Latoya Hixx
El Landerson
- vs -
Ennui Clown
Triskaidekaphobic Clown
Standard Tag
1 RP per team @ 2,000 words
#1 Contender to the Revolution Championship
Mister Oz
- vs -
Summer Page
- vs -
Betsy Granger MeathooksIcepicks of Horror (Triple-Threat Style!)
An arctic (and multi-combatant!) twist on Oz’s Meathooks of Horror match.
The match will take place in a ring located in a walk-in freezer, air temperature 20 degrees fahrenheit. Inside the ring, two large ice picks will be hanging from the rafters.
The only way to win is to make sure BOTH your opponents CANNOT move.
Whichever partner does not start the match is going to be FLASH FROZEN into a block of ice. Their partner will have to thaw them and free them for their partner to be able to HOT TAG into the match.
DID YOU KNOW: colder temperatures can actually increase bleeding because cold slows down the body's clotting process, making it harder for blood to stop flowing from a wound? The more you know!
1 RP / 1k
XWF Television Championship
Centurion
- vs -
Amber Mansley
Audience Participation Match
The ring is fitted with secret compartments and environmental changes. Loud crowd cheers *or* boos for a competitor will unlock weapons or activate changes to the ring environment that may help *or* hurt the competitors. Cheering doesn’t mean good things and booing doesn’t mean bad things. All that’s important is getting a reaction!
WINNER OF
THE TRILLIONAIRES X-CLUSIVE LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD PRIME
The new XWF logo for brand recognition and innovative design
When Booyka 619 hits, El Landerson walks out on stage and kneels down on one knee and prays. He rises up and stands just to the side of the entrance curtain, waiting for his partner to join him...
The lights went dark!
The sound of thunder Ker-ACKS throughout the arena!
Over the PA system, a woman laughs…
A Storm…
Is…
COMING
Suddenly, the lights turned blue! Rain falls from the rafters above as Latoya Hixx walks out at the top of the ramp, flexing her muscles!
JC: It’s been too long since we’ve seen THE STORM COME UPON THE XWF!
JR: We’re not sure where she went, Jacuinde! We do know where was a… slight multiversal snafu where some of our talent was briefly lost in time and space! But, we are so glad to have Latoya Hixx and El Landerson back from whatever pocket dimension they disappeared too and back in the XWF ring!
JC: Hixx and Landerson both recently scored their first ever PPV victories alongside Deena Hixx and Razor Blade at War Games! Can make it two in a row with a win over No Laughing Matter?
JR: …Is that what the Clowns are called?
The lights return to their default settings as Hixx and Landerson walk straight down the aisle and slap a few hands of wrestling fans!
As the camera cuts away from Hixx and Landerson’s entrance, Ennui Clown is lying face down in the ring. He’s not unconscious, just kinda bummed. Triskaidekaphobia Clown is pacing impatiently in the corner, his polka-dot trenchcoat blowing dramatically in the opposite direction of whatever way he’s facing.
JC: And those are Hixx and Landerson’s opponents tonight! Ennui Clown and Triskaidekaphobia Clown!
JR: These two guys
Hixx climbs up the steel steps, then enters the ring…
The lights dim and she flexes her muscles one final time!
In their respective corners, Landerson and Hixx are comparing notes and talking strategy…
Meanwhile, the official is ordering Ennui and Triskaidekaphobic Clowns that only one of them can start the match… Triskaidekaphobic offers to start, eager to throw hands.
Ennui is okay with that…
…But he doesn’t move from his spot on the mat.
…Triskaidekaphobic exhales, getting on his knees to roll Ennui Clown under the bottom rope. Ennui Clown lies on the side of the apron, lying facedown.
JC: Ennui Clown might want to be careful! He’s lying on the hardest part of the ring!
JR: I think the hardest part of the ring is realizing that some day we’ll all be dead and how much of this mattered in the grand scheme of the universe? We’re all just cosmic specks, seeking purpose in a universe that has something as ludicrous and inexplicable as a planet of clowns.
JC: …Joe, you okay? I notice your hands are… tying your mic cord into a… noose?
JR: Hmmm? Oh sorry, Jacuinde. I think whatever Ennui Clown has is contagious. I’m fine as long as I don’t look at him.
#1 Contender to the Anarchy Tags
Latoya Hixx
El Landerson
- vs -
Ennui Clown
Triskaidekaphobic Clown
Standard Tag
1 RP per team @ 2,000 words
HIGHLIGHT REEL
The moment the bell rings, Landerson and Triskaidekaphobic Clown start circling each other… Landerson is quicker on his feet, but Triskaidekaphobic is hungrier! More eager to draw first blood!
Triskaidekaphobic goes for a grapple, but Landerson manages to duck under Triskaidekaphobic Clown’s attempt and chop him down to size with a kick to the knee!
JC: First strike goes to Landerson!
Triskaidekaphobia drops to one knee… Landerson tries to follow up with a side-headlock…
When suddenly, Triskaidekaphobia snaps him with a stiff forearm, rocking Landerson back towards the ropes!
JR: That punch was straight out of Dick Tracy! This hard-nosed gumshoe is working Landerson like a heavy bag! Or a case he can’t crack about the number 13!
Triskaidekaphobia is reeling back his fist… but when Rogan says ‘13’, he spins around like he just heard a gunshot!
JC: Oh! Triskaidekaphobia thinks every 13 is a conspiracy! And a clue to unlocking some mystery!
As Triskaidekaphobia Clown spins toward the announce table, Landerson rebounds off the ropes…
And catches Triskaidekaphobia Clown with a dropkick to the spine!
JC: Incredible speed on display there by El Landerson!
JR: Detective Triskaidekaphobia Clown is looking a little less like Sherlock Holmes and a little more like Paul Blart, Mall Cop out there!
Landerson tags Latoya. Hixx charges toward the weakened detective jester, looking for a lariat!
JC: Latoya seeking a big clothesline!
But Triskaidekaphobia Clown ducks under! Hixx skids by…
And Triskaidekaphobia Clown scoops her off her feet… and drops her spine-first on his knee with a Backbreaker!
JC: Wow! Impressive move by Triskaidekaphobia Clown!
JR: He’s surprisingly competent when no one brings up thir-.. Er… The you-know-what number!
Hixx cradles her spine in agony as Triskaidekaphobia Clown kips up onto his feet… he retrieves his journal from his polka-dot trenchcoat to write down his successful move in his case file!
JC: I get Triskaidekaphobia Clown’s aim is solving this mystery… but is this really the time to update your case notes, Joe? He’s in the middle of a match!
JR: He’s like a bloodhound, Jacuinde! And he’s always smelling the trail! Every moment is a clue and every opponent is a suspect
Triskaidekaphobia Clown writes down in his notebook… ‘Performed Backbreaker on Suspect’...
…Suddenly, re-reading his notes… His eyes widen!
Backbreaker! B looks just like…
13! He tosses his notebook away horrified!
JC: Huge unforced error there by Triskaidekaphobia Clown!
His hands tense, and he takes a deep breath, trying to gather his nerve… while behind him Hixx is rising to her feet…
JC: STORM IS COMING!
Triskaidekaphobia Clown turns around…
RIGHT INTO A FALLAWAY SLAM FROM LATOYA HIXX!
JC: Holy hell! What a move by The Storm!
JC: Hixx and Landerson have been dominant thus far!
JR: If the clowns want to avoid this being their last laugh, Triskaidekaphobia Clown has gotta tag out! He’s been isolated since the opening bell!
Latoya drags her thumb across her throat, as she drags Triskaidekaphobia Clown off his feet … she shoves him toward the ropes!
He rebounds back toward her…
BICYCLE KICK!
…
NO! Triskaidekaphobia Clown ducks under!
JC: Triskaidekaphobia Clown is running the light and refuses to give up the stage!
Hixx spins around, trying to secure her opponent in a grapple…
But Triskaidekaphobia Clown hits her with a jawbreaker!
Hixx rolls backfirst onto the mat! She starts crawling toward her corner where Landerson’s hand is outstretched, eager to tag in!
Triskaidekaphobia Clown crawls toward his own corner where Ennui Clown…
…Is still lying on the apron!
JC: Someone get that guy a Prozac or something!
Simultaneously, both competitors dive to their corners!
They both make the tag! Hixx smacks Landerson’s hand and Triskaidekaphobia smacks Ennui’s stomach!
El Landerson hops over the top rope, eager to start throwing hands!
…
But Ennui remains lying on the apron…
He exhales forlornly… His nose honks.
JC: …Not exactly a hot tag, huh, Joe?
After a very lenient five-count and an extensive peptalk from Triskaidekaphobia Clown, Ennui Clown finally rolls under the bottom rope, shoulder-over-shoulder…
And lies facedown in the middle of the ring!
JC: Marginal improvement here, Joe. Ennui Clown is actually in the ring!
JR: But he still hasn’t gotten off his face, Jacuinde! Most competitors don’t want to end up lying facedown in the ring! But that’s where Ennui Clown is starting from!
Landerson shrugs… He leaps into the air, looking for a double stomp to the gut!
…But Ennui sighs and rolls out of the way, rising to sitting up…
JC: Surprising dexterity by Ennui!
Landerson lands on his feet nimbly and goes for a chest kick on the sitting Ennui Clown…
But Ennui Clown lays backward! Landerson’s kick sweeps over him!
Landerson spins around…
As Ennui Clown’s legs rise off the mat!
KIP-UP CLOTHESLINE! El Landerson gets chopped down to the mat!
JC: WOW! Genuinely impressive move by Ennui Clown!
Ennui Clown corners Landerson against the turnbuckle, looking to tackle the smaller competitor to the mat…
But Landerson manages to duck under… Ennui Clown’s face hits the turnbuckle!
JC: Ouch! Slight miscalculation by Ennui Clown and he just ate a face full of padding for that mistake!
JR: He was doing better on the ground!
Ennui cradles his face as he slowly turns around… As Landerson hops to the middle turnbuckle, looking to deliver punches!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The crowd counts along! Hixx pounds her chest as Landerson drops fists onto Ennui’s dome!
FOUR!
FIVE!
SIX!
JC: Ten count punches! What a classic!
SEVEN!
EIGHT!
NINE!
Triskaidekaphobia’s teeth grit, urging Ennui to fight out!
TEN!
…
ELEVEN!
JC: Oh! Landerson’s not stopping with ten!
TWELVE!
Triskaidekaphobia’s eyes widen with sudden horror as the crowd shouts…
THIRTEEN!
MASSIVE PSYCHIC DAMAGE DROPS TRISKAIDEKAPHOBIA CLOWN FROM THE APRON TO THE FLOOR!
And Landerson dismounts off Ennui and he flops facedown to the mat as well!
JR: Landerson must have some boxing experience! Those punches hit so hard they knocked out Ennui Clown’s partner from the apron!
JC: Smart move by Landerson, physically attacking one clown and mentally attacking the other!
Landerson points at Hixx! Hixx hops over the top rope… just as Ennui slowly rises to his feet…
Latoya slams her fist against her chest…
She sprints!
BICYCLE KICK!
Ennui drops onto his back…
Just as Landerson hops to the top rope!
FROG SPLASH!
Hixx circles the pin as Landerson hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Winners: El Landerson and Latoya Hixx
JC: What a dominant win by El Landerson and Latoya Hixx!
JR: The Clowns looked a little bit more like a sideshow than a three-ring circus tonight! There were flashes of promise! But Landerson and Hixx looked all business out there! And tonight, they’re leaving as the #1 contenders to the Anarchy Tag Team championships!
WINNER OF
MOMENT OF THE YEAR
Dolly Waters!
For finally winning the Universal Championship!
After a hype package for XWF’s next pay-per-view has concluded, the feed cuts back to the ring, where it has been completely transformed. The mat is covered with a ratty and torn carpet bearing the image of Dolly Waters lying on her back after Kieran King crushed her and her revolution and took her Universal Title.
The turnbuckles are fitted with crying-faced facial images of Dolly.
A mysterious object stands in the middle of the ring, concealed under a silk curtain.
The Antarticans are confused but vocal, obviously not liking whatever is going on.
Then, “The Look” cranks up over the PA, and out walks the debutant, Amara Vale. She’s not in her ring gear, though. She is adorned in an elegant red gown made for the Red Carpet and Hollywood awards shows. Her blonde tresses are done up in the fanciest way, a style famous in France. She poses before embarking on her trek to the ring.
JC: Now it makes sense! Amara is debuting later tonight, but she did some terrible things in her promotional package and vowed to make R.L. Edgar the hero of her villainous story.
JR: If she wanted to be a villain, she’s off to a good start. I’m not sure what the hell she’s thinking with this set-up in the ring, but it can’t be good because, as we all know, Dolly is Edgar’s niece.
The crowd has put it together already and hails the woman with boos aplenty as she stomps up the steps, demands a stagehand part the ropes, and then steps inside. She immediately moves to the center of the ring and wipes her expensive footwear disrespectfully on the Dolly-faced carpet.
A stagehand deposits a mic in her velvet-gloved hand.
AMARA VALE: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages…. I proudly bring to you the 2026 XWF HALL OF SHAME…
The crowd heats her with jeers, jeers that she dismisses with infuriating confidence.
AMARA VALE: There’s only one induction worthy of this accolade. Her shame is so profound that it takes up the entire Hall of Shame building. So, without further delay, everyone please rise and pay your (dis)respect to…..
She gestures with grandiose flair toward the ramp.
A HUGE banner unfurls from the rafters while the SNOW-TRON sparks to life with the song, “ Loser” by BECK.
A montage plays, surprisingly showcasing many of Dolly’s victories and great moments, especially her role in kickstarting the Revolution.
Then the feed comes to a screeching hiccup, and the montage switches to a seemingly endless array of clips from Dolly’s losses, heartbreaking moments in segments, and tear-jerker times from her promotional vignettes.
When the collage of shame comes to an end at last, the fans are utterly livid.
They’re not merely booing her; they’re cussing her, and some openly vow death to her.
JC: Joe, these fans might actually riot. This woman has crossed a serious line with this despicable Hall of Shame bit.
JR: She already crossed a line in her promotional vignette. I think she’s living off of the YOLO shit now. Might as well lean hard into villainy.
The Blondest Bombshell seems completely ignorant of what she has done and continues.
AMARA VALE: Normally in ceremonies like this, someone special to the inductee would come out here and spend 45 minutes kissing their patootie. Unfortunately, when you’ve been proven a shameful piece of Kentucky trash like Dolly has, people don’t want to have any association with you. So, my apologies, but there will be nobody to herald her.
Amara mocks a pitied look and amplifies it with a hand draped over her heart.
The crowd is in a frenzy.
AMARA VALE: And I’m even more saddened to tell you that Dolly Waters herself won’t be here to share some words and enjoy her induction. Obviously, when you’re the leader of a Revolution and it's crushed by a King you swore you’d defeat, and you bail without a word to your followers, you’re prone to not wanting to show your face anywhere. It’s a good thing she hasn’t shown her face since King demolished her hopes and dreams and the hopes and dreams of all you snow-covered sweathogs. She’s ugly.
She nodded matter-of-factly, then moved over to the mysterious object under the silk cloth.
AMARA VALE: So, in the absence of Dolly and anyone who once supported her, we’ll get right to the unveiling ceremony. TA-DA!
With a magnificent flourish, Amara yanked the cloth off, revealing an unflattering Dolly Waters Hall of Shame bust.
The fans have almost become completely undone with this disrespect.
Amara once more seems oblivious to the beast she’s poking the stick at.
America’s Last Bombshell poses next to the bust and lets the paparazzi and other media take photos of her with it.
With a smile and bow, she takes to the mic again.
AMARA VALE: Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight for this very special Hall of Shame ceremony. This concludes the festivities.
She steps away, then pauses, a finger held up.
AMARA VALE: And yes, Eggie. I did this because you’re her uncle, and, also, it’s true… she’s a shameful little dishwater blonde. I told you in my promotional vignette that you’re gonna be the hero to my villain for my story. This is MY story, Eggie. You have no say-so in this. I’m coming after you and, if needbe, your family too. Win or lose tonight, it’s just chapter one for us tonight. Now, meditate on that, drunkie.
Some ringside fans need to be held back by security as Amara takes her leave.
JC: This was absolutely disgraceful.
JR: I'm all for people heeling it up because that shit moves the needle, but this was uncalled for. For all we know, Dolly could be out nursing a major injury or just needing to soul-search after such a huge loss. It happens to the best of them. I can't condone this shit, man. And I'm telling you now, R.L. Edgar had plenty of reasons to beat the brakes off Amara tonight, outside of just doing his job as a competitor, but this is gonna make him send her a very painful and brutal message.
The walk-in door swings open and Summer Page walks into the cold. She quickly begins rubbing her hands together in an effort to not become a Summer-POP. Moving toward the ring, she pauses. Her eyes wander straight up to those ice picks dangling overhead. She just stares for a minute before walking up the steps and waiting as the ref moves into position. He holds the ropes and she enters the ring, immediately checking the slipperiness of the iced over canvas as she moves to her corner.
The walk-in door opens again, and Betsy Granger comes jogging through. She spots the ice picks too and let's out a small chuckle. Less "ha, funny" and more, "oh shit, this is real". She rolls under the bottom rope and pops right up, bouncing on her toes and warming up, or trying to stay warm. She continues bouncing over to her corner.
The walk-in door opens again and Oz steps through. He stops a couple feet from the ring apron, tilts his head back and studies those ice picks hanging there. He smiles while staring at the tools he'll be using later. That's right, tools, not threats. After a moment he climbs onto the apron and steps over the top rope. He moves to his corner and awaits the bell as he mentally plans out the match. The cold doesn't seem to bother him much. Or if it does, he sure doesn't show it.
DING DING DING!
#1 Contender to the Revolution Championship
Mister Oz
- vs -
Summer Page
- vs -
Betsy Granger MeathooksIcepicks of Horror (Triple-Threat Style!)
An arctic (and multi-combatant!) twist on Oz’s Meathooks of Horror match.
The match will take place in a ring located in a walk-in freezer, air temperature 20 degrees fahrenheit. Inside the ring, two large ice picks will be hanging from the rafters.
The only way to win is to make sure BOTH your opponents CANNOT move.
Oz comes exploding outta the corner like a goddamn freight train on fire. He blasts Summer Page with a shoulder tackle from hell. She flips ass over end across that mat.
Betsy jumps right in behind her, all fired up.
Huge mistake.
Oz spins around without hesitation and swings that meaty forearm like it's a baseball bat. He catches her dead square in the face and Betsy goes crashing into the corner and slumps hard.
Oz grabs a handful of Summer's hair, yanks her up rough, and drags her into the corner and just starts pounding body shots. Boom boom boom. Summer's trying to fight back, throwing elbows, anything to get space, but Oz shoves her down flat, rears back and plants a massive boot square to the chest. Summer heaves and ends up laying there dazed for a moment.
Betsy tries sneaking up from behind. Thinks she's got the drop.
Oz spins on a dime, scoops her right off her feet like she's a small child, and charges full speed across the ring...
—BOOM—
Running powerslam into the opposite corner.
The whole damn ring shakes as Betsy slumps into a heap.
TODD: "Oz is absolutely steamrolling everyone right now!"
BAMA T: "He's been training for this, baby!"
Oz drags Betsy up by the arm, hurls her across the ring. She slides right under the bottom rope and spills out to the floor with a nasty thud. He turns back to Summer, hulks her up into a delayed vertical suplex, holds her up there forever just to flex his free arm and perform squats, then he slams her down so hard that frost covered mat creates a mild snow storm.
Oz stands over her looking cocky as hell, but Summer kicks at his leg. It's weak, but it lands. Oz barely flinches, just stomps her right back down.
Betsy claws her way onto the apron, tries slipping back in. Oz snags her arm mid-move and flings her right back out to the floor like a ragdoll.
He turns back to Summer.
Summer springs to action and chop-blocks the knee from the side. Oz staggers, off-balance for the first time.
Betsy slides in quickly and snaps off a couple sharp kicks to that same thigh. Summer piles on with a low kick of her own. Oz swings a wild haymaker, but Summer ducks easy, Betsy eats part of it on the shoulder but stays on her feet.
They hit him together now. Betsy rams a knee into the ribs, Summer hammers the leg again with a running dropkick. Oz buckles and drops to one knee.
TODD: "There it is, they finally found an opening!"
Betsy bounces off the ropes and nails a running knee straight to the temple. Summer follows right up with a snap DDT!
Oz rolls toward the ropes, clutching at his knee.
