for a moment before scoffing.

Korvayne | Yeah if it weren’t for your daddy, oops, I mean, Sebastian,  I’d probably have wiped the ring with your butt.

Isaiah | Yeah, without your SIMP you might’ve left with a concussion, without Charlie’s bullshit you wouldn’t have had a chance.

Korvayne | I used him.

Isaiah | Cept the thing is… Charlie don’t get used.

Korvayne swears under her breath.

Isaiah | Don’t worry… This time - this time you won’t pay for your foolishness.

Korvayne studies him - there's something there that ain’t quite agreement…. But it isn’t denial either.

Korvayne | We’ll see.

She takes a deep breath in.

Korvayne | Next time, no distractions.

Isaiah nods at her.

Isaiah | Next time.

She walks off. Isaiah watches her go, mind racing.

JC: There’s tension there… But I think some respect too.

JR: Respect gets you hurt in this business. Especially around people like Nickles.

---

When Booyka 619 hit's El Landerson walks out on stage and kneels down on one knee and prays. He gets up and points to the Fans in Pyro fireworks burst open and switch to the other side of the stage in does the same thing in!

JC: El Landerson! The Bit Luchador! And Deena Hixx! The Geek Goddess! These two have been hunting their first pieces of championship gold in the XWF for many months now!

JR: And they’re circling closer and closer! More recently, Members of the John and Razor Blade chain gang have even won more than a few Number One Contender’s matches! And now they have another chance! And it’s against a pair of clowns!

JC: A promising opportunity for Landerson and Deena to get in line for a tag title opportunity at Leap of Faith! But can they hold down the clowns? Or will they chase them off a big cliff and then fall off the cliff and there’ll be that sound like a slide whistle like pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeew…

…

JC: Pffft.

JR: Great foley work there, Jacuinde. That somehow sounded exactly how I think Deena and Landerson falling off a hundred foot cliff and hitting the ground would sound.

after he was done he slowly walks down the ramp in slaps some little kids high fives and he stops and stares at the kid in hands him his Luchdor Mask to him and heads straight towards the ring and hops on the turnbuckle and pose both fingers in mid air and walks to the other side turnbuckle in does the same thing mid finger in the air in he gets down and wait for his Opponent arrive.

…


The Physician’s Creed blares through the PA system as a BURST of pyro goes off!

But Doctor Clown, MD is nowhere to be seen on stage…

Because he’s been sitting at ringside all night, serving as the chief physician for tonight’s matches!

Doctor Clown, MD rises from his ringside seat as he waves to the fans. Then, he takes two pills: and if you know, you know.

JC: …I genuinely thought that was just a goof last Warfare, but… nope. Apparently, Doctor Clown, MD is and has always been our ringside medical professional.

JR: And there’s no one more professional in all of Clown City, Jacuinde! But where’s his partner, Patient Clown?

Doctor Clown climbs the steps up to the ring… where Patient Clown has been waiting on the apron this whole time.

JC: Whoa! Where’d he come from?

JR: Do you need to get your eyes checked by Doctor Clown, MD, Jacuinde? Patient Clown has literally been there since the ticketing gate opened this morning. Basically since the ring crew finished setting up the ring.

JC: He’s been standing on that apron since… 7 in the morning?!?

JR: Yeah. He was fine waiting. He’s Patient Clown.

…

The four competitors stand in their respective corners… or, at least, three of them do.

Patient Clown stands on the apron, one hand gripping the tag rope, the other lazily scrolling on his phone… his painted smile unmoving, his posture relaxed, like he’s got nowhere else to be.

Doctor Clown, MD adjusts his gloves with clinical precision… his eyes narrowing behind smeared makeup, jaw tightening with clinical focus…

Deena Hixx bounces in place, her eyes wide and jittery, lips curled into a cocky smirk as she vibrates with barely-contained energy…

El Landerson rolls his shoulders and stretches his legs, exhaling sharply through his mask, his stance low and ready—focused, but already feeding off Deena’s chaotic pace…

JC: And here we go! Tornado tag rules, which means all four competitors are legal at all times—no tags required!

JR: Then why is that clown holding the tag rope like it’s sacred law?

JC: I… believe we’re about to find out.

DING DING!

Deena Hixx & El Landerson - vs - Doctor Clown, MD & Patient Clown Tornado Tag - #1 Contender’s Match for the XWF Tag Team Championships

JC: The bell rings and all competitors rush to the cent-... nope, wait, one is hanging back!

JR: Guess which one, viewers at home!

As Doctor Clown MD surges forward, fist reeled back like he’s about to test Landerson and Hixx’s pain tolerance, Patient Clown remains on the apron, nodding to himself with quiet satisfaction… completely immobile, holding the tag rope with one hand and his phone with the other.

Doctor Clown MD peers backwards mid-run, in shock and surpri-

WHAM! Mid-sprint, the good Doctor catches a DEENA DROPKICK TO THE SKULL!

JC: Uh oh! The damn numbers game is starting early! It’s clearly caught Doctor Clown MD by surprise!

JR: Probably because he didn’t think he’d be at a numbers disadvantage! He has a partner after all!

On the apron, Patient Clown glances up briefly at the sound of boots colliding with skull… expression unchanged… then returns to scrolling.

The official zips over, gesturing emphatically, trying to explain—

JC: It looks like the official is trying to explain to Patient Clown that… he really doesn’t have to be patient right now! There are no illegal or legal men! He can get in the ring any time he wants!

Patient Clown glances up from his phone, which he sets in his pocket. He nods attentively, patiently listening to the official’s frantic explanation. At which point, he has follow-up questions…

JC: Is… Is Patient Clown repeating back to the official his understanding of what the official is saying?

JR: It’s a great communication tactic to demonstrate active listening, Jacuinde!

JC: I suppose! But it’s taking up valuable time while Patient Clown’s partner is getting beaten down!

JR: Mmmm, so you’re saying Patient Clown shouldn’t be asking questions right now, because it’d be a better use of his time to hop into the action?

JC: …Okay, I get it.I feel heard right now and that is nice.

Back inside the ring, Doctor Clown MD collapses onto his back as Landerson sprints forward… backward flipping as he advances into a…

STANDING SHOOTING STAR PRESS! Doctor Clown MD’s chest slams in, his skulls surges upward!

INTO A DECAPITATING DEENA WIZARD!

JC: Wow! What a sequence! Doctor Clown MD is the doctor here, but Deena and Landerson are coming out of the gate like they planned every part of this operation!

Landerson hooks the leg!

ONE!

Patient Clown isn’t paying attention!

TWO!

He’s asking the official how long he’s been working this officiating gig!

THR-DOCTOR CLOWN MD kicks out!

JC: Is Patient Clown even a wrestler, Joe!

JR: We might find out, Jacuinde! If we’re patient!

Doctor Clown MD shoves Landerson off his chest like a bad appendix… Landerson flies off, landing on his back!

Doctor Clown rises to his knees…

But Deena’s waiting in the wings! She sprints, bouncing off the ropes!

LOW DROPKICK TO THE SHIN!

Doctor Clown’s face contorts in sharp pain, his leg buckling as his balance gives out—

—and Landerson, feeding off the opening, launches forward—

SPRINGBOARD SOMERSAULT INTO A FLYING LARIAT!

Doctor Clown’s head snaps sideways, his body flipping onto his back as he crashes to the mat!

JC: Another lightning-fast sequence from Hixx and Landerson!

JR: That’s what happens when you leave a man alone in there with two adrenaline junkies, Jacuinde! This is neglecting one’s solemn duties as a tornado tag partner! This is doctor-wrestling partner malpractice out here!

Deena’s eyes gleam with pride, chest puffed out as she looks to Landerson—clearly thrilled with the success—

Landerson nods back, energized, but his posture tightens—his competitive edge kicking in as he gestures rapidly, calling for more!

Patient Clown nods, having taken in the official’s valuable opinion from every angle. After considering the issue from all sides, he nods. It’s clear! He’s going to enter the ring!

JC: Here we go! Patient Clown’s about to claim his moment!

Patient Clown steps through the ro-

DING! His phone buzzes!

Patient Clown checks it. Oh, hey, his energy refilled in XWF Trillionaires Idle Game 2K26!

JC: What the hell is that?!?

JR: XWF Trillionaires is the ultimate idle game! Hire the best roster you can! Slowly shape and mold your competitors to be their very best! It takes time and careful planning! And building the perfect roster takes patience!

Patient Clown slides back on the apron… He better spend this energy now. He pulls out his phone and starts tapping to add stats to his three-star Latoya Hixx…

Doctor Clown groans, rolling onto his side, his face twisted in pain—but his eyes sharpen, calculating even through the damage, desperate to recover!

—but Deena doesn’t give him time!

Fueled by momentum and ego, she darts in—

MULTIPLE ARM DRAGS IN RAPID SUCCESSION!

JC: Doctor Clown is taking a real beating! I hope Doctor Clown he has medical insurance!

JR: It’s the only coverage he has, considering his partner isn’t covering his ass!

Doctor Clown is yanked up and thrown across the ring—once! twice! three times!—his body whipping against the mat with each impact!

His face shifts from pain to frustration, teeth gritting as he tries to stabilize—

—but Landerson, not to be outdone, springs forward—

REVERSE CROSSBODY!

He crashes into Doctor Clown mid-rise, flattening him back to the mat!

JC: They’re not even giving him a second to breathe!

JR: This is like watching two kids mash buttons in a video game—and it’s WORKING!

Deena’s smirk grows wider—he got a big move? Fine.

Her eyes flash with competitive irritation, and she immediately rushes the ropes—

SPRINGING BACK—

DIVING CROSSBODY OF HER OWN!

She crashes into Doctor Clown again, stacking impact on impact!

Doctor Clown’s face contorts, his breath forced out of him in a ragged gasp, his arms instinctively wrapping around his midsection—

—but Landerson claps once, sharply, calling for synchronization!

Deena’s eyes light up—now he’s talking her language.

Both competitors grab Doctor Clown by the arms and legs, their faces lit with matching excitement—

They hoist him up—

JC: Oh no—this could end it early!

DOUBLE FLAPJACK!

—but—

Doctor Clown’s expression snaps into cold focus mid-air… his body tightening, core engaging with sudden precision—

He somersaults forward over their lift!

Deena’s face instantly shifts from triumph to confusion—

Landerson’s eyes widen in shock—

—and Doctor Clown, landing clean behind them, lashes out—

DOUBLE NECKBREAKER!

CRACK!

Both Hixx and Landerson are yanked down violently, their heads snapping back as they hit the mat in unison!

JC: WHAT A COUNTER!

JR: That’s a licensed professional right there! He just turned chaos into a procedure!

All three bodies lie sprawled across the mat…

Deena clutches the back of her neck, her face scrunched in pain and disbelief…

Landerson rolls weakly onto his side, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the stars…

Doctor Clown exhales sharply, one hand pressing to his own ribs, his face tight—but composed… controlled…

Outside…

Patient Clown remains on the apron.

Still holding the rope with one hand and his phone in the other.

Doctor Clown’s eyes slowly drift toward the corner… his expression tightening with exhausted irritation…

…then, with a pained grunt, he begins to crawl.

…

Doctor Clown reaches the corner… his eyes flicking up toward his partner with a mix of relief and exasperation—

—and he slaps Patient Clown’s hand!

JR: He made the tag!

JC: THERE ARE NO TAGS, JOE!

Patient Clown pauses.

Slowly.

He looks down at the rope in his hand… then at Doctor Clown… then out at the ring…

A beat.

He nods.

Satisfied.

He pockets his phone with deliberate care… wipes his hands together like he’s just clocked in for a shift…

…and steps through the ropes.

JC: Well… I guess psychologically, that counts?

JR: This is either commitment to a bit or a complete break from reality. I respect both.

Deena’s eyes snap onto Patient Clown the moment he enters, her expression lighting up with competitive excitement, lips curling into a feral grin as she sees a fresh opponent—

Her body coils low, feet jittering with barely-contained speed—

—and she EXPLODES forward!

SPEAR!

Patient Clown’s expression shifts to mild concern… his head tilting slightly as he watches her charge…

…but instead of bracing—

he steps aside.

Casually.

And holds the ropes open with both hands.

A polite gesture.

An usher.

Deena’s face morphs mid-charge from aggression to confusion—

“Wait—?”

—but her momentum doesn’t care.

She blasts through the ropes—

AND CRASHES HARD INTO THE RAILING!

JC: OH MY GOD!

JR: He thought she was trying to EXIT THE RING! He just helped her destroy herself!

Deena crumples against the barricade, her face twisted in pain and outrage, clutching at her midsection as she slumps to the floor outside…

Patient Clown looks out there, a little befuddled as to why she was in such a rush…

Meanwhile, Landerson’s eyes widen behind his mask, his posture tightening as he processes what just happened—

then narrowing with determination.

Fine.

He’ll handle this.

He takes off toward the ropes—

SPRINGBOARD—

His body launching upward with practiced grace, twisting in mid-air as he aims to snap into a hurricanrana!

Patient Clown looks up just in time—

his eyes tracking Landerson’s arc…

his hands starting to raise—

—but—

DING!

His phone goes off.

Even from his pocket.

Patient Clown freezes.

Completely.

Mid-response.

His head tilts.

His attention gone.

Landerson’s expression shifts from focus… to confusion… to dawning horror—

As he realizes he was leaping for where Patient Clown was going to be!

He comes crashing down—

FLAT ON THE MAT!

JC: NOBODY HOME!

JR: The man got distracted by a notification! That’s the most 2020s counter I’ve ever seen!

Landerson writhes, clutching his midsection, his legs kicking against the mat as the impact reverberates through his body…

Patient Clown slowly pulls out his phone… glances at the screen…

…and begins typing a response…

JC: I… I genuinely can’t believe this is working for Patient Clown…

Landerson rises up off the mat slowly… As Doctor Clown climbs back to his feet… he pulls out from his labcoat an oversized mallet a mallet!

JC: Oh my! This match may be tornado tag, but it is NOT no disqualification!

JR: If Doctor Clown uses that mallet on his opponent, that could spell defeat for the Clowns!

Landerson charges Patient Clown! Who stands there immobile…

As Doctor Clown slips forward with his mallet… and hits…

…

Patient Clown’s knee!


JC: Gasp!

JR: …Huh! It’s not a DQ if you hit your own partner!

Patient Clown’s leg shoots up, after that

REFLEX TEST!

And Landerson runs straight into Patient Clown’s comically oversized boot and drops to his back!

Doctor Clown picks up Patient Clown, who is still ignorantly tapping on his phone… And puts his boots on Landerson’s chest!

The official drops to count!

Deena shakes off the cobwebs from her missed dive!

ONE!

She rolls under the bottom rope!

Doctor Clown MD reaches into his labcoat…

He pulls out…

A straightjacket!

JC: Ah! I think Doctor Clown knows just how to deal with crazy chicks/

JR: Lobotomy?

JC: …Joe, what the fuck is wrong with you?


TWO!

Deena dives!

But Doctor Clown catches her in the straightjacket! He wraps it shut!

THREE!

Winners and #1 Contenders to the XWF Tag Team Championships: CLOWNS ‘R US!

JC: WOW! What an upset! The Clowns pull it off!

JR: Say your prayers! Because the Circus is coming to Leap of Faith!

JC: Leap of Faith is looking more like a trapeze at this point!

---

Pre-Taped

During the early days of the show, we see JB by the center doors sitting alone. He takes a swig of his water, and crunches it and tosses on the ground. Then he speaks to the camera.

JB: Littering fines can kiss my ass, not like i need to pay for the world to change. Gas so high, i wanted to jack someone else's rental earlier this weekend. Damn you Elon, and damn you Trump ya’ll some fucking cock suckers who need to eat, shit and die. Now, with that out of my chest I decided to roll to this venue before the doors even open. The main reason was because i got bored in my hotel and Reggie wasn’t in town, so I was left with my own vices. 

JB shows his steam deck as he plays old shit on it.

JB: This is what keeps the day going by quickly. Helps that im an old school emulator type of negro, so it helps. But that isn’t what’s important now, why I decided to spend my time at the building. Besides being at the building by 2pm, i decided to observe where these people who pay their tickets are going to be standing here tonight. The same ones who paid they hard earned money that could have gone to Saudi Arabia show, but they put they hard duckets in this arena. Which trickles down to us, road crew you fucking name it.

What im saying is, i'm fighting for the common people. The people who don’t have it are great, I never was the type to be great. The underdogs loom all, and I'm the one who believes in that movement. I might have been a pillar in this place, and still held Number 38 in the Hall Of Legends/Superstars that this company has made up. But do you know what's interesting, Asher Hayes’s isnt on one, but i know having the locker room  brag about who he is what keeps his spirits up at night.

As I take on Asher, he will experience something he’s never seen before in his own eyes. He’s going to feel the pain, as I bring it to him on a silver platter. So you see peeps, this isn’t just a match filler, piss break, turn the channel off type of affair…okay maybe when Scoops cuts his promo would be the best time to switch to something else, because man he makes Nickles sound like Dude Luv off of valium. I say it all in jokes, but you know what I mean.

So Asher, you might have made your return, and you might have tried to seek out your own footing back in the place; and that I can say is, you are two to three steps behind what you are looking for. I am going to beat the ever loving shit out of you, that you’d be doing the Macarena back to the hole you came from, and hope to god you don’t have me break your neck, and have you retire to film shitty movies before you can even mark your boots on here.

This is a battle, that one of us has to survive from, and it doesn’t matter who “goes over”... but what matter to me is this, i'm the strongest Soulja that you had the unfortunate time to share that ring with me in it, pal. I guarantee that you will reevaluate time in this federation once im done with you tonight.

From there it cuts to static, then it fades onto the announcers desk for the next segment. 

