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Jordan Penn · **09-01-2026, 10:50 PM**

“I don’t give a fuck about John Blade. But, despite many thinking he’s nothing but a joke, technically he’s a champion right now and I’m not. Who’s fault is that? I’d like to tell you the blame lies solely on the shoulders of a man I once considered a chosen brother. Charlie fuckin’ Nickles.”

“I’d like to say that, but the truth is, I haven’t been focused. I’ve been all over the place these past few months. I tried to win the Cooperative titles in UGWC. I took a former Cooperative Champion in Riley Reverend and brought her all the way to a Cooperative title shot. Again, that’s the narrative that serves me.”

“While I was over here being a tag team champion with Charlie, and rebranding the Corporation, a group I didn’t start, with initials I didn’t earn. I’ve always been one to take rather than wait my turn. What can I say? I’m an impatient motherfucker.”

Jordan stands in his locker room in the United Center, a place where Michael Jordan and the Bulls made history, winning not one, but two threepeat championships. Six in total. Jordan didn’t care much for basketball, but we assure you it has nothing to do with his skill level. But he could appreciate the history that took place in this building. He thinks about how the Bulls were never the same after that core group left. Jordan, Pippen, coach Jackson, among others.

“The building doesn’t make the man. The title doesn’t make the man. The man makes the title, the building, the team. This match isn’t about Charlie Nickles. It’s not even about John Blade. It’s about me. My path is set for Red Dead Relentless. I asked for a warm up match, as I had been focusing elsewhere and I needed to get my head in the game.”

“What I got was yet another snarky fuck you from management. It’s malicious compliance and honestly, it’s exactly what I would do if I was GM. Big Dick gave me a match where the ring is basically an NBA player in an old video game…heating up. So, either I make quick work of the Blade Championship Blade wielder, the eponymous John Blade, or I find myself sautéed.”

He looks over at an open locker. He doesn’t remember opening it. He goes to investigate and finds a familiar black object: The Director’s mask. Jordan doesn’t know what to make of it. He had burned that match in a ceremonial bonfire after revealing himself. The original, that is. He still wears copies in his entrance, a not subtle nod to where he came from, but this had all the markers of the original mask. It was charred, somewhat melted. Did someone plant this here?

“I know what you did.”

A voice emanated from seemingly nowhere.

“Who said that?” Jordan asks the air, knowing full well how silly it seems. He waits for an answer as he goes to grab the mask he once wore to the ring. He lifts it and examines it closely.

“It’s me. You. The Director.”

He drops the mask on the floor instinctually, as he swears the voice is coming from it. He knows that’s not logical. The Director is Jordan Penn. If anything, he felt more himself when he could finally shed the mask. He thought about being in a locker room just like this when he made himself vulnerable to show his face, scars and all to Charlie Nickles.

“I refuse to have discourse with a phantom. I just need to get some sleep, I think.”

Jordan leaves the mask on the floor. He sits back down and takes a deep breath.

“I encountered spirits at my father’s mansion recently. Barely made it out alive with Riley. Perhaps there’s a chance that the spirit attached itself to the mask as a sort of cursed artifact? Honestly, it still sounds crazy. Far as I know the mask wasn’t even there. Most likely I’m hallucinating because I’m tired. Maybe Charlie found the mask and planted it here to fuck with me. That voice did sound familiar though. You know when you hear a recording of yourself and you’re like, oh that’s what I sound like? It was a bit like that. Real uncanny valley shite.”

Jordan looks around the room. No bogeyman. No one else is present.

“You are not hallucinating.”

That voice again. His voice.

Jordan doesn’t answer it this time.

“You need me. You need to step back into your power. People don’t fear you anymore. Hell, it’s not even a guarantee you beat John Blade this week.”

He stands up suddenly, almost as if he’s compelled to. He bends and picks up the mask again. He rubs his fingers on it. He pinches his arm.

“Ouch.”

“Fuck! It’s not a dream.” He says.

He hears the voice again, but this time it’s unintelligible. More garbled, twisted…ominous. He throws the mask across the room.

“I don’t need a god damn crutch to beat John Blade!”

He looks over at the mask, as if to let it know he means business.

“I certainly don’t need it to beat Charlie Nickles’ fat arse come Relentless. So I’m gonna walk out these doors, leave this fuck ass piece of cloth and stitching behind and do what I do best, punishing anyone that gets in my way. This week, the victim’s name is Jonathan.”

“Cut that shit.”

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