Summer and Betsy swarm him as the stomps rain down like fire!
They drag him toward the ropes together, and dump him to the outside. He crashes onto the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
BAMA T: "They just took the monster out of the equation!"
Summer and Betsy spin toward each begin trading forearms.
TODD: "The alliance is broken!"
Summer gets the upper hand and takes Betsy down with a Russian leg sweep. She quickly drops a knee right on her abdomen. Betsy absorbs the impact and rolls through, pops up and catches Summer with a snapmare and a quick kick to the spine.
Summer's back up and Betsy charges again driving her back into the corner and unloading some quick shots. Summer shoves her off and fires back with a Superkick!
Betsy falls draped over the top rope.
Summer grabs her and hits a snap German suplex. Betsy rolls through the impact and somehow lands on unstable legs—only to eat a Code Red that spikes her hard.
TODD: "HOLY SHIT!"
BAMA T: "CODE RED, BABY!"
Summer doesn't capitalize. Both women are gassed now.
Outside, Oz is beginning to stir.
He pulls himself up using the apron and climbs back onto it. Summer spots him and charges in.
Oz reaches over the ropes with a huge Chokeslam that sends her flying to the floor!
Betsy rushes him next.
Oz steps fully in, levels her with one massive boot.
She drops like a stone.
He grabs Betsy and launches her with a release suplex straight into the corner. She slumps, half out of it.
Summer slides back in behind him, but Oz shoulder-tackles her into the corner, then another, and another, and finally planting her with a spinebuster.
TODD: "Oz has fully taken control again!"
BAMA T: "This is the part where folks just stop moving, baby!"
Oz eyes the ice picks hanging above.
He starts climbing. Chains rattle loud as he rips one of those ice picks free.
BAMA T: "Things are about to go from bad to worse if these two ladies don't do something quick, baby!"
Oz drops back down with the ice pick in hand and raises it high.
But Betsy Granger blindsides him with a flying forearm to the back of the skull!
He drops the ice pick as he stumbles forward off balance.
Summer drills Oz's knee with low kicks as Betsy snatches the pick and jams it into Oz’s ribs!
Oz swings wildly, and Betsy ducks. Summer chop-blocks the leg and Oz crashes to the mat.
Betsy grabs his right arm and stretches it out flat against the mat while Summer snatches the ice pick and slams it down through his hand and into the canvas, pinning it there!
BAMA T: "Oh, I think I see the plan, baby!"
Oz roars as he tries yanking free to no avail.
Summer grabs the second pick from overhead and tosses it to Betsy, who buries it into the other hand!
Oz thrashes like crazy, but is unable to pull loose.
He tries sitting up and using pure brute force to free himself, but Summer flies off of the top rope, crashing her boots into his chest!
He's still twitching... barely.
Summer and Betsy stand over him. The both look totally spent as their eyes slowing move from Oz to each other.
TODD: “Oz is pinned to the mat! Those ice picks have him trapped!”
BAMA T: “For now, Todd. But they better not forget who that is layin’ there, baby!”
Oz pulls again as veins pop out of his neck, but he doesn’t move.
TODD: “The question is can one of these two finish the other before Oz breaks loose?”
Bama T: "Damn right it is, and we're about to find out the answer, baby!"
Summer wipes blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and turns toward Betsy.
They move at the same time.
Summer swings first. Betsy blocks it, fires back with a forearm that lands clean. Summer answers with a kick to the ribs. Betsy stumbles, but stays upright and snaps a kick into Summer’s thigh.
Both women are fighting slow.
They trade another forearm. Then another. Each one weaker than the last.
Summer shoves Betsy back toward the ropes and charges in, driving a knee into her midsection. Betsy folds, then suddenly snaps up and and catches Summer with a headbutt that rocks her.
Summer staggers back a step.
Oz roars as he strains against the picks, but he’s still locked down.
BAMA T: “They can’t ignore him, Todd. He’s still in this!”
Betsy lunges and grabs Summer around the waist, trying to muscle her down. Summer fights her off, twisting and dropping her weight, then snaps Betsy down with a sloppy neckbreaker that takes everthing she has left.
Betsy rolls onto her side while clutching the back of her head.
Summer lays beside her slowly recovering. She looks over her shoulder at Oz, making sure he’s still pinned.
He is, but he's doing everything he can to change that.
Summer grabs Betsy by the arm and drags her toward the center of the ring. Betsy weakly kicks at her, trying to pull free, but there’s not much left behind it.
Summer tries to pull Betsy up.
Betsy suddenly surges and shoves Summer away, then fires a desperate kick to the knee that sends Summer down to one. Betsy follows with a sloppy forearm that only grazes her.
Summer answers with a Superkick.
It lands, but also not clean.
Betsy stumbles and catches herself on the ropes.
Oz slams his head back against the mat and thrashes around trying to break free. The Icepicks dig and cut, widening the wounds, but they're still holding him for now.
TODD: “Oz is fighting to get back into this match with everything he's got!”
Betsy and Summer rushand collide in the center of the ring, tumbling to the mat. They roll, claw, pull, and slap, neither really in control.
Summer manages to shove Betsy off and crawl toward the corner. Betsy drags herself up by the ropes, trying to shake the cobwebs.
They lock eyes again and both wobble forward.
They grapple in the center of the ring!
…
WHEN MOTHERFUCKING OZ BREAKS FREE!
With a guttural roar, Mister Oz rips one hand loose first — flesh tearing, ice pick clattering across the mat — then wrenches the other free with a violent yank. Blood streaks the canvas as he rolls to his knees, eyes wild, chest heaving.
TODD: “OZ IS FREE!” BAMA T: “I TOLD YOU, BABY! I TOLD YOU!”
He explodes forward, surprising the two competitors jockeying for control!
A striking spear nearly cuts Summer in half, blasting her backward into the ropes. Before she can fall, Oz grabs her by the throat and hurls her into the corner with a vicious body slam. She slumps, barely moving.
Betsy charges—desperation written all over her face.
Oz catches her mid-stride and plants her with a Double A Spinebuster, the ring shuddering beneath them. He stands, bloodied, dominant, spreading his arms wide like some warped deity welcoming worship.
BAMA T: “THIS IS HIS WORLD NOW!”
He turns back to Summer, stalking her. Summer slowly rises, looking like she doesn’t know where she is…
Oz lifts her up over his shoulder! Looking for a HELLACIOUS pumphandle slam!
…
But Betsy drops off the back!
BAMA T: “How’s that little lady got spunk to spare?!?”
TODD: “All that training in the ice bath has helped Summer acclimate to the freezing cold!
Oz spins around!
Then—
CRACK.
A Superkick out of nowhere.
Summer Page’s boot snaps Oz’s jaw sideways, ice crystals exploding off the mat as he drops hard to one knee.
TODD: “SUPERKICK! SUMMER JUST DROPPED HIM!”
Summer doesn’t hesitate.
She grabs the ice picks, drives them down again—one through Oz’s forearm, the other pinning his shoulder to the canvas—crucifying him. Oz bellows in fury, thrashing, but he’s stuck.
Summer stumbles back, exhausted, chest heaving… She spins back toward Bets-
From behind!
PLANTE DE VISAGE!
Betsy Granger snaps Summer over with the Hurricanrana Driver, spiking her into the frozen mat.
TODD: “PLANTE DE VISAGE!!! Summer immobilized Oz but took too much time returning to Betsy!”
Summer crumples, barely conscious.
Betsy drags her up with the last ounce of strength she has and slams her back-first into the corner. She snakes her arms around Summer’s neck and drops her weight—
DOWN!
YOU!
GO!
The Cobra Clutch Legsweep folds Summer to the mat, Betsy keeping the hold cinched tight as Summer’s body goes slack, pinned helplessly against the turnbuckles.
Oz is screaming. Summer isn’t moving.
The referee looks from one to the other… then signals for the bell.
Winner: Betsy Granger
TODD: “IT’S OVER! BETSY GRANGER HAS DONE IT!” BAMA T: “THE IMPOSSIBLE TRAVELER JUST SURVIVED HELL, BABY!”
Betsy collapses to her knees, shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps. Frost clings to her hair as she looks around the carnage — Summer motionless in the corner… Oz still pinned, roaring in impotent rage.
Betsy Granger pulls herself up using the ropes and raises one trembling arm.
In a back section of Vostok Station, deep inside the added amenities that the richest people on the planet had added to it in order for Snow Pain Snow Gain to function, sits a chair.
But calling it a ‘chair’ feels like a disservice.
Because with a union in place, the Trillionaires’ dime has to pay for a few things that don't service their own capital gain.
…Such as a lavish chair draped in golden fleece the likes of which a Greek fella might go on a wee quest for.
With some jewels embedded in it.
And embodied cushions surfed with the finest feathers.
All super reasonable expenses to turn a chair into…
A throne.
The camera pans back.
A sceptre rests against the throne's arm. A sword against the other. And behind it… a row of knights.
But not your standard medieval fare. These are more modern with armoured vests, masks, and military-grade weapons.
The Kingsguard.
They stand in a line as footsteps echo. In front of them walks a modern king. A suit, rather than robes. But there is still gold.
Kieran King wears BOTH Anarchy Tag Teams Championships around his waist. As he takes his rightful place upon the throne, Tommy Gunn also enters.
And he places the crown of the XWF on top of Kieran's head.
Kieran King: Tonight, I once again unite the two biggest prizes this company has to offer.
But… It's not lost on me that the next time there's a big show like this will be March Madness—the time to crown a ‘new’ ‘king’.
This time last year, I walked out at Snow Holds Barred and announced my intent to be the first person to win back to back tournaments and crowns. And I did.
But this is a different world now. This is a world where I've already had to pass judgment on the state of things and ruin everyone's dreams back at Relentless. But in the end… I did exactly what this company needed. I know that's hard for you all to understand right now but it's true.
One day you might see it my way.
But until that day, it's up to your reigning king and next Universal Champion to figure out what this company needs right now.
This past year we saw the Universal Championship change hands damn near every match. The only successful defences all year long were James Shark over Yelena Gorgo and of course YA BOI here in the first round of War Games.
We saw Thaddeus Duke only last a year in charge after Theo Pryce stepped down, only for new worse management to take over.
Last year March Madness even lost its namesake to the Ides of March.
There has been a lot of change.
What the XWF needs… is unity.
So if you don't see me as the hero I am, I'll let you all unite in seeing me as the villain.
Because what the XWF ALSO needs… is consistency…
So I'll bring you consistency.
Without me even saying it, you all know exactly what I'm talking about. I can feel your hearts sink through the TV screen.
It's exactly what you think it is.
One.
More.
Year.
BACK-TO-BACK…-TO-BACK!
Threepeat.
Long live the king.”
In unison, the Kingsguard chant behind him…
“LONG LIVE THE KING.”
And the crown of the XWF glimmers atop Kieran King's head.
WINNER OF
RETURN/NEWCOMER OF THE YEAR!
Scoops McGee!
The arena lights plunge into darkness. For a heartbeat, the audience buzzes with anticipation, and then, a single spotlight blooms at the stage’s center, bathing Madonna herself in a shimmer of gold. The crowd goes bonkers because it’s the real Madonna, not a lookalike. Dressed in a sparkling crimson gown, she lifts the mic, and the first electrifying notes of “She’s Got the Look” pulse through the sound system.
A velvet-red carpet unfurls down the entire ramp like a royal runway, flanked by faux paparazzi with flashing cameras and vintage studio lights swiveling toward the entrance. Golden strobes sweep across the crowd, simulating the blinding chaos of a Hollywood premiere.
Through a cascade of confetti shaped like miniature film reels, Amara Vale emerges, a living, breathing movie star. She poses beneath the archway of light, hips angled, lips curved in a silver-screen smirk. Her robe is ivory satin threaded with gold sequins, the train carried by two attendants dressed as tuxedoed stagehands. Each camera flash reflects off her robe like the shimmer of a thousand mirrors.
As Madonna belts the chorus “She’s got the look!” Amara struts down the red carpet with deliberate grace, pausing every few steps to “pose for photos,” blowing kisses, and mock-signing autographs for imaginary fans. When one overeager spectator reaches for her, she flicks her hand dismissively, smirking as security “guards” in black suits step in to protect their star.
JC: It’s been a while since we first saw a glimpse of Amara Vale at War Games, declaring her intent to claim a leading role in the XWF!
JR: Something she’s done in films like Galaxy Teen Patrol, Sunset High: The Mal-
JC: I really don’t need her whole IMDB page, thanks Joe.
JR: Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Jacuinde! Don’t be mad just because she has three Nickelodeon Teen Choice Awards and you don’t!
At ringside, Amara stops before the steel steps and holds her arms wide as if demanding the spotlight itself bend to her will. Madonna’s voice soars through the hook again, lights exploding into a golden halo around her. With a theatrical flourish, Amara removes her robe and drapes it over the ropes, revealing a form-fitted, stylish, rhinestone-studded ring gear.
She glides between the ropes, spins center ring, and strikes a pose, chin tilted, one hand to her hair, perfectly timed with the final line of the song… She’s Got The Look.
JC: Well, Amara certainly has “The Look”, but does she have the goods to climb the ladder that is the XWF!
JR: She has the most important thing a competitor needs to succeed, Jacuinde! Star Power! Everything else is optional!
Madonna points to her from the stage, the crowd roars, half-dazzled, half-disgusted. Amara smiles, and the lights fade to gold and white sparkles as she readies for her close-up. The match is about to begin, but the show’s already stolen.
…
JC: And there he is! Former XWF Hart champion! And a man who was once robbed of the Universal title… according to him!
JR: It is HISTORICAL FACT that RL Edgar came less than inches away from a major upset for the Universal title against XWF Legend ‘Chronic’ Chris Page!
JC: But RL Edgar is back today! And it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before in the XWF! The action is always moving forward, never stopping! And a win over a debuting star like Amara Vale would be a major point in RL’s favor if he wants to make moves toward the main event scene again!
RL Edgar enters the ring to a strong ovation, rolling his shoulders, his eyes never straying away from his opponent.
Amara, meanwhile, has her eyes locked on the hardcam. Her gaze deliberate, as if seducing the audience at home. She blows a kiss into the camera and she mouths “We’re back…”
JC: Two very different competitors, with two very different mindsets headed into his match, Joe!
JR: But there’s only gonna be one winner, Jacuinde! There’s no sharing the spotlight, just like the ladder’s only got width for one person to climb up and it means another getting knocked down! These two may have very different objectives, but they’re both colliding right here tonight!
The bell rings.
Amara Vale
- vs -
RL Edgar
Singles
HIGHLIGHT REEL
The bell rings.
”Action!” Amara calls her own scene to begin… Amara immediately backs into the corner, one hand on the top rope, waving Edgar in like an understudy waiting for direction.
JC: …Amara might be mistaking the ring for one of her film sets, Joe!
JR: She’s doing what ring generals do, Jacuinde! She’s calling the action! She’s directing her opponent! This might be her first match but she’s already a natural!
Edgar sees Amara beckoning him forward forward… he exhales grumpily, but obliges approaching…
WHAM! Amara darts in with a snap kick to the thigh, then twirls away, arms outstretched, soaking in the reaction!
JC: Quick strike by Vale! Didn’t need a stunt double for that kick!
JR: That kick had choreography. There was intent behind that one!
RL doubles over, surprised… He snorts angrily, rising back up, charging straight at Amara…
But Amara ducks under and snaps off an arm drag popping to her feet and immediately flicking her hair toward the camera.
JC: …This is… unexpected! Amara Vale might be here for the spotlight, but she’s seemingly prepared well for this role of professional wrestler!
JR: Method! Like Brando, Jacuinde! Amara has submerged herself in the role of a hollywood heel!
Amara points at the hard cam. Smile.
Edgar impatiently shoves himself off the mat… he cranks his neck… clearly irritated… This match is not going how he anticipated it would, facing a neophyte wrestler from the Hollywood Hills… he rushes again!
But, Amara hops off the mat elegantly… and a dropkick to the chest sends Edgar stumbling back to the ropes!
And with the effortless grace of Russian ballet, Amara leans back into the ropes, meeting Edgar as he strides across the ring…
CROSSBODY! Edgar gets dropped onto his back.. As atop him, Amara plants her chin against her fist and gazes into the camera… her lips part as the crowd erupts!
JC: Amara Vale looks very comfortable out here early!
JR: Yeah, she’s acting like the ring is her trailer and Edgar just walked in without knocking.
Amara grasps Edgar loosely by the scruff of the neck, pulling him up to his feet…
Suddenly, Edgar bursts out of her grip and reels back his arm!
BACKHAND CHOP!
…No! Vale dips under! And the force of Edgar’s missed chop thrusts him into the corner…
Amara reels back her own arm…
BACKHAND CHOP! A sickening KERACK erupts across Edgar’s chest! As Amara winces shaking her hand… Edgar shakes his head, trying to shove out of the corner toward Val-
”CUT!”
…Edgar freezes, in surprise as Amara grasps her wrists and rolls under the bottom rope.
She finds the director’s chair setup on the outside of the ring and lounges comfortably… Her makeup team quickly rushes to fix her blush and mascara… An assistant carefully wraps a cool but NOT frozen ice pack around Vale’s wrist, mindful to be so gentle with his touch, it’s almost undetectable, like he’s handling an Egyptian goddess.
JC: Oh come on! This is ridiculous!
JR: Quiet on the set, Jacuinde!
Edgar paces in the ring, jaw clenched, shouting at the referee.
JC: RL Edgar clearly not amused by these antics!
JR: This is how you get punched in a bar. Repeatedly.
The referee starts a ten-count for Amara outside the ring…
ONE!
TWO!
”You!” Amara points inside the ring at the official..
The official stops his count… before pointing at himself.
”Bring me that.” Amara points at her corner, where an open Evian bottle is waiting…
…The official blinks…
…Before rolling under the ropes, grabbing the water, and carefully offering it to Amara.
JC: What the HELL is even happening here?!?
The official stands there awkwardly, as if not sure if he should leave now… before Amara waves him back to the ring…
As the official rolls back under the ropes, Edgar barks, asking him what the hell he’s even doing?!? The official seemingly snaps out of it and resumes his count…
THREE!
FOUR!
Amara sips her water… dabs her mouth… blows a kiss to Edgar…
EIGHT!
Amara stands from her director’s chair, satisfied that her makeup is fixed… Her assistant peels off the cool-pack.
NINE!
Amara strolls toward the ring…
…
Up the steps!
…
And step through the ropes back into the ring!
The official declares the match may continue! RL Edgar is beside himself, barking at the official for giving Amara a full seven or eight seconds between nine and ten!
JC: That might have been the single-longest ten-count I’ve ever seen in my career!
JR: Amara has that effect on people! When she looks at you, time feels like it’s standing still!
JC: She wasn’t looking at me or you, Joe! The official just completely botched the count!
Edgar fumes furiously, before charging at Vale once more!
HIP TOSS by Amara! RL Edgar flips through the air landing on his back!
Edgar lands with a thud and Vale immediately follows it up with a STOMP to Edgar’s chest!
Edgar cradles his gut… as Amara strikes a pose, her hand on her knee, looking up at the hardcam with curious eyes…
JC: Vale is dictating the pace here!
JR: The script says this is a two-person scene, but I only see one STAR and that’s Amara Vale!
Amara makes a signal to the official and the timekeeper like this is the last shot of the day…
JC: Amara possibly calling for the end here!
Amara goes to scoop Edgar off the mat by the back of his head…
WHAM! Edgar explodes off his knees with a shoulder block! Driving Amara into the corner!
The crowd roars as Edgar unloads—forearms, shoulders, raw aggression!
Amara’s smile fades. She throws her arms up defensively, trying to retreat—
Edgar whips her across the ring!
Amara rebounds, bouncing off the opposite turnbuckle… As Edgar whips her through the air!
POWERSLAM!
Vale hits hard, rolls onto her stomach, clutching her ribs.
JC: Edgar finally gets his opening! And the star is collapsing under her own weight!
JR: Wait! This wasn’t in the script!
JC: Edgar is flipping the script!
Edgar cranks his neck, grasping Amara by her hair, eager to wrap his one…
But, Amara swats his hands away, crawling for the ropes!
”CUT! CUT!”
…Edgar goes to grasp Vale by the ankle… But the official gets in his way!
JC: What is this moron doing?!?
JR: It’s his job to break up the action when a competitor is in the ropes!
JC: Vale is nowhere NEAR the ropes, Joe!!!