---

The opening riff to "Song for the Dead" by Queens of the Stone Age kicks in. At the 37 second mark, the name "Asher Hayes" blares through the PA system, and Asher appears on the stage, wearing a long leather jacket, his face full of focus. He bows down for a few moments before standing up straight, throwing both fists in the air, before making his way towards the ring.

“It's late enough to go driving
And see what's mine
Life's the study of dying
How to do it right"

He makes his way down the ramp as the reaction of the crowd rains down upon him. He walks up the ring steps and climbs to the top turnbuckle, lifting both fists into the air, slinging the jacket off his shoulders, simply looking at the crowd before dropping down and running to the opposite side.

“You're a holy roller
If you bettin' to lose
If you're hanging around
I'm holding the noose"

He stands, once again, on the top rope. His expression remains focused as he looks toward the ceiling, before dropping down, removing his jacket and handing his belongings to the ref.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Come a little bit closer
And get untied
In a hearse rolling over
Just a track in the line
Fuck it..."

Asher then leans into the corner, waiting for the match to begin.

JR: Here comes the one and only ASHER HAYES! A March Madness semi-finalist, the Brotherhood’s newest Bastard, and a certified badass! This is his first match since March Madness, where he took Micheal Graves to the absolute limit. I’m excited to see what he has in store for us tonight!

JC: That’s right, Joe! Asher Hayes is the hottest new signing in the XWF, and everyone wants to know what’s next for him. But as of tonight, what’s next for Asher Hayes? I’m betting it’s a slobberknocker!




We see the X-Tron come to life, and we see "John Black" name shot up with the .38 special, then we see on the walkway we see JB standing by the entrance with a towel on his neck. He does some shadowboxing to the camera, then he walks down giving some fans some daps in the process. He then stops by apron, and he throws his towel to the hard cam side. Then he rolls into the ring, and raises his fist in the air and saying "im the man!" as his theme slowly cuts, then he stands in the ring waiting to fight his opps.

JR: It’s the big Thug himself, John B.! And I ain’t talking about no SURGEON!

JC: John Black is a living legend over on XWF Anarchy, but he hasn’t had quite as much success here on Warfare! Tonight, he’s looking to change the script.

JR: And he don’t mean prescription! Cause the only drugs thugs take are from the STREETS!

JC: Oookay then, Joe…let’s just get to the action! I’ve been waiting all week for this match!

Asher Hayes - vs - John Black Singles

The bell hits and there is no circling, no testing of distance. John Black and Asher Hayes step straight into each other and start throwing.

Forearm. Forearm. Forearm.

Each shot cracks louder than the last until the rhythm breaks when Black slips one and drives a knee deep into the ribs. Hayes folds for half a second and that is all Black needs. He snatches the head and snaps him down with a neckbreaker that spikes clean. Black rolls through, making tight cover.

1!

JR: John Black is trying to put the XWF rookie down fast!

Hayes kicks out sharp and fast, rolling to a knee with a look that says he expected that.

Black does not let him breathe. He drags Hayes up and whips him hard into the corner. The buckles rattle. Black charges in full speed, but Hayes springs up and plants a boot flush into his face. Black stumbles back and Hayes launches, springboarding into a flying forearm that wipes him out.

JC: This match has been all John Black so far!

JR: This is turning into a thuggish, ruggish affair!

Hayes rises with urgency, pulling Black up by the wrist and spinning him into a sharp elbow that lands on the jaw. A second strike follows. Then a third. Hayes snaps a kick into the thigh and Black’s stance buckles. Hayes yanks the arm and goes for a short arm lariat.

Black ducks.

He spins through and fires a back elbow that lands flush and halts Hayes in place.

Black surges forward, grabs the head, and drills Hayes into the mat with a DDT. He rolls through instantly, hooks both legs, leaning all his weight down.

1!

2!

Hayes kicks out and turns onto his side, breath catching in his throat.

JR: Another kick-out from Asher Hayes! But he's going to need to do something besides kick-out if he wants to win this match!

JC: John Black's pace has been relentless, Joe! J.B. is one of the longest tenured veterans in the XWF, but his cardio and work rate is still unmatched!

JR: Asher Hayes was always going to be in for an uphill battle against this Thug, but right now, that hill is starting to look like a mountain!

Black sits up slowly, eyes locked, jaw clenched. He pulls Hayes up again and muscles him into position for a vertical suplex. Hayes gets lifted, held high, legs kicking, the blood rushing down as Black keeps him suspended just long enough to make the drop worse. Then he falls back and slams him down hard.

Black bridges.

1!

2!

Hayes kicks out again.

This time the kickout lingers. Hayes stays down for a moment longer, chest rising and falling heavier now.

JR: John Black's non-stop offense has taken the wind out of Asher's sails! I don't know if Asher has ever faced off against such a relentless force inside the ring.

JC: Great point, Joe! I'm not sure if Asher's miraculous semi-finals run in March Madness truly prepared him for the rigors of the XWF faithful!

Black rises and paces once, then again, stalking. He pulls Hayes up by the head and tries to lift him again, but Hayes slips behind and shoves Black into the ropes. Black rebounds and Hayes explodes into him with a snap powerslam that flips him over and drives him flat.

The sound echoes throughout the arena!

Hayes pushes up to his knees, then to his feet, feeding off the shift. He drags Black up and starts firing. Right hand. Left hand. Body shot. Another right. Black tries to answer but Hayes keeps the pressure on, forcing him backward step by step.

JR: Asher Hayes if finally flipping the script! He's giving J.B. a taste of his own medicine!

JC: After a slow start, it looks like Asher has found his footing in this match!

Hayes grabs the arm again, spins for another short arm shot, but Black plants his feet this time and rips his arm free. He drives a boot into Hayes’ midsection and scoops him up, turning and slamming him down with a heavy spinebuster that shakes the ring.

JR: OOFTA!

JC: Well, so much for that! It looks like John has other ideas!

Black stacks him for a pin.

1!

2!

Hayes gets the shoulder up!

JR: But Asher Hayes isn't throwing in the towel! That dog still has more fight left in him!

Black slaps the mat once, frustration flashing across his face. He drags Hayes up again and lifts him onto his shoulders, trying to set something bigger. Hayes fights, wriggling, throwing elbows down into the side of Black’s head. One connects. Then another. Black’s grip loosens and Hayes slips down behind him.

Hayes shoves him forward. Black hits the ropes. Hayes charges and catches him with a dropkick straight to the knee. Black stumbles, balance gone, and Hayes surges forward into a jumping knee strike that snaps Black’s head back violently.

Black drops to a knee.

Hayes circles behind, trying to cinch control, but Black throws a sharp elbow that clips the jaw. Hayes fires back. Black answers. They trade in tight quarters again, slower now but heavier, every shot carrying more weight.

JR: Asher Hayes has fought back from the brink, and now, these heavyweights are trading haymakers in the center of the ring!

JC: Both men are throwing those punches like they have a chip on their shoulder!

Black spins out and grabs Hayes, hauling him up and driving him down with a second spine-rattling slam. He floats over, presses down across the chest.

1!

2!

Hayes barely kicks out.

JC: At this point, J.B. has to be wondering: what will it take to keep Asher Hayes down?!

JR: He's just kicking out of everything! Now that's resilience!

Black exhales hard, rising slower this time. He pulls Hayes up again, sets him for a powerbomb, lifts him high. Hayes fights from above, raining punches down into Black’s skull. The shots land again and again until Black’s grip starts to slip.

Hayes drops down behind him, lands on his feet, and instantly shoves Black chest first into the corner.

Hayes charges.

He crashes into him with a running splash that crushes the air out of Black’s lungs. Hayes backs up two steps, then charges again and hits a second splash even harder. Black stumbles forward, dazed, and Hayes hooks him, spins, and plants him with a snap suplex!

He holds on.

Rolls through.

Second suplex!

He tries for a third, lifting, straining, but Black blocks, dropping his weight and driving a knee into Hayes’ gut. Hayes doubles over and Black breaks free, swinging wild.

Hayes ducks under, hooks the waist, tries to drag him down, but Black refuses to go. They struggle, feet grinding into canvas, arms tightening, each man trying to take control of the other’s center.

Black reaches back, hooks the head, and drops suddenly into a reverse DDT that spikes Hayes down!

Both men hit the mat and stay there!

JR: What an effort from John Black! Just when it looked like Asher Hayes was about to steal the momentum, he drilled him with a reverse DDT that reminded him who the boss was!

JC: But J.B. shouldn't count his chickens before they hatch, Joe! Asher Hayes has shown us that he won't go down easy! Let alone stay down for a 3 count!

The audience is on the edge of their seats as both men struggle to breath.

Black crawls first, dragging himself over and throwing an arm across Hayes.

1!

2!

Hayes kicks out!

JC: I told you, Joe: Asher Hayes will not die!

JR: He's gonna make a thug pull out the steel to finish the job! He's better off just staying down, because I don't think he wants to see how far a Thug will go!

Black rolls off and sits up, shaking his head, trying to clear it. He forces himself up, slower now, every movement heavier than before. He drags Hayes up again, forcing him upright, trying to will the finish into existence.

He hooks him. Lifts him-

Hayes fights with everything he has left. Twisting. Kicking. Refusing to go up clean. Black tries to adjust mid-lift, tries to force him into position, but Hayes slips free at the last possible second and lands on his feet.

Hayes stumbles back into the ropes.

Rebounds.

Charges.

Black steps in for a lariat.

Hayes ducks under.

Spins behind.

Shoves Black forward again.

Black hits the ropes and rebounds straight into a brutal kick to the gut that folds him in half!

The opening is there....

Hayes takes it!

Asher hooks Black and lifts him straight up into the air, holding him vertical. The world seems to pause for a heartbeat as Black hangs upside down, legs twitching, the strain visible in both men.

Then Hayes swings through and drives him down with The Breakdown, the vertical suplex crashing into a devastating side slam that detonates across the ring!

The impact leaves Black lifeless and leaves the commentators speechless!

But it just leaves the crowd in awe.

Hayes hooks the leg, pressing down with everything he has left.

1!















2!



Black’s shoulder twitches-














But it doesn't leave the mat!

3!

Winner: Asher Hayes

Hayes rolls off slowly, collapsing onto his back for a second before forcing himself up to a seated position. His chest heaves, his arms tremble, and his eyes stay locked on John Black lying still beside him, the war written across both of them in sweat and impact.

Hayes does not celebrate right away.

He just sits there, breathing hard, knowing exactly how close this match was.

JC: What an incredible match! John Black showed EVERYONE what he's capable of inside that ring...but somehow still, Asher Hayes is walking away from Warfare with the win! It seems like Asher still has some of that 'March Madness' Luck!

JR: John Black put everything on the line, and he pushed Asher Hayes to the breaking point: but somehow, someway, Asher gets his hand raised at the end! He's one lucky bastard!

JC: But don't go anywhere, folks: because we have more WARFARE coming up next!

---

The broadcast opens on the doorframe backstage of the Chase Center, with a placard reading: XWF Management.

Curt, muffled bursts of conversation are overheard. There’s almost a ring of jubilation to them.

But when the doorknob turns, the sounds are drowned out entirely by the crowd.

Dolly Waters steps through the door, and into the backstage area.

Not a hint of jubilation on her features.

JC: MY GOD, SHE’S HERE!

JR: WHAT DOES SHE THINK SHE’S DOING HERE, JACK?

The camera crew follows Dolly -a noticeable limp to her step- as she marches through the backstage, and into guerilla. All while the crowd grows louder and louder. Dolly isn’t reacting to any of it. Her eyes narrowed. Dolly stops just before the curtain. The noise on the other side is deafening.

For a moment she doesn’t move. Not in hesitation. Not in fear. Just… calculation.

JC: She hasn’t said a word since March Madness, Jack. Since she did the unthinkable in beating Kieran King… not a single appearance… not a single statement.

JR: Pfft… and now she just walks back in like she never left?

Dolly adjusts her knee brace. She winces… just barely.

Then she pushes through the curtains.

No music.

The crowd erupts anyway.

It’s not your typical pop, it’s a surge.

Like something overdue finally arrived.

The hard cam shakes. Phones go up. People stand and roar.

But Dolly doesn’t acknowledge any of it. She’s not waving. Not smiling. She just walks. Slow, and measured steps, with a limp that she doesn’t hide… a limp that she doesn’t favor.

JC: That knee is still bad, Joe. You can see it in every step.

JR: Which is exactly why she has no business being out here!

Halfway down the ramp, Dolly pauses. She looks at the ring. Like she’s measuring it. Like she’s remembering it. Like she’s deciding something. Then she keeps walking. Up the stairs carefully. Gripping the rope. She pulls herself in and only then does she look out at the crowd, acknowledging them once.

Then she asks for the mic….

I didn’t come out here tonight to be cheered.

The crowd quiets slightly. Confused. Listening.

I didn’t come out here to celebrate.

Didn’t come out here to tell y’all everything’s gonna be alright.

Because it aint.

A pause

Four weeks ago, at March Madness…

I walked into this ring on one leg…

And I took somethin’ back that never should’ve been stolen in the first place.

Not for me.

For all of us.

She gestures, but not overly dramatic, just enough to get her point across

And I thought…

Maybe that’d be enough.

She shakes her head,

Maybe the Union could stand on its own two feet.

Maybe it didn’t need me anymore.

She taps her knee lightly

God knows I aint standing on two good ones.

But the last four weeks made something’ real clear…

Her tone sharpens,

As much as I still believe in all of you, and as much as I believe that the revolution doesn’t need one person -it needs all of us- this ain’t stable.

This aint safe.

And this damn sure ain’t over.

We got trillionaires treating this place like a playground.

We got factions tearin’ each other apart for scraps.

And we got a man…

She pauses again, almost wanting to correct herself for that description,

Walkin’ around with gold on his waist…

After spilling the blood of one of our own.

The crowd begins to rumble, picking up what she’s putting down

So I didn’t come back because I wanted to… I came back because I was left with no choice.

As of tonight… i ain’t asking anymore…

She raises a slow, firm fist into the air,

I am formally assuming the role of President of the NCAC -the National Combat Athletes Collective.

–The only labor union to ever be codified into the bylaws of the XWF.

A codification that was just acknowledged by the Trillionaire Triumvirate themselves–

And the first order of business… is accountability.

Dolly’s sharp tone lowers to something similar to a growl,

Samael Dyson-

The crowd rumbles a little more

You don’t get to call this a workplace… and then commit murder in it.

The crowd noise spikes. It’s uneasy. Intense.

So the Union will be votin’...

Effective immediately…

On yer’ removal from the XWF.

The camera zooms in on Dolly’s intense features

PERMANENTLY!

From the roar of the crowd now, it’s easy to tell that the majority of the audience agrees with this measure,

And if the people in that locker room have even a shred of the integrity that I believe they have… then yer’ done here, Dyson.

She lowers the mic slightly,

Becasue this ain’t about power. It ain’t about tiles. And it damn sure ain’t about me.

It’s about whether or not this place belongs to the people who bleed in it… or the ones who think they own it.

And we’re about to find out.



“The Gentle Art of Making Enemies” interrupts.

JC: Waitaminute! Wait just a damn minute! That's Kieran King's music! Except Kieran King wasn't allowed in the building last Warfare!

JR: Looks like something has changed on that front!

JC: But where is he?

Dolly turns to the stage, scowling.

Suddenly, the crowd starts to murmur.

It roars to life as a figure jumps over the barricade.

JC: It's Kieran King! Sneaking in through the crowd!

JR: Why is his music playing if he's sneaking into the building?

JC: Don't overthink it, Joe!

JR: I'm not! I am literally incapable of deep thinking! This is literally the bare minimum of thought!

Regardless of the sad state of Joe Rogan's internal workings, Kieran King slides into the ring.

Dolly recognises that something is up… but not soon enough.

She turns, but with perverse precision, King fires into her knee with a chop block.

Dolly crumbles.

And King pounces.

He stomps on her already damaged knee a few times before exiting the ring to claim a steel chair.

Security starts pouring down the entrance ramp!

JC: It's the XWF Security Team here to save the day. Incidentally, Kieran King's own former Kingsguard!

JR: They had a tense staredown last week.

JC: And Kieran made a promise that he wouldn't be so cooperative the next time.

JR: This is the next time!

Some of the security team slide into the ring to check on Dolly Waters and protect her from further harm.

Others target the intruder—Kieran.

He swings his chair tauntingly at security. Then, he chuckles, and exits over the barricade, hightailing it with a microphone in hand.

The bustling crowd, and Kieran's own craftiness, puts distance between himself and the pursuing security forces.

Kieran King: Little pigs, little pigs, let me in! I told you can't keep me out! I have a fucking contract! What's that broken sack of shit in the ring going to do to enforce that, eh?

I was forced to defend MY Universal Title in situations that NOBODY has ever done before! And what, we move on from those injustices!

Newsflash, Dolly: Nobody gave a fuck about Madison Dyson!

But everyone cares about me!!!!

If they didn't, why were they all dead set on trying to stop me?

I am STILL heads and shoulders above everyone on this fucking roster! Shit, your main event tonight is two people who have BOTH failed to beat me! And THAT is who you think should be competing for the Universal Title? How many times have I beaten Scoops? Three? Four? Fiv…

Kieran keeps talking, but no sound seems to come out.

He bangs on the microphone but to no avail.

JR: I think Kieran's microphone might have been turned off!

JC: Thank God!

JR: Whatever happened to free speech, man?

JC: Yes, well… we all know how shallow Elon Musk's defense of free speech really is…

Speaking of…

The X-Tron comes to life with the faces of our saviours (and in fact the saviours of all humanity), Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, and THE ZUCK!

Elon Musk: You know what? Fine, Kiki. Fine. Next week, you're allowed in the building. We’ll have you escorted all the way down to the ring, and we're going to ‘deal’ with your contract, one way or another.

Before the X-Tron cuts off, Kieran smirks and raises a middle finger to the tron, and then gives two to the security team as he disappears into the building.

