The broadcast opens with a hard cut from the SCW logo to a sweeping aerial shot of downtown Phoenix at night, the skyline glowing in desert hues. The camera swoops down toward the bright, pulsing beacon of the Global Credit Union Arena, spotlights crisscrossing the sky as the last of the fans file in through glass doors.
Multi-colored LEDs flash along the massive stage truss, strobes pulse in rhythm with the pounding opening theme of Climax Control. The entrance stage is framed by two towering video walls looping highlight reels of SCW chaos: suplexes, title celebrations, steel chair shots, and pyros exploding in glorious slow motion.
Rows of fans in replica title belts and glittery homemade merch scream at the lens as it whips by. A group of locals in Phoenix Suns jerseys hold up a long banner that reads “WELCOME TO THE HEAT, SCW”!
The hard camera settles on the six-sided ring. In the middle of it all, standing like he owns the place, is ring announcer Justin Decent. He wears a perfectly tailored black velvet blazer, the lapels trimmed in a deep, royal purple. Underneath, a fitted, sleeveless black silk top that clings to his torso and leaves his sculpted arms and defined shoulders completely bare. His trousers are a sharp charcoal gray, hugging his frame just enough, paired with polished black boots.
He turns slowly in a circle, letting the Phoenix crowd drink him in, one hand resting on his hip while the other brings the mic to his lips.
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Sin City Wrestling Climax Control!
The crowd erupts! He paces to the ropes nearest the hard cam, free hand sweeping out toward the sea of fans.
Justin: We are live from the blazing heart of Arizona, right here in the Global Credit Union Arena in Phoenix!
The crowd cheers!
Justin: Every single one of you here tonight, and everyone watching at home around the world! You are in for one hell of a ride, because Sin City Wrestling is bringing the heat to the Valley of the Sun!
The crowd pops again, a whistle of appreciation rising from the cheap seats!
Justin: So without further ado, Phoenix, are you ready?
The noise jumps from loud to deafening! Fans wave their arms, stomp their feet against the concrete, the vibration humming through the arena floor! The camera cuts to a family in the third row, a dad and his two kids, all three screaming and nodding like mad!
Justin: I said! Phoenix, Arizona! Are you ready for Climax Control!?
The response rattles the rafters! Even the stage truss seems to quiver. A few fans in the front row start a brief, ragged SCW! SCW! SCW! chant before the rest of the building joins in, stomping and clapping along!
Crowd: SCW! SCW! SCW!
Justin spreads his arms wide, taking in the noise, then pivots to face the stage, his voice booming with practiced showman flair.
Justin: Then please welcome the Hostess with the Mostess! The queen of camp herself! Miss Amanda Hugginkiss!
The arena lights instantly snap down to a sultry, dimmed wash of pink and purple. The video wall bursts to life with glittery graphics: A M A N D A spelled out in shimmering letters that seem to dance across the screens, framed by neon lips and stylized feathers. A brassy, upbeat show tune-meets-club remix hits the sound system, heavy on horns and thumping bass.
Amanda Hugginkiss steps through the haze and onto the stage to a thunderous cheer!
Amanda wears a floor-length, sequined gown in a dazzling hot-pink ombre that fades to shimmering gold at the hem and her heels are towering stilettos, metallic gold with ankle straps that glitter as she walks.
She stops at the center of the stage, one hand on her hip, the other raised to the crowd as she basks in the reaction. The camera zooms in to catch her smirk as she mouths a silent little mwah, blowing a kiss out toward the Phoenix faithful before being handed a mic from the stagehand just out of frame.
Amanda: Phoenix, Arizona! Oh honey, if I knew it was this hot in the desert, I would have worn something with air conditioning built in!
The fans howl with laughter and cheers, some whistling loudly. She fans herself dramatically with her free hand, feathers of the cape fluttering.
Amanda: You gorgeous people look absolutely fabulous tonight. I see sequins, I see leather, I see more cleavage in the first three rows than in most of my wardrobe, and that is saying something!
She squints playfully toward the ringside area, the camera following her gaze and zooming in on a man in a tank top who is clearly losing his mind on live TV, waving a foam finger and a homemade AMANDA 4 PRESIDENT sign.
Amanda: And you, sweetheart, right there with the tank top and the optimism! You are definitely not skipping arm day, are you? If those biceps get any bigger, security’s going to charge you for taking up a whole extra seat!
The crowd cracks up, the man covering his face with his sign, half-embarrassed and half-delighted as his friends smack him on the shoulder and point up at the big screen where his mortified grin is on full display.
Amanda sweeps her gaze across the arena again, her eyes landing on another target. The camera cuts to a woman a few rows up, shimmering in a very sparkly, very short dress, shrieking with excitement and waving an SCW LADIES NIGHT sign.
Amanda: And look at you, my desert disco ball. If you spin around too fast, the entire arena is going to have to put on sunglasses. I love it! Fashion and public safety hazards all in one! Now that’s commitment!