Indeed, Vale crawls on her hands and knees as the official stops Edgar from going after her…
Edgar furiously shoves the official out of the way, charging after Vale!
Vale grabs the bottom rope! Edgar grabs her by the hair, trying to pull Amara off the ro-
WHAM! Vale drives her forearm between Edgar’s legs!
JC: LOW BLOW!
JR: The Edgar family jewels just took a pounding! And the official is none the wiser!
Edgar doubles over, clutching his nethards… The official woozily stands… And approaches…
Amara! Who has collapsed theatrically, clutching her own face as if RL has struck her!
JR: Can a wrestling match win someone an Academy Award?
JC: Can I formally submit a request to have a referee fired?
The referee checks on Amara—she nods weakly, as if… she’ll find… the will… to live on!
RL blinks rapidly, trying to recover…
When Amara springs off the mat suddenly!
She reels back her hand for a slap!
Edgar dips backward!
…But it was a fake-out! Amara’s hand stops mid-motion! She boots RL in the gut!
DDT! SCENE STEALER!
Amara kips up, eyes wide, feeding off the crowd reaction.
Edgar… severely hurt, barely hanging on… climbs up to his knees, staggering upwards on instinct alone!
Amara circles him like a director framing the most important shot in the narrative!
Amara points to the hard cam, directing them to get this shot!
She bounces off the ropes… The camera pushes in!
CASTING COUCH! (Curb Stomp)!
JC: That could do it!
Amara rolls through, flips her hair, and poses inches from the camera as leans her elbow against RL’s fallen body!
The official counts!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Winner: Amara Vale
JR: Amara Vale wins her debut match! What an impressive showing!
JC: Impressive?!? She cheated, posed, manipulated the ref…
JR: And she did it all with STYLE!
Amara stands from her opponent’s fallen form… and bows to the camera as the crowd showers her with mixed reactions.
WINNER OF
LITTLE HELPER AWARD
Madison Dyson!
TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the coldest battleground in professional wrestling history. The Revolution Championship is on the line inside an Icebox Match!
BAMA: Todd, it’s forty below outside and it somehow feels colder in that ring right there! You’ve got two men eager to dump the other’s lifeless body in that ice box… and declare themselves the face of the XWF Revolution!
The smoke fills up with gray on the stage, as the arena lights flickers. Then once we see "The Rebellious One" on the X-Tron, then we hear the boom bap of 1999 on the X-Tron itself.
TODD: There he is! The upset king of the XWF! The man who has snatched victory from the jaws of defeat so many times, you’d think he was defeat’s dentist! Reggie Estrada
BAMA: Estrada’s one tough Ess-Oh-Bee! No denying that Toddrick! He’s gotten lucky over his career! He’s scored pinfalls over guys like Robert ‘The Omega’ Main and JC Keaton! But, he’s gonna need more than luck! He’s taking on a competitor riding the ultimate hot streak as Revolution champion!
TODD: I don’t disagree, Bama! The champ is seemingly unbeatable with the belt on the line! …But it wouldn’t be the first time Reggie faced off against someone seemingly unbeatable and ended up walking out with the win!
We see Reggie coming onto the stage with his hoodie on, and he shadow boxes in front of the camera and talkin’ smack as he walked down, then he gives the fans on the ramp…
CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE! The crowd chants for Reggie
Reggie reaches the bottom of the ramp, then simply slides into it! He steps to the center of the ring… and starts twisting his wrists, raising his arms…
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
And Reggie wraps his hands around his throat! The Reggie choke! And the crowd loves it!
Reggie raises his fist up to the crowd, showing the people some love as his theme fades out.
…
The stage alights in red. Smoke gathers around the stage. Gods by Sleep Token plays as XXXVI appears, rising up out of the red lights amidst the smoke, his hands gathered in prayer. He steps out onto the stage and takes in the mixed reaction from the crowd, the Revolution title shines in the spotlight over his shoulder. He shakes out his head and shoulders and begins to walk down the ramp, hands still in prayer pose. Then from behind him, appears CIX. She follows him down the ramp.
TODD: Over four months now! For over four months, XXXVI has been the Revolution champion!
BAMA: He beat Thunder Knuckles to get this belt! And we’re talking about Relentless Thunder Knuckles, the same man who beat Corey Smith for the Universal Title at Relentless two years prior!
TODD: And since then, XXXVI has been virtually inseparable from that belt! He beat Thunder Knuckles *again*! He beat ‘Spoiled’ Summer Page! And he DOMINATED the dominant Mister Oz, with two back-to-back falls in a two-out-of-three falls match!
BAMA: It’s hard to imagine anyone ending XXXVI’s streak of victories as Revolution champion, Toddy baby!
TODD: But Reggie has pulled off some victories that aren’t just hard to imagine… before they happened, they were impossible to fathom! Can he do it again… and can he do it tonight?
Half way down, XXXVI spreads his hands apart and reaches out both arms in T-Pose as he crouches, sauntering down the rest of the ramp toward the ring. He climbs onto the apron, outstretches his arms and then enters, rolling backward over the top rope and spins toward the center of the ring, arms outstretched like a helicopter. He then sits, cross legged in the dead center of the ring, hands once again in prayer pose and bows his head. Full black again, then a single, red cone of light bathes him in the ring as fire explodes out of each turnbuckle. Outside the ring, CIX surveys the crowd as they await the match starting.
…
The two men stare each other down quietly as the official takes the belt from CIX and lifts it between the competitors before handing it off to the timekeeper… The official lifts the belt! He verifies both competitors are ready to go!
XXXVI is silent… almost motionless… Estrada meanwhile is smiling his cocky grin, eager to show off what he learned on the lucha circuit against the champion!
The only way to win to force your opponent into a large, chest-high ice-chest ice chest *and* seal the lid.
HIGHLIGHT REEL
As the bell rings, Reggie Estrada’s slaps his own chest once, eyes darting to the crowd, feeding off the noise as they chant…
CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE! CHOKE!
TODD: You wouldn’t think anyone would have a home field advantage in Antarctica, but this crowd feels like it’s in Estrada’s favor!
BAMA: Maybe the penguins here have choked on a fish and think they’ll get to eat it again if the Choke Artist wins!
XXXVI looks wholly unaffected by the crowd’s cheering, remaining laser-focused on his opponent.
In a flash, Estrada lunges forward with a wild right hand!
…But, effortlessly, as if by second nature, XXXVI glides back a half-step, letting the punch graze air, before snapping a sharp low kick into Reggie’s knee!
TODD: Wow! That’s what makes XXXVI so dominant! Movement? Precise! Execution? Clinical!
BAMA: Week in and week out, we’ve seen XXXVI training, sharpening his tool belt! He ain’t been in Mexico working the cash register of a supermarket like Reggie o’er there! XXXVI has been preparing for every fight like it’s life or death!
Reggie’s face twists in irritation as he stumbles backward, teeth bared in a defiant grin… as he launches himself forward, firing off a reckless sequence of punches and kicks, throwing his whole body into each strike, daring the champion to stand and trade!
…But the champ smoothly and confidently slips and dodges each strike!
TODD: XXXVI seems comfortable with taking an evasive stance in the early going!
BAMA: Like Ali, Toddrick! The ol’ rope-a-dope! Let Reggie burn himself out playing to the crowd and when he stops to take a breath, rip his lungs out of his chest with strikes! XXXVI ain’t ever been the biggest dog in the fight, but he’s always been the sharpest in terms of EXECUTION!
XXXVI manages to side-step another wild haymaker from Estrada… As Estrada’s right hand whizzes by, XXXVI steps in, looking to bring him down with a gut pun-
WHAM! Estrada sneaks in his left as the champ steps into his striking radius! Rabbit punch glances across XXXVi’s nose!
TODD: Incredible timing by the challenger!
BAMA: One lucky shot![
TODD: Sometimes Reggie just needs one to start running downhill to victory street!/blue]
XXXVI is stung, sliding back a step… Reggie feels that opening, and dives forward, looking to follow it up with an offensive barr-
NO! In a flash, as Estrada’s hand surges forward, XXXVI grips it… and heaves the challenger up and over!
Japanese arm drag!
[blue]TODD: And XXXVI cuts off Estrada’s attack before it’s even begun!
BAMA: Four months of dominance rolls on, Toddy baby!
Reggie scrambles off the mat, hurtling back towards the champ, eager to keep the pressure on with a kick to the ribs!
…But XXXVI catches the challenger’s leg as if Reggie offered it to him on a silver platter!
Seamless transition into a…
DRAGONSCREW! Twisting Reggie down onto the ice cold canvas!
TODD: XXXVI looking like he’s got ice in his veins in terms of how passionless this dissection of Reggie’s offense is!
BAMA: And the hothead Estrada can’t do anything but stew over it!
Reggie’s face contorts in pain, but instead of retreating, he lets out a furious shout, pounding the mat with his fist before scrambling up. He leaps forward again…
No! Wait! Estrada goes up and over, landing on his feet!
BAMA: Jehosephat! Now that’s agility!
TODD: I think that’s something Reggie must have picked up on the lucha circuit there, Bama!
XXXVI doesn’t hear the clumsy splat of a body flopping onto the cold canvas… He turns around…
Into Estrada charging forward! Reggie levels XXXVI with a…
DIVING CROSSBODY!
Both men collapse to the mat cradling their ribs!
BAMA: That one might have hurt Reggie as much as it hurt the champ!
TODD: Reggie is willing to break his body if it gets him the victory! He said leading up to this match, Todavía tengo esa pasión dentro de mí, cueste lo que cueste.
BAMA: …Which of these damn button turns on the subtitles…
TODD: I still have that passion inside me, no matter the cost. That’s what Reggie said and that’s what he’s demonstrating tonight!
The two competitors slowly rise back to their feet… XXXVI looks for a roundhouse kick!
…But Reggie ducks under! The champ’s foot whizzes by, XXXVI does a full three-hundred-sixty degree turn on the icy canvas!
TODD: We saw XXXVI train on ice, but there’s only so much you can do when the canvas is this slick!
XXXVI spins around until he’s facing the challenger… And Reggie stops him with a…
JAWBREAKER! XXXVI flops onto his back!
The crowd is screaming for Estrada as Reggie pushes up to his feet, eyes flashing with reckless confidence! He zips over to the turnbuckles, climbing without hesitation, balancing with arms out wide, soaking in the crowd’s reaction…
TODD: Estrada, taking things to the high-risk district!
XXXVI slowly rises… just as Reggie launches off the turnbuckle with a…
Somersault crossbody!
…
CONNECTS!
TODD: What a maneuver! Whatever Estrada picked up on the Lucha Circuit is paying big dividends tonight!
XXXVI rolls away clutching his ribs, the mask hiding his expression but not the way his movements sharpen...
Reggie grabs him by the head, looking to snap him into a Reg-KO…
When XXXVI suddenly snaps backward, pulling Reggie into a surprise dragon sleeper, arms locking in tight!
TODD: Whoa! The champ was playing possum!
BAMA: Haha, amazing! Reggie’s so used to stealing victories, he never thought the champ would turn the tables on him!
Reggie’s eyes widen, panic flickering, as XXXVI tries to latch his legs around around Estrada’s core, trying to trap him to the mat like a boa constrictor!
TODD: I’d like to remind our audience at home, this is an ICE BOX match! No pinfalls, no submissions! The only way to win is dumping your opponent into that ice box outside the ring and sealing it shut!
BAMA: But XXXVI is gonna have an easy time securing the victory after choking Reggie unconscious, Toddrick!
XXXVI’s bicep is tightening around Reggie’s throat… He’s almost got his legs wrapped around the challenger’s, weighing him down to the mat…
…When suddenly, like a rat slipping out of a trap, Estrada rolls his hips out of XXXVI’s clutches and slips free, shoving his way off the mat and back-pedalling into a corner!
The crowd erupts!
TODD: What an escape by Estrada! I would have thought it was over right there!
…Even through his mask, a tinge of irritation is detectable in the champ’s demeanor… Reggie reaches up to his throat with his hands… the crowd start hooping and hollering…
BAMA: XXXVI has found a way back into the driver’s seat here…
TODD: But Reggie has found a way to survive each sequence! And if Estrada’s still alive? He’s always just one mistake away from hitting that Reg-KO!
XXXVI scoops Reggie by the scruff of the neck, looking for a…
VERTICAL SUPLEX!
…
But Reggie goes up and over landing on his feet!
XXXVI spins around…
Right into a boot to the gut!
FOLLOWED BY A DDT! Spiking the Revolution champion flush against the mat!!
Estrada shouts at the crowd to get into it and they start screaming!
TODD: And just like that, things swing in the challenger’s favor!
BAMA: But this ain’t just a three-count Reggie’s gotta steal, Toddy! He’s gotta put down the ultimate survivor! The ultimate weapon! And lock him in that ice box!
Reggie wipes sweat from his brow, eyes drifting toward the massive icebox at ringside. A crooked smile creeps across his face. He rolls the semi-conscious XXXVI across the ring, he slides under the bottom rope, trying to summon the strength to open the Ice Box…
…Suddenly, from inside the ring, XXXVI’s posture suddenly straightens… he snaps up to his feet!
Reggie gets the Ice Box open! He spins around…
Just as XXXVI launches himself over the top rope with a crossbody, planting Estrada against the padded concrete outside the ring!
TODD: A devastating move from champ to challenger there![/lbue]
Reggie’s body jolts, his arms flailing as he groans in pain, but he still crawls, still fights — dragging himself forward with pure defiance.
XXXVI watches him crawl, head tilted once more… as Reggie crawls his way up the leg off the icebox, fighting back to his feet…
As Reggie strands up right… In a burst of speed, XXXVI’s boot surges forward!
SUPERKICK! Catches Estrada flush across the chin!
[blue]TODD: Uh oh! Reggie’s in trouble![/lbue]
Before Estrada can fall, XXXVI scoops the challenger up and over his shoulder, muscles coiling…
…SUDDENLY, REGGIE clinches onto XXXVI’s skull!
[blue]TODD: THERE IT IS! REGGIE’S GONNA DO IT!
He tries to pull the champ’s neck down!
REG-KO!
…
……
BUT XXXVI keeps him upright! And slams him back first into the Ice Box!
BAMA: The champ stops the counter! Incredible strength!
Reggie’s face contorts in shock and fury as he thrashes inside, pounding the walls, trying to force himself upright —
—but XXXVI doesn’t hesitate.
With a sharp, decisive motion, he slams the icebox door shut and locks it, sealing the challenger inside!
Winner and STILL XWF Revolution Champion: XXXVI!
TODD: That’s it! XXXVI retains the Revolution Championship! Reggie pulled out all the stops! And two or three moments there, it looked like Reggie was setup to steal the belt!
BAMA: But XXXVI was as cold and calculated. Just like a champion oughta be. And Reggie’s dreams of winning the Revolution Title? Just got put on ICE! Haha!! PUN!
XXXVI stands over the icebox, chest rising steadily, one gloved hand resting on the lid. He doesn’t celebrate. He doesn’t pose. He simply turns, as CIX retrieves the Revolution Championship from the official and drapes over his shoulder…
Inside the icebox, Reggie Estrada pounds once more, rage and disbelief echoing in the frozen silence… just a second too late.
WINNER OF
RIVALRY/STORYLINE OF THE YEAR
Isaiah King versus Sebastian Everett-Bryce!
As we cut to a shot of the ring, nobody quite understands what they’re seeing.
Outside the ring — on opposite sides of the barricade — stand two monolithic blocks of ice.
Perfect cubes.
Inside each… a living statue.
Rollerwhore Violet, eyes wide, lips parted mid-scream, arms trapped against her sides, frozen in time like a museum exhibit from hell.
And across from her… Tommy Gunn of the Kingsguard, jaw clenched, veins bulging, fists still half‑raised as if he’d been fighting when the freeze took him.
Breath fogs faintly inside both prisons.
They are alive.
They are aware.
And they are helpless.
Todd: Well Bama, this is one of the most interesting matches I’ve ever had the pleasure of commentating! A competitor from each team is trapped in a block of ice, and in order for them to ‘hot tag’ into the match, they’re gonna need to be defrosted by their tag team partner!
Bama T: Who the fuck came up with this idea? Why can we never have just a normal match for the Anarchy tag-team championships? Last time it was zombies, and this time- it’s god-damned frostbite!
Todd: Who came up with the idea? Probably not the people frozen in the ice, that’s for sure! But either way, both of these teams are going to give it all they have to win the grandest prize in tag-team wrestling!
Whichever partner does not start the match is going to be FLASH FROZEN into a block of ice. Their partner will have to thaw them and free them for their partner to be able to HOT TAG into the match.
1 RP per team @ 2,000 words
Inside the ring, the war begins!
Rollerwhore Elektra stalks forward first — a black mask covering her face, tape wrapped haphazardly around her fists, and rollerblades on her feet.
Across from her stands Kingsguard #21…who just so happens to ALSO be dressed in a black mask! But instead of rollerblades, he wears an armband that proudly announces his number.
His posture is straight, his hands are behind his back, and his helmeted gaze is unreadable.
He’s just a soldier awaiting orders.
When the bell rings, both wrestlers step in.
They lock up!
And instantly the contrast is violent.
Elektra throws herself forward like a wrecking ball, headbutting #21 square in the chest.
#21 absorbs it.
Doesn’t move an inch.
He responds with a sharp arm drag, snapping Elektra to the mat with mechanical precision.
She rolls through, pops up, and charges again with a wild lariat — #21 ducks — schoolboy roll‑up!
1!
Elektra kicks out and springs up screaming, smashing a forearm across #21’s jaw, then another, then a third.
She hits the ropes and returns with a low dropkick to the knee that finally buckles him.
She pounces, raining elbows, headbutts, clawing at the mask like she wants to tear his face off through the steel.
#21 traps an arm.
Bridges.
Rolls.
Suddenly Elektra is on her back, arm wrenched behind her, wrist torqued in a punishing keylock!
Todd: That RollerWh- erm, Rollerblading woman looks to be in a lot of pain here!
Bama T: Of course she’s in pain! She hasn’t had coitus in months!
Todd: I think it might have more to do with #21’s expertly applied keylock!
Bama T: It’s a mixture, for sure.
Elektra howls and flails, boots hammering the canvas.
She reaches the ropes — #21 releases instantly and stands, immaculate again.
They circle.
Elektra feints left — charges — #21 sidesteps and snaps off a picture‑perfect hip toss.
She crashes hard.
He floats over — grounded hammerlock — knee driven between her shoulder blades — then rolls her into a surfboard stretch, wrenching spine and arms backward until her scream echoes through the building.
Elektra fights — kicks wildly — finally collapses forward, rolling free and scrambling to her feet, eyes blazing.
She laughs.
Actually laughs.
And then explodes!
She tackles #21 at the knees, driving him into the corner pads, then unloads with boots to the ribs, stomps to the thigh, knee strikes to the gut.
She hoists him — snap suplex — holds him vertical — ten seconds pass as the crowd counts — then drops him hard.
She doesn’t cover.
She drags him to the ropes.
Chokes him.
Climbs the middle rope and drives her knee into the side of his head over and over until the referee forces the break.
Outside the ring, Violet pounds helplessly against the inside of her ice block, fogging the surface with frantic breath.
Across the floor, Tommy Gunn watches with burning fury, jaw trembling as he struggles uselessly inside his frozen prison.
Todd: You just know Tommy Gunn wants to get in on the action as soon as possible!
Bama T: Of course he does, Todd! Those whores are HOT! I’d want to have some action with them, too!
Todd: That’s NOT what I mean, and I don’t think that is what’s on Tommy’s mind! The Kingsguard are under strict orders to avoid all sexual contact with the RollerWh- er, rollerblading women!
Bama T: Laaaaaame!
Inside the ring, #21 begins mounting a comeback.
He blocks a wild forearm — traps the wrist — short‑arm elbow — another — then explodes with a sudden snap dragon screw that sends Elektra sprawling!
He targets the leg immediately.
Stomp to the knee.
Another.
He drops into a kneebar, wrenching viciously, twisting until Elektra’s scream turns raw.
She claws her way to the ropes and forces the break.
But #21 lifts her — gutwrench suplex — floats — another — third — then bridges for the cover!
Todd: This match could end before anyone even gets out from the ice!
Bama T: If you lose this match and you’re stuck in the ice…do you just….are they just gonna keep them inside there?
Elektra kicks out violently.
#21 doesn’t stop.
He hoists her again — backbreaker — transitions — grounded headscissors choke.