JC: DAMNIT! King struck and then ran!

JR: That wasn’t about winning a fight, Jackie. King was sending a message!

The camera cuts back to the ring

Dolly Waters is surrounded by security and medics. They kneel beside her, checking on her knee - but she shoves them away.

The crowd roars!

Dolly rolls onto her side, reaching for the bottom rope. Her fingers curl around it, knuckles whitening as she pulls.

She tries to stand…

But her leg gives out instantly.

She drops back down to a knee.

JC: That knee is shot! She can’t even put weight on it.

JR: This is exactly what I was talking about. She shouldn’t be out here!

Dolly exhales sharply. Controlled. And then she tries again.

Slow and deliberate. Painfully real. And this time she gets halfway up, balancing on one leg. Shaking, but upright none the less.

The crowd begins to rise with her.

Dolly doesn’t look toward the ramp. Doesn’t look for Kieran. Instead she turns her head up at the X-Tron. Where the Trillionaire Triumvirate stood.

Her jaw tightens. Her breathing steadies. No words. Just that look of hers.

JC: This…. This isn’t over, Joe…

JR: Not even close.

The crowd roars as Dolly forces herself fully upright for just a moment, and then leans into the ropes, catching herself.

Still hurt.

Still compromised.

Still standing.

---

Darkness. Silence. A pause.

"Hey, that your boyfriend?"

"True Believers" by DON BROCO feat. Sam Carter starts as the crowd starts a deafening chorus of boos. A spotlight.

"And that big red flag they waving, it's your choice."

The automatons, bearing their respective symbols on their masks appear, two on either side of the spotlight. X, O, Triangle and Square. A helicopter hovers now. From it comes a ladder that lowers down onto the spotlight, carrying Jordan Penn in his masked Director persona. He descends fully and kneels as his minions follow suit.

"All the true believers, All the true believers, All the true believers..."

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

In that moment, he removes his mask as pyro explodes onto the stage behind him. Two other men join the entourage now, Greg Brune and Wallace. Jordan strides single-mindedly and quickly toward the ring, flanked by his four masked and two unmasked men. As he reaches the edge of the ring, he surveys the crowd, taking in their boos and letting it fuel him. A wry smile etched across his face, he laughs and looks to his men. The masked men get on all fours and form a human staircase for him. He walks across their backs with purpose and enters the ring. Wallace nods, signaling for the masked men to head backstage. Wallace and Greg Brune take their places on either side of the ring as Jordan mockingly does a pageant wave to the crowd, met with more booing. He flips off the audience in at least three different ways before leaning on the turnbuckle and looking out once more at the crowd and waiting for the match to begin.

JC: “The Blacque Sheep” has made quite the name for himself in the XWF!

JR: Pfft, he didn’t make his name for himself: he just latched onto Sebastian’s success!

JC: Well…Jordan Penn IS Sebastian Everett-Bryce’s brother, Joe! He’s the Black Sheep of the Everett-Bryce family, and that’s why he’s sworn himself to destroying Sebastian’s legacy and taking away everything he loves: it started with the XWF Tag-Team Championships…and only God knows when it will end!

JR: Well if we’re lucky, Frances Marigold will end it all tonight! That dude is crazy!

JC: Speak of the drunken devil…



As Nirvana's Tourette's blares through the loudspeakers, the cameras pan around the arena before finally spotting Frances Marigold

He appears in the stands, smoking a cigarette, jamming out with the fans. He cracks open a can of beer pours it down his throat before heading to the ring.

JR: Now that’s a MAN’S MAN right there! Smoking cigs, pounding booze, and crushing puss: that’s what Frances Marigold is all about!

JC: This match is a true clash of styles! Jordan Penn: composed, measured, and calculated. But standing across from him? Frances Marigold: rowdy, rambunctious, and ready to raise hell! And between them? Nothing but a flaming table!

JR: Shit’s. About. To. Get. Real!

Jordan Penn - vs - Frances Marigold Flaming Tables XXX-Travaganza First Man to Put Their Opponent through a Flaming Table Wins

The smell of gasoline already hangs in the air. Tables are stacked at ringside like promises waiting to be kept. Packs of matches sit scattered across the apron. The crowd is loud before anything even starts.

Frances Marigold is grinning.

Jordan Penn is not.

When the bell rings, they circle once. That is all Jordan allows himself before stepping in clean and fast, snapping a low kick into Frances’ thigh and following with a sharp forearm. Frances eats it, barely reacting, then laughs. Actually laughs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and swings a wild right that Jordan barely slips.

Jordan pivots, hooks the arm, and takes Frances down with a tight arm drag. He transitions immediately, looking to control the wrist, trying to ground the chaos before it starts. Frances rolls through, pops back up, and swings again. This time it connects.

Jordan staggers.

Frances points at him like he just proved something.

They collide again and this time it is not technical. It is fists. Frances throwing wide, heavy shots that sound like cinderblocks hitting flesh. Jordan trying to keep it clean, tight, precise. He slips one and lands a clean combination to the body and head, then shoots in and drives Frances back into the ropes.

Jordan tries to whip him.

Frances plants his feet and refuses.

Jordan tries again.

Frances yanks him in and crushes him with a short arm lariat that nearly flips him.

Jordan hits hard and rolls, already trying to create distance.

Frances does not chase right away.

Instead, he reaches into his gear.

The crowd roars.

JC: Frances stuffed a weapon into his pants! He's reaching for it! It's...it's a-

JR: Is that Rumpleminze?

He pulls out a tiny bottle. A shooter. He cracks it open with his teeth and downs it in one go, head tilted back, throat working, then tosses it aside and wipes his mouth again.

Jordan looks at him like he is dealing with something completely irrational.

Frances just grins wider.

Jordan moves first, charging in with a dropkick that catches Frances square and sends him stumbling back into the ropes. Jordan is on him now, grabbing, striking, pushing him toward the outside. He tries to dump him over the top.

Frances fights it, then suddenly shifts and backdrops Jordan up and over instead.

Jordan lands on his feet on the outside.

Frances does not give him a second.

He runs.

He hits the ropes.

He launches himself over the top rope with a wild, reckless dive that crashes down onto Jordan and sends both men sprawling into the sea of tables!

The crowd erupts!

JR: Frances Marigold is fighting like he's drunk out there! He's throwing himself around like he can't even feel pain!

JC: And maybe he can't! But Jordan Penn definitely can- and that bump looked NASTY!

Frances is up first, already grabbing one of the tables and sliding it into the ring. He drags another upright against the barricade, then grabs one of the gasoline canisters and shakes it, listening to the slosh inside like it is music.

Jordan slides into the ring behind him and catches him with a forearm to the back of the head. Frances stumbles forward and drops the canister. Jordan grabs him and snaps him down with a quick DDT onto the canvas.

Jordan moves with purpose now. He sets the table up in the center of the ring, making sure the legs are locked, checking the balance. He goes back to Frances, pulling him up, trying to control him, trying to dictate the pace.

Frances throws a headbutt.

It lands hard.

Jordan stumbles back, stunned, and Frances follows with another, then another, until Jordan drops to a knee.

JR: I've always thought Jordan Penn was hardheaded, but it looks like Frances' head is even harder!

Frances grabs the gasoline canister again and starts pouring it across the table. The liquid splashes and soaks the wood.

The smell gets stronger.

Frances reaches for a pack of matches.

Jordan explodes forward and tackles him before he can strike one.

They crash into the mat, grappling, rolling, each trying to control the other’s hands. Jordan gets top position and starts hammering down short strikes, trying to wear Frances down, trying to slow him, trying to bring this back to something he understands.

Frances just laughs again.

He bucks his hips and throws Jordan off, rolling to his feet and swinging wildly. One shot connects. Then another. Jordan tries to cover up but Frances is relentless now, driving him back, backing him into the corner.

Frances grabs Jordan and hurls him across the ring. Jordan hits the corner hard and stumbles out.

Right into a spinebuster from Frances that rattles the ring!

JC: Marigold is like a bull in a china shop! He's just wreaking havoc all over the ring!

JR: And a Blaque Sheep can't do nothin' to a raging bull, Jacquinde!

Frances gets up and reaches into his gear again.

Another shooter.

He pops it.

Drinks it.

Throws it.

The crowd is losing its mind for their drunken hero!

Jordan is trying to stand. Frances grabs him by the head and starts firing punches, each one slower but heavier than the last. Jordan tries to answer with a clean shot but Frances eats it and keeps coming.

At ringside, one of Penn's goons tries to interfere. Wallace hops onto the apron.

Frances sees him.

Frances drops Jordan and walks over, eyes locked.

Wallace hesitates.

That is his mistake.

Frances grabs him by the collar and yanks him through the ropes like he weighs nothing, dragging him into the ring and immediately planting him with a brutal right hand that drops him flat. One more for good measure. Wallace is done! He drops to the mat before rolling out like a ragdoll.

Penn's other ringside goon, Greg Brune, goes to slide in from the other side, trying to blindside Frances-

But he never makes it.

Hands reach over the barricade.

Fans grab him.

They pull him back!

Greg fights, kicking, shouting, but there are too many of them. He gets dragged over the barricade and disappears into the crowd, swallowed up by a wave of screaming, laughing Frances supporters.

JC: Jordan Penn brought some of his friends to the ring, but he forgot that EVERYONE in this arena is a friend of Frances Marigold!

JR: If Jordan Penn wants to play dirty, then these fans are going to play dirty! I think these people would put their lives on the line for Frances Marigold!

Jordan is back on his feet.

He sees the opening.

He charges.

He hooks Frances from behind and hits a clean German suplex that folds him up and drops him hard. Jordan holds on, rolls through, and hits another. Then a third, bridging instinctively before remembering none of that matters here.

Jordan releases and scrambles up, breathing hard.

He looks at the table.

He looks at the matches.

This is his chance.

He grabs the pack, strikes one.

The flame flickers to life.

For a second, everything feels controlled.

He drops the match onto the gasoline-soaked table.

Fire erupts.

The table ignites fast, flames licking up and dancing, heat radiating outward.

The crowd surges.

Jordan turns back to Frances and pulls him up, trying to set him, trying to get him onto his shoulders, trying to end this cleanly.

Frances fights.

He drives elbows back into Jordan’s head. One. Two. Three.

Jordan’s grip loosens.

Frances drops down behind him.

He shoves Jordan forward.

Jordan stumbles toward the flaming table but catches himself at the last second, stopping just inches from the fire.

He turns.

Frances is already there.

Frances grabs him and starts throwing.

Right hand.

Left hand.

Headbutt.

Jordan fires back with a precise strike that snaps Frances’ head to the side.

Frances laughs again.

Blood trickles from his forehead now.

He does not care!

Because he's Frances fuckin' Marigold!

JC: Frances is busted open! He's wearing a scarlet mask now!

JR: I get the feeling that's the way he likes it! Jordan Penn is in Frances Marigold's world now, baby!

Frances grabs Jordan and whips him into the ropes. Jordan rebounds and Frances catches him with a massive lariat that turns him inside out.

Jordan hits hard.

Frances does not stop.

He drags him up again, hooks him, and drives him down with a brutal slam right next to the flaming table. The heat is intense now, the fire crackling loud enough to hear.

Frances looks at it.

Then he does something else.

He reaches into his gear.

And pulls out a cigarette.

The crowd loses it!

He strikes a match.

Lights it.

Takes a drag.

Smoke curls up into the air, mixing with the fire.

JC: Alright now Joe, this is starting to get a little disrespectful! Frances is popping shooters, smoking cigarettes, and well, just dominating everything about this match!

JR: That's what he does! That's his thing! If Frances Marigold were a clown, he would be "Kicks Your Ass and Steals Your Girlfriend While Smoking A Cigarette Clown"!

Jordan crawls, trying to get away.

Frances flicks the cigarette aside and grabs him.

Frances has had enough of the games.

He hauls Jordan up, muscles straining, and lifts him onto his shoulders. Jordan fights, kicking, twisting, trying to slip free, but Frances clamps down and adjusts his grip.

Frances roars.

And then he runs.

Two steps.

Three.

He launches forward and throws Jordan Penn off his shoulders and straight through the flaming table.

The wood explodes on impact.

Fire bursts outward.

Jordan crashes through it all, disappearing in a shower of sparks and broken planks.

The flames scatter as the table collapses beneath him.

The crowd erupts into absolute chaos.

Frances stumbles back, chest heaving, arms out wide, laughing through blood and sweat and smoke.

Jordan lies in the wreckage, unmoving.

Winner: Frances Marigold

Frances Marigold stands in the center of the ring, breathing fire like he belongs there, like he always has, like this was never going to end any other way.

EMTs run down the ramp carrying fire extinguishers. They rush into the ring and begin spraying foam all over Jordan Penn.

JC: What a DOMINANT performance from Frances Marigold! He just destroyed the tag-team champion AND two of his goons! This match started out as a 3v1…and it was never even close! Marigold didn’t even break a sweat!

JR: I’ve always liked Frances Marigold, I always knew he was a tough guy! But a match like this? I didn’t know he had it in him! I’m not usually a prisoner of the moment, Jacquinde…but I think we just watched a star be born!

JC: Listening to this standing ovation from the crowd, I think you might be right Joe! But we can’t sit around and glaze Frances all night, no matter how much we may want to- because we have a lot more WARFARE coming up next!

---

We’re back from commercial and after the ring crew has finished spraying out the fire… Jordan Penn is shaking his head rising off the mat…

Jordan Penn pulls himself exhaustedly up against the ropes… As the crowd rains boos down on the man once known as The Director, Penn smirks at the audience with a face they’ve grown far too familiar with. He brushes sweat and soot off his brow…

JR: Jordan Penn may have taken the loss, but from his expression… you’d think this was just one step in his master plan!

JC: A compelling performance from Seba-er… Jordan Penn here tonight.

JR: Ain’t that right, gonna take awhile to get used to that mug matched with that violence.

Penn turns towards the camera, smug.

Suddenly the crowd pops!

JC: HOLY COW IT’S A ROYAL INQUISITION.

Isaiah King comes slamming into Penn’s back, bringing him from his smug confidence crashing into the mat before his partner's twin can even turn to meet his eyes.

JR: CHEAP SHOT!

Isaiah follows up with a series of body shots to the down man - driving Penn into the mat repeatedly. Penn tries to throw up his guard but hitting the ribs, liver and face have him flailing.

JC: Power from King!

Isaiah pulls Penn up from the mat, whips him into a corner and explodes into a devastating SPINEBUSTER that rocks the ring.

The crowd explodes into cheers - Isaiah flips back up onto his feet, focused.

JR: Wait! The ramp, look!

Sebastian Everett-Bryce emerges through the curtains, face steeled. He has a firm hand on an ankle… That belongs to-

JC: It’s ASHER HAYES!

Hayes is barely keeping consciousness, blinking out the blood in his eyes.

JR: This is turning into a shitshow.

SEB rolls Hayes into the ring, giving Hayes enough time to stumble onto his feet - dazed.

SEB steps in, clean and precise.

He glances to the mat, his thigh twitches for a kick.

Hayes turns away from him only for his chin to meet the sharp knuckles of a spinning punch from Isaiah King.

Hayes drops.

Sebastian laughs, slapping hands with Isaiah.

JC: Ain’t ever seen The Exiles revel in a beat down like this.

JR: They’re sick, they’re sick I tell ya!

SEB adjusts his sleeve, he even helps Isaiah straighten out his shirt. Isaiah gives him a small nod and the two stand side-by-side as they turn to the ramp.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TkUKyTLYQos[/youtube]

Sex Metal Barbie explodes throughout the speakers.

JC: It’s Jenny MYST, the woman behind the scenes must be FUUURIOUS.

JR: About time someone with the right set of balls came to put this show back on track.

Jenny Myst comes stumbling out from the backstage. Korvayne rushes out with a steel chair, slamming it into Jenny’s face at the very top of the ramp.

JC: NO! It’s another beat down! Korvayne is getting retribution for last Warfare!!

Isaiah and Sebastian watch the altercation, chuckling to themselves as Korvayne drags Jenny kicking and screaming down the ramp. She rolls Jenny into the ring. Jenny rolls onto her knees and smirks at Sebastian - cussing him out in a way only she could. Sebastian casts a cursory glance at Isaiah before throwing up a boot into Myst’s jaw.

JR: HE’D KICK A GIRL?

JC: Well… Jenny Myst.

JR: What’re you implying!

JC: I mean we aren’t strangers to Miss Myst….

Korvayne rolls into the ring with the former XWF Tag Team champions and stands eye-to-eye with Isaiah. Sebastian’s eyes flit between the two before he slaps her on the back a few times encouragingly.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqHSGVtfXhc]

JC: IT’S CHARLIE NICKLES

JR: And Oz is quickly behind him.

Korvayne turns to the top of the ramp to see one of half the XWF Tag Champs and a dominant Mr Oz burst through the back and rush their way down the ring. Both have vicious looking barbed wire wrapped baseball bats in their arms.

Isaiah and Sebastian step up next to her and get ready for a brawl.

She glances at the two men next to her - men she’d just gone to war with.

And gives them a quick wave… GOODBYES.

Korvayne: You got this, guys. I’m too cute to die!

She backs up to the ropes, and flips backwards out of the ring. Her waiting simp catches her on his shoulders and leaps into the crowds, vanishing.

Isaiah and Sebastian exchange glances. They sigh disappointedly for a second before chuckling to themselves as if they should’ve known better. They give Charlie a quick wink before dropping out on either side of the ring and breaking off into opposite sides of the crowd on their own.

JC: And they’ve escaped the brotherhoods clutches for now!

JR: What cowards! They start a fight but won’t end it!

The camera fizzles as both of the Exiles stand on opposite sides of the stadium, flipping off the Brotherhood while Charlie and Oz seethe and help their teammates up.

JC: I- I think we’re being told to go to an ad break!