The woman bursts into laughter, doing a little twirl to the delight of the nearby fans as her dress throws tiny flashes of light everywhere. The crowd eats it up, clapping and cheering.
Amanda: Phoenix, this is exactly why I love coming here. You’re loud, you’re wild, you’re beautiful, and you are ready for trouble. And trust me, tonight, Sin City Wrestling has plenty of that to go around.
She pauses, tilting her head with a mischievous grin as the screen behind her briefly flashes images of several roster members.
Amanda: Speaking of trouble, have you all met our brand new addition yet? The one who’s been raising pulses and lowering inhibitions in one smooth body roll?
The crowd buzzes at the obvious reference.
Amanda: Oh yes, I’m talking about Cirian Doyle. And let me tell you something, darlings! When SCW said we were signing a legit male exotic dancer to the roster, I thought they meant for my dressing room!
The arena erupts in laughter, a few wooos echoing from the upper decks. Amanda arches a brow and gives the camera a slow, appreciative once-over gaze, like she’s picturing something delicious.
Amanda: But as much as I would love to stand here all night talking about talent and watching you all blush, we have a show to get started. Because tonight, Phoenix, the wrestlers are ready, the stakes are high, and the drama is about to get bigger than my hair on a humid day.
She steps forward to the very edge of the stage, spotlight tightening around her, the arena lights dimming behind the hard cam to make her the sole focus.
Amanda: So, my lovely people of Phoenix, Arizona, it is time to begin this edition of Sin City Wrestling’s Climax Control properly!
She spreads her arms wide, sequins and feathers flaring, a dazzling grin on her face.
Amanda: With a song!
The piano tune begins to play and the opening performance of SCW Climax Control officially begins! Amanda: Beat drops, lights pop, I’m the bird on top The final notes of Amanda’s Thanksgiving anthem hang in the air like glitter, the last big belt ringing off the rafters as the music hits a triumphant button. The entire Global Credit Union Arena is on its feet, a wall of sound crashing back at the stage. Fans cheer, whistle, and clap in thunderous appreciation, some waving their phones with the flashlights on, others fanning themselves dramatically like they’ve just witnessed a holy event.
Spotlights converge on Amanda at center stage, feathers and sequins shimmering under the bright wash as she takes a deep, theatrical breath and sweeps into a low, elegant curtsy. She rises with a flourish, strutting forward to the lip of the stage. The cameras push in tight as she blows exaggerated, glamorous kisses out to every side of the arena.
Amanda pats her own heart, mouthing a silent thank you. Then, with the music easing into a soft outro, she turns, letting the feathered cape fan out behind her, and makes her way gracefully back toward the curtains and vanishes backstage.
The camera cuts cleanly from the stage to the ringside area, zooming in on the SCW broadcast booth beside the ramp. The familiar desk is branded with the Sin City Wrestling and Climax Control logos. Seated at the desk are Belinda Simone and Erik Lunam, headsets on, monitors in front of them, both dressed sharply for the night’s broadcast. Simone wears a fitted, deep burgundy blazer over a black top with a subtle shimmer, her hair perfectly styled. Lunam sports a dark navy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, a slim black tie loosened just enough to fit his easygoing vibe, and his hair a little tousled, as if he just ran a hand through it on the way on air. Simone: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Phoenix, Arizona and welcome to Sin City Wrestling’s Climax Control! We are live from the Global Credit Union Arena where this Phoenix crowd is more than ready for a night of SCW action. Lunam leans in, grinning, his Irish lilt warm and playful as the camera shifts to include both of them in the shot. Lunam: Aye, they’re not just ready, Belinda, they’re buzzin’ out o’ their skins, so they are. Phoenix has turned out in force tonight, an’ we’re delighted ta have ye all with us here in the arena and watchin’ all over the world! Simone: It is Thanksgiving week here in the United States, and from all of us in Sin City Wrestling, we want to wish each and every one of you a very Happy Thanksgiving. Whether you’re with family, friends, or your own version of a wrestling family, thank you for spending part of your holiday week with us! Lunam: That’s right, and what better way ta kick off the holidays than with a bit o’ chaos between the ropes? Tonight, Belinda, we’re doin’ more than just celebratin’ the season. We’re takin’ the first big step on the Road to Inception the Eighth. We begin that journey tonight with a six match lineup that’s gonna set the tone for everything to come! Simone: We are kicking things off in a huge way tonight with our opening contest as third generation star Brayden Hilton, the son of reigning Bombshell Champion Crystal Caldwell, makes his return to Sin City Wrestling after three long years away, and he’s not easing back into the ring either, because he’s going one-on-one with the newest sensation on the roster, the male exotic dancer everyone’s talking about, Ciarán Doyle, and we are going to find out very quickly if Brayden can shake off the ring rust or if Ciarán is about to steal the spotlight in his Climax Control debut! Lunam: An’ then, Belinda, we’ve got somethin’ that’s pure SCW magic, so we do, because the former World Heavyweight Champion Frankie Holliday is steppin’ back into the ring, lookin’ ta remind everybody exactly why his name still sends a chill down a