Elektra thrashes wildly, nails digging into his arm, teeth bared as she bites at the air, refusing to submit.
She rolls and #21 releases.
They rise again.
Elektra swings a chair‑shot style forearm — #21 ducks — belly‑to‑back suplex — rolls through — German — holds on — second German — third German!
She lands near her corner — reaching instinctively toward Violet — and then remembers.
There is no tag.
Only ice.
She screams in rage!
#21 drags her back to center — lifts — powerbomb —
Cover!.
1!
2!!
Elektra kicks out.
Todd: I think Elektra is going to need some help out there, but there’s no help coming unless she can free her partner from the ice!
Now #21 signals.
He hoists her to the top rope.
Climbs.
SUPERPLEX!
The ring shakes.
Both lie still.
But outside the ring… something changes.
The lights flicker.
A low moan rolls through the arena.
From the tunnels… they emerge.
Todd: Oh…..My……God….
Bama T: Not again!
Zombies!
Abominations!
Twisted bodies with boils, tentacles and stitched flesh!
They flood the floor, rushing the ring!
Security scatters.
The referee looks terrified but cannot stop the match.
The creatures surround Violet’s ice block.
Claws scrape.
Fists pound.
Tentacles slam.
Cracks form.
The ice fractures.
Todd: Wait a minute, those zombies aren’t coming out here to eat brains! They’re coming out here to free the Rollerwh- er, Rollerblading woman trapped in that block of ice!
Bama T: Well duh, Todd! They need to get here out of there before they can get any brain!
Outside, Tommy Gunn screams silently, eyes wide with horror as he watches what’s coming — and cannot move.
Inside the ring, #21 rises first.
He pulls Elektra up and hits her with a spinning backfist followed by a belly-to-back suplex.
#21 is about to make the pin…until he sees the zombies finally shatter Violet’s prison.
Ice explodes across the floor!
Bama T: THAT WHORE IS FREE!
Violet falls forward onto her knees, gasping, coughing, hair soaked, eyes burning with murderous clarity.
She looks up.
Sees Elektra struggling inside the ring.
And smiles.
She climbs the apron.
And then Violet slingshots into the ring like a missile!
Todd: This just turned into a 2-on-1! Or- if you count the zombies, this is now a 20-on-1!
Bama T: But where are the rest of The Kingsguard?!
Todd: I don’t know, Bama! Maybe they’re fluffing Kieran in the back, or maybe they’re just straight up scared to come out here and fight off these creatures!
She tackles #21 from behind, driving him face‑first into the mat.
Elektra rolls free, laughing hysterically.
Violet unloads!
Forearms.
Elbows.
Headbutts.
Stomps to the spine.
#21 tries to rise — but Violet hits a snap dragon suplex.
Elektra follows with a basement shotgun dropkick to the face.
They stand over him together now.
Twin predators.
They drag him up — double whip — double clothesline.
They lift — double brainbuster.
They both make the cover!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!
#21 shows unreal resilience against the Rollerwhores!
Todd: #21 is still fighting! He’s leaving it all out there in the ring!
Bama T: Well yeah, of course he is! If he loses Kieran’s tag championships, he’s dead meat! And if the zombies don’t get him, his boss will!
Violet shrieks in rage.
She drags him to the corner.
Elektra climbs the opposite turnbuckle.
Violet hoists #21 to his knees.
Elektra launches — diving double stomp to the chest!
Violet immediately follows with a running knee to the skull.
Todd: This is getting ugly! 21 needs some help out there!
Bama T: But his help is trapped inside a block of ice, and he doesn’t look like he’s getting out anytime soon!
They don’t stop.
They hoist him again.
Signal together.
Elektra climbs high.
Violet positions the head.
The crowd rises.
THE G SPOT!
Top‑rope double stomp.
Boots crash directly into #21’s head.
His body goes limp instantly.
Violet collapses into the cover.
1!
2!!
3!!!
Winners and NEEEEEWWWW Anarchy Tag-Team Champions……THE ROLLERWHORES!
WINNER OF
EVENT OF THE YEAR
Spooky Savage 2025 (AKA Spooky SAWvage)[lofevent]
[lofevent]https://youtu.be/94bGzWyHbu0
Green lasers scatter across the stage.
Graves steps through the curtain. His head tilts, his jaw clenches, and he just stands there long enough to make the crowd feel uncomfortable.
The drums kick in.
The lights sweep the arena in a blast of lime and purple.
Graves lazily starts down the ramp.
Fans reach out, but he pretends not to notice them.
The cameras catch quick cuts on the XTron of Graves smashing faces, laughing mid-beating, spraying mist, weapons, blood, ugly mayhem.
He reaches the ring. Stops. Looks around. Then he slides in under the ropes, stands up slow just as the song hits—
♪ IT'S YOUR FUCKIN' NIGHTMARE ♪
Graves backs into his corner, sliding his cape off his shoulders tossing it aside.
He cracks his neck once and stares across the ring as the music fades.
TODD: One of the scariest and most dominant wrestlers in the XWF. The Dark Warrior Micheal Graves has been on a run like a freight train recently and it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna slow down.
The arena is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades. He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross. He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.
BAMA: But Graves is against the roadblock that is Kristoffer Arroyo! A champ who proved he’s on a streak, was in the finals of War Games, literally taking chunks out of the competition. It’s gonna be a blood bath, baby!
TODD: Well, it’s first blood, Bama T. Probably the reverse of a blood bath until the end.
Graves rushes out the corner and blindsides Arroyo! Charging him into the corner and throwing hooks into his ribs.
Micheal reels his head back and throws it forward but Arroyo ducks in time and Gravy gets his bell rung as his head connects with the turnbuckle. Arroyo slinks under Gravy’s legs like a spider and spins on his knee to chop at Graves’ knee!
With a grunt, Gravy drops to one knee and Arroyo is on top of him, wrapping an arm around Graves’ throat and using his other arm to drive down elbows into his neck!
Gravy manages to throw his head back and catches Arroyo’s gut and getting some space, turning around and sweeping the leg before pouncing onto Vamp with a double axe-handle to his mush and transitioning into a mount before throwing his fist down for a heart punch!
TODD: But it’s not very effective!
Due to vampires not having a heart, allegedly, Kris no sells the attack and slips a leg loose, taking it out and pushing against Graves’ chest pushing him and hooking an arm around Graves’ neck and locking in a guillotine choke!
BAMA: Arroyo trying to wear down the Dark Warrior!
TODD: Smart move but won’t get him a step closer to making him bleed.
Arroyo chokes the life out of Graves who pants like an overweight bulldog in the hold.
Arroyo wrenches at the neck trying to make Graves pass out.
But Micheal digs in his heels!
Lifting Vamp and throwing him over his head!
Graves loses his footing and crashes on top of Arroyo with a sloppy elbow.
Micheal begins punching down at Arroyo but Kristoffer manages to work his way out of harms way and delivers a stinging kick into Graves’ torso, balling him out of the ring to the outside.
Arroyo rolls his jaw and steps up, he looks to Graves on the outside and measures the distance before running up and leaping through the ropes in a suicide dive but Graves is up and ready to catch him on his shoulder BUT Arroyo reverse with a spinning DDT and plants Graves!
Arroyo takes a moment to dig under the ring where he retrieves a table and begins to set it up but Graves is back on his feet and throws Arroyo’s head into the table!
And again!
And on the third attempt, Arroyo manages to send an elbow into Graves’ stomach before trapping his ankles and sending Graves into the table!
Michael’s head recoils from the impact and he falls to the ground.
Arroyo looks at the table for a second then to Graves.
He grabs the greasiest hair known to man and pulls Micheal to his feet as Arroyo forces him up to the apron.
Arroyo twists Graves head around and-
BAMA:: ROMEO’S LAMENT!!!
Arroyo leans in for the kiss of death!
COUNTERED!!!!
TODD: POISON MIST!!!
Green mist spews from Gravy’s mouth and Arroyo drops Graves onto the apron as he covers his eyes in shock and pain.
[blue]BAMA: WOOOOOWEE!!! I can smell the hint of garlic from here, baby!
Graves fumbles on the apron as Arroyo leans over his face a sickly green as he tries to get back his vision!
Graves gives an uppercut to Arroyo’s jaw with an open palm before getting him on his shoulders!
TODD: GRAVE DIGGER!!!!
The Death Valley Driver lands-
TODD: THROUGH THE GODDAMN TABLE!!!
Both men land hard as the table erupts into splinters.
The ref runs in to check them both.
No signs of blood but neither are moving.
Both sucking in air as the Antarctic crowd go wild.
Graves throws his arms drunkenly in front of him, forcing himself up as Arroyo crawls to the barricade.
Graves sits up in the debris and looks around, his eyes landing on the broken table.
Graves flips the broken half around, the jagged wood flaying out.
He rushes over to Arroyo!
But Kristoffer telegraphs the attack and comes back with a nasty chop!
And again!
Graves is reeling!
A chop to the throat!
And Vamp latches on to him! Hooking an arm around Gravy’s neck he forces him towards the table!
The sharp wood an inch away from his eyeball!
Graves’ choked groans of pain turn into laughter as Arroyo pushes with everything he can muster!
But GRAVES GETS LOOSE!
TURNING HIS BODY!
HE LETS LOOSE WITH A LARIAT!
BAMA: ARROYO DUCKS!
TODD: HE HOOKS THE ARM AGAIN!!!
And caught in Arroyo’s trap!
BAMA: HE’S TAKING A BITE OUT OF GRAVES!!!
Kristoffer sinks his fangs deep into Grave’s neck!
TODD: IT’S OVER!!!
A chorus of pain screeches from Gravy as Arroyo drinks deeply.
But the pain turns into delight as Graves laughs burying Arroyo’s face deeper into his neck!
“HAHAHAHA! DRINK IT UP POSEFERATU!”
Arroyo’s eyes widen as he pushes away and gags.
Graves clutches his neck still laughing maniacally.
TODD: Is it over!? Is Graves bleeding!?
The ref moves in close and inspects the red ichor leaking from Gravy’s neck, Graves looks at his hands covered in the liquid and pushes it into the ref’s mouth!
The ref splutters a cough before waving at his mouth and yelling to the timekeeper.
BAMA: That ain’t blood, baby! That’s Frank’s Red Hot Sauce!
Arroyo gags and splutters out crumbs of chewed plastic and vinegary hot sauce. He doubles over, the microplastics clogging his throat as he coughs.
TODD: Graves’ body is a decrepit temple and unnatural wonder. Did he clog his arteries with microplastics and hot sauce just in case Kristoffer took a bite?
BAMA: Say what you want, baby, but he’s prepared!
Half-blind and gagging on a terrible condiment, Arroyo is stunned!
Graves rushes in!
He tackles Arroyo at the waist!
But Arroyo twists around Graves body!
BAMA: SNUFF MACHINERY!!!
Arroyo locks in the Octopus Stretch!
TODD: Graves has nowhere to go! Arroyo’s gonna tear his arm off!!!
Arroyo pulls at Gravy’s limbs who is stuck in agony unable to move.
He wrenches on his arm, a disgusting pop echoes throughout the arena!
Gravy hollers out in agony!
BAMA: Oh god, Toddy! Cover my eyes I can’t watch!
Gravy forces himself to step forward.
TODD: Hold on!
And another heavy step!
Until he’s sprinting!
Right towards the table!!!
Gravy bowls himself over!
Arroyo latched on his back!!!
AND BOTH MEN HIT THE JAGGED EDGE OF THE TABLE!
A cry of pain rings out!
As they lay in the debris.
Gravy slumps forward.
And Arroyo falls on top of him.
His back impaled and bleeding!
WINNER AND NEW ANARCHY CHAMPION - “THE DARK WARRIOR” MICHEAL GRAVES!!!
WINNER OF
PPV OF THE YEAR
Snow Holds Barred!
JC: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the FINALS of the XWF Television Championship Tournament!
JR: This is it, baby! One night, one match, one brand-new champion—decided by… checks notes …the emotional whims of strangers?
JC: This is an Audience Participation Match! The louder the crowd reacts—cheers OR boos—the ring itself will respond!
JR: You ever let a YouTube comments section book a match? Because that’s what we’re doing tonight.
The camera sweeps across the arena.
LED boards pulse.
The ring itself hums softly—panels along the apron subtly shifting, vents opening and closing, the canvas faintly glowing with hidden circuitry.
JC: The ring has been modified with hidden compartments, environmental triggers, and—
JR: —and a bunch of stuff OSHA begged us not to do.
“Break It Down” by Lil Debbie plays the venue’s interior surround systems. The audience immediately boos the young athlete coming out from the backstage area smiling at the hatred she receives. Amber stands center stage with her hands on her hips, staring out to the audience before doing a slow twirl where a spotlight shines only on her, creating the illusion of a silhouette. Once she faces the audience again, she snaps her fingers, and the lights return to normal before strutting down to the ring like on a model’s runway.
…As Amber walks down the ramp, a phone camera UI overlays the screen.
ANNOUNCER: "Introducing on her way to the ring! Hailing from Boca Raton, Florida! At five feet, seven inches tall, weighing in at 143 pounds! She is “The Influence” Amber Mansley!
Amber stops before the apron facing the ring, then looks both ways at the fans at ringside booing her. She gently leans over the apron, shrugs her shoulders, and then kisses the camera.
The crowd responds immediately—
A MIXED WALL OF NOISE.
Cheers.
BOOS.
Catcalls.
JC: And listen to this reaction already!
JR: She hasn’t even hit the ring and people are emotionally invested. That’s influence, Jacuinde.
The ring REACTS.
A panel on the apron suddenly POPS OPEN—
A plume of pink smoke erupts upward!
Amber GASPS, delighted, nearly dropping her phone as she spins toward it.
She poses in front of the smoke like it was meant to happen.
JR: DID SHE JUST UNLOCK A SMOKE MACHINE?
JC: I don’t think the ring knows who it’s helping yet!
Amber laughs, snaps her fingers, and struts down the ramp through the smoke, sliding into the ring and immediately climbing the turnbuckles, arms out, basking.
She blows another kiss.
The boos get LOUDER.
The canvas beneath her BOOTS SUDDENLY—
A SHARP JOLT OF VIBRATION!
Amber SQUEALS and nearly loses her footing, hopping down in surprise.
JC: Oh! The ring just bucked!
JR: That’s what happens when the crowd ratio shifts! Engagement volatility, baby!
Amber looks down at the mat, then back to the crowd.
She SMILES.
She likes this.
…
Centurion emerges to a respectful ovation.
No effects.
No overlays.
Just a veteran stepping through the curtain, rolling his shoulders, eyes on the ring like it personally offended him.
JC: And here comes Centurion. Over TWENTY years in this business. An XWF legend. And tonight—
JR: —tonight it feels like he’s not just wrestling Amber Mansley… he’s wrestling the ring itself!
Centurion pauses at the ramp, nodding to the fans, slapping a few hands.
They cheer.
The ring responds.
A TURNBUCKLE PAD SUDDENLY DROPS OFF—THUMPING TO THE CANVAS.
Centurion freezes.
He looks from the exposed buckle… to the crowd.
JC: Uh oh.
JR: He said hi to the people and the ring took its clothes off. That’s on him.
Centurion sighs.
Shrugs.
Continues down the ramp.
As he steps onto the apron—
The ropes suddenly LOOSEN.
Not collapsing.
Just… wrong.
Centurion grips the top rope, testing it.
It gives an inch too much.
He squints.
JC: You can almost see the gears turning in Centurion’s head.
JR: He’s thinking, “In my day, ropes were ropes.” And nickels had pictures of bumblebees on them! Five bees for a quarter they’d say!
Despite this new-fangled technological nightmare reviling him to his core… Centurion exhales… and enters the ring…
The official raises the Television Title between the competitors… Before asking them both if they’re ready to go…
Centurion nods, breath quiet and sharp, eager to get this going already…
Amber raises a finger, as she rapidly shoots off a quick post to social media…
Centurion rolls his eyes, grumbling at her to knock it off…
Instead, Mansley turns her back to her opponent, raising her camera for a selfie… framing Centurion behind her.
She does duck lips as she snaps a quick pic.
The crowd BOOS HARD.
A compartment in the mat POPS—
A FOAM PAD shoots up between them like a speed bump!
Centurion STOPS SHORT, nearly tripping.
JC: The ring just threw a cushion at Centurion!
JR: Safety first! Or… insult first? Hard to tell!
Amber LAUGHS, clapping, spinning around the pad like it’s part of her set.
Centurion slowly bends down, presses on the foam with his boot.
…It SINKS.
He looks offended.
JC: Centurion trying to figure out what the rules even ARE.
JR: He’s in a Looney Tunes short and Amber wrote the script.
As Centurion tries to wrap his mind around this millennial bullshit…
The bell rings.
XWF Television Championship
Centurion
- vs -
Amber Mansley
Audience Participation Match
The ring is fitted with secret compartments and environmental changes. Loud crowd cheers *or* boos for a competitor will unlock weapons or activate changes to the ring environment that may help *or* hurt the competitors. Cheering doesn’t mean good things and booing doesn’t mean bad things. All that’s important is getting a reaction!
HIGHLIGHT REEL
Amber suddenly rushes in—
FOREARM!
Centurion absorbs it, barely budging.
The crowd CHEERS.
The CHEERS trigger something—
The lights flicker RED.
The temperature DROPS.
A blast of cold air vents across the ring.
Amber SHIVERS dramatically, hugging herself, playing it up for the camera.
Centurion exhales fog.
JC: The environment just changed!
JR: Oh great. Now it’s a match AND a climate issue.
JC: The ice caps are melting up here, Rogan!
JR: Oh shuddup with your woke bullshit, Jacuinde!
Centurion steps forward toward his opponent!
ARM DRAG!
Amber hits the mat, rolls through—
POSES AGAIN.
She blows a kiss from the canvas.
The BOOS POUR IN.
A PANEL OPENS IN THE CORNER—
A KENDO STICK pops halfway out… then DROPS flat.
Amber’s eyes go WIDE.
She crawls for it—
Centurion steps on the stick.
Stops her cold.
JC: Veteran instincts! Centurion shutting that down!
JR: He doesn’t know how it got there, but he knows it shouldn’t be in her hands!
Amber looks up at him…
SMILES.
And does a peace sign across her eyes at the crowd…
”IN-FLU-EN-TIAL!” She winks!
They ERUPT in boos!
The ropes suddenly SNAP TIGHT—
WHIPPING Centurion forward!
Amber slips under—
ROLL-UP!
ONE—
KICKOUT!
Centurion scrambles up, clearly rattled now, turning in a slow circle as another panel opens, then closes, then opens again on the opposite side.
JC: The ring is alive right now!
JR: Centurion’s wrestling Amber Mansley, but he’s FIGHTING THE MENU OPTIONS!
Amber claps, laughs… As Centurion gathers his footing off the mat, escaping the rotating circle on the mat… Amber scoops the kendo stick off the mat…
WHAP! Straight across Cent’s face dropping him to the mat!
Amber clotheslines Centurion down to the canvas!
Then strikes a pose dead center, arms wide, phone held high.
The crowd reaction SPIKES again—
…Centurion grumbles irritatedly, shoving his way back to his feet!
And the mat beneath Centurion SHIFTS SLIGHTLY.
Just enough.
JC: You can detect the irritation in Centurion! If he wants to stay in this match, he’s gonna have to find a way to play this stipulation to his advantage!
JR: You mean he’s gonna have to pull the stick out of his butt and actually play to this crowd!
He stumbles back a step, almost losing his footing!
Stops.
Looks down.
Then up at Amber.
JC: You can see it on his face.
JR: Yeah. Centurion has a close relationship with the XWF Universe… but he’s REAL mad at whatever this is.
Centurion plants his feet.
Squares his shoulders.
And for the first time—
Stops reacting…
…and starts WATCHING.
JC: Centurion is finally stopping the chaos and sizing up Amber!
JR: Oh yeah, Jacuinde! He’s ancient school, but he’s learning fast. He’s starting to play the crowd—and maybe even control the chaos!
Centurion takes a deep breath, then starts moving with purpose.
Amber’s charging forward, looking for a grapple… but she’s also obviously simultaneously planning her next post in her mind’s eye to get the crowd loud…
Cent ducks under Amber’s next pose attempt and fires off a standing dropkick into her midsection.
JC: A clean strike from Centurion! Look at him use precision instead of panicking!
Amber rolls backward, but immediately flips her phone up, filming herself struggling to her knees. The crowd reacts—cheers and boos echoing back and forth.