---

The camera opens up in the backstage area, revealing a bubbly Remi Storm striding down the hallway. The bright lights are catching the edges of her gear and making the glitter in it shimmer as she moves.



Remi’s pace has a rhythm to it—light, almost buoyant. Not quite skipping, but close. There’s an ease in the way she moves, like she’s riding a current of adrenaline she doesn’t want to fight. Her boots land with soft, confident steps, her shoulders loose, her expression focused but undeniably bright. A small smile curves the corners of her lips.



She passes by a pair of crew members mid-conversation and gives them a quick, playful spin as she goes by, not even breaking stride. One of them laughs, shaking their head, she’s already known for this exact kind of energy.



As she turns down a quieter corridor, she passes by a doorway. She makes it a few steps more before hitting the brakes, and putting it in reverse, leaning backwards to peer into an open doorway.



In her locker room, Revolution Champion and challenger for the Universal title Betsy Granger is warming up. She’s moving through controlled drills, sharp strikes, measured footwork, shoulders rolling loose between combinations. There’s a discipline to it, a calm intensity that the woman seemed to carry in spades.



Completely locked in.



Remi’s expression morphs into recognition and cheer, maybe even a hint of admiration. Then it warms. Her eyes brighten, a small, knowing smile forming as she watches Betsy for a few seconds.



She knocks on the doorframe but gets no response. Remi tilts her head slightly, noticing the earbuds, the way Betsy is completely sealed into her own world. Her steps are quiet as she closes the distance, careful not to interrupt too abruptly. She approaches just off to Betsy’s side rather than directly behind her, trying to ease into her line of sight instead of startling her. For a moment, she simply watches, timing it, reading the rhythm of Betsy’s movement.



Betsy throws another clean combination, pivots…



Still doesn’t see her.



That small smile returns, a touch more playful now. She steps a little closer, just enough to enter the edge of Betsy’s peripheral vision.



Nothing.



So Remi lifts a hand and gives a small, casual wave in front of Betsy’s line of sight, like you would to someone you don’t want to startle.That’s what breaks through.



Betsy’s motion falters—not dramatically, just enough. Her eyes flick sideways, catching movement that shouldn’t be there in her rhythm. She slows, pulling one earbud free as she turns her head—



—and finally sees Remi’s grinning face.



With a responding grin of her own, Betsy pulls out the other earbud and turns gracefully on her toes to face Remi head-on.



Betsy: Well met, newest bestie!



Grabbing the towel that was hanging over the bench, Betsy dabs at her sweaty neck and face, shifting her braid over her shoulder to cool off. Plopping down, she grabs her water bottle and takes a few measured sips, gesturing for Remi to join her. Setting the bottle down, she takes a few breaths to steady herself and flashes Remi a warm smile.



Betsy: Feeling good about tonight?



Remi shifts her weight slightly, one foot rocking forward as if she still has some of that earlier motion in her system, but now it’s calmer. There’s a quiet confidence in the way she holds herself, shoulders relaxed, chin just slightly lifted as she moves forward, sinking down beside Betsy.



Remi: Yeah… I am. I feel ready.



There’s no hesitation behind it. She lets out a small breath. Her eyes flick down for a split second, then back up to Betsy, that soft smile still there.



Remi: But I’m not about to count Rowan out, not for a second.



She gives a small shake of her head. There’s respect in the way she says it—no fear, no doubt, just awareness at what she’s up against. She tilts her head slightly, studying Betsy now, her eyes bright with curiosity and a little spark of encouragement.



Remi: What about you?



Her tone turns playful.



Remi: I’m rooting for you to take that Uni from Scoops.



The corner of Betsy’s lip quirks upward involuntarily, the bubbly energy of her new friend proving too infectious. Nodding her approval, she takes another sip before replying.



Betsy: I’m rooting for me, too.



A slight quiver in her tones betrays… Nerves? Determination? Anticipation? All of the above… Definitely that one. Not for the first time that day, her pulse quickens as she thinks about the fight ahead, bringing her back to her feet and into her drills once again.



Betsy For what it’s worth, I think you’ve got a great chance out there tonight. I’ve been keeping an eye on you lately… You were impressive in TPW, too. You’ve had an excellent showing around these parts. What short-term goals have you been thinking about for yourself?



Remi Hey, thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from you.



She watches Betsy for a few moments, as if gathering her thoughts.



Remi: I think right now, it’s about proving I belong here. Not just showing up, not just having good moments, but being consistent. Being someone people expect to see step up when it matters.



She glances back at Betsy, a little more confidence settling in as she continues.



Remi: I want wins that actually mean something. And yeah… eventually, I want to be in that title picture. I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.



A faint smile tugs at her lips.



Remi: But I’m not in a rush to skip steps to get there. I want to build something.



She pauses, then lets out a small, almost amused breath, her expression warming again as she lightly tilts her head.



Remi: Plus… if I’m coming after gold, I’d rather know I can stand across from someone, and it actually means something when I do. TPW, I earned my spot in the first match, but then I won two on the way there.



Betsy: That’s one of the things I’ve always found… Fascinating, about what we do. Proving you belong is expected of anyone, but if you happen to be better than most from the start, then…



The Traveler shrugs her shoulders and leans over, taking the Revolution Championship out of her gym duffel, holding it out to Remi.



Betsy: Who’s to say part of that foundation doesn’t involve a little gold shimmer?



She holds out the belt to Remi, encouraging her to take it. Remi’s eyes settle on the championship the second Betsy brings it into view, and there is no hesitations. She takes it, Her hands find their place on it like they’ve done this a million times before, like the shape and weight aren’t foreign to her. Still, there’s a pause once it’s in her grasp. Her fingers tighten just slightly along the edge of the plate, grounding herself in the feel of it.



There’s memory there.



Remi: True…



Her thumb brushes across the face of the title, slower than before—not inspecting it, but feeling it. Like she’s reconnecting with something. A flicker of emotions crossed her face, a mixture of hunger and determination.



Remi: You know, no one really prepares you for how it feels to win one of these. When it’s actually in your hands and it hits you that it’s real.



She shifts her grip slightly, lifting the belt just a fraction



Remi: I want that again.



Betsy nods, giving Remi a knowing look and nod of her head.



Betsy: I know what you mean… That is… You know-



Her breath catches as she waves her arm towards the center of the building.



Betsy: We’re like junkies, always looking for a bigger hit. I wouldn’t mind feeling that ecstasy I hear comes with winning the big one. I’ve never held a belt that heavy…



She completes another sequence of kicks and strikes as her mind wanders once again to the match ahead, to the idea of winning the Universal title. To what possibly comes after if she hangs onto it long enough to make it to Leap of Faith… Shaking her head clear and focusing up again, looks over her shoulder at Remi and grins.



Betsy: And should I win that Uni tonight, it wouldn’t be right to hang onto that beauty…



She nods her head towards the Revolution Title that Remi was still holding.



Remi:: And it looks good on you.



It takes a second, but Remi stills as the meaning lands. Her brow furrows slightly as her gaze flits from the belt to Betsy.


Remi: I couldn’t disagree with you there…



The impish smile returns.



Remi: And I’d want to earn it… against you.



This makes Betsy chuckle, a smirk crossing her face. Taking the belt back, she rests it over her shoulder and gives Remi a pondering glance.



Betsy: We’ll see… The Universe has a funny way of getting in the way of what we want, what we plan.



With a cheeky grin, Betsy shrugs and starts heading towards the catering table.



Betsy: I can see this belt on you, yet… Good luck to you out there tonight.



Remi responds with a grin and a nod of her own before moving along her way, both women locking back in for their upcoming matches later in the night…

---

The lights dim. A low, almost imperceptible hum of static rolls through the speakers. The crowd murmurs, unsure if this is intentional or a tech glitch.

A single cold white spotlight snaps on, not centered on the stage but slightly off to the left, like production missed their cue or Rowan Vance wasn’t where they expected him to be.

Then the unmistakable bassline of “Psycho Killer” by Talking Heads kicks in.

The crowd reacts instantly, some cheering, some laughing at the unexpected choice, all of them paying attention.

Rowan Vance steps into the light.

Hands in his pockets, head slightly tilted. Expression unreadable, like he’s listening to something only he can hear.

JC: Rowan Vance! For such a quiet soul, he has made a LOUD impact on the XWF!

JR: He’s been dominant, Jacuinde! He beat Ennui Clown and El Landerson, two very different competitors! And what’s most impressive is his poise and confidence throughout! Rowan had a size disadvantage against Ennui and a speed disadvantage against Landerson… but it never once felt like the match wasn’t in his control! Like he wasn’t in the driver’s seat.

JC: His composure is beyond his years! For such a young man, it’s clear his mind is built for wrestling! But, tonight, he’s got his stiffest challenge to date! Can he continue his undefeated streak!

Vance doesn’t pose, he just starts walking. Slow, steady, deliberate. Sometimes a hand will come out to slap fives or fist bump those in the crowd.

Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, not dramatically, just a subtle, instinctive check, like he heard a footstep behind him.

The spotlight follows him, but always a fraction of a second late, giving the whole thing a slightly off‑kilter, uncanny rhythm.

As he reaches the ramp, the lighting shifts: a faint blue haze rolls across the stage, giving him a silhouette that looks almost doubled, like someone is walking just behind him.

The crowd can’t tell if it’s a trick of the lights or something else.

Rowan reaches ringside. He pauses as the chorus hits that jittery, staccato vocal rhythm.

He still doesn’t position himself for photo opportunities, doesn’t smirk, just stops, his head turning slightly like he’s trying to locate a sound in the rafters.

Then he slides under the bottom rope with the same quiet, fluid motion he does everything else… As he stands, the arena lights flicker, just once.

Not enough to scream “supernatural.” Just enough to make the audience shift in their seats. Rowan doesn’t react, he’s used to it.

He walks to his corner, leans back against the turnbuckles, and waits, hands still in his pockets, eyes scanning the arena like he’s cataloguing every noise, every movement, every pattern.

The music fades. The static hum returns for half a second, then there's silence, and Rowan Vance is ready.

…


Ring Entrance (PLEASE write one out for use in match/show writing):





JC: Remi Storm! The Storm is HERE! And she’s ready to rain down on her opponent!

JR: Speaking of shredding clowns, Remi wrecked Doctor Clown MD… and she made John Blade look absolutely dull!

JC: But this is a big leap in opponent talent for Remi! From Doctor Clown to Rowan Vance… it’s night and day difference! Can she rise to the occasion?

Rowan Vance - vs - Remi Storm Submission Match

The bell rings—

—and for once, there’s no immediate explosion.

Rowan Vance stands near center ring, shoulders loose, head tilted ever so slightly as he studies. Across from him, Remi Storm bounces once on the balls of her feet, then stills—just enough to meet him in the moment.

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth.

Rowan gives the faintest nod.

They circle.

JC: This already feels different, Joe.

JR: That’s because it is, Jacuinde! No chaos, no wild swings—this is two minds stepping into the ring before the bodies follow!

Remi steps in first—but not recklessly. Her hand shoots out—

Rowan meets it.

Collar and elbow tie-up.

There’s no struggle for dominance, not immediately. Instead, there’s pressure. Testing. Feeling.

Rowan subtly shifts his grip, rotating his wrist inward—

Wristlock.

He turns through it smoothly, drawing Remi down just a fraction, testing her base.

Remi’s eyes flick to his hands.

Then her shoulders roll.

She spins under—

Reversal!

Now she has the wristlock, cranking it just enough to make a point. She flashes a quick smirk.

JR: Oh, I like that! She’s not just escaping—she’s answering!

Rowan’s expression doesn’t change—but his stance does.

He steps in closer, eliminating space.

His free hand slides up—

Hammerlock transition.

He traps her arm behind her back, posture tightening, control re-established.

Remi exhales sharply through her nose—half irritation, half admiration.

Without hesitation, she drops her weight—

Forward roll!

She flips through the pressure, dragging Rowan with her—

Armdrag counter—

No!

Rowan halts the momentum midway, widening his base, absorbing it.

Remi lands on a knee instead of completing the throw—

—and immediately pivots—

Armbar!

She drops back, extending his arm fully, hips rising to apply pressure.

The crowd murmurs, appreciative.

JC: That’s a clean transition! These two are a step ahead of each other already!

Rowan’s eyes narrow—not in pain, but in calculation.

He doesn’t thrash.

He stacks.

Slowly, deliberately, he shifts his weight forward, folding Remi’s shoulders toward the mat—not for a pin, but to change the angle—

Then rolls.

He rotates through the pressure, twisting his arm free just enough—

—and in the same motion—

Catches her wrist.

Wristlock again.

They’re back on their feet.

Remi laughs under her breath.

JR: You hear that? She’s enjoying this!

Remi doesn’t waste time—she steps in tight, flipping her grip—

Hammerlock on Rowan now.

She leans in, applying pressure between the shoulder blades.

Rowan’s head tilts again.

He shifts his footing—small, precise—

Then reaches back—

Grabs her wrist—

Drops suddenly—

Roll-through!

He drags her forward over his shoulder—

Fujiwara armbar!

This time he sits into it, controlling the shoulder, pressing down with clinical precision.

Remi winces—but there’s a grin there too.

She plants her free hand, kicks her legs up—

Cartwheel escape!

She spins over him, relieving the pressure mid-rotation—

—and lands behind him—

Hammerlock again!

But Rowan doesn’t stay there.

He rolls forward immediately, not even letting the hold settle—

He flips through—

Drags her down—

Cross armbar attempt—

Remi clasps her hands!

She blocks it, muscles tensing—

Rowan adjusts, trying to pry the grip apart—

Remi shifts her hips—

Stacks him now!

The position reverses—

She twists—

Rolling transition—

Triangle setup—

No!

Rowan postures up just in time, breaking the angle before it locks in fully.

They disengage—

Both rise to their feet almost simultaneously.

A beat.

They stare at each other.

Remi brushes a strand of hair back, smirking wider now.

Rowan gives another small nod—this one sharper.

JC: This is incredible! Neither one can keep control for more than a second!

JR: Because they’re both thinking two moves ahead! This ain’t checkers, Jacuinde!

They circle again—but closer now.

Faster.

Remi darts in—

Wristlock—

Rowan rolls through—

Reversal—

Remi spins—

Hammerlock—

Rowan pivots—

Drop to a knee—

Arm drag attempt—

Remi cartwheels through it—

Lands—

Snatches the leg!

Ankle lock!

She drops instantly, twisting the ankle, torquing the knee as she falls back.

JC: She’s got it! That’s deep!

Rowan’s body jolts with the sudden shift.

For the first time, there’s a visible reaction—his brow tightens.

But only for a moment.

His hands plant on the mat.

He doesn’t reach for the ropes.

He pushes up—

Tucks his chin—

Somersault!

His body flips forward, using the trapped leg as a pivot—

Remi is forced to follow—

She’s pulled up and over—

—but she goes with it—

Somersault of her own!

She rolls clean through, releasing just enough to avoid getting tangled—

—and lands on her feet.

Rowan kips up in the same instant.

They both reset.

Standing.

Facing each other.

As the crowd rises to their feet, screaming!

JC: Wow! These two… this is very different!

JR: It isn’t brutal, it’s not vicious! These two like each other, but this is wrestling at its finest! Two elite competitors giving each other their all!

They don’t circle this time.

They step in.

Simultaneously.

Hands meet again—faster now, sharper, less exploratory.

Remi snaps into a collar tie, immediately dragging Rowan downward, trying to break his posture—

Rowan resists—not with strength, but with positioning. He shifts his hips, redirects her pull—

Slides to the side—

Arm drag!

Remi rolls through it instantly, barely touching the mat—

Pops back up—

Snatches the arm—

Standing armbar!

She cranks down, rising onto her toes to increase the pressure, her expression tightening with focus.

No smirk now.

Rowan’s jaw sets.

He steps forward into the pressure instead of away from it—

Closes the distance—

Then drops—

Roll-through counter!

He spins under her arm, twisting his shoulder free—

Transitions—

Rear waist lock!

He doesn’t hold it—he uses it—

Mat return attempt—

Remi hooks his leg!

Blocks it!

She shifts her weight sideways—

Hip toss!

Rowan flips—

But lands on his feet.

They both turn at the same time—

Remi fires a low kick toward his leg—

Rowan checks it—

Catches her ankle—

Single-leg takedown!

He drives through cleanly, planting her on her back and immediately capturing the leg—

Heel hook attempt!

JC: Whoa! That’s dangerous territory!

JR: That’s not a transition anymore, that’s a threat!

Remi reacts instantly—no hesitation—

She twists her hips, rolling with the torque before it can lock in—

Spins through—

Kicks free—

Scrambles up—

But Rowan is already there.

He steps in—

Clinches—

Trips her leg out—

They go down together—

Rowan floats over—

Fujiwara armbar again!

This time deeper. Tighter. His chest presses down on her shoulder, isolating the joint completely.

Remi exhales sharply—this one hurts.

Her fingers flex against the mat.

Rowan adjusts his grip—micro-movements, increasing pressure millimeter by millimeter.

JR: Rowan Vance is closing in here! He’s not rushing it—he’s tightening the vice!

Remi grits her teeth—

Then suddenly—

She rolls toward him instead of away.

It compresses the hold—

But changes the angle.

She threads her leg over his head—

Kicks off—

Spins—

Triangle choke!

Locked in!

Her legs snap tight around his neck and trapped arm, heels digging in, hips lifting.

Now it’s Rowan’s turn to feel it.

A flicker of tension crosses his face.

Not panic—

But urgency.

JC: Remi’s got him trapped! That’s locked in beautifully!

Rowan doesn’t waste time.

He shifts his weight forward—

Stacks her.

Drives her shoulders toward the mat again—not for a pin, but to relieve pressure—

Remi squeezes tighter, adjusting the angle—

Rowan’s balance wavers—

But then—

He pivots.

Turns his body just enough—

Slides his trapped arm free—

And immediately drops his weight across her legs—

Kneebar attempt!