The mat responds—sections rising, panels shifting—but Centurion is ready. He sidesteps a springing platform, catches Amber as she dives, and transitions into an armbar!
JC: Centurion’s locking in a classic submission! He’s using experience here—anchoring Amber while still letting the environment do his work for him!
JR: But is he getting a reaction, Jacuinde? An armbar? Seriously? Shouldn’t he be going for moves that go VIRAL!?!
JC: Cent is getting these people into the match, by sticking to the fundamentals AND working within this rapidly changing environment! It’s a masterful thing to see! Like poetry in motion!
JR: Ugh… poetry… gross…
Amber wriggles, smirking… She wriggles, not escaping Cent’s armbar, but getting enough flexibility to get her hands on her phone… She snaps a quick selfie mid-submission, forcing another reaction spike from the crowd. A hidden foam pit opens up under her and Centurion!
…But Centurion widens his stance, simply spreading his legs like Jean Claude Van Damme, clinging onto his submission hold!
JC: He’s not just surviving the crowd—he’s bending it to his will!
The crowd cheers for Cent! And the foam pit starts to close!
… In one quick burst, Amber scrambles out, pushing Centurion away, spinning toward the ropes. She poses again—“#Iconic”—and the crowd erupts.
The ring shakes violently under the combined reaction… Amber nearly topples backward, but Centurion recovers, grasping the ropes and calmly planting his feet.
JC: Centurion’s keeping his head. He’s letting Amber burn her energy on theatrics while he calculates his next move!
JR: Man, he’s like a human joystick—controlling everything without even touching the settings.
Amber rushes at him again—running forearm smash—but Centurion sidesteps, grabbing her in a back body drop, sending her crashing onto one of the raised panels.
JC: Look at that! He’s using the environment AGAINST her!
JR: And you can see the frustration on Amber’s face—she thought she was the master of this arena!
Amber shakes her head, slowly rising to her feet… phone in hand…
Centurion scoops behind her, looking for his…
1000 MILE SLAM!
…
But Amber slips off the back… and trips Cent forward while grabbing his neck…
SLAMMING HIM FACEFIRST ONTO THE CANVAS!
Amber pulls out her phone, going on Instagram Live as she lounges, pinning Centurion!
JC: This could be it! Mansley could be leaving with the Televiison Title!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEE-NOOOOOOO! CENTURION FORCES A SHOULDER UP!
The crowd goes nuts! The ring components vibrate and whir as if the whole ring is cheering!
Amber sneers… suddenly irritated…
Amber and Cent are grappling, jockeying for control…
When Cent suddenly drops, planting Amber back-first on the mat with a double-leg takedown!
Cent grabs Amber’s legs! And the crowd starts going nuts!
JC: This could do it! Cent is going for the Fall of Rome!
Cent tries to turn Amber onto her front, nearly having it…
…But Amber manages to headstand and twists Centurion in a leg screw! A leg screw that sends Centurion flying into the referee!
Both Centurion and the official collapse to the mat as the crowd boos at another Amber Mansley escape!
Suddenly a compartment opens in the top turnbuckle behind Mansley…
…IT’S BRASS KNUCKLES!
JC: Oh my! And just like that, Mansley’s in control!
JR: In control? Jacuinde, if she gets her hands on those brass knuckles, she’s GOT the TV Title around her waist!
Amber Mansley smiles deviously, as she reaches for the knuckles…
…When suddenly, the compartment shuts! Mansley puffs out her bottom lip irritatedly!
JC: Ha! It looks like Amber isn’t getting a big enough reaction to get those brass knuckles!
…Amber strokes her chin thoughtfully about how to get a bigger reaction, when Centurion slowly rises behind her…
She spins around as Centurion raises his arms, looking for a grapple… but in her periphery, Amber sees the official is still down…
Cent lurches forward for a collar-and-elbow…
But Amber lifts her boot…
AND PUNTS CENT IN THE CROTCH! He goes down on his knees!
AND THE CROWD RAINS DOWN BOOS FURIOUSLY!
The brass knuckles compartment shoots open!
And before the crowd can quiet, Amber’s hand shoots in and retrieves the knuckles!
JC: Sickening display by Amber!
JR: You say sickening, I say she’s got this crowd eating out of the palm of her hand! Which is exactly the quality you want in a Television champion!
Amber dons the knuckles as Cent falls onto his side, his whole body wracked with pain… Amber squeezes in a quick selfie ”#victoryMoment”
Centurion slowly rises, one hand on the mat… as Amber slips her phone into her pocket, reeling back her fist…
Centurion’s back to a vertical base… AMBER SWINGS!
BRASS KNUCKLES SHOT!
…
……
MISSES!
Centurion ducks under! Amber spins around and Cent grabs…
Amber’s phone!
JC: The source of Amber’s power!
Amber is shocked as Cent lifts the phone, angles it—click! A quick selfie of Amber, mid-flail, for once a picture she doesn’t look perfect in!
The crowd REACTS. The mat shivers. Panels pop and hiss, but Centurion doesn’t flinch.
JC: He’s taking control of her game! She thought the fans were on her side!
Amber furiously aims a wild elbow! But Centurion ducks again! Amber spins around, giving Cent her back!
JR: Something’s coming… something BIG.
With a sharp, veteran flourish, Centurion hoists Amber into position—and hits the 1000 Mile Slam!
Amber crashes to the canvas. The mat shudders violently with the impact.
JC: OH MY GOD! That’s the 1000 Mile Slam!
JR: If anyone could end this match, it’s Centurion! He’s the master of ring, tech, and timing!
Centurion drapes an arm across Amber. The referee slides in—
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
WINNER AND NEEEEEEEEEEEEEW XWF TELEVISION CHAMPION: CENTURION!
JC: Centurion has done it! He’s wrestled the environment, the audience, and Amber Mansley herself—and comes out on top!
JR: Legend beats influencer, Jacuinde! And in style, no less.
JC: A brilliant, chaotic, and absolutely unforgettable final for the XWF Television Championship Tournament!
Centurion raises the XWF TV Title high above his head and drops the phone on Amber’s chest! Amber lies sprawled on the mat as the crowd is abuzz about what just happened.
JC: Centurion proves tonight—no matter how insane the rules, experience, ring IQ, and timing win the day.
JR: And hey, he even got a selfie out of it. Old school meets new school, baby!
WINNER OF
PROMO OF THE YEAR
Scoops McGee!
For “Scoops McGee in… Hopes and Dreams”
JC: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the moment we’ve been building towards for a full calendar year!”
JR: “Two rivals turned partners turned rivals once more! Two men who know each other’s souls better than their own families. But only one of them is walking out of here with both tag-team championships.”
The arena lights go dark. A single gold spotlight shines on the stage as the opening notes of King Kunta echoes through the air, the bass kicks in, adn the screen behind the entrance ramp flashes with stark, bold letters:
DO YOU SEE ME NOW?
The silhouette of Isaiah King stands at the top of the ramp, first clenched at his sides, head bowed slightly. He has on a black leather coat that cuts off at the top of his white wrestling boots. The long coat has a cracked crown embossed on it's back.
I've got a bone to pick!
Isaiah lifts his head, eyes longed on the ring. The gold spotlight follows his every step as he strides down the ramp, slow and methodical, like a predator closing in on his prey. Hopping onto the ring apron, he holds onto the top rope and stares into the crown, taking in the mixture of boos and cheers coming his way. He then walks to the center of the ring, spinning in a circle before pointing to his chest - he mouths:
"You thought I was done?"
Bringing his arms across his chest before shooting them down, he lets out a short, emphatic animalistic howl into the air before turning to face his opponent.
The lights in the arena cut out entirely, and the fans begin to buzz. The darkness holds for a moment before…
With each of the hits of the word “Fame” a spotlight flashes back and forth between the stage and a random spot in the audience. On the screen, the images alternate between key moments from the career of Sebastian Everett-Bryce, S.E.B. and Empire.
After the final Fame, the lyrics end.
Na, na, na, na…
The screen flashes with the words Welcome to the Empire.
As the beat drops, Sebastian Everett-Bryce flings his arms wide, lit up by a bright spotlight, his head covered by the hood of his jacket. He stands in the middle of the ramp, the lights beating down on him, before looking out at the crowd. He wears a long jacket, zipped to the waist. The jacket, which is cut away at the bottom and only runs down the back of his legs, is patterned with an elongated Union Flag, but it appears to be cracked, and broken. Distressed. His tights are short, with the initials S.E.B. emblazoned upon the front.
Fame makes a man take things over
Fame lets him loose, hard to swallow
Fame puts you there where things are hollow
It's not your brain, it's just the flame
That puts your change to keep you insane (sane)
The lights lift and Seb makes his way to the ring, stretching his neck from side to side as he walks, he slaps hands with fans as he walks, stopping with a random fan and staring into the camera and shouting “My Empire, right here!”. He climbs up the steps and steps through the ropes before standing in the middle of the ring.
Fame, what you like is in the limo
Fame, what you get is no tomorrow
Fame, what you need you'll have to borrow
Fame, fame, fame, fame
Fame, fame, fame, fame
He pulls back his hood.
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder?
Is it any wonder? (Ooh)
The beat drops again, he flashes his arms out to a side, a satisfied smirk upon his face, he holds the position for a moment, to allow the crowd to take pictures, before pulling off his Jacket to reveal “EMPIRE” on the back of his tights.
As his music comes to an end, Seb backs to the corner and leans, with a satisfactory smirk upon his face.
Winner takes sole custody of both tag team championships
DING! DING! DING!
Sebastian Everett-Bryce stands in the exact center of the ring, posture perfect, breathing slow, chin lifted just slightly. The picture of control. A man who has lived his entire career inside main events.
Isaiah King circles him wide, pacing like a predator, boots dragging lightly across the canvas.
His eyes never leave SEB’s.
Neither man rushes in.
They just begin circling the ring, each man looking for an opening.
Ten seconds pass.
Twenty.
The crowd hums in anticipation.
Then — simultaneously — they step in.
Collar and elbow!
And immediately the strain is visible.
Shoulders tense, necks tighten, and foreheads grind together.
Neither man moves.
They push.
They pull.
Boots slide inches at a time!
King finally muscles SEB backward one step — SEB responds by twisting his hips, reversing leverage and driving King two steps back.
King snarls and shoves off.
And slaps SEB across the face!
A sharp, disrespectful crack.
The crowd gasps.
JC: “The disrespect is palpable!”
JR: “If I know anything about SEB, he won’t stand for that!”
SEB freezes.
But not in anger.
He cracks an amused smile as he tilts his head…
And unloads a knife-edge chop so violent it echoes through the entire building!
King stumbles back, chest already bright red.
Then answers with one of his own!
SEB fires back!
Now they’re trading blows!
Chop.
Chop.
Forearm.
Forearm.
Headbutt.
The rhythm builds.
The strikes grow heavier.
Sweat begins flying already.
JC: “The feeling out process is over. There’s no respect in that ring. This is personal from the opening bell!”
JR: “Personal? Of course it’s personal! The history these men have together is astounding. And now, they’re fighting for the grandest prize in all of tag-team wrestling- a price they once shared!”
King ducks a forearm and suddenly snaps off a lightning-fast release German suplex.
SEB rolls through instinctively — pops to his feet — sprints forward — running dropkick sends
King crashing into the ropes — rebound —
SEB catches him — TILT-A-WHIRL BACKBREAKER!
Cover!
But King kicks out before 1!
They both scramble to their feet.
King shoots for a leg — SEB sprawls — he puts King in a front facelock — but King responds with a snapmare — then a sliding knee strike to the back of the head!
King makes the cover!
1!
2!!
SEB powers out!
King doesn’t hesitate in following up.
He traps the arm — hammerlock — short-arm elbow — another — another — then yanks SEB into a Fujiwara armbar, wrenching the shoulder violently, grinding his forearm into the joint.
SEB snarls, teeth bared, rolling his hips, stacking King’s shoulders against the mat!
1!
2!!
King releases the hold and scrambles away from the pin!
The crowd applauds — early classic energy beginning to swell.
JR: “This is a back and forth battle between two of the greatest to ever do it!”
JC: “The momentum keeps building and building, these boys are heating up all of Antarctica with this barn-burner!”
They reset.
Another lockup.
SEB controls the wrist — transitions into a side headlock — King shoots him off — then SEB explodes upward with a European uppercut that snaps King’s head back violently!
SEB charges, but King counters with a sudden spinebuster that rattles the ring!
He makes the cover!
1!
2!!
SEB kicks out!
Now King slows the pace deliberately.
He traps SEB in the corner — shoulder thrust after shoulder thrust driving into the ribs — then whips him hard across the ring.
SEB hits chest-first and collapses.
King charges —
CANNONBALL SENTON!
Then King lifts him with a snap suplex and rolls through for second snap suplex, then a third! Then, King holds him vertical, ten full seconds as the crowd roars, blood rushing to SEB’s head — before finally dropping him flat.
JC: “Isaiah King is starting to build momentum here!”
JR: “SEB is going to be in trouble if he doesn’t change the tides here soon!”
King makes another cover!
1!
2!!
SEB kicks out again.
JR: “Isaiah King is dissecting him right now. This is surgical.”
King shifts targets to the neck.
Cravate.
Snapmare.
Soccer kick to the spine!
Then a seated neck crank, grinding his forearm viciously across SEB’s jaw, wrenching the cervical spine.
SEB claws at the mat, shaking his head violently, refusing to quit.
He fights to one knee… one foot… elbow… elbow… stands — throws King off —
KING BLASTS HIM WITH A FLYING KNEE!
SEB flips sideways and crashes to the mat.
King wipes sweat from his face, breathing heavier now.
He hauls SEB up before giving him a short-arm headbutt, followed by another! King then whips him into the ropes and catches him clean —
TILT-A-WHIRL POWERBOMB!
KING MAKES ANOTHER COVER!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!
SEB POWERS OUT!
THE CROWD EXPLODES!
JR: “King is dominating right now, but SEB refuses to stay down!”
JC: “SEB is as stubborn as he is talented- and that means, King could be in for a long night!”
King stares at the referee, disbelief written across his face.
He drags SEB to the corner and climbs to the top rope.
SEB stirs below.
KING DIVES —
DIVING KNEE DROP TO THE CHEST!
ANOTHER COVER!
JR: “But this has to be it right here! Those knees just caved in SEB’s chest!”
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!!!
Now King begins pacing, shaking his head, muttering to himself.
He drags SEB up, presses his forehead against SEB’s, and screams something venomous — something from their past — something that visibly stings.
Then he hooks both arms.
KING’S ROAD SETUP!
But SEB fights it off!
Then, Seb hits a RUNNING KNEE STRIKE TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!
King staggers forward and SEB hooks —
STAMFORD BRIDGE!
Bridge pin!
1!
2!!
3-NO!
KING ESCAPES!
JC: SEB just about had him there, but somehow, King got away! That’s the closest SEB’s been to victory all night!
JR: That pin was so close, I bet SEB could taste victory!
Now SEB finally finds rhythm.
German suplex!
Second German!
Third!
Fourth!
Then a deadlift straight into a brutal high-angle dragon suplex that folds King in half!
JC: “OH MY GOODNESS! WHAT A SHOW OF STRENGTH FROM SEBASTIAN!”
Cover!
1!
2!!
KING KICKS OUT!
SEB is breathing heavy now, chest heaving, sweat pouring off him.
He backs into the corner.
And signals to the crowd.
King slowly pulls himself upright.
SEB charges —
EMPIRE KICK — KING DUCKS!
DISCUSS LARIAT!
SEB flips inside out.
King makes the cover!
1!
2!!
3- NO!
SEB GETS A SHOULDER UP!
The arena erupts in shock.
JC: “THIS IS A WAR OF ATTRITION!”
JR: “And both men refuse to die!”
King pounds the mat in rage.
He drags SEB up — hooks both arms —
KING’S ROAD ATTEMPT —
SEB COUNTERS MID-LIFT — SUNSET FLIP!
SEB explodes up with a SUPERKICK!
King collapses.
Seb goes for the cover!
1!
2!!
KING KICKS OUT!
JR: “They’re both giving it their all right now! Neither man is willing to lose to his rival!”
JC: “But eventually, someone’s going to have to walk out of here the winner!”
Now both men are bleeding lightly from the mouth, chests crimson, eyes glassy, breathing ragged.
They meet in center again.
Forearm!
Forearm!
Forearm!
Headbutt!
Double headbutt — both men stagger back.
SEB hits the ropes — springboard moonsault!
BUT KING GETS KNEES UP!
Both scream in pain.
King crawls over immediately —
AND LOCKS IN A REAR NAKED CHOKE!
JR: “THIS COULD BE THE END!”
SEB fades — arm drops once… twice… third time — HE SURGES — RAMS KING INTO THE TURNBUCKLE — BACKPACK STUNNER!
Both men collapse again.
The referee begins counting.
JC: “Both men are down! Could this end in a draw?!”
JR: “That would be classic King & SEB!”
One… two… three…
They stir at four.
Sit up at six.
Stand at eight.
And immediately resume swinging.
SEB hooks —
MARKHAM MISSILE!
Rolls through — climbs instantly —
MOONSAULT DIVING HEADBUTT!
Cover!
1!
2!!
KING KICKS OUT AT 2.999!
The building ERUPTS.
SEB clutches his head, screaming in disbelief.
He drags King up again — hooks the arms — lifts —
KING COUNTERS MID-AIR INTO A SMALL PACKAGE!
1!
2!!
SEB ESCAPES!
King immediately springs up — SUPERKICK!
SEB collapses.
Cover!
1!
2!!
SEB KICKS OUT AGAIN!
King cannot believe it.
He yanks SEB up — POWERBOMB — rolls through — SECOND POWERBOMB — stacks again!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!
SEB BARELY SURVIVES!
King climbs again.
He leaps — FROG SPLASH!
Cover!
1!
2!!
KICKOUT!
SEB STILL LIVES!
Now King looks almost panicked.
He slaps the mat.
Signals one last time.
He hauls SEB up — double underhook —
KING’S ROAD —
SEB SPINS OUT —
EMPIRE KICK FLUSH!
King drops like he’s been shot.
SEB collapses on him.
1!
2!!
3!!!
BUT KING GETS A FOOT ON THE ROPE!
The building goes nuclear!
JC: “SEB had him there! He had him dead to rights, but quick thinking from Isaiah to get a foot on the ropes just saved him!”
JR: “That’s a savvy, veteran-level move! Isaiah didn’t have the energy to kick out, but he was able to get his foot to the ropes!”
SEB pounds the mat, screaming in frustration.
He drags King to the very center.
Wraps the arm around the neck.
NIGHTFALL!
The sleeper is in deep!
King thrashes violently.
Kicks.
Scratches.
Reaches — fingertips brush air —
Suddenly rolls backward — PIN!
1!
2!!
SEB RELEASES!
They scramble up — DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!
Both collapse.
They rise again slowly, barely standing.
King throws a final desperate lariat — SEB ducks —
MARKHAM MISSILE AGAIN!
Roll through — climbs —
SECOND MOONSAULT DIVING HEADBUTT!
Cover!
1!
2!!
KING KICKS OUT AGAIN!
The crowd is losing its mind.
SEB stares into space, exhausted beyond belief.
He drags King up one last time.
Whispers something only they can hear.
SEB hooks the arms.
Lifts.
EXCUSE ME!!!!
JC: “The forbidden finisher! That’s SEB’s most powerful, and most rare move!”
JR: “This could be it right here! It would take a miracle for Isaiah to kick out from that!”
SEB collapses onto King.
1!
2!!
3!!!
WINNER and STILLLLL XWF Tag-Team Champion…..SEBASTIAN EVERETT-BRYCE!
JC: “IT’S OVER! HE DID IT! SEBASTIAN EVERETT-BRYCE WINS THE WAR AND RETAINS THE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS!”
JR: “THAT… WAS A CAREER. THAT WAS A LEGACY. THAT WAS IMMORTAL!”
JR: God damn! He did it! Sebastian Everett-Bryce picks up a major victory!
Jc: And now the Tag Team Titles are firmly in possession of The SEBEmpire! He will get to choose who his new Tag Team partner will be,
The bell rings, and both Sebastian and Isaiah lay still in the middle of the ring - the referee heads to the side of the ring and picks up the XWF Tag Team titles and quickly returns, laying the titles across the chest of Sebastian Everett-Bryce having picked up the gruelling victory.
As Seb sits up, Championships in hand, he gingerly pushes himself up to his knees. Panting slightly, the referee reaches down and raised Seb’s hand into the air in victory.
Seb pushes himself to his feet, and begins to move around the ring, stopping at each side to raise the Championships as his music plays. He climbs to the middle rope, the XWF Tag Team Titles thrust into the air.
Back in the ring, Isaiah is now sat up in the opposite corner, taking in the reaction of the crowd. Seb jumps down and turns around, walking back to the middle of the ring. King pulls himself up and storms to the middle of the ring, face to face with Everett-Bryce.
JR: Woah, woah, woah! This might not quite be over! King looks like he wants to take off Seb’s head.
JC: Come on, Isaiah! No-one likes a sore loser.
King’s shoulders rise and fall, his frustration palpable. He curses at the ground, before turning towards Bryce and… holding out his hand.
JC: A show of respect from Isaiah King for The Emperor, Joe!
JR: Wouldn’t have minded seeing these two go at it one more time.
Seb looks at the hand and smiles, before he reaches out and takes it. The two men shake, and exchange a few words, unheard by the cameras. Isaiah offers one final nod, before turning to leave.
But as he pulls away, Seb keeps hold of Isaiah’s hand. The Lonely King turns, braced for a cheap shot of some kind. Instead, Seb stares at King, his mouth curling into a smile. He finally lets go of the handshake, takes a step back and…
Holds out one of the Tag Team Titles to Isaiah! The crowd pop as King looks down at the title, then up at Seb. For a second he looks confused, before the realisation begins to dawn. He points at himself as if seeking a confirmation. Seb offers little more than a wink, as Isaiah reaches for the Championship and takes it.
JC: The Exiles live on! The Exiles are once more the XWF Tag Team Champions!
JR: What the hell was the match all about then?!
JC: Oh come on! This was the moment that they finally earned one another’s respect and appreciation - Sebastian realised that the one person that he should choose as his partner, was the man who pushed him to his limit, time and time again. Who better than a King to stand beside an Emperor?!
Seb added one last nod in Isaiah’s direction, before he turns so they stand side by side, and for the first time since winning the Tag Team Championships back in June, The Exiles stand side by side, their championships raised in the air.
WINNER OF
MATCH OF THE YEAR
Sebastian Everett-Bryce, Prince Adeyemi and Bacchus!
For their match at Snow Holds Barred!
JC: Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re rolling right along here at Snow Pain, Snow Gain into our next championship match. If you at home thought that the First-Blood match we just witnessed wasn’t violent enough, then I can assure you this– you won't be disappointed with what's next!
JR: Game Girl and Jenny Myst… XTreme Championship on the line, and Jackie, there’s really no love lost between these two.
JC: For good reason, Joe. Jenny Myst is a veteran in XWF who is just making her return. After siding with Charlie and The Corporation, Jenny was essentially handed the XTreme Championship. Game Girl spared little to the imagination with how she felt about that display, and how she feels about Jenny overall.
JR: A cancer, Jackie, she called Jenny a cancer. And she wasn’t talking about astrological signs.
JC: And in response, Jenny wanted to essentially make this title match meaningless, by trying to allow Jennie NICKLES to pin her before this fight. But Game Girl is on top of her game right now, spotted the shady pinfall attempt, and broke it up!
JR: And now the stakes are real. These two are going head to head for the XTreme Championship. These two have both made it clear in their promos this week that they do not like one another. And now we’re going to watch that disdain playout in the ring here tonight.
Helix Nebula by Anamanaguchi blasts as colored lights in beat to the rhythm pass over the roaring crowd. When the beat kicks in Game Girl swoops down from the rafters on her flying cloud, Nimbus, going over fans and reaching down to give them passing high fives before sailing over to the ring and flipping down to her feet into a fist-raising pose.
"Sex Metal Barbie" by In This Moment plays as Jenny Myst makes her way to the ring.
The lights drop hard.
A low pink glow bleeds across the arena as the opening pulse of “Sex Metal Barbie” hits—industrial, predatory, unmistakable. The crowd reaction swells immediately, a mix of boos, awe, and uneasy anticipation, because everyone knows what that song means.
Then she steps through the curtain.
Jenny Myst doesn’t rush. She arrives.
Leather gleams under the lights as she pauses at the top of the ramp, chin tilted slightly upward, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s counting debts. The X-Division Championship, Mortimer, rests over her shoulder—not displayed, not flaunted—carried like a weapon she’s already used tonight. Her expression is calm, almost bored, but there’s cruelty sitting just beneath it, coiled and patient.
On the second beat drop, she rolls her shoulders and starts down the ramp with deliberate, confident strides. Each step syncs with the rhythm—measured, heavy, inevitable. She ignores the fans reaching out, the insults, the chants. Their noise doesn’t register. This isn’t their moment.
It’s hers.
Halfway down, Jenny stops.
She turns slowly, eyes locking with the hard camera, and smirks—not playful, not charming, but sharp. A reminder. She lifts Mortimer just enough for the gold to catch the light, mouthing a few words only the camera gets: mine. Then she lets the title fall back against her shoulder like it belongs there… because it does.
At ringside, she wipes her boots on the apron with exaggerated care before stepping up, climbing through the ropes with smooth precision. No wasted movement. No nerves. Inside the ring, she walks straight to the center, turning once more as the music continues to snarl through the arena.
Jenny Myst raises the title high—not for the crowd, but for her opponent—eyes cold, posture relaxed, utterly in control.
Vostok Station is all hard angles and harsh lighting. White walls, steel doors, warning placards in languages nobody in the crowd can read. The air is thin. The ring sits on a reinforced platform bolted into the ice, surrounded by stacked cargo crates, spare generator parts, coils of industrial cable, and a few “NO STEP” panels that are absolutely going to be stepped on.
Jenny Myst stands with the belt tight to her body like it’s a stolen artifact. She’s small, but her eyes are big, they’re bright, they’re hungry. With a kind of unhinged that calculates.
Game Girl bounces in place, waving at the crowd.
The referee holds the title up.
The bell rings!!!
And the temperature drops again somehow.
Jenny explodes first- - -
Straight-line sprint, forearm smash to GG, then a second, then a third, trying to blitz the combos out of Game Girl before Paige can properly boot up.
Game Girl eats the first one, stumbles into the ropes- - -
Then Shift-Slide!
She drops low and rockets across the mat like she’s been fired out of a cannon, sweeping Jenny’s legs out from under her and sending the champ skidding on her back.
JC: That’s the thing about Game Girl, she doesn’t need to run at you, she just needs to interrupt you!
JR: Dude, she’s like a hummingbird with a metal arm! If you lose track of her for one second, you’re getting hit from all sorts of weird angles.
Jenny pops up fast.
She feints, then snaps a neck wrench, dragging Game Girl down and grinding the hold with ugly leverage, testing the old chest wound immediately by forcing Paige to breathe at the wrong angles.
Game Girl grimaces, fingers clawing the mat.
Jenny leans in, whispering something. Smiling.
Then she releases the wrench and stomps - - - stomps to the head, quick and mean, trying to scramble the challenger.
Game Girl rolls away and springs up with a Low Sweep! that clips Jenny at the ankle.
Jenny lands on one knee - - -
High Kick from GG!
Game Girl’s boot snaps Jenny’s chin and jolts her upright.
Game Girl follows with Raging Uppercut! A leaping attack that lifts Jenny’s feet for half a second.
The crowd pops hard!
Jenny staggers back into the corner, her eyes wide.
Game Girl rushes in- - -
Jenny vanishes under her with a diving somersault evasion, sliding out of the corner.
Game Girl hits padding.
Jenny reappears behind her and wraps a keylock on the robotic arm, wrenching it like she’s trying to peel it off.
A metallic creak.
Game Girl yelps- - - actual panic appears on her face - - -the robotics twisting and cracking, breaking her momentum.
Jenny twists again and rips the arm downward, forcing Paige to her knees.
JR: Oh man, that’s smart. You don’t fight the robot arm like it’s a limb. Fight it like it’s a tool. You jam it!
Jenny releases the keylock, she hits the rope and Thesz Presses the staggering Game Girl- - -punches raining down, small fists with big power.
Game Girl bucks hard and shoves her off, then rolls through, up to her feet, she doges, she weaves and - - - Swift Strike! The prettiest sucker punch you’ve ever seen lands right across Jenny’s cheek!
Jenny’s head snaps.
Game Girl doesn’t stop. She grabs Jenny up and - - -
JC: BIMMY TO JIMMY!
The belly-to-belly suplex lands with force. A force so great it tosses Jenny clean across the ring of the release.
Jenny lands with a slap and scrambles toward the ropes, furious. Baring her teeth, she bails out of the ring while the crowd showers GG with applause.
Jenny hits the floor and immediately goes under the platform, hands moving fast, and practiced.
Game Girl follows, but cautiously.
Jenny emerges with something long and cold and terrible, a… a…
JC: My god, is that a metal ice scraper?!
JR: Looks like it, Jackie. That thing is designed for ice, not faces!
She swings it like a baton.
Game Girl ducks, but the tool clips her shoulder and sparks off the edge of her robot arm with a PING.
Game Girl stumbles.
Jenny smiles wider and cracks it into Game Girl’s ribs.
Once.
Twice!!
The second one lands near that old chest wound and Paige’s breath catches, the wind being knocked out of her lungs.
JC: Jenny Myst is targeting that old damage, Joe. She’s not just trying to win here, she’s trying to delete Game Girl’s save file!
Jenny grabs Game Girl by the hair and drags her toward stacked cargo crates. One is marked with a big red FRAGILE tag.
Jenny whips her into it.
Game Girl hits and bounces, arms flailing.
Jenny charges- - -
SPEAR STEP!!!!
Game Girl pivoted into a forward dash tackle, and it drives Jenny into the crates so hard that the stack shifts, causing a heavy box to collapse
Packing foam explodes out like snow!
Jenny coughs, stunned.
Game Girl reaches out with her robotic arm, and - - -
GET OVER HERE!!!
A spear-rope throw that snags Jenny’s waistband like a grappling hook and yanks her forward- - -
Jenny flies toward Game Girl- - -
RAGING UPPERCUT!!!!
Jenny’s feet lift again. She lands hard on her back.
Game Girl grabs a length of industrial cable off the floor. Thick, heavy, rubber-coated cable, and whips it once.
The sound is mean but misses Jenny.
Jenny’s eyes lock on it.
She laughs.
The champ maneuvers away, back toward the ring and slides under the apron again.
Game Girl chases after her
Jenny pops out the other side with a fire extinguisher.
White powder blasts into the air.
Game Girl throws her arm up to shield her face- - -
BUT JENNY USES THE SMOKE AND HITS A LEGSWEEP, TAKING GG DOWN ON THE CONCRETE FLOOR!
Then she grabs the cable and loops it around Game Girl’s throat.
She’s choking and dragging the challenger around the arena floor.
Game Girl’s boots scrape the floor as Jenny hauls her toward the ringpost.
JR: That’s nasty. That’s real nasty. You get choked out weird in cold air like this, it hits differently.
Jenny slams Game Girl’s back into the post and releases the cable.
Game Girl drops, coughing.
Jenny raises the fire extinguisher now, overhead ready to clobber Game Girl. She swing and - - -
FLIP KICK!!!
The backflip kick from Game Girl catches Jenny in the jaw.
Jenny stumbles, the fire extinguisher drops and clanks.
Game Girl snatches it with the robot arm and swings it like a hammer- - -
Jenny ducks and counters with a quick Glitter Blizzard out of nowhere!!!!
Flipping Game Girl forward and spiking her down awkwardly onto the floor with the sunsetflip powerbomb.
The extinguisher rolls away.
Game Girl clutches her neck.
Jenny crawls over, eyes lit up, and starts the Blissful Curb Stomps, now. Multiple stomps to the to the back of GG’s neck.
One stomp!
Two stomps!!!
Three S- - -!!!!!
Game Girl’s robot arm suddenly spasms and shoves her body sideways, barely enough to change the angle!
The stomp grazes instead of landing flush.
Game Girl rolls, gasping, face scraped with powder and sweat.
Jenny stands and raises her hands like she’s beckoning Game Girl’s every move.
Then she points at the ring.
Get in, bitch! she screams. I’m going to pin you where everyone can see it!
Paige’s gaze hardens, her nostrils flare. Not breaking eye contact with the champion, she climbs onto the apron. Jenny joins her and the two begin throwing punches, fighting each other through the ropes.
Jenny steps through first, and throws Game Girl over the top rope, back to the canvas. She follows with a stomp to the head, then another, then a third.
She goes for a quick crucifix pin!!!!
ONE!
TWO!!
GAME GIRL KICKS OUT!!!!
Jenny immediately transitions into a chokehold STO, planting Paige face-first and grinding the choke, jaw clenched, eyes rolling with glee.
Game Girl’s boots kick. Her robot arm claws at Jenny’s wrist.
Jenny lets go only to spring up and hit Glitz Flip!!!
A double knee drop, followed by a standing moonsault double knee drop!
The second impact crushes the air out of Game Girl!
Jenny hooks the leg!!!
ONE!!!!!!!
TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
JC: KICKOUT BY GAME GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jenny’s face changes, looking annoyed now.
She grabs Game Girl by the head and drags her up, talking trash.
Game Girl’s eyes are watery, but she’s… smiling?
She raises one finger, My turn.
Jenny slaps her.
Game Girl’s smile disappears.
SUPER COMBO!!!!!
Shift-Slide! - - - Jenny’s legs get swept!
Punch! Punch! - - - robotic fist, then a real fist!!
Raging Uppercut! - - - Jenny pops up!!!
Hyper Bomb! - - - an overhead energy-strike motion, Jenny gets blasted to the mat!!!
Romper Stomper! - - - double foot stomp to the chest!!!!
Jenny bounces off the mat and rolls to the corner, clutching her sternum.
Vostok Station shakes with the pop!
JC: Jenny Myst’s health bar has just turned red, Joe!
Game Girl rushes in- - - Jenny throws herself up and out, baiting the challenger - - -
Game Girl stops on a dime, keeping her eyes tracking and, - - -
Nothing Personal Kid! she executes a blink-fast teleport-behind strike to Jenny’s spine.
Jenny arches with a scream.
Game Girl hits it again from the front, palm strike to the chest, driving air out!
Jenny staggers.
Game Girl’s robotic arm whirs, charging up.
Jenny’s eyes widen and she scrambles under the ropes to the floor again.
Game Girl follows, fired up, the crowd on her side.
Jenny runs around the ringpost and grabs something from a crate… it’s a freaking ice pick!
She lunges- - -
Game Girl catches her wrist with the robot hand.
Game Girl twists. The ice pick clatters onto the ice-cold concrete floor.
Jenny panics, and then does what she always does: she cheats better.
She rakes at Game Girl’s old chest wound with her nails.
Game Girl gasps like shes gotten stabbed by a high-level sword all over again.
Her concentration breaks.
Jenny headbutts her- - - then yanks her forward and spikes her down with - - -
GO. TO. HELL!!!!
The spike DDT is particularly vicious on the concrete.
Game Girl’s head hits with a muffled thud.
A hush falls.
JR: That’s the one, Jackie. That’s the one where you’re like… “okay, they’re not gonna’ make it”
Jenny doesn’t even go for the pin outside. She drags Game Girl by the ankle back toward the ring like she’s hauling a body bag.
She throws Paige in, climbs to the apron, and then, grinning at the crowd, climbs the turnbuckle.
IDENTITY CRISIS!!!
She rotates beautifully through the moonsault.
BUT GAME GIRL GETS HER KNEES UP AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND!
Jenny lands on them with a sick crunch and tumbles off, clutching her ribs.
JC: And that’s the one, Joe! That’s the one where you’re like “The belt is changing hands tonight!”
Game Girl forces herself upright, wobbling, eyes unfocused.
Then she steadies.
She plants her feet.
Her robotic arm raises.
Game Girl starts tapping the air like she’s entering something only she can see.
KONAMI CODE!
The crowd catches on and roars like it’s communal magic.
Up!
Up!
Down!
Down!
Left! Right!! Left!!! Right!!!!
JC: She’s doing it, she’s doing the Konami Code!
A faint digital chirp hits the sound system like the arena itself just accepted a cheat.
For a heartbeat, gravity feels… wrong.
Jenny stares at her hands like they aren’t obeying the same physics.
Game Girl points at the ceiling and then at Jenny.
Moon Gravity!!!
Game Girl sprints and hits Flip Kick!
Jenny pops up lighter than she should.
RAGING UPPERCUT!
Jenny rises again!
Game Girl leaps, grabs, and - - - Down Throw!!! Jenny bounces weirdly against the mat, like she’s landing on a trampoline that isn’t there.
Romper Stomper!!! She eats the double foot stomp, and ricochets backward toward the ropes.
Game Girl slams both palms down- - -
Power Geyser!!!!!
A pillar-like burst of energy materializes under the champion, and Jenny gets launched up and back, tumbling.
Jenny lands near the corner, dazed, hair in her face.
Game Girl’s robotic arm draws back, charging.
Power-Up Punch time! Her aura focuses, and Paige’s whole body tightens.
Jenny crawls, reaching for the ropes like salvation.
Game Girl releases and - - -
The punch connects and Jenny flies, crashing through the middle rope to the floor.
The crowd explodes.
Game Girl staggers, breathing hard, the old chest wound doing its best to slow her down.
Jenny coughs on the outside, eyes darting, desperate.
And then Jenny sees it.
A steel plate on the floor near the corner, one of those “NO STEP” panels.
Jenny drags it out.
Slides it into the ring.
Game Girl sees it and nods with determination.
Jenny climbs onto the apron, eyes wild.
Game Girl rushes- - -
BUT JENNY SNAPS HER HEAD DOWN AND YANKS HER THROAT ACROSS THE ROPE!
SHE SLINGSHOTS BACK INTO THE RING WITH GAME GIRL GASPING!!!
PINK PERFECTION!!!!!!!!
THE REVERSE STO DDT PLANTS GAME GIRL’S HEAD RIGHT ONTO THE STEEL PLATE!
There’s a horrifying metallic clang!
Game Girl is out!
But so too, Jenny is slow to move… she gasps heavily to catch her breath and after a few moments rolls onto her stomach and crawls on top of Game Girl for the cover laughing the whole way…
ONE!
TWO!!
JR: WINNER - AND STILL- - -
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
GAME GIRL KICKS OUT!!!
Barely!
Jenny’s laugh stops.
Her face goes blank.
Then it turns ugly.
Jenny scrambles to the corner again.
She climbs.
She has a possessed look in her eye.
IDENTITY CRISIS AGAIN!!!!
She launches.
BUT GAME GIRL ROLLS!!!!
AND JENNY LANDS CHEST FIRST ON THE STEEL PLATE!
The champion folds in half, gagging.
Game Girl rises behind her like a respawn.
She grabs Jenny from behind and sways her fingers in the air, eyes unfocused like she’s pulling code out of the atmosphere.
She steals a thought from the champion.
She learns a finisher from the champion.
Jenny’s eyes widen… but it’s too late.
METRONOME!!!!
Game Girl hooks the head and drives down the champion!
GO TO HELL!!
Jenny’s own spike DDT, delivered by Game Girl with eerie precision.
Jenny bounces off the mat and goes limp.
Game Girl doesn’t pin immediately.
She looks at Jenny.
Looks at the title on the timekeepers table.
Looks at her robotic arm.
Then she inputs again…
Not the Konami Code… Something else. Something ancient. Something primal.
The lights flicker.
Vostok Station feels like it’s holding its breath.
LIMIT BREAKER!!!!
The arena plunges into black.
…
JC: I can’t see a thing, Joe! What’s going on?
Suddenly, while the lights are out… There’s a count!
One! Two! Three!
JC: Wait! Was that a pinfall? Is the match over?
JR: Couldn’t have been! The bell didn’t ring!
FWWWWWWSSSSSSSSH!
Suddenly, in the darkness…
Only the glow of Game Girl’s attacks flashes, like watching Akuma brutalize an opponent with only his back glowing.
A strike.
A second.
A third.
Jenny’s silhouette jerks with each impact.
Then the lights snap back on.
Jenny Myst is knocked out cold, flat on her back, eyes unfocused.
Game Girl stands over her with her back to the hard camera.
And, like a glitch in reality, two letters appear above the ring for a split second:
K.O.
Game Girl turns, drops to her knees, utterly exhausted and into the cover, hooking both legs tight.
ONE!
TWO!!!
THREE!!!!!!!
WINNER - and NEW XTreme Champion- Game Girl!
The bell rings.