He snatches her leg, extending backward, pulling it tight against his chest.

Remi’s eyes widen—

She plants her hands, trying to sit up—

Rowan leans back further—

The pressure spikes—

JR: Now Rowan’s the one threatening to end it! That knee is not meant to bend like that!

Remi breathes out sharply—

Then moves.

She twists her hips—

Rolls sideways—

Rotates through the hold—

Her free leg kicks across—

Pushes against Rowan’s shoulder—

Creates just enough space—

She slips her knee loose—

And immediately—

Grabs his arm again!

Armbar!

They’re back on the mat, reversed again, her hips high, his arm extended—

But this time she holds it.

Just a fraction longer.

Rowan’s eyes narrow.

He clasps his hands—

Blocks full extension—

Remi adjusts, pulling harder—

Her intensity rising now.

No playful edge left.

This is competition.

Rowan plants his foot—

Bridges—

Rotates—

They roll—

Once.

Twice.

Third rotation—

Rowan comes up on top—

Still trapped—

But improving position—

He pries his hands apart—

Slips his elbow free—

And immediately transitions—

Crossface!

He drives his forearm across her face, turning her head away, controlling her upper body.

Remi winces—

But even that turns into motion—

She reaches—

Hooks his leg—

Roll-up motion—

But instead of a pin—

Inside cradle transition—

No—

She uses the momentum—

To spin behind him—

Rear mount!

She snakes her arm around his neck—

Rear naked choke attempt!

The crowd rises.

JC: This is escalating fast! Submission after submission! Neither one giving an inch!

Rowan’s breathing sharpens—but his movements stay precise.

He tucks his chin—

Grabs her wrist—

Peels it down just enough—

Then throws his weight sideways—

They crash to the mat—

He lands on top—

Breaks the grip—

But Remi doesn’t disengage—

She scrambles—

Hooks his arm—

Omoplata attempt!

She swings her leg over his shoulder, twisting his arm behind him—

Rowan posts with his free hand—

Balances—

Stops the full rotation—

But he’s trapped.

Remi sits up—

Leans forward—

Cranking the shoulder—

Rowan’s posture dips—

For the first time, he’s caught.

JR: Remi Storm might have him here! That shoulder is in a bad, bad way!

Rowan exhales slowly.

Once.

Then—

He rolls.

Forward.

Tucking his shoulder through the pressure—

Somersault escape!

He flips over her body—

Pulls his arm free—

And as he comes up—

He grabs her wrist—

Drags her forward—

Spins—

Snapmare!

Remi flips through it—

Lands on her feet—

Rowan surges forward to follow it up… He traps her arm!

JC: We’ve seen this before! He’s going for the Long Night!

But when he goes for the arm trap… in a snap, Remi manages to trap his arm!

JR: Whoa! Remi had it scouted!

Before Rowan can react, Remi heaves him off his feet!

UTSURI GOSHI!

JC: Wow! What a hip toss!

As Rowan’s back slams against the mat, without releasing his arm, Remi manages to roll over and flips Vance onto his front!

And she locks in a crossface!

JC: Oh man! There’s nowhere to go! He’s there in the center of the ring, far from the ropes!

Rowan grits his teeth, twisting in Remi’s grip…

Remi applies torque! Rowan’s face is clear, he’s not loving this!

Rowan…

Rowan taps out!

Winner: Remi Storm

Immediately, Remi releases the hold, breathing a sigh of relief after a hard-fought victory!

JC: Wow! What a match! Two of the XWF’s newest stars showed off exactly why the XWF’s future looks so bright!

JR: Two elite competitors, Jacuinde! But, only one could claim the win! And tonight, it’s Remi Storm!

Rowan lies on the mat, calculating… Not angry, simply thoughtfully thinking about what he could have done differently… A hand reaches over him. Remi offering him help up.

Rowan nods, taking hers and they both make it to their feet. And shake hands for a well-fought battle, as the crowd goes wild behind them.

---

The camera lights up to the backstage feed, and the crowd immediately pop in recognition once they take a look for themselves.

Dickie Watson stretches out inside a corridor, double-checking the tape on his wrists as he quietly nods to himself. He goes through the motions, focused, disciplined. He’s all business tonight.

Beside him is none other than the Universal Champion and King of the Ring, Scoops McGee himself! Scoops is wearing a trademark scowl and his Big Gold belt around his waist as he cracks his neck, going through some brief punching combinations to help himself warm up.

And the man who’s raising his hands for Scoops to box with is none other… than Corey Black!

JC: I guess that answers the question of where Corey Black’s allegiances lie after the last show!

JB: Real three of a kind, those are.

“Gonna be good for your match?” Scoops called out to Dickie between punches.

“Yeah,” Dickie grunted as he righted himself. “Should be asking you that question, you know.”

Scoops shrugged. “I’m good. Right as rain. Not gonna complain.”

Corey motioned to both men. “You see what the Exiles just did earlier in the show? I gotta hand it to SEB, I didn’t think he was that much of a coward to go sneak attacking like that. I’d rather stab them from the front.”

Dickie and Scoops shared a small smirk at that. “Hopefully they’ll know better than to go after us again like that. I’ve had enough of all this… cheap shit.”

“I’ll watch your backs tonight. If the Exiles or BoB wanna try to ruin one of your matches, I’ll rip ‘em up. I’ve been meaning to get at Charlie for the longest while, anyway.”

“Appreciate that, boah,” Scoops nodded as he offered Corey a fist bump. “Don’t you worry though, I bet we’re gonna-”

The trio’s commotion is broken up by a pair of footsteps entering the hall from one of the doors, grumbling to themselves. Sebastian Everett-Bryce and Isaiah King entered the hall, freezing as they saw the House of Hardcore staring back at them.

“Shit,” Isaiah realized as he realized their predicament.

Sebastian, however, stared coldly at both Corey and Scoops. “So, did you decide just to recruit one of my former friends so you could try and get in my head?”

“I don’t give a damn about that. It pays havin’ people watch yer’ back, you’d know a thing or two about that. Especially if yer’ gonna go around grabbin’ people by the ankles and draggin’ ‘em out to Hell.”

“I make my own decisions,” Corey frowned, cracking his knuckles as he stared daggers at Sebastian. “If I wanna go after you again, I’ll do it.”

“And if you want to get dropped again, feel free.”

Corey looked as if he was about to lunge at Sebastian on the spot, but it was only then that Isaiah spoke again. “You sure your tag partners wanna get roughed up before their match? Let’s take it outside right now.”

Dickie scoffed, amused. “What, you want a fair fight now all of a sudden? No cheap shots?”

The tension in the room was palpable. None of the five men were willing to back down from the ledge they were bringing themselves towards, until…

“WHERE ARE THEY?! I’LL KILL THEM!”

Charlie Nickles screamed and hollered until his voice ran hoarse, before finally barging into the same hall that the other two factions were in. The Exiles stepped back as Charlie, Jenny Myst and Asher Hayes were all looking for blood, but a dozen security guards quickly followed after them, trying to hold the group back.

“Wanna go after MY Brotherhood? I’ll fucking-”

“There you are, you sick FUCK!” Corey Black screamed back to Charlie at the top of his lungs! The two locked eyes as Black lunged for the Nickleman-

“Woah, woah, woah!” Dickie shouted, as both he and some of the security guards had to hold him back.

“What’re you waiting for? I’m right here!” Charlie cackled back at Corey, flipping him off. “You scared or somethin’, little man?”

Black was about to rush through the others like a battering ram as now Scoops got in his way. He lowered his voice as the two pushed their foreheads together.

“Listen to me right now, boah, yer’ gonna get yer’ chance against Charlie. I promise it. Wait for the right chance instead of lettin’ him goad you like that. Don’t let him get in yer’ head.”

Sebastian and Isaiah looked at each other, beginning to walk down the other end of the hallway as the action began to disperse.

“Yeah, that’s right, RUN!” Charlie called after the two. “I PROMISE you’ll be next! And then it’ll be you right after, Scoopsy!”

“I’ll be waitin’, you sick fuck!” Scoops shouted as he turned back at Charlie. “You and yer’ boahs get involved in my match or Dickie’s, and we’ll knock yer’ damn teeth down yer’ throat!”

He took one look towards the far end of the hallway, at SEB.

“SEBASTIAN!”

Sebastian looked back towards Scoops.

The Peasant King grinned. “Better tell yer’ girl she better be ready for war tonight. It’s gonna be the openin’ act for us come Leap of Faith!”

SEB’s glare darkened towards Scoops as Isaiah tapped him on the shoulder, helping to bring him back down to Earth as the pair walked off and Warfare went to commercial.

---

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.

JC: Kristoffer Arroyo! The Vamp! WarGames Finalist and former Anarchy champion!

JR: Coming out to that exact entrance Dickie was deriding him for! Red lights and black lip Hot Topic lip gloss or somesuch!

JC: Dickie can insult Arroyo’s aesthetic, but he can’t argue too much with Arroyo’s results in the ring! As Arroyo pointed out, he’s only been beaten twice in six months! But, Arroyo’s facing a former Universal champion… someone who has climbed to the top of the ladder! Someone who just last Warfare beat an XWF Legend! Can Dickie claim to be the third to beat Arroyo!

Arroyo 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. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.



The lights 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 beneath the metal of the floor. Another, quicker and sharper. A third, holding longer now. Long enough for the crowd to catch a glimpse of the static forming on the screen overhead.

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.


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.

JC: Dickie Watson! The GOOD GUY! The UNDERDOG! Watson just finished his first calendar year in the XWF and what a journey it’s been! One that peaked in him winning the XWF Universal championship!

JR: But he came up short at War Games! He got got TWICE by Scoops McGee! Just like Arroyo said, Dickie’s good. But he’s beatable! Beatable Beatable Beatable!

JC: Everyone’s beatable in theory, Joe, b-

JR: Beatable, beatable, bea-*FZZH*

JC: …Like, I was saying, everyone’s beatable in theory. But there’s a difference between Dickie being able to be putdown in a gameplan and taking down the living breathing Dickie Watson in the center of the ring! Dickie has a way of making every opponent’s well-made gameplan burn up to ash against him! These two are truly elite competitors! But only one’s taking the win tonight!

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 ramp towards the ring, eyes still glancing off to the side, turning his head slightly to acknowledge fans and enemies alike. At the barricade, he reaches out and slaps a few 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.

He rounds the corner to right, bypasses the steps, and jumps, both feet hitting the apron in one clean lift. Without grabbing the ropes, without pause, he slings himself over the top and lands near the dead center of the ring, bent knees taking the brunt of his leap. He circles the ring once, loose-limbed, cracking his neck slightly, and stops. Near the far corner, he crouches with his elbows on his knees, fingers dangling inbetween as his music fades.

Dickie Watson - vs - Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo Singles

DING! DING! DING!

Dickie steps out of his corner with that restless, coiled energy he’s known for — shoulders loose, feet light, eyes scanning Vamp’s stance like he’s solving a puzzle. Vamp stands tall and still, chin slightly raised, arms relaxed at his sides. No wasted motion. No tells. Just that cold, unreadable calm.

They circle.

Dickie feints a quick dart inward, testing Vamp’s reaction time. Vamp doesn’t flinch. He simply pivots, keeping Dickie in front of him, watching the younger man’s footwork instead of his hands. Dickie smirks and snaps a low kick toward Vamp’s thigh — light, probing. Vamp shifts his weight and lets it glance off harmlessly.

They close again.

Dickie reaches for a wrist tie, but Vamp swats his hand away and steps in with a sharp, straight palm strike to the chest. The impact forces Dickie back a step, more surprising than painful. Dickie rolls his shoulders, shakes it off, and circles again, this time moving faster.

He darts in, grabs Vamp’s wrist, and tries to roll under for a quick arm drag — but Vamp plants his feet and blocks it, dragging Dickie back upright with surprising strength. Dickie slips free and fires a quick elbow toward Vamp’s jaw, but Vamp leans back just enough for it to skim past.

Vamp answers with a short, stiff kick to Dickie’s calf. Clean. Efficient. No flourish.

Dickie winces and backs off, reassessing.

They circle again, the tension tightening.

Dickie moves first, snapping a mid‑kick into Vamp’s ribs. Vamp absorbs it and steps in close, grabbing Dickie around the waist. Dickie tries to twist out, but Vamp muscles him backward into the corner. Dickie’s back hits the turnbuckles and Vamp drives a shoulder into his gut, then another, grinding the air out of him.

Dickie shoves Vamp’s head down and slips out to the side, escaping the corner. He hits the ropes and rebounds with a running forearm — but Vamp ducks under it and grabs Dickie from behind. He tries for a back suplex, but Dickie flips through and lands on his feet, stumbling slightly before regaining balance.

Vamp turns — and Dickie is already airborne.

A quick jumping knee cracks against Vamp’s jaw, snapping his head back. Vamp drops to a knee, stunned, and Dickie hits the ropes again, building speed for a follow‑up.

Vamp rises just in time to catch Dickie mid‑stride, scooping him up and driving him down with a sudden, heavy slam that rattles the canvas. Dickie rolls away clutching his back, and Vamp steadies himself, breathing slow and controlled.

Both men push to their feet at the same time.

They close in again, faster now, the feeling‑out phase long gone. Dickie fires a sharp kick to Vamp’s ribs, but Vamp catches the leg and sweeps Dickie’s standing foot out from under him. Dickie hits the mat hard and Vamp drops into a quick lateral press.



ONE



Dickie kicks out and rolls backward to his feet, shaking out his leg. Vamp rises calmly, stepping forward with that cold, measured precision. Dickie rushes him, ducking under a palm strike and snapping a forearm across Vamp’s jaw. Vamp absorbs it and answers with a stiff knee to the gut that doubles Dickie over.

Vamp hooks Dickie’s arm and snaps him down with a tight arm‑wringer takedown, then floats over into another pin attempt.

ONE



TWO

Dickie bridges out, twisting his hips and rolling Vamp into a surprise cradle.



ONE



Vamp powers out instantly, pushing Dickie off and rising with a hint of irritation breaking through his usual calm.

Dickie smirks and circles again, bouncing lightly on his toes. Vamp steps in, reaching for a clinch, but Dickie slips behind him and shoves him toward the ropes. Vamp rebounds and Dickie leaps—catching him with a running hurricanrana that flips Vamp across the ring. The crowd pops as Dickie kips up smoothly, momentum finally swinging his way.

Vamp pushes to his feet, expression unchanged, but his stance a touch wider now. Dickie charges, going for a running knee, but Vamp sidesteps and grabs him around the waist. He lifts Dickie for a back suplex-Dickie flips out mid‑air and lands behind him, stumbling but upright.

Vamp turns-

-and Dickie cracks him with a spinning back elbow that sends Vamp staggering into the corner.

Dickie doesn’t hesitate. He sprints in, leaps, and drives a high knee into Vamp’s chest. Vamp slumps forward, and Dickie grabs his head, running up the turnbuckles for a tornado DDT-

-but Vamp plants his feet and blocks it, holding Dickie suspended mid‑rotation.

The crowd rises.

Vamp powers Dickie up and over, tossing him across the ring with a sudden, violent release throw. Dickie crashes hard, rolls through, and somehow ends up on his knees, clutching his back.

Vamp stalks him, slow and deliberate, then pulls Dickie upright by the wrist. He yanks him forward into a short‑arm lariat! But Dickie ducks under it, hits the ropes, rebounds-

-and both men collide in the center with simultaneous clotheslines, dropping each other flat.

The crowd roars as they lie there, chests heaving, both men pushing through the pain, both refusing to stay down.

Both men rise slowly after the double clothesline, shaking out their arms, sweat dripping, the crowd buzzing as the pace begins to climb again. Dickie is the first to move, stepping in with a sharp elbow that clips Vamp’s jaw. Vamp answers with a forearm that snaps Dickie’s head to the side. Dickie fires back. Vamp fires harder. The crowd swells as the strikes get faster, heavier, neither man giving an inch.

Dickie breaks the rhythm with a sudden low kick to Vamp’s thigh, then another, then a spinning back kick that forces Vamp to stagger. Dickie hits the ropes and rebounds into a running knee but Vamp sidesteps and shoves him forward, sending Dickie stumbling into the corner.

Vamp charges in, driving a heavy knee into Dickie’s ribs, then grabs him by the head and snaps him down with a swinging neckbreaker, planting him in the center of the ring. Arroyo rolls into a tight cover.

ONE!





TWO!




Dickie kicks out and rolls away, clutching his neck.

Arroyo tries to stick on him but Dickie trips Kristoffer up with a Drop Toe Hold and Vamp hangs himself on the middle rope the crowd pop as Watson scrambles to his feet and rushes the ropes, swinging around and lands-

JC: MOLOTOV COCKTAIL!

The 619 connects, cracking across Vamp’s jaw and sending him stumbling toward the center of the ring. The crowd surges as Dickie pops up onto the apron, gripping the top rope, lining up the next shot.

Vamp turns, dazed but upright.

Dickie leaps!

He launches into a springboard crossbody, body twisting through the air

But Vamp steps in and catches him out of the air! Arms locking around Dickie’s torso before he can land. The momentum shifts instantly. Vamp plants his feet, hoists Dickie upward, and clamps down around his neck and arm, snapping him into a Standing Cradle Guillotine.

Dickie’s eyes widen as Vamp cinches the hold tight, pulling him in close, squeezing the air out of him. Dickie kicks his legs, trying to find leverage, but Vamp keeps him suspended just enough to make every breath a struggle. Dickie’s hands claw at Vamp’s grip, trying to pry space between his neck and Vamp’s forearm.

Vamp tightens the cradle, leaning back, forcing Dickie to bend awkwardly against him.

Dickie’s knees hit the mat.
Then one foot plants.
Then the other.

He pushes upward, fighting for balance, face red, breath ragged. Vamp adjusts, trying to drag him back down, but Dickie shifts his weight, turning his hips, forcing Vamp to follow.

Dickie suddenly throws his weight backward, rolling them both to the mat. Vamp keeps the choke locked in—until Dickie twists his body and traps Vamp’s shoulders to the canvas in a tight cradle.

ONE!

Vamp’s eyes snap open.

TWO!

He kicks his legs, trying to break the leverage.

TWO AND A HALF—

Vamp powers out, rolling free just before the referee’s hand hits the mat again.

Both men scramble apart, breathing hard, the crowd roaring as the momentum spikes again. Dickie clutches his throat, coughing, while Vamp rises slowly, eyes locked on him, the calm veneer cracked just enough to show the frustration underneath.

Dickie wipes sweat from his brow, chest heaving, while Vamp steadies himself with one hand on his knee, eyes locked on Watson with that cold, unblinking focus. The crowd hums with anticipation as they step toward each other again.
Dickie strikes first—a sharp elbow to the jaw. Vamp answers with a forearm that snaps Dickie’s head to the side. Dickie fires back. Vamp fires harder. The blows come faster, heavier, each one rocking the other but neither man backing down. The crowd swells with every hit.
Dickie breaks the rhythm with a sudden low kick to Vamp’s thigh, then another, then a spinning back kick that forces Vamp to stagger. Dickie hits the ropes, limping slightly but still fast, and rebounds with a running knee—Vamp absorbs it and fires a palm strike into Dickie’s chest that sends him stumbling back.
Dickie recovers first, rushing in with a flurry of strikes—elbow, kick, forearm, knee—driving Vamp toward the ropes. Vamp ducks under a wild swing and snaps a stiff uppercut into Dickie’s ribs, doubling him over. He grabs Dickie by the head and drives him down with a snap DDT, planting him hard.
Vamp rolls to his knees, breathing heavy, shaking out his arms. Dickie pushes up at the same time, clutching his neck, refusing to stay down. They rise together, battered but unbroken.
Dickie lunges in with a jumping knee—Vamp sidesteps and cracks him with a spinning backfist that sends Dickie stumbling into the corner. Vamp charges, but Dickie slips out of the way and Vamp hits the turnbuckles chest‑first. Dickie grabs him from behind and snaps him down with a quick reverse DDT, dropping Vamp flat.
Both men stay down for a moment, chests rising and falling, the crowd roaring as they begin to stir.
Dickie crawls to the ropes, pulling himself upright. Vamp pushes to his knees, shaking the cobwebs loose. They turn toward each other again, both exhausted, both hurting, both refusing to give an inch.
Dickie steps forward.
Vamp steps forward.
They collide in the center of the ring with simultaneous strikes—Dickie’s elbow smashing into Vamp’s jaw at the same moment Vamp’s forearm crashes into Dickie’s cheek. Both men stagger. Both men drop to one knee. Both men fall to the mat, sprawled out, staring up at the lights as the arena erupts.

For a moment, neither man moves.

Just the sound of breathing—ragged, uneven, earned.

Dickie’s chest rises sharply, one arm draped over his ribs, fingers twitching like they’re still trying to find something to grab onto. Across from him, Vamp lies unnaturally still… then slowly turns his head, eyes locking onto Dickie with that same cold, predatory focus—only now it’s cracked by fatigue.

They start to stir at the same time.

Dickie rolls to his side first, dragging himself up with the ropes, his legs unsteady beneath him. His jaw tightens as he forces himself upright, one hand briefly brushing his throat—still feeling the ghost of that guillotine.

Vamp pushes up more deliberately, slower… but controlled. Every movement is precise, economical, even now.

They turn.

They see each other.

And something shifts.

No circling this time.

Dickie explodes forward—pure instinct.

A forearm SMASHES into Vamp’s jaw!

Vamp stumbles—but fires back immediately with a stiff palm strike to the chest that echoes through the arena!

Dickie grits his teeth, fires another elbow—Vamp answers with a brutal low kick to the calf!

Dickie’s leg buckles—

—but he spins through it, corkscrew roundhouse!

Vamp ducks—

—grabs the waist!

German suplex—

NO!

Dickie flips through, lands on his feet—

staggers—

but still fires—SUPERKICK!

Vamp eats it!

Doesn’t go down!

Just… stumbles.

Smiles.

And SLAPS Dickie across the face.

The crowd erupts.

Dickie’s head snaps to the side.

He freezes.

Slowly turns back.

Eyes different now.

He lunges—grabs—tilt-a-whirl—

DDT—

NO!

Vamp blocks it mid-rotation, holding him suspended again—

but Dickie shifts mid-air—POISON RANA!!

Vamp spikes down on his head!

The impact bounces him—he rolls through on instinct—

up to his knees—

Dickie’s already moving—

RUNNING KNEE—

Vamp sidesteps!

Dickie crashes past—

Vamp grabs—GUILLOTINE—

NO!

Dickie slips out the back, shoves him forward—

SPRINGBOARD—

TORNADO DDT—

NO!!

Vamp catches him AGAIN out of the air—

but this time Dickie shifts his weight—

SUNSET FLIP—

POWERBOMB—

STACK!

ONE!!

TWO!!

Vamp kicks out—barely—rolling through—

and both men scramble up—

Dickie charges—

Vamp leaps—knee strike—

Dickie catches the leg!

DRAGON SCREW!

Vamp hits hard, rolling through—

Dickie doesn’t hesitate—

he hits the ropes—

comes back—

RISE TO GLORY—

CURBSTOMP—

NO!!

Vamp collapses forward at the last second—Dickie stomps nothing but canvas!

Dickie stumbles—his bad leg betraying him—

just for a split second—

but it’s enough.

Vamp surges up—

grabs—

STF attempt—

Dickie rolls through!

Kicks him off!

Both men up—

Dickie ducks a strike—

hooks—

MILLENNIAL FALLOUT—

BRIDGING GERMAN—

NO!!

Vamp flips through on impact!

Lands on his feet—

stumbles—

but immediately surges forward—

RUNNING KNEE—

Dickie ducks!

Hooks both arms—

lifts—

NEVER SURRENDER—

NO!!

Vamp wriggles free mid-air—

lands behind—

SHOVES Dickie forward—

Dickie hits ropes—

rebounds—

Vamp charges—

Dickie leaps—

HURRICANRANA—

Vamp blocks!

Powerbomb position—

Dickie punches free—

lands—

spins—

ELBOW!

Vamp staggers—

Dickie sees it—

he sees the opening

He lunges—

hooks—

lifts—

DICKIE’S REVENGE—

—

—but Vamp’s leg snaps up.

His heel snakes around Dickie’s calf.

Locks.

Anchors.

Dickie tries to drop—

can’t.

His base gives out.

Vamp yanks.

Kicks the leg out from under him—

Dickie collapses to a knee—

—and in one fluid, merciless motion—

Vamp wraps the arm.

Slides under.

CINCHES IT IN—

GUILLOTINE.

Deep.

Immediate.

Inescapable.

Dickie’s eyes go wide—hands clawing, body thrashing, trying to find anything—

Vamp doesn’t rush.

He adjusts.

Pulls him closer.

Whispers something inaudible—

then drags him up just enough—

just enough—

and—

plants a kiss.

The crowd gasps—

—and Vamp DROPS—

ROMEO’S LAMENT!!

Dickie spikes into the mat.

Hard.

Violent.

Final.

Vamp rolls through into the cover, still clutching him close.

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING.

Winner: Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo

JC: WOW! That was… that was so mesmerizing… I forgot to talk for huge parts of this match!

JR: I was talking the whole time, but I just realized my mic wasn’t plugged in.

JC: What an absolute war! What an elite-level contest between two of the best, not just in the XWF, but in wrestling today! Both men left everything on the mat, but tonight, Arroyo takes the win!

---

JC: Well, folks, up next we’re up for what will be one hell of a match.

JR: That’s right, Jackie. These two are some of the hottest competitors in the XWF right now. You have Yelena Gorgo, one of the best known names in the XWF and fresh Television Champion defending for the first time. You have Korvayne, who was involved in a wild fracas last week lining up for a chance at the TV Title, these two are going to collide and it’s going to be explosive!



The house lights die. Instantly. The arena plunges into a total, suffocating B L A C K.

Silence hangs in the dead air—a held breath—before the world DETONATES.

♫ YOUR HEART ♫
♫ IS A HOLE ♫

Violent STROBES shatter the dark—a disorienting, epileptic stutter. Words flash on the video screen in rapid, subliminal bursts.

♫ I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES! ♫
♫ BEYOND THE BLACK RAINBOW! ♫

Color-tinted haze bleeds out across the stage floor. The camera sweeps the crowd, catching the frenetic energy. The arena plunges to black again. The music builds, grinding upward.

♫ EX-IT! ♫

CRIMSON SPOTS bleed onto the stage. Through the thick haze, a silhouette stands motionless. Head down. Shoulders rigid.

The lens pushes in aggressively. She lifts her head.

YELENA GORGO. She wears a nightmare grin—arrogant, cruel, and sexy. Intricate blonde braids pull tight against her scalp, gleaming under the red light, woven with crimson thread that looks like fresh sutures.

♫ INSIDE THE MIDNIGHT YOU'VE BEEN SLITH-ER-ING ♫
♫ YOU FORM THE COLUMN'S … DE-FIC-IEN-CY ♫

Yelena breaks her stance. She doesn't walk; she PROWLS. A confident, hip-swaying swagger that radiates pure, unadulterated narcissism. She locks eyes with the camera lens, acknowledging her own dominance.

♫ I LATCH ON TO YOU … WE … RE-PRESS-UR-IZE ♫
♫ IN-FRA-RED … PAR-A-DISE ♫

The bass drops out. A suspended moment of tension. Yelena stops dead. She stares at nothing, eyes wide, that grin horrifyingly fixed.

The beat DROPS.

♫ UPWARDS! FEEL THE PRE-SSURE! ♫
♫ ABSCESS! HEART IS A HOLE! ♫

A fist slams to her chest—perfectly timed to the percussion—as she mouths the scream.

Desperate hands reach over the barricade during the approach to the ring, but they are ignored. The camera angle drops low, transforming her into a giant against the lights, her focus locked entirely on the canvas.

♫ DISSOLVE! DISPLACE! REJOICE! REPEAT! ♫
♫ NO PRESSURE HERE! ADMIT DEFEAT! ♫

Yelena hits the apron and leaps—terrifying athleticism—landing on the edge. She grabs the top rope and leans back, crouching low into a broken, spider-like pose. Her gaze sweeps the arena like a predator surveying the night's menu.

♫ DISSOLVE! DISPLACE! REJOICE! REPEAT! ♫
♫ NO PRESSURE HERE! TO MEET YOUR SOUL! ♫

She explodes to her feet in the center of the ring. Arms thrown wide. Chest heaving. She screams the lyric to the rafters:

♫ BEYOND THE BLACK RAINBOW! ♫

A scream tears from her throat, directed straight at the rafters. In one fluid motion, she spins, hooks the top rope, and leans back over it—hanging upside down—staring backward at the crowd with that frozen, beautiful, PSYCHOPATHIC grin.



Her ring music plays and she is appalled by the reaction the fans give her as she heads to the ring, and she spends a lot of needless time arguing with the fans. Eventually she gets in the ring, does her artsy pose, and bows though the fans don't deserve it.

Both women size each other up as the referee holds the Television Championship belt high.

15:00

JC: Here we go, fifteen minute time limit, the Television Title on the line!

JR: This one is going to rock San Fran tonight!

Both competitors lock up!

Gorgo sets in a hammerlock!

Korvayne counters into an armwrench!

Gorgo counters into a top wristlock!

Korvayne counters into a hammerlock!

A back elbow from Gorgo.

Another back elbow from Gorgo, and she backs into the ropes!

Korvayne releases the hold, and Gorgo shoots to the other side of the ring!

Gorgo hits the ropes as Korvayne charges!

Gorgo leapfrogs!

Korvayne keeps towards the ropes, and Gorgo matches momentum into the opposite ropes!

Both women with shoulder blocks, parrying one another!

Gorgo with a drop toe hold!

Gorgo rolls into a headlock!

Both competitors climb to their feet!

Korvayne with a forearm to the small of Gorgo’s back!

Korvayne lifts Gorgo, going for a back drop suplex!

Gorgo shifts momentum midair by twisting her legs!

Gorgo back on a vertical base and planted, transitioning the headlock into a hammerlock!

Korvayne with a snapmare, and she shoots off the ropes and back at the seated Gorgo!

Korvayne throws a knee, but Gorgo lies back!

Gorgo kips up, back heel kick to Korvayne!

Korvayne catches the boot, and spins Gorgo!

Gorgo turns with a forearm as Korvayne throws one of her own!

Stereo forearm shots, and both competitors back away, holding their jaws!

The crowd is into it!

*XWF!*XWF!*XWF!*XWF!*

JC: These women came to the ring having scouted each other very well it seems!

JR: You’re right, Jackie, and they’re just getting started!

Both women clash and begin throwing rapid fire forearm shots to one another!

13:43… 13:42… 13:41…

Gorgo with a big knee to Korvayne, and she follows up with a bridging Northern Lights Suplex!

1…






2…





Korvayne gets a shoulder up, but Gorgo lithely flips over Korvayne and lifts her for a second Northern Lights! She bridges!

1…






2…





Korvayne gets a shoulder up again, and Gorgo pivots and sinches in a Dragon Sleeper!

The referee checks on Korvayne as she struggles in the hold!

JC: Yelena Gorgo is pressing an advantage here, let’s see if she can close it out.

JR: The champion’s advantage is the time limit, the size advantage is definitely Gorgo’s!

11:38 11:37 11:36

Korvayne has lasted in this Dragon Sleeper for some time, and fights to her feet!

A back elbow to Gorgo, who releases the hold!

Korvayne turns and throws a forearm!

Gorgo ducks, and grabs Korvayne for a Snap Dragon Suplex!

Korvayne flips out of the suplex!

Korvayne lands a standing dropkick!

To her feet, she’s off the ropes and hits a running dropkick!

She scrambles, criss-crosses the ropes, and springboards, hitting a springboard dropkick!

Gorgo stumbles as Korvayne rushes the corner, and she soars for a missile dropkick from the top!

Gorgo walks calmly out of the way, cackling with psychotic glee as Korvayne hits the mat flat on her back.

Gorgo leans on the ropes, sneering.

JC: Gorgo is just killing time now!

JR: She thinks Korvayne is a joke, no respect for her opponent!

10:22 10:21 10:20

Gorgo slowly turns back to her opponent.

Korvayne slowly gets to her feet.

Gorgo steps in, and sets to throw basic judo and karate strikes!

Korvayne with a thumb to the eye of Yelena Gorgo!

The referee admonishes Korvayne!

Korvayne with the small package to follow up the sneaky shot!

1…




2…




Gorgo kicks out, but rolls over, grasping her eye!

Korvayne to her feet, and she nails Gorgo in the spine with a soccer kick!

Korvayne off the ropes to the seated Gorgo!

Handspring from Korvayne into a headscissors!

Korvayne twists midair, sending Gorgo back with a headscissors neckbreaker!

JR: WOAH!

JC: Insane agility shown by Korvayne there!

Korvayne stands, scoffing at Gorgo now!

JC: Korvayne doesn’t have time to waste!

8:59 8:58 8:57

Korvayne once again to the top rope, and she’s off with a huge flying body splash!

Korvayne lands with full impact and stays for the pin!

1…





2…





Gorgo gets a shoulder up at the last minute!

Korvayne to her feet, and she throws a stomp to Gorgo’s right leg!

Korvayne with another stomp to Gorgo’s right leg!

Korvayne continues to throw surgical strike stomps, now one to Gorgo’s left knee!

JC: I don’t like what is going on here!

JR: Neither does Gorgo!

Korvayne grabs the soles of Gorgo’s feet, and sets a leg in to go for the Birth of Venus!

NO!

Gorgo with a heel to Korvayne’s chest!

Gorgo to her knees, and Korvayne throws a standing side kick to Gorgo!

Gorgo catches the leg, and counters with an exploder suplex!

Korvayne is thrown directly into the referee, wiping them out!

7:45 7:44 7:43

Gorgo sees Korvayne ripe for the attack.

Gorgo grasps Korvayne’s shoulder, and sets in the Black Rainbow!

Korvayne’s arm and elbow are being contorted in ways the human body is not supposed to!

Korvayne taps!

The referee is still out!

There’s nobody to call the submission!

Gorgo, infuriated the match hasn’t ended, somehow applies even more pressure!

In doing so she gives up leverage!

Korvayne gets her legs under the ropes!

The referee slowly gets up, and as they rise Korvayne gets a foot bridged across the bottom rope!

The referee breaks the hold!

Gorgo stands, triumphant, thinking she’s won the match!

The referee corrects her!

Gorgo is incensed!

She turns to Korvayne, looking to go for more, as Korvayne is on a knee!

Korvayne with a low blow to Gorgo!

Gorgo looks confused.

The referee also looks very confused.

7:08 7:07 7:06

Korvayne looks up at Gorgo, then around at the crowd.

Korvayne throws another low blow.

Nothing really happens.

JC: Well, uh, sometimes that works.

JR: I, well, um, I don’t remember it not working, but then again I don’t think most people try to punch women in the balls all that often, Jackie.

Gorgo with a palm strike to Korvayne!

NO!

It was a ruse from Korvayne!

She blocks the palm strike, and stands, delivering a scoop slam to Gorgo!

Korvayne rounds the fallen body of Gorgo, and sets in the Birth of Venus!

Gorgo snarls at Korvayne, swiping at her!

Korvayne rears back, out of Gorgo’s reach!

The referee checks the hold!

Gorgo taps out!

WINNER, AND NEW TELEVISION CHAMPION: KORVAYNE

Korvayne brings herself to her feet in the ring. Her simp, overjoyed by what he just witnessed, grasps the Television Championship belt, and enters the ring. He approaches to place the belt on Korvayne, but she snatches it from him, instead insisting the referee place it on her!