The crowd goes ballistic!
JC: SHE DID IT! GAME GIRL JUST BEAT JENNY MYST IN VOSTOK STATION!
JR: Did she, Jackie? I mean, the lights went out in the building. None of us could really see what happened. It was like Jenny got…
JC: Deleted?
XWF officials slide in, checking Jenny.
Game Girl sits up, chest heaving, hand over that old stab wound for a moment. Then she looks down at her robotic arm like it carried her through the storm.
She reaches for the official to receive the X-Treme championship…
But the official points up the ramp…
Game Girl turns toward the top of the ramp…
Where Jennie Nickles has the belt over her shoulder!
JC: …Wait, hold on… No! I’m receiving word that that three-count that happened while the lights were out… Jennie Nickles entered the ring and pinned Jenny Myst! To spare her from losing the X-Treme title!
JR: GENIUS MOVE by the Corporate Ministry! Game Girl wins the match but the belt stays among the freebirding Corporation! Fix that graphic, graphic man!
WINNER - and NEW XTreme Champion- Game Girl!
JC: …I hate this. I hate my life.
Game Girl stares up the ramp… clearly thinking this is ridiculous… The crowd rains down trash and voices their displeasure with expletives that make GG blush…
But the last image before the camera fades to black is Jennie lifting the belt up for the camera…
WINNER OF
TEAM OF THE YEAR
Sebastian Everett-Bryce and Isaiah King!
JC: Ladies and Gentlemen, the future of the XWF is at stake here tonight! We’ve got four VERY different competitors, who all arrived at this match by very different routes!
JR: But they all have one MAJOR thing in common, Jacuinde! They all want the top prize in wrestling more than they want life itself!
JC: But only one is walking out with the belt! And, folks, this is NOT one fall to a finish! The person who’s leaving this match with the Universal title around their waist is gonna have to be the last man standing!
JR: Fatal Fourway! Elimination match! Can the stakes get higher than this?!?
Bullet With a Name begins to blare over the loudspeakers as CHARLIE NICKLES makes his way down the ramp.. He flashes a shit-eating grin at the audience members as he stomps up the steel steps, eager to inflict pain!
JC: Here he is! Charlie Nickles! The self-proclaimed Corporate Champion! The man who turned the X-Treme title into this absurd freebird-style hot potato game!
JR: We’ve seen almost enough fingerpokes of doom the last few weeks to make a full hand!
JC: Which doesn’t make any fucking sense for how Freebird rules works!!! If all of them are champions, don’t ALL of them defend the belts? Why would they pin each other to change it between them?!?
JR: Solidarity, Jacuinde!
JC: That doesn’t make any sense! …Regardless, Charlie Nickles has not only utilized his resources before breaking off from the Corporation to thrust himself into this match… but last Warfare, he managed the unthinkable! A huge upset over the reigning Universal champion, Dickie Watson!
JR: Charlie’s most dangerous when he’s got momentum! When he’s in your head! He’s never been in better position for a win than tonight!
…
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: There he is! Scoops McGee! Captain of the 2025 Winning War Games Team! One of the most beloved legends in all of wrestling!
JR: And the guy who got handed this opportunity on a silver platter!
JC: Joe, that’s preposterous! The Trillionaires gave Scoops this opportunity… most likely to challenge the power and unity between their new Universal champion and his closest ally! But even on their terms, Scoops won this opportunity by captaining the winning War Games team!
JR: Oh, so he got this shot by getting carried to victory by Dickie Watson! Let’s talk facts, Jacuinde! Scoops has NEVER beaten Kieran King. Has NEVER beaten Dickie Watson. And since his debut match, losing to Charlie? He’s NEVER beaten Charlie Nickles! Scoops is winless against the other three men he’s sharing a ring with tonight. And he’s absolutely got no business in the main event!
JC: …Jeez, Joe, did Scoops park in your parking spot this morning? Either way, Scoops has pulled off some incredible wins this year! Including a dominant showing over House of the Psycho, where his team won by a three-wrestler margin! And he beat Sebastian Everett-Bryce, a former two-time Universal champion! Scoops McGee has always risen to the occasion when the moment calls for it! And tonight might be the culmination of a four-decade long journey… his first World Title reign in his lengthy, prestigious career!
Scoops 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 first, frenetic strums of Faith No More's "Gentle Art of Making Enemies" rips through the arena as strobes of gold and white cast across the stage and crowd. After several moments, and then a few more for good measure, Kieran King eventually saunters onto the stage, smugly mugging for the audience.
JC: King Kieran King! What a journey it’s been since he made his return to the XWF! TWO back-to-back wins at the King of the XWF tournament! And a Universal title win at Relentless over the white-hot Dolly Waters *and* the Corporate champion Charlie Nickles!
JR: It took TWENTY-THREE men to beat Kieran King at WarGames, Jacuinde! And he went through twenty-two, before that shameful opportunist, Dickie Watson tripped him at the finish line!
JC: …That take is completely divorced from reality, parroted straight from Kieran King’s mouth, Joe! First off, Kieran didn’t beat twenty-three men, because he didn’t have to beat *all* of his own teammates did he?
JR: Didn’t he?!?! Vamp sure tried to take him out at the end!
JC: Point two, Kieran didn’t have to beat any of the teams that were eliminated in the first round! Or any of the competitors that were eliminated off the winning teams! If you want to talk about beating the odds, Dickie had to overcome a 2-1 deficit against Kieran and Vamp to walk out with the Universal championship! And since then, Kieran has been on a mission! He signed Dolly Waters’s union contract and declared himself King, President, Treasurer, Secretary, and Vice President of the Wrestling Union! And he used that power to demand himself a rematch, which is what he’s gotten himself tonight! But can he pull it off? Can he take back what he claims is rightfully his? The XWF Universal championship belt?
In a flash, he sprints towards the ring and glides underneath the bottom rope - practically hovering off the mat. Keeping his momentum going, King darts towards the corner post and leaps towards the top. He crouches, and throws his arms up and back as if to backflip off the top... only to pull out at the last minute. He laughs at the crowd, mocking them as he settles in to some pre-fight stretches.
…
…
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.
"Do I love you? Or do I hate you?
Can I trust you without failing you?
Gonna tell you what the secret is...
You're number one on my DEATHLIST."
Whispered, the lyric doesn't rise above the crowd but cuts under it, precise and personal. The music drops out completely, not a fade, and not a glitch, just the same as the lights as they die out entirely. But then, detonation as the bass slams back in without warning, twisted and violent, louder than before. Strobe lights erupt in a manic wash of toxic green, casting sharp, flickering shadows across the sate. It's disorienting, like a spotlight wielded as a weapon. Motionless in that moment, Dickie Watson stands framed in light. No grand pose, no war cry, hair falling in his face and shoulders loose like man who doesn't need to prove he belongs here -- he already knows he does.
JC: Dickie Watson! The SOLE Survivor of WarGames 2025! And the current reigning XWF Universal champion!
JR: You’re bringing up ancient history, Jacuinde! As Kieran tells it, Dickie is the worst Universal champion of all-time! He and Scoops failed to beat Sebastian Everett-Bryce in a handicap match!
JC: No-contest due to interference!
JR: Then Dickie got pinned by Centurion on Anarchy! AND by Charlie Nickles on Warfare!
JC: …Hey, Joe. I just remembered. Didn’t the Trillionaires hire you? And aren’t the Trillionaires opposed to Kieran King? Why are you batting for Kieran so hard?
JR: I like winners, Jacuinde.
JC: Well, Dickie won the single most competitive War Games in XWF History! And it’s worth remembering that he lost a few matches after debuting in the XWF… but he persevered! He came back strong! He went on one of the most dominant runs as Television champion in XWF History! And he’s still climbing! No man might be more dangerous than Dickie Watson when he’s out to prove himself! And Dickie is looking to prove he’s worthy of that Universal championship around his waist by beating the three men that each have been poised to take it from him! Can he do it?
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 in between as his music fades.
…
The four men stand in the ring, spread to opposite corners like loaded weapons waiting on a spark.
Scoops McGee grips the top rope, rolling his left shoulder, eyes never leaving the Universal Championship as Dickie Watson hands it off to the official. Charlie Nickles paces in the corner opposite Scoops, cracking his neck side to side, knuckles taped, jaw clenched—eyeing Scoops intensely, like McGee’s a meal he can’t wait to sink his teeth into Across the ring, Dickie Watson crouches low, hands on his knees, breathing steady but eyes sharp, flicking from Scoops… to Charlie… and finally to Kieran King.
Kieran doesn’t bother with a stance. He leans back in his corner, arms draped over the ropes, a bored sneer plastered across his face… Like he’s the champion and not the challenger and this is all beneath him.
JC: Four men, four histories colliding… and only one of them can walk out with the Universal Championship. No alliances are official, no rules are kind, and elimination changes everything.
[white]JR: Phew… This is the kind of match where instincts matter more than plans. You overthink in there? Dickie Watson dismantles your plans before your eyes. You hesitate? Charlie Nickles eats you alive. You leap in too quick? Kieran King takes your FUCKING head off!
Straight for Scoops McGee, bull-rushing the oldest man in the match with a violent shoulder tackle that slams Scoops back into the turnbuckles! Charlie unloads instantly, forearms and body shots hammering into Scoops’ ribs, each blow fueled by muscle memory and malice.
JC: Nickles wasting no time! He remembers Scoops’ debut loss well, and he’s looking to repeat history!
JR: Charlie doesn’t see age or legacy—he sees bloody, delicious meat. And a big scoopful of Scoops is standing right in front of him.
Scoops grunts as a right hand snaps his head sideways—but the veteran fires back with a short, brutal left forearm. Then another. Then a third.
THWACK.
Charlie staggers half a step, more surprised than hurt.
THWACK.
The crowd pops as Scoops’ infamous forearm cracks across Charlie’s jaw!
JC: That CATTLE PROD still has plenty of juice in it!
JR: You can talk down Scoops’ dementia-addled brain and his on-its-last-legs heart… but that left forearm is still in mint condition somehow!
Across the ring, Dickie Watson and Kieran King circle each other.
No lock-up. No rush.
Just eyes.
Kieran scoffs, exhaling impatiently, his finger twirling through the air, demanding Dickie get on with it…
Dickie explodes forward, a low dropkick takes Kieran’s legs out from under him, followed by rapid-fire stomps to the chest. Dickie backs up and fires a running leg drop, popping right back to his feet as Kieran rolls to the apron, laughing even as he shakes it off.
JR: Dickie Watson starting fast on Kieran King—no patience, no hesitation!
JC: He has to. Kieran lives in your head if you let him. You give him space, he starts rewriting your reality.
Charlie sees the beatdown and disengages from Scoops, swinging wildly at Dickie from behind!
…But Dickie ducks and snaps off a wheelbarrow arm drag, sending Charlie rolling across the mat. Before Dickie can follow up, Kieran slingshots back into the ring—
SHOTGUN DROPKICK!
Dickie goes flying into the corner, crashing chest-first into the turnbuckles.
Kieran pops to his feet, pointing at Dickie and shouting something the cameras can’t quite catch.
JC: King right back in control—so fast you barely see it coming!
JR: And he doesn’t even look like he’s trying yet, Jacuinde! This isn’t even his final form!
Scoops charges in and levels Kieran with a shoulder tackle through the ropes, sending both men tumbling to the floor. Scoops lands hard on his side, but scrambles up first, grabbing Kieran by the back of the head and bouncing him face-first off the apron.
JC: Scoops McGee bringing the fight outside!
JR: That’s his wheelhouse. No finesse. Just pain and positioning.
Scoops starts pulling up the padding outside from the concrete…
But Kieran hits him with a kick to the ankle that sends Scoops down to his back!
JC: Timber! Kieran just chopped down that old redwood with one strike!
Back inside, Charlie Nickles is already up—and already hunting.
He grabs Dickie from behind and hurls him overhead with a snap suplex, then drops a heavy elbow across Dickie’s chest. Charlie hooks the head, grinding forearms into Dickie’s face, smiling as the champion winces.
JC: And here’s the chaos. Nickles beat Dickie Watson just one show ago—non-title, but that confidence carries over.
JR: Confidence? This is obsession. Charlie thinks the universe owes him that belt, and he’s gonna take payment in blood.
Dickie fights back to a knee, firing chops and a sudden enziguri that snaps Charlie’s head back. Dickie springs to the ropes—
But Kieran is already back inside.
LOW BLOW.
The referee shouts, but it’s chaos—no disqualification in an elimination match like this. Dickie collapses to the mat, clutching his midsection as Kieran shrugs innocently at the official.
JC: Kieran King with a blatant low blow!
JR: He told you—he doesn’t care. Winning clean doesn’t feel as good to him.
Kieran hauls Dickie up for a F UR HEAD—but Scoops slides back in and smashes Kieran with a chop block, breaking it up! Scoops stands between Kieran and Dickie for a moment… then looks down at the Universal Champion.
A beat.
The crowd buzzes.
Scoops offers a hand.
Dickie hesitates—then takes it.
As Scoops pulls him up, Charlie Nickles barrels in and wipes both men out with a double clothesline.
JC: This match is absolutely explosive! I feel like if I stop to take a breath, I’m going to miss calling two or three spots!
JR: Then don’t breathe, Jacuinde! Just keep calling!
In the pile-up of bodies around Nickles, Charlie reaches out to grasp Scoops by the scruff of his neck…
But Kieran kips up behind him!
Corkscrew kick!
…No! Charlie side-steps, dodging! Kieran hits the mat chest-first!
JC: Does Nickles have eyes in the back of his head?
JR: INSTINCTS, Jacuinde!
Charlie spins and, as Kieran tries to rise… he scoops Kieran off his feet…
A BIG SIDEWALK SLAM rattles the canvas!
Scoops McGee hauls himself up using the ropes, sweat already beading on his brow, chest rising a little heavier than before. Dickie Watson is on one knee beside him, jaw tight, eyes flicking toward Charlie Nickles as the lunatic brawler rises up off Kieran, seeing two more downed opponents he can chomp on like a vulture circling a carcass!
JR: Charlie Nickles is in total control right now!
Charlie charges both men, slowly rising to their feet!
…But as he surges forward, Scoops fires off…
A stiff kick to Charlie’s midsection doubling him over. Dickie surges in immediately, grabbing the wrist—
WHAM!
A SNAP DOUBLE KNEE GUTBUSTER drives Charlie down to the mat, the impact echoing through the arena. Scoops follows it up by falling into the cover with a heavy elbow drop across Charlie’s sternum…
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! Nickles forces the shoulder up!
JC: We see exactly what made the House of Hardcore so dangerous at War Games, Joe! Scoops and Dickie are absolutely deadly when aligned toward the same end!
JR: You’re overstating it, Jacuinde! These two aren’t aligned! There’s no eye contact, no celebration! This isn’t about comradery! This is a means to an end!
Charlie snarls as he rolls onto his side, clutching his ribs, spitting curses as he crawls toward the ropes.
Scoops tries to strike while the iron is hot (or some other such folksy, old-time idiom…)
But from behind, Kieran King strikes with a sharp kick to Scoops’ lower back dropping the veteran to a knee!
Before Scoops even knows what hit him the first time, Kieran follows with a rapid-fire buzzsaw kick that snaps Scoops’ head sideways, sending him sprawling!
JC: King blindsiding Scoops!
JR: He’s hunting moments, not people. The second Scoops turned his back, that was it.
Kieran grabs Scoops by the hair, lining up another strike—
—but Dickie Watson is there! A springing forearm smashes into Kieran’s jaw, forcing him back.
Dickie steps between them, shoulders squared, eyes locked on King.
JC: I think maybe YOU understated it, Joe! For all intents and purposes, it looks like Dickie Watson has Scoops’ back!/white]
Kieran surges forward, with a spinning backfist!
But Dickie ducks!
Hooks the arm.
Twists—
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
The crowd erupts as Dickie hauls Kieran up for the modified lifting reverse STO—
[white]JC: No way! Dickie’s going for the killshot early!
—but Kieran bucks violently, breaking the grip mid-lift! He shoves Dickie away with both hands, sending the champion stumbling back into the ropes.
JC: King slipping out of Dickie’s Revenge!
JR: That’s ring IQ. He knows exactly when to panic… No, disregard that! Not even panic! When to take control!
Scoops charges in, teeth clenched, arm cocked—
CATTLE PROD!
The short-arm left forearm comes screaming in—
—but Kieran sidesteps it at the last possible second, the strike slicing through empty air.
THUD.
A sharp kick buries itself into Scoops’ ribs, stealing the veteran’s breath in an instant. Kieran immediately drops low, sliding under the bottom rope and tumbling to the floor.
JC: King escapes again![//white]
Scoops staggers to the ropes, glaring down at Kieran. Dickie joins him, pointing, jawing, daring the former champion to bring it back inside.
Kieran backs up slowly, nostrils flaring, rage simmering behind his eyes.
And then—
Charlie Nickles rolls out under the bottom rope on the opposite side of the ring.
He drags himself upright, one arm wrapped around his ribs… and looks straight at Kieran.
Charlie spreads his hands.
A truce.
The crowd murmurs.
[white]JC: Oh no…
JR: That’s dangerous. That’s really dangerous.
Charlie nods toward the ring—toward Scoops and Dickie, standing shoulder to shoulder.
Charlie points at Dickie and Scoops… and then draws two fingers between he and Kieran… as if saying, we take them out first… THEN, it’s you and I.
JC: The former Corporate champion trying to work out an arrangement with the CURRENT Union President!
JR: Union King! Get his title right, Jacuinde!
JC: He has like SEVEN titles with the Union, Joe!
Kieran stares at Nickles, with palpable contempt… like he’s been approached by a lesser life form… like a used car salesman…
…
Then he looks back into the ring.
At Dickie.
At Scoops.
At the Universal Championship glinting under the lights.
Kieran exhales sharply.
Shrugs.
JC: I don’t think Kieran likes this…
JR: He hates it. But he hates losing more.
The two men slide back into the ring from opposite sides.
And immediately—chaos.
Kieran and Dickie collide in the center with a flurry of strikes, kicks and counters flying too fast to track. Dickie fires an enziguri—Kieran ducks and answers with a Pele kick that glances off the shoulder.
In the corner, Charlie barrels into Scoops, driving him back with body shots and a crushing big boot that rattles the turnbuckles.
JC: We’ve split into two wars here!
JR: And every one of them is personal.
Scoops McGee and Charlie Nickles collide near the corner, neither man giving an inch.
Scoops fires first—straight-arm punches, old-school and heavy, snapping Charlie’s head back again and again. No wasted motion. Just stiff, deliberate strikes, each one backed by decades of anger and grit.
THWACK.
THWACK.
Charlie stumbles back a step, blinking hard.
JC: Scoops finding his rhythm here—those punches are doing damage!
JR: You don’t survive this long without knowing how to hurt somebody efficiently.
JC: But Charlie Nickles doesn’t trade pain equally. He escalates it! Always upping the ante![/white]
Charlie lunges forward, raking his fingers across Scoops’ face—then sinks his teeth into Scoops’ forehead, biting down hard as Scoops roars in pain! The referee shouts, but Charlie just growls through clenched teeth, forcing Scoops backward into the turnbuckles.
JC: Oh come on! He’s biting him!
JR: No disqualifications, Jacuinde! The only way to send a man out of this match is by pinfall or submission!
Charlie hauls Scoops out of the corner and slams him hard to the canvas. He immediately drops his weight across Scoops’ chest, cinching in a mounted side headlock—his arm clamped tight around Scoops’ skull.
And then—
Charlie bites down again.
Right into the crown of Scoops’ head.
Scoops thrashes, fists pounding against Charlie’s side, but Nickles just grinds his forearm tighter, teeth clenched, eyes wild.
JC: This is barbaric! Scoops is trapped under Charlie Nickles!
JR: That’s a submission and a mauling at the same time. Charlie’s trying to break him mentally as much as physically.
Across the ring, the tempo couldn’t be more different.
Dickie Watson and Kieran King are locked in a fluid, seamless exchange—arm drags, wrist control, reversals flowing one into the next. Neither man rushes. Neither man panics. Every movement is measured, every counter immediate.
JC: This is a chess match between Watson and King.
JR: Yeah, but it’s speed chess. One mistake and it’s over.
Dickie ducks a lariat, rolls through, and twists Kieran’s arm at an angle that forces him down to one knee. Dickie steps through, extending the limb further—isolating it just enough.
Kieran’s jaw tightens.
Dickie reaches to secure the hammerlock—
—and Kieran’s ankle snaps upward.