JC: She did it, she won the TV Title here tonight!

JR: Now the real battle begins, defending has always been tougher than winning when it comes to championships in the XWF.

As the belt is placed on Korvayne, the lights dim, and a spotlight shines on her.

JC: Now this is unnecessary, how did Korvayne get the crew to shine the light on her like this.

The light turns blood red. Korvayne looks around confusedly. On the Xtron, we see that backstage, Chadsworth has been laid out. Korvayne looks at what she sees.



JC: Oh Christ.

JR: God has nothing to do with this.

“You’re Dead” blares throughout the arena as the lights come up. Korvayne looks around as the fans in San Fransisco explode. At just the time when the lyrics hit, the crowd sings along.

“YOU’RE DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD! YOU’RE DEAD AND OUT OF THIS WORLD!”

As her simp looks around in terror, Korvayne takes in the reaction of the crowd.

JC: Does she know what’s coming?

JR: I don’t know, if I were her I’d be getting as far from the ring as possible.

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, Bobby Bourbon deftly slides into the ring, and quickly gets to his feet. The crowd sings along to the song as Bobby cracks his neck, then his knuckles.

“STAY DEAD, STAY DEAD, STAY DEAD! STAY DEAD AND OUT OF THIS WORLD!”

The music subsides. The crowd, energized by the surprise appearance of Bourbon, roar, then begin to chant.

“BOBBY’S GONNA KILL YOU!”

“BOBBY’S GONNA KILL YOU!”

“BOBBY’S GONNA KILL YOU!”

Korvayne is standing in a corner as the Simp glances back at her. He turns and approaches Bobby, pointing at him, clearly shaking as he does. Bobby cocks an eyebrow at him.

JC: That Simp is willing to die for Korvayne.

JR: He’s proving it tonight!

Bobby shakes his head at the Simp. He points at Korvayne. The crowd goes ballistic as he does. The Simp begins waging one of his overly chubby digits at Bobby as Bobby steps towards the ropes nearest the huge Warfare entrance set. Bobby opens the ropes and gestures for the Simp to leave. The Simp looks back at Korvayne with a demeanor of utter confusion. He turns back to Bobby, swiftly shaking his head now and shouting at Bobby. Bobby casually steps away from the ropes and towards the simp.

SHORYUKEN!!

Bobby belts the Simp with a massive uppercut, sending him reeling back into the opposite ropes! The Simp stumbles back groggily towards Bobby, and is caught by the throat! Bobby hoists the massive Simp with ease, and carries him towards the ropes. Huge chokeslam on the Simp to the outside of the ring, where he lands with a sickening splat. Bobby takes a long, slow breath, then turns to Korvayne.

JC: THE SIMP HAS BEEN DUMPED LIKE HE’D ACTUALLY HAD A GIRLFRIEND!

JR: That’s, wow, on the nose and mean, but yeah, Bourbon just treated that very heavy man like he was a toy!

Bobby slightly smirks as he looks at Korvayne. He reaches into the pocket of his highly sequinned and garish jacket and pulls out his signature microphone, the microphone of a Sith Lord.

“So, now that we’re alone, ish.”

Bobby wavers his hand in front of him, then gestures out to the crowd. They begin chanting.

“FUCK ‘EM UP BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!”*STOMP STOMP*“FUCK ‘EM UP BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!”*STOMP STOMP*“FUCK ‘EM UP BOBBY, FUCK ‘EM UP!”*STOMP STOMP*

Bobby turns his hand over, spreading his fingers, shaking them gently, as if he’s letting all of San Francisco cascade out of the palm of his hands.

“Congrats there, Champ. You’ve demanded your way all the way to the Television Championship. Now, I get it if you have some trepidation and all, considering my considerable reputation and the fact I just turned not one but two of your lackeys into chew toys, but hear me out. The fact you want to take down the shameless pretenders calling themselves BoB these days, I gotta say girlie, I like you, or at least I want to. You’re forcing your will and making all of wrestling react to you, straight out of my playbook. The thing is, though, this whole Universe, well, they kind of want me to come out here and destroy you.”

The crowd roars. Bobby points to the Simp, still on the outside, now being attended to by a medic.

“That thing called you a Queen. Not going to lie, I don’t see anything regal in front of me, I don’t see a throne, no scepter, and you just got your crown, princess. Princess of all Television. Does that cover streaming services, by the way, do you even know? Do I have to call a cable or satellite provider? Are you on those free channels you can still get by digital antenna? I digress. I really only have one thing to say to you, Julia.”

Bobby approaches Korvayne and leans in, whispering in her ear. As he does, Korvayne’s eyes widen.

JC: What is he telling her?

JR: Bobby Bourbon is telling Korvayne something in private, but in front of everyone, since when does Bourbon use discretion? What is developing in front of us?

Bobby leans away, and with a pleasant smile, looks at Korvayne and nods his head briskly.

Korvayne is still wide eyed.




























Bobby turns as if to walk away…



















THUMP!

Bobby pivots 180 and brains Korvayne with his microphone! Korvayne recoils into the corner, and Bobby drops the mic. Bobby rushes Korvayne and crashes into her with a huge avalanche press. He grabs her by the head and tosses her out of the ring, onto the medic looking after the Simp!

JC: This is assault and battery!

JR: This Warfare, Jackie!

JC: THEN THIS IS A WAR CRIME!

Bobby deftly steps through the ropes and hops to the floor of the Chase Center. He reaches under the ring and pulls out an axe handle. He holds it high, and the crowd again roars at the wholesale violence Bobby is bringing to the ring. He brings the axe handle crashing down onto Korvayne’s back, causing her to recoil. Bobby threatens the medic, who runs off, and Bobby brings the axe handle down again, cracking the Simp right in the ribs! Bobby reaches into the ring and grabs his microphone with his left hand, holding the axe handle with his right. He points the axe handle at the Simp, and looks at Korvayne.

“That thing called you a Queen. Pay fucking attention!”

Bobby cracks Korvayne again with the axe handle as she’s on the ground, helpless, the Television Title still around her waist.

“That thing called you a Queen, and that thing doesn’t represent any fraction of my universe, do you understand? A Queen is just a King under a different title, it’s a sign of fealty!”

Bobby cracks Korvayne with the axe handle.

“A Queen is just a King who gets called beautiful or else!”

Bobby brings the axe handle down on Korvayne again. He tosses the axe handle into the ring, and his eyes seem excited by what he sees in the ring itself. He picks Kovayne up with his massive right hand, still holding the microphone.

“A Queen is just a King, and they mean nothing to a barbarian conqueror of all the realms, a mean sumbitch who slaughters for fun and gives blood and bone to the masses, chicken fucking soup for the Xtreme soul.”

Bobby slams Korvayne’s head into the ring apron. He does it again. Then again.

He does it a fourth time. Korvayne is nearly limp in his grasp.

JC: Korvayne is getting decimated by someone more than twice her size!

JR: Korvayne is getting treated like many XWF Veterans throughout the years, getting turned into hamburger by Bobby Bourbon!

Bobby rolls Korvayne into the ring. Her chest heaves with stilted breaths after the severe beating she’s received. Bobby rolls back into the ring and picks up the axe handle again, bringing it down on Korvayne’s ribs. As he does, it finally snaps and breaks in half. Bobby rolls the broken end of the axe handle off his fingers like a Major League Baseball slugger who just his a walkoff, still looking intently at Korvayne. He again hoists her up, grasping at her throat. He again raises his microphone, the microphone of a Sith Lord, to his lips.

“A Queen is just a King, and welcome to San Francisco. On behalf of the entire Xtreme Wrestling Federation…

No Kings.”

Bobby drops the microphone, and tosses the much smaller Korvayne onto his shoulder facing backwards for a pop-up powerbomb. The crowd starts chanting.

“NO KINGS, NO CROWNS, THE PEOPLE WON’T BACK DOWN!”

“NO KINGS, NO CROWNS, THE PEOPLE WON’T BACK DOWN!”

“NO KINGS, NO CROWNS, THE PEOPLE WON’T BACK DOWN!”

Bobby turns towards the opposite ropes, and rushes them!

BOBBYBOMB ONTO KORVAYNE INTO THE 5TH ROW!

---

JUNE 21ST 2026.

CELEBRATE FATHER’S DAY WITH BRUNCH!

GLOBAL CULINARY CHALLENGE BRUNCH!

CELEBRATE…

AMERICA’S DAD!

---

In the arena, we see a team of medics backstage with Korvayne.

JC: Folks, we just got word, Korvayne is actually responsive after what happened just moments ago.

JR: What happened to her, Jackie, wasn’t just a natural disaster, those quakes we felt here tonight were impact tremors courtesy of Bobby Bourbon.

---

The camera switches to the backstage area once more before the main event begins. The locker room shown is the same one where Betsy Granger and Remi Storm had conversed earlier. Now our Impossible Traveler is joined by Sebastian Everett-Bryce, who is sitting on the bench with her. They face each other, foreheads touching, hands clasped; for the moment, no words pass between them, just eye contact and a peaceful silence. Though he’s not on the card, there was no way Seb wouldn’t be there to support Betsy on what was easily the biggest night of her career.

Seb: Are you ready for this, Danger?

Nibbling on her lower lip, she nods, though her green eyes betray the nerves building up.

Betsy: As ready as I’ll ever be…

Her voice shakes, causing Seb to pull his head away so he could look fully at her. Freeing one of his hands, he takes her chin in his fingers and keeps her eyes on his.

Seb: You’re about to compete for the Universal Title, B… I need you to answer like it.

Her eyes widen slightly at the firmness in his tone that matched the stern look on his face. Her breath hitches as he draws her face nearer to his.

Seb: Are you ready for this?

This time, Betsy feels her heart leap with a confidence that had eluded her the entire day. Her eyes dance as a determined smile crosses her lips.

Betsy: Fuck yeah, I’m ready for this… But-

Her voice shook again, this time with anticipation as well as nerves. Seb cuts her off with a finger to the lips.

Seb: No. Nope. The first thought - you hold on to that first thought, Danger. You grip it in both hands like it's… well… you know. You hold onto it, and you don’t let it go. You’re ready. You’ve been ready. You’ve been waiting for this… This moment. This exact moment is what everything you’ve done in your career has been building to. The second you say “but” everything else you said before it is just lip service. So let me ask you one… last… Time. Are you fucking ready for this, Betsy Granger?

Removing his finger, he stares at her with intense expectancy. A million thoughts explode through her mind as she begins to truly feel the weight of the opportunity ahead of her. All the faces through the years that had seen her to this moment… Touching her forehead to his, she nods decisively, a genuine smile spreading across her lips now.

Betsy I’m bringing that title home with me tonight.

Seb nods approvingly.

Seb: And we make Leap of Fight our main event.

Their lips meet in a brief, yet intense kiss before Betsy turns on her heels and marches out of the locker room towards the gorilla position. She stops short, and Seb, who had followed, hugs her from behind one more time, planting a kiss on the top of her head. A commercial airs as the crew scrambles to get every detail right for the main event…

---

JC: Ladies and gentleman, welcome back to XWF Warfare!

Up next?

Our main event of the evening!

JR: Man, two of the biggest names in our industry, the Universal Championship on the line? We’re in for a real treat tonight!

JC: Two of the biggest names, indeed, each representing their own corners of these growing factions in XWF. For Betsy Granger, it’s her alliance with The Exiles, and for the champion, Scoops McGee of course, it’s the House of Hardcore.

JR: Scoops and Betsy are both loved by the XWF Universe, Jack. But perhaps these faction wars have poisoned their collective well, because tonight’s stipulation doesn’t sound like anything that two people who respect one another should participate in.

JC: A Texas Deathmatch…

JR: Yeah. That.

JC: The rules are simple..

JR: Are they?

JC: Yes. There are no countouts. No submissions. No disqualifications. The only way to win is to pin your opponent for a three-count, and then, your opponent must not be able to respond to a ten-count.

JR: Hm… ok… why not just make it a thirteen-count pinfall?

JC: Because that’s not the rule! You have to give your opponent the opportunity to get back to their feet.

JR: Simple.



“Now, who’s ready to be baptized into a new era of entertainment?!”

The lights go out in the arena as the voice calls out its query. A moment later, bright, twinkling lights like stars scatter across the building.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day
You gotta climb a little higher,
To the top of the display,
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

The starlight intensifies as a figure rises from beneath the platform, her back to the crowd, head down. The song continues to echo throughout the arena, electric and intense. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight shark-braid that swings back and forth as she bounces from foot to foot.

“If you want it, just take it,
The world's yours, don’t waste it,
Go make the stars align, to shine-”

The rising platform levels to the arena floor in unison with the beat drop to the song.

“BRIGHTER!”

As the word echoes through the arena, an explosion of sparkling pyrotechnics go off as Betsy Granger throws out her arms, revealing a blue chiffon robe lit with bright stars.

“Brighter than the heavens in the skies above,
(oooh oooh)
You’ll be,
BRIGHTER!"

Twirling gracefully to face the crowd, she points skyward as the lights in the arena flood back on. Betsy bounces twice before half-running, half-skipping down the ramp towards the ring.

JC: And here comes the challenger!!!

JR: Betsy Granger said she knew from the moment she took her first bump in a professional wrestling ring, that she wanted nothing more than to be in the XWF, to be a professional wrestler to someday be… Universal Champion.

JC: And tonight she steps from behind those curtains as more than the Impossible Traveler, as more than The Revolution Champion… she makes her way to the ring as BETSY GRANGER!

"Going supernova, all the eyes look up
(at you, at you)
BRIGHTER!”

The song switches to an instrumental break as she does one complete circuit around the ring. Throwing off her cape on the announcer's table, she dashes towards the ring and jumps onto the apron in a one clean move. Using her momentum, she bounces clean over the top rope and spins on her toes to the center of the ring, arms out wide. As she comes to a stop, the music swells, and the crowd joins in like a devoted choir, just the same as the song itself.

“BRIIIIIIIIIGHTEEEEERRRRRRR”

Betsy grins widely and bounces from foot to foot, ready for the fight.



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 arena, culminating as the drums kick in.

As they do, the steadfast figure of Scoops McGee comes out from the back, a look of no nonsense etched onto his face as he takes a long look at the crowd and the squared circle.

JC: And now, the Universal Champion!

JR: Look, Jack. I know we were talking about Scoops and Betsy as two people who have respect for one another, but let's get one thing clear… Scoops McGee’s respect only lasts from bell-to-bell! He said if Betsy isn’t on her game, that he’s going to kill her!

JC: Scoops McGee is from a different era, Joe. Not that Betsy Granger doesn’t respect that mat as much as Scoops. But Scoops respects it in a different way. In the era Scoops fought his way through, these matches WERE life and death. The long road to winning the Universal Championship and wearing that crown has been paved with unthinkable violence and cruelty along the way for Scoops McGee. Scoops is willing to die every time he steps through those ropes, because that’s what wrestling has always been for him. Life and death.

He nods, steadily walking to the ring and absentmindedly high-fiving any fans stretching out their hands who happen to be right in his way. He makes his way over to ringside, climbing up the steps methodically and stepping onto the ring apron. He saunters about halfway across the apron, taking one last long look at the crowd as they give their reception to the seasoned vet. Scoops stretches his arms out wide, accepting everything they've got to give before stepping into the ring.

Scoops skulks over to his corner, pacing there and doing some small stretches to keep himself warmed up before the match begins.

The official stands between the two, going over expectations for this match…

JC: The air is electric right now, between these two! A punch hasn’t been thrown and the crowd is already itching in their seats, ready to climb to their feet…

The official nods to Betsy, verifying she understands the rules. Scoops smiles back gruffly, he’s been around long enough that he knows the sc-

&list=RDatuFSv2bLa

XWF Co-Owner Elon Musk emerges from the back!

THE CROWD RAINS DOWN BOOS!

JC: Oh man! The XWF crowds already don’t love Elon Musk! But now he’s actively keeping them from starting this match!

JR: There might literally be a murder if Elon doesn’t make this quick!

Elon waves apologetically to the crowd.

Elon Musk: Yes, yes, I’m so sorry that you had to wait this long in the show to see me!

JC: That’s not what they’re mad about at all!

Elon Musk: But this isn’t about me! This is about the competitors in that ring!

Elon directs the crowd’s attention toward the ring with a gesture.

Elon Musk: This is about giving a match of this caliber! Of this… historicity! Its proper notice!

JC: Historicity?

JR: It’s a word, Jacuinde!

Elon Musk: And in that spirit, I’m proud to announce that this is the first…

…

Elon Musk: And potentially last match…

The crowd murmurs with curiosity and intrigue…

Elon Musk: Of the SCOOPS MCGEE PRE-MEMORIAL RETIREMENT TOUR!

Elon claps his hands and the XWF security team unfurls a banner…



Elon Musk: ”Brought to you by Charleston Chew! The elderly’s favorite pocket candy!”

THE CROWD RAINS DOWN BOOS!

JC: What a disgusting lack of respect for Scoops McGee from Elon Musk!

JR: And what an absolutely devastating branding miss for Werther’s Originals! Someone in their marketing department is getting fired for not locking down that sponsorship deal!

Betsy glances up the ramp, before turning back to Scoops, shaking her head, trying to make it clear before the match she had nothing to do with this show of disrespect…

Scoops nods, rolling his eyes… He knows exactly who was the idiot behind this.

Elon Musk straightens the bow tie over his tuxedo t-shirt before waving at the ring!

Elon Musk: Now… commence with the match!

XWF Universal Championship Scoops McGee© - vs - Betsy Granger Texas Deathmatch A competitor must first pin their opponent and then ensure they fail to respond to a 10-count to win.

The ref holds Scoops’ Big Gold Belt up, and promptly hands it over to the timekeeper.