CRACK.
A brutal low blow catches Dickie flush.
Dickie gasps, folding instinctively, shock flashing across his face.
JC: Oh no—King with another shot south of the border!
JR: He warned everyone. He does not care how he wins.
Kieran doesn’t hesitate.
He hooks Dickie—
Lifts—
F UR HEAD!
Dickie’s skull smacks the mat with a sickening thud, his body going limp on impact.
The crowd recoils.
JC: F UR HEAD! Dickie Watson planted hard!
JR: That’s the kind of landing that rattles your vision instantly.
The moment Dickie hits—
Charlie Nickles releases Scoops like discarded meat.
He scrambles to his feet, eyes locking onto the fallen champion.
Charlie dives.
Cover.
The referee drops—
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-NO!
Dickie throws a shoulder up at the last possible heartbeat.
The crowd explodes.
JC: Dickie Watson stays alive! How the hell did Dickie manage to find the will to kick out?!?
JR: And how much longer can the champ be expected to go on after getting dropped on his head like that!
Kieran rises slowly, looming over the scene, eyes narrowed at Charlie. Suspicion etched across his face.
…Charlie shoots him a wild look, breathing hard.
JC: Little dissension between this uneasy alliance… I think Kieran can tell Charlie’s picking his moments… and how long before Charlie gets a moment where he thinks he can strike on Kieran!
JR: Don’t be ridiculous, Jacuinde! Charlie’s just trying to help Kieran out! He was LIGHTNING QUICK going for the pin! Eliminations don’t make a winner here, only surviving to the end does that!
As the two stare down… just before the moment of conflict passes!
Scoops explodes off the mat like a man possessed.
He charges—
DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE!
Both Kieran and Charlie flip inside out, crashing to the canvas as Scoops stands over them, chest heaving, blood on his forehead, eyes blazing.
JC: SCOOPS MCGEE JUST TOOK THEM BOTH DOWN!
Scoops McGee drags himself upright, blood smeared across his forehead, breath coming hard. He reaches down, gripping Charlie Nickles by the head and hauling him up with a guttural roar.
Scoops muscles Charlie in—
THE BIG SCO—
NO!
Kieran King explodes into the frame.
A sharp JAW BREAKER snaps Scoops’ head back, sending the veteran reeling into the ropes!
JR: King saving Charlie at the last possible second!
JR: I can’t imagine saving Charlie was King’s objective… he saw an opening to attack Scoops and took it!
Scoops stumbles forward—
Kieran snatches him into a front facelock and rips him skyward—
VERTICAL SUPLEX!
Scoops crashes flat on his back, clutching his ribs as the ring shudders.
The moment Scoops’s back hits the mat, Charlie scrambles off the mat and dives on top of McGee!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-KICKOUT!
JC: Scoops stays alive!
JR: Barely! That spine is screaming right now.
Charlie snarls, grabbing Scoops by the hair and dragging him upright.
Nickles barks at Kieran to come help him pound McGee…
Kieran’s jaw tightens. Disgust flashes across his face—but he steps in anyway.
They grab Scoops by the arms.
Irish whip—
Scoops rebounds—
TANDEM BACK BODY DROP!
Scoops crashes down hard, immediately clutching his lower back, legs curling toward his chest in agony.
JC: That landing was brutal! Scoops may have just been folded in half!
JR: Teamwork! Nickles and King are in there working like a well-oiled machine!
Charlie slaps Kieran hard on the chest.
YEAH!
Kieran glares at him like he might commit a felony.
He turns—
Eyes on Scoops.
Ready to finish him.
He scoops Scoops off the m-
WHAM!
From one knee, Charlie Nickles drives his right bicep straight up between the King’s crown jewels!
JC: LOW BLOW BY CHARLIE!
JR: NOOOOOOO! THE END OF AN ERA!
JC: They worked together for a few minutes, Joe!
JR: Leave the memories alone!
Kieran folds instantly, face contorting in shock and rage.
Charlie spins him—
Hooks both arms—
DEVIL HOOK DRO—
NO!
Kieran clamps his arms down, refusing to let Charlie lock the double arm!
Charlie snarls, forced to adjust—
DDT!
Kieran’s skull spikes into the mat!
Charlie rolls him over, hooking the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-KICKOUT!
JC: King survives!
JR: But Charlie has his head on straight! He knows his best odds at lasting to the end involve knocking some of these other fools out QUICK!
Charlie drags Kieran up—
But suddenly—
WHAM!
A spinning backfist from Dickie Watson cracks across Charlie’s jaw!
Then another!
Then a rapid-fire kick-kick-kick barrage!
JC: Dickie Watson unloading on Charlie Nickles!
JR: Revenge for last week!
Dickie drives Charlie into the corner and charges—
But Charlie surges forward and launches Dickie with a flapjack straight into the turnbuckles!
Dickie collapses awkwardly, shaking his head, trying to clear the fog—
Charlie boots him hard in the gut.
The crowd roars.
JC: Oh my God… not again.
JR: Charlie beat him once—if he does it again, that’s psychological damage.
Charlie hooks Dickie, arms behind his back, looking for the…
DEVIL HOOK DROP!
…NO! STEP-UP ENZIGURI!
Kieran King flies in from the side, smashing his boot into Charlie’s head!
Charlie staggers, releasing Dickie, spinning—
STRAIGHT INTO A BOOT FROM SCOOPS MCGEE!
The impact echoes.
Scoops doesn’t hesitate.
He scoops Charlie up—
THE BIG SCOOP!
SCOOP SLAM PILEDRIVER!
The ring shakes violently as Charlie Nickles is driven head-first into the canvas.
Scoops collapses into the cover, draping himself across Charlie’s chest.
The referee drops.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Eliminated: Charlie Nickles
JC: CHARLIE NICKLES IS ELIMINATED! Nickles tried to play everybody—and it finally caught up to him!
As Nickles gets shoved under the bottom rope by the official, Scoops rotates his shoulder, stretching it out…
Wham! Basement sliding dropkick by Kieran King, catches Scoops in the back! The old man scrambles rolls forward, landing face first on the mat hard!
JC: No time for any of these competitors to celebrate! The match rolls on!
Scoops scrambles up on his feet, looking woozy… but Kieran comes behind him… looking for a schoolboy!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-NO! Scoops forces a shoulder up!
JC: Kieran got rid of that snake Nickles, but he’s back to his old problem! A two-on-one against the House of Hardcore!
JR: And he’s gotta work fast before the numbers game catches up to him!
Before Scoops can even rise back up to a vertical base, Kieran blitzes Scoops with a mount, before laying rapid-fire fists down on him! Scoops falls on his back!
But Dickie comes in with a running knee, catching Kieran in the face!
JC: Here comes Watson!
Kieran looks dazed and confused from the mat, as Watson peels him upright…
A vicious NECKBREAKER lays King low!
JC: DIckie’s style isn’t pretty, but it is so effective! Built around dismantling his opponent like a mechanic taking a machine apart!
Watson covers King!
ONE!
TWO!
THRE-NO! King forces a shoulder up!
JR: Incredible stamina and wherewithal by King! Staying in this one through sheer force of will!
JC: But how long can that last, Joe!?!
Scoops starts to shake his head, peeling himself back upright…
As Dickie peels King off the mat… he hooks his grip around King’s front, looking for a…
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
…But another wild elbow to the side of the head drives Dickie staggering backward!
JR: You can’t put Kieran King down!
Dickie almost drops to a knee, Kieran sizes up a…
BUZZSAW KICK!
…
That sails over Dickie’s head! Kieran spins, giving his back to Dickie… and Scoops!
They both, like clockwork, heave him up!
TANDEM BACK SUPLEX!
JR: What the hell is going on here?!?
JC: I think Scoops and Dickie just put Kieran King down!
Kieran shakes off cobwebs from the mat as Dickie and Scoops look at each other, both recognizing this is their prime opportunity…
Scoops lifts Kieran up by the back of his neck as Dickie gets in prime position in the center of the ring!
JR: This is not right! It’s supposed to be every man for himself!
JC: Right! And these two men have decided to go in for themselves by taking out Kieran King!
Scoops shoves Kieran back against the ropes… before SLINGSHOTTING Kieran toward Dickie!
Dickie goes to catch Kieran across the throat!
…DICKIE’S REV-
…
No! Kieran goes low, slipping between Dickie’s legs!
JR: No one shows more fight than King Kieran!
Dickie spins around after getting nutmegged as Kieran kips to his feet!
Scoops spins around…
As Kieran dropkicks Dickie! And pinballs him backwards into Scoops!
JC: Oh dear! That’s exactly how SEB stayed alive against the House of Hardcore! Knocking one competitor into the other!
Dickie shakes his head, as Scoops staggers backwards into the corner… Kieran springs into action, looking for a grapple on Dickie…
But Dickie catches him with a kick to the ribs!
JC: Dickie and Kieran jockeying for control, each eager for the other to make the slightest mis-step…
Kieran doubles over, clearly winded… Dickie sizes Kieran up, hooking his arm across Kieran’s chest for a…
DICKIE’S REV-
…No! Kieran jams his thumb in Dickie’s eye! Kieran goes to shove Dickie by the face towards the ropes!
As Scoops storms across the ring! Big boot catches Kieran in the face, driving him back into the corner!
JC: The House of Hardcore is covering any holes in its defense! Incredible work!
Scoops goes to the ropes where Dickie is leaning, rubbing his eye… Scoops grasps Dickie’s arm, checking on him…
When Dickie bursts off the ropes, grabbing Scoops across the chest!
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
JC: Oh no! Dickie couldn’t see and just took out Scoops!
JR: Couldn’t see! I think Dickie could see an opportunity knocking! Scoops took his eye of the ball and now he’s as good as out!
Dickie rubs his eyes about to go for the cov-
…He sees who he just took out and hesitates! He presses his hands against his face…
JC: Dickie not going for the cover here! I think that shoots your theory in the foot, Joe!
Dickie goes to press himself up off the mat… when Kieran shoves himself off the turnbuckle!
He grapples Watson into a front facelock!
F UR HEAD!
…
NO! This time, Watson drops off the back!
And goes for the rollup on Kieran!
ONE!
TWO!
THR-Kieran kicks out!
Kieran rolls back onto his feet, going for a dropkick!
But Dickie swats, blocking the kick… Kieran falls facedown to the mat!
JC: Yet another brilliant counter from Watson! He might have Kieran’s number!
JR: NO ONE HAS KIERAN KING’S NUMBER!
Kieran quickly tries to shove off the mat, rising up to his feet… Meanwhile, Scoops slowly pushes himself back up right…
Dickie catches Kieran across the chest!
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
Kieran gets planted on his shoulders on the mat!
JC: YES! YES! Dickie hit it!
Dickie hooks Kieran’s leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOO! KIERAN KING KICKS OUT!
JR: SWEET RELIEF!
Kieran cradles his gut, rolling into the ropes to buy himself some time sparing him from further offense!
Dickie stands up, laser-focused on finishing this! He moves across the ring!
…But Scoops intercepts him with a boot to the stomach!
JC: What?!? No! I think Scoops thought Dickie hit him intentionally with that Dickie’s Revenge
JR: I still maintain he did!!
Dickie doubles over and Scoops tears off…
THE BIG SCOOP!
Dickie gets CRUSHED against the mat! Scoops hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Eliminated: Dickie Watson
JR: NO WAY! The Universal champion has been eliminated!
JC: Scoops went into this match without a pinfall on his record against Nickles or Watson! And thus far, he’s pinned both! Could you imagine if he gets all three eliminations tonight!?!
Scoops McGee rolls off Dickie Watson, disbelief etched across his face as the referee signals the elimination. The crowd is losing its mind—half roaring, half stunned into silence.
Scoops pushes to his knees, chest heaving, staring at his hands like he doesn’t quite trust what they’ve just done.
Across the ring…
Kieran King is already standing.
Hands on hips. Jaw tight. Eyes narrowed.
JC: It’s down to two.
JR: More like one and a half! Kieran has this in the bag! King’s had Scoops number ever since last year’s Ides of March tournament!
JC: It’s been FOUR DECADES PLUS of Scoops hunting his first ever world title! And he’s never been closer than this moment! But he’s got the BIGGEST challenge in all of the XWF that he’s gotta counter to make it happen!
Scoops pulls himself upright, using the ropes. He turns—
Kieran charges, driving a shotgun dropkick straight into Scoops’ chest!
Scoops slams into the corner, arms draped over the ropes as Kieran unloads—
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Kick.
Scoops drops to a seated position—
RUNNING KNEE TO THE FACE!
JC: King is pouring it on now!
JR: This is where experience stops mattering and survival takes over.
Kieran drags Scoops out of the corner and snaps on a front facelock, lifting—
F UR HEAD!
Brainbuster!
JR: BALLGAME! WINNER AND NEW UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! KIERAN KING!
Scoops hits hard.
Kieran covers immediately.
ONE!
TWO!
THREEE—NO!
Scoops KICKS OUT!
The arena erupts.
JC: SCOOPS STAYS ALIVE! AS DOES HIS DREAM OF BECOMING UNIVERSAL CHAMPION!
JR: You’ve gotta be kidding me!
Kieran sits back on his heels, eyes wide—not panic, but annoyance. He drags Scoops up again, jaw clenched, muttering something under his breath.
Another facelock—
Another lift—
Scoops twists in midair—
LANDS ON HIS FEET!
Scoops surges forward—
BIG LARIAT!
Both men down.
JR: How is Scoops McGee still moving?! Shouldn’t he be hitting his Life Alert?!?
JC: Scoops McGee feels it! He feels this capacity crowd, willing him to victory!
Both men exhaustedly crawl across the mat as the chants starts…
SCOOPS! SCOOPS! SCOOPS! SCOOPS!
Scoops is up first. He pulls Kieran up by the hair, muscles him in…
But Kieran wraps his arms around Scoops’ neck!
UGLY ON THE OUTSIDE…
…But Scoops keeps Kieran in the air, not letting King pull his head down!
JC: We saw this when Scoops fought SEB! When he wants a win, McGee is almost IMPOSSIBLE to keep down!
Scoops propels Kieran through the air… Raising his knee! Catching Kieran square in the skull!
Kieran’s head reels backward!
As Scoops scoops King off his feet, staggering backwards toward the ropes behind him, as Scoops wrangles King into his arms…
THE BIG SCOOP!
The ring SHAKES!
THE CROWD ERUPTS!
JR: NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
JC: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
Scoops hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
…
……
BUT KIERAN’S FOOT IS ON THE ROPES!
JR: OH THANK GOD!
JC: DAMMIT!
JR: Hey, Jacuinde! Remember not to take sides, we’re journalists…
Scoops wipes sweat and blood from his face and drags Kieran upright again…
He goes for it again—
Kieran suddenly drops his weight, ramming a knee up—
LOW BLOW!
The referee doesn’t see it.
Scoops freezes… then crumples.
JC: Oh come on!
JR: Veteran move. DIRTY veteran move.
Kieran exhales sharply, steadying himself, then snaps to life.
He grabs Scoops—
UGLY ON THE OUTSIDE!
CODEBREAKER!
Scoops’ head snaps forward violently as he collapses to the mat.
Kieran sprawls into the cover, hooking both legs.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Winner and NEW Universal Champion: Kieran King
JR: YES! YES! Good things **do** happen to good people!
JC: …Scoops McGee came about close as someone can to scoring the win! Two eliminations… but tonight…
JR: THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! THE KING OF THE KING OF THE XWFS! KIERAN KING BABY!
Head held high, King stands alone in the ring. The official hands over the Universal Championship, for the third time to the King of the XWF, the union, and allegedly the universe, Kieran King.
The crowd responds. A lot boo. Some cheer. But most of all they respond.
So too does the universe.
King looks out at the crowd with a smug smile across his face.
When suddenly, the X-Tron burst to life!
Rapidly, the image hurls towards a door that bursts open with a gust of icy wind!
The wind wooshes about Vostok Station taking every light out, including those surrounding the ring. The only light left comes from the glowing orb in the sky that lights up the neverending Antarctic summer day.
A solar flare erupts from the sun.
Primordial energy hurtles out across the solar system.
In much less than 8 and a half minutes, it finds its target.
The bottom of the world catches fire as the icy wind is choked out by a wall of fire that erupts at ringside, sealing off the entrance ramp.
Head held a little less high, Kieran King stands alone in the ring.
And from the fire…
ALIAS.
Kieran’s eyes widen.
The wall of flame prevents his Kingsguard from reaching him.
And the combined scars that Scoops, Charlie, and Dickie have left on him prevent him from fighting back.
ALIAS slides into the ring.
And shoves The Hand of God down Kieran’s throat.
Kieran flails.
Kieran falters.
Kieran… falls.
ALIAS drives him down into the mat. Kieran feels like he’s been driven even further—beyond the mat and into the fire.
Kieran’s eyes glaze over as the fire subsides.
The lights return and as quick as he arrived, ALIAS vanishes.
And head as low as it can be, Kieran King is left alone in the ring… the Universal Championship not even in his hands.
AND FINALLY…
WINNER OF
WRESTLER OF THE YEAR
Kieran King!
Thank you all for all your hard work in 2025!
Let’s see the action never slow down in 2026!
THANKS TO OUR MATCH WRITERS
PETER PRINCIPLE
'BASHMASTER' BARRY MASTERSON
'BIG' DICK LICHTER
ATTICUS GOLD
JETT STERLING
OUR SEGMENT WRITERS
KIERAN KING
AMARA VALE
SEBASTIAN EVERETT-BRYCE AND ISAIAH KING
It hurt. To know that you could come so close, to taste the moment in the air, and know that you could still fall so far. In a way, it was like Sisyphus.
Scoops McGee staggered his way backstage, blood dripping from his visage, sweat and scars staining him alike. Referees and doctors hounded him, trying to help him along as he scowled back at them.
"Get off'a me," Scoops grunted as he trudged through the halls, shoving them aside. The group jostled against each other, until finally, he succeeded in earning himself a moment of peace and quiet.
Scoops sighed, plopping himself down on one of the many boxes backstage, grabbing a damp towel and pressing it to his head. Thoughts blurred around his skull like bullets, each one bringing forward a new headache. Then, without warning, a pair of footsteps echoed within the hall to snap him back to his senses.
"I told you, I don't need any goddamn help-" Scoops' voice died as he saw just who was the cause of the noise. Noah Larson stared back at him, the lens of the camera in his hands trained on him.
"Hey."
"Hey yerself."
Noah trudged his way besides Scoops, sitting down next to him as he placed the camera on the other side of the hallway, the machine taking in the silence and weight of the moment as the two said nothing for a moment.
Scoops was the first to break the silence.
"I screwed up," he admitted. "Shitty little old man pride got in the way one more time. I'm the reason that bullshit turned out the way it did. If I had an extra brain cell or two, ole' Kiki wouldn't have gotten out of that match with the win. I just..."
His eyes couldn't meet his cameraman's - no, his friend's gaze. "I thought I could do it."
Noah continued to let the silence hang in the air, before a quiet admittance came from him. "I thought you did great out there."
Scoops looked back, raising an eyebrow at Noah. He took it in stride, continuing.
"Sure, it might not have gone the way you thought it would. Sure, the wrong man won. But look at it like this. Almost everyone wrote you off in that match. You were the guy in his mid-sixties fighting for one last chance at glory. You went into there without having a single win against all three men, but when the chips came down, you were also the guy who got three-counts against every single one of them."
"They knew they made a mistake doubting you. And for what it's worth? I know you'll be back there someday."
Scoops heaved a ragged deep breath, his eyes now shifting to the floor. "I'll keep fighting," he agreed. "All of life is just a fight, anyways. I started last year trying to get any kind of gold around my waist, I come into this year at damn near the tippy-top. This year, I say I finish the journey. Somehow. Someway."
"Until that comes, though, I'll just enjoy whatever life throws at me. Because I'm gonna live free and cherish the moments I do get while helping others enjoy it."
Noah's grin grew wider, and even Scoops had to hide his own smile as he hopped off the box. "Now c'mon. Let's go grab Paige and get off this stinkin' icebox."
"I'm with you always, Scoops." Noah's energy could hardly be contained as he grabbed the camera, following behind his hero.
"I know you are. And... Noah?" Scoops looked back over his shoulder one last time, unable to hide that smile for any longer. "Thank you. For everything."
The following 2 users Like Scoops McGee's post:2 users Like Scoops McGee's post Dolly Waters (Yesterday), Peter Principle (Today)
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