DING DING DING

The match begins and the air between Betsy and Scoop’s corners is thrust away.

Scoops and Betsy meet in the center of the ring and lock collars. Betsy plants her leg behind her, and flexes her quads, trying to bend Scoops into her.

But Scoops’ height and weight advantage prove otherwise. He pushes Betsy back, who is staying on her feet. Scoops keeps her tied at the elbow and collar as he shoves her back into the corner.

Betsy falls back awkwardly, her head thrashing into the top turnbuckle pad as Scoops breaks the hold and….


CHOP

That Betsy narrowly dodges!

Scoops’ hand chops into the turnbuckle pad, partially removing it from the steel rope bolt.

While he grimaces and holding his hand from the impact, Betsy maneuvers around him…

Low karate kick to the back of the knee!

Scoops buckles forward, and Betsy begins lifting his legs from behind, shooting Scoops into the corner. She has his legs off the ground, pushes his shoulders up into the turnbuckle, then drops him.

Kick to the knee again!

And again!

Scoops tries turning around to fend her off, but Betsy is razor sharp and relentless.

She's sending more kicks to the ribs and now the shin as he turns around.

Scoops is holding his arms out, trying to push her away, but Betsy gets low and rams forward with her shoulder, right into Scoops’ sternum. He’s thrust back into the corner, where Betsy refuses to let up. She grabs hold of Scoops’ wrist and cinches in a lock, twisting her body around, and stepping through the ropes, she spins around again and

JC: OH! THAT SPINNING WRISTLOCK THROUGH THE ROPES THERE, JOE!

JR: You see Scoops’ arm? His bicep being split in half by that middle rope while Betsy lays on the apron twisting his wrist!

JC: That looks painful, and it looks like that right out of the gate, Betsy Granger is showing that she knows exactly what this match is about. A move like this would not be permitted in a standard match, and the savvy young veteran herself makes quick work of the Universal Champion here.

JR: That's the thing though, Jack. Betsy, the submission specialist that she is, she’s not going to be able to submit Scoops tonight, she has to get creative. She’s got to make those submission take more of a toll than usual, and bring Scoops to a point where he can no longer continue.

Betsy keeps that Armwringer locked in, wringing Scoops’ arm along that middle rope as she grunts and twists and wrenches. Scoops is on his knees on the other side of the ropes, growling out and pounding the mat with his free arm. He bites through enough of the pain, steadies himself on his knees, and swings his free arm through the ropes with a haymaker. It doesn’t land clean, but it hits Betsy’s shoulder. Jarring her a bit. Scoops swings again, and hits shoulder again, and though Betsy still twuists through with her lock, shes off balance…

ANOTHER HAYMAKER!

Forces Betsy to break the hold entirely

Scoops pulls his arm through the ropes, clutching it like a new born baby as he stumbles backward into the ring.

After rolling to the floor for a moment to gether herself, Betsy pulls back onto the apron and - - -

RIGHT-ARM CATTLEPROD!

IS DODGED!

BETSY DUCKS THROUGH THE MIDDLE ROPES - - - USING HER SHOULDER AGAIN!

SCOOPS SUCKS WIND AND DRAPES OVER THE TOP ROPE!

BUT CLOBBERS BETSY OVER HER BACK IN THE SAME MOTION!

Scoops gathers and grabs a handful of Betsy’s hair as she writhes, and he whips down off her feet to the ring apron, head first.

THUD

Betsy’s head bounces, and she immediately covers it up, groaning in pain. Her legs partly kicking through the ropes, the rest of her body precariously laid out on the apron. Scoops is still trying to recover. Partly holding himself up on the top rope. His face still shows the effects of Betsy’s opening onslaught. He starts limping to the turnbuckle, still favoring his arm. He climbs up to the second rope and steps through, positioning his rear on the top post and aiming toward the outside. Right below him is Betsy’s head, and with her arms tucked around her skull, she hasn’t noticed the


DIVING LEG DROP FROM THE SECOND ROPE TO THE OUTSIDE!!!!



THAT MISSES!!!!!!


Scoops lands tailbone first on the apron as Betsy accidentally rolled out of the way and back into the ring,

Scoops sits there on the apron. Frozen like a statue of a legdrop and howling out in pain.

Betsy’s eyes go wide as she gets to her knees, noticing what happened.

She stands and darts across the ring.

Then runs back at Scoops full speed - - - Sliding kick through the ropes, right to Scoops head!

Scoops tumbles to the arena floor in a heap.

Betsy clears the ropes and stands on the apron above Scoops, she leaps off with a diving knee that catches Scoops over the back of the neck, getting a roar from the crowd.

The ref follows them both out to the floor and checks on them.

As both competitors are down on the floor, on-screen, a smiling Scoops McGee appears in front of a Charleston Chew logo.

GET YOUR COMMEMORATIVE SCOOPS - vs - FATHER TIME T-SHIRTS! AVAILABLE AT THE XWF SHOPZONE!

JC: Get that the hell off the screen!

JR: Or at least put it back on in a few minutes so I have time to buy one before they sell out!

Betsy begins to limp up and move over to Scoops who is struggling to pull up to his arms. Betsy sends a stomp to Scoops’ neck, flattening him again. She then twists the arm she was working earlier around her calf, cinches it back and claws over scoops while keeping that bad arm secure woith her leg. She grabs the back of Scoops legs and applies a clover leaf!!!!

JC: Betsy Granger has Scoops twisted up like a pretzel right now, Joe!

JR: Scoops said he was going to welcome Betsy to hell tonight, and right now she seems to be withstanding the heat!

Scoops is again howling out in agony. His quads and lower back being stretched down into added weight on that injured arm. Betsy has the hold locked tight, but Scoops is desperate. He’s using all of the strength he has to power up on his free arm. Doing whatever he can to pull himself forward across the floor. But the more Scoops pulls, the harder Betsy sits back, powering a knee into Scoops tail, and tightening her leg into Scoops’ arm.

But he pulls, and howls, and pulls and drags, all across the floor.

Then he twists, and Betsy folds just ever so slightly. He flips himself over. Bringing his legs forward just as he moves his back in the opposite direction and FLINGS BETSY FORWARD!

THE BACK OF HER HEAD SMASHING INTO THE STEEL RING STEPS!

JC: My god, Joe! Did you see that counter from Scoops! He may have just knocked Betsy out cold!

JR: But at what cost, Jack? Did you see the way Sccops arm had to bend to move himself in that position??? I thought it was going to snap his forearm![

JC: It nearly did!

Betsy is knocked out, laying slumped into the partially dislodged steel steps. But Scoops may be even worse for the ware. He’s rolling around on the floor, coddling that badly damaged arm and trying to find the will to recover. Finally a few agonizing breaths, he makes his way to one knee.

He looks over at Betsy, a scowl growing on his face.

He limps toward her, reaching down with his good arm, and dragging her up by the wrist. She starts to come to as Scoops gets her to his feet, but it’s already too late. He whips her with all of his might away from the steps…. BUT DOESNT LET GO!

HE WHIPS HER BACK AGAIN AND SENDS HER RUNNING AT FULL SPEED INTO THE STEPS!
CRASH!

The steps explode and Betsy is laid out.

Scoops dives on her for the pin!


1!











2!!









BETSY KICKS OUT!



JC: My goodness, what a timely kickout that was! If this gives you any kind of indication of the fight that still awaits tonight Joe, after all of that Scoops wasn’t even able to check the first box in this Texas Deathmatch yet!

Scoops leans over Betsy, panting heavily and looking at the ref with disbelief in his eyes.

But he knows he doesn’t have time to wollow. Scoops stands and limps a few feet away from Betsy. He leans over and starts… grabbing at the arena floor?

JR: He’s tearing up the floor padding, Jack!

JC: No no no… this is not going to end well!

Scoops rips and tears, and pulls back the padding from the floor, exposing the concrete underneath.

He limps back to Betsy who is only just showing signs of life.

He drags her over to the exposed concrete and looks like he’s about to- - -

JC: Oh no. No. He’s going to - - -

JR: He’s going to piledrive her on the floor, Jack. There’s no coming back from-

JC: BUT WAIT! BETSY’S FIGHTING BACK! A RIGHT PUNCH! A RIGHT KICK TO THE RIBS BETSY’S FIGHTING BACK AND I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

She kicks at the ribs again, and Scoops accidentally moves to block it with his bad arm. The toe of her boot catching him right in the softened elbow joint.

Scoops howls

Betsy kicks again!

BUT SCOOPS FIGHTS THROUGH THE PAIN AND CATCHES HER LEG.

HE LIFTS

HE GRABS

HE SPINS

JC: SIDEWALK SLAM ONTO THE CONTRETE!!!

Scoops covers!







1!











2!!














3!!!



The ref jumps up and signals to the time keeper.


1!








2!!



JC: Now that Scoops has pinned Betsy, he has to make sure she cannot recover. She must stay down for an additional ten-count!


3!!!


Scoops drags himself back to the steel steps, and grabs the top piece


4!!!!


AAAHHH!!!

But immediately drops it as his arm has taken too much damage for him to lift it properly. He swings at his arm, trying to get it straightened out, but it’s no use right now.

5!!!!!

He has to drag the top part of the steps with one arm. And this time lift it more cautiously.

JC: He’s going to cover Betsy with those steps!

JR: He’s gotta make sure she can’t get up!

6!!!!!!

KICK!

Betsy raises her leg just in time and kneecaps Scoops!

He drops the steps again, this time they clang against the concrete floor. And Betsy leaps up, kicking in the head now!

Scoops falls back into the barricade, while the exasperated Betsy leans against the apron, catching her breath.

Her chest heaving, she eyes Scoops looking vulnerable and takes her shot. A running one legged dropkick sends the Universal Champion spilling over the barricade and into the laps of the fans at ringside. Betsy climbs up on the barricade, she’s about to leap off with another knee drop

BUT A CATTLEPROD MID-AIR CATCHES HER!!!
Betsy flattens and lands spine-first along the barricade. Scoops now climbs up there to gather her up. He stands beside her after she's lifted to her feet. Scoops shouts at the crowd, signaling for the end.

JC: Oh my god, Joe. He’s got Betsy in position for The Big Scoop!

JR: He’s going to drive her from the barricade onto the floor!

HE’S GOT HER UP AND

THE


BIG



SCOO— – –NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

BETSY SHIFTS HER WEIGHT!


AND THE TWO OF THEM FALL OFF THE BARRICADE TOGETHER AND BACK INTO THE CROWD, LANDING AWKWARDLY ON SOME CHAIRS

Scoops tries crawling on Betsy, throwing a forearm at her face. Betsy partially blocks it from her back, covering up and sending kicks at Scoops. One kick, so stiff, it catches him right in the gut, and the champ immediately doubles over, sucking wind. Betsy scrambles up to her feet, grabbing a chair on the way up. She sizes Scoops up and cracks the chair right over his spine, sending him falling back over the barricade to ringside.

Betsy climbs the barricade again, this time with the chair tucked under her arm, but still catching her breath… waiting for Scoops to get back to his feet.

She mirrors him. Just as Scoops rises back to his feet, Betsy slowly moves up from a crouched position. She lets out a sharp whistle in direction of the champion getting his attention

“HEADS UP!”

She throws the chair at Scoops, who instinctively catches it ….



DIVING DROPKICK FROM THE BARRICADE!!!!
The kick blasts the chair into Scoops’ face, and lays him out cold on the floor.

Betsy took a lot of damage from the fall herself, but the sounds of the roaring crowd are keeping her stirred. She crawls ontop of the champion for the cover…



1!










2!!









3!!!


JC: IF THIS WERE A NORMAL MATCH, BETSY GRANGER WOULD’VE JUST WON THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP…

JR: Pump the brakes, Jack. If this were a normal match they both would’ve been disqualified.

The ref signals for the time keeper and begins his 10 count


1!


2!!


3!!!


Rather than try to keep Scoops down longer, Betsy slides back into the ring and begins to ready herself for another wave.


4!!!!




5!!!!!

Which might’ve been a smart move, because Scoops is already up, granted falling around and using the apron to steady himself, but up none the less.


JC: That was a big move by Betsy there, but I think she knew it wasn’t going to be enough to keep Scoops down for a 13 count. She’s in her comfort zone between those ropes, and is going to look to finish Scoops off there.

JR: Not a bad strategy. I mean just look at Scoops. Betsy has clearly left her mark on the man already… he can barely use that big left-arm of his.

Scoops shakes away the cobwebs and looks through the ropes. Betsy and him locking eyes from across the ring. The challenger raises her hands and motions for the champ to come get some!

He obliges her.

Scoops rolls into the ring, and the challenger pounces. She leaps in the air and lands knees first into Scoops’ back, lifting up his bad arm and locking in a half-nelson. Scoops is screaming out in pain, his forehead appearing to be busted open from that chair dropkick earlier.

Lying next to the ropes he swings his free arm around desperately swatting the air, grabbing for something, anything to help him. Finally he grabs the ropes and out of pure will-power, he forces his way up to a single knee, though Betsy still has the hold locked in, it’s slipping.

Her first knee is forced to move from his back, and to a standing position. Then the second knee is forced to move as Scoops is up to his feet now.

But Betsy still has that half-nelson cinched in from behind. Scoops swings the elbow of his free arm back. It clips Betsy, but still she holds on. Scoops swings again, this time blasting Betsy right in the nose. Her eyes puff, and blood immediately gushes from her nostrils.

Scoops fresh himself, he turns, and spins for a wild-looking DISCUS CATTLEPROD!!!!



THAT BETSY COUNTERS!!







SHE SPINS BEHIND THE CHAMPION!!!!







LOCKS THE HALF-NELSON BACK IN 



 
 
NOW A FULL-NELSON!!!!!



AND



ICH

MUSS

DICH

BRECHEN!!!!!
   



FULL NELSON FACEBUSTER!!!!


JC: OH MY GOD! BESTY NAILED IT~!!

SHE COVERS!




1!














2!!















3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


THE REF BEGINS THE 10 COUNT!



1!


Betsy, exhausted, throws all of her weight down on Scoops. Keeping his arms pinned down with her knees.


2!!







3!!!




Scoops is completely unresponsive





4!!!!








5!!!!
















6!!!!!!








The crowd is buzzing!



7!!!!!!!




THEY SENSE IT!!!!!





8!!!!!!!!








SCOOPS’ EYES BURST OPEN!!!!






9!!!!!!!!







HE POWERS UP- FREEING HIS ARMS AND CLAPPING BETSY’S EARS!





BUT IS IT TOOK LATE!!?????















10—--NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO



SCOOPS HAS RISEN TO HIS FEET WITH BETSY’S LEGS ON HIS SHOULDERS!!



JC:I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! BETSY GRANGER WAS MERELY MILLISECONDS AWAY FROM WINNING THE CHAMPIONSHIP!

But Betsy is teeing off on Scoops’ head! The two stumble around the ring, Scoops’ legs barely able to sustain much more weight. Betsy continues to punch at the open wound on Scoops’ head.

The stumble near the turnbuckle and Betsy is in a perfect position to hit her patented HURRICANRANA DRIVER!!!!!!!


BUT SCOOPS HALTS HER MOMENTUM. SHE’S DANGLING UPSIDE DOWN TRIYNG TO DRIVE THE CHAMPION’S HEAD INTO THE CANVAS.

BUT SCOOPS SHIFTS AND SWINGS!!!


BLAM!


As Betsy was rising back up the side of her temple connects with that now fully-exposed turnbuckle pad from earlier, and she falls limp into the corner.

Scoops falls to his knees, watching his blood spill onto the mat. He wobbles up to his feet, and turns to finish Betsy off…. BUT THE CHALLENGER IS UP AGAIN AND RUNNING AT HIM!





SINGLE LEG DROPKICK!!!







IS CAUGHT!



SCOOPS HAS THE LEAPING BETSY ON HIS SHOULDERS AGAIN

THEY’rE FALLING TOWARD THE ROPES














JR; HOLY SHIT, JACKIE!!!!!







DYNAMITE BOMB!!!!







Scoops hits his rare powerbomb finish on Betsy over the top rope and onto the exposed concrete floor!!!!






The crowd is going insane!


Betsy Granger is completely motionless on the floor. Scoops is on his knees in the ring. His eyes wide with shock, and even a hint of horror as he looks out to the floor.

He nearly has to crawl under the bottom rope, falling off the apron and onto Betsy for an exhausted pinfall




1!






2!!








3!!!




Scoops falls off of the pin, his chest heaving for air as the ref begins the 10 count




1!






2!!










3!!!













4!!!!












Neither person is moving





5!!!!!











6!!!!!!


Scoops sits up now. Still panting. Looking at Betsy who is completely unconscious next to hm






7!!!!!!!






8!!!!!!!!!




BUT BETSY IS STARTING TO MOVE!!!!!!




9!!!!!!!!


But with a final effort, Scoops uses some muscle to ensure that her shoulders stay down!











10!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



And immediately collapse back over to the floor as the bell rings.

Winner: SCOOPS MCGEE

JC: You wanna talk about a buzzer-beater, folks? Scoops McGee dug down deep to pull off a HUGE defense here tonight in our main event!

JR: Betsy pulled out a lot more from the old man than I would have guessed, but it’s not enough!

The fans pop like crazy as the referee awards Scoops the Universal title, who holds it close to his chest as he forces his way back to his feet! Beaten and battered, he holds the title up in the air to soak in the adoration!

JC: Thank you for tuning in to another action-packed night of Warfare, folks! We’ll continue to bring you nothing but the best, so be sure to keep tuning in!

The camera fades to black as Scoops begins to leave the ringside area.

A special THANK-YOU to all our match writers who helped the show go up! Atticus Gold Bobby Bourbon Dick Lichter Dolly Waters Peter Principle Another THANK-YOU as well to everyone who submitted segments for this show! Betsy Granger Bobby Bourbon Elon Musk Isaiah King John Black Kieran King Scoops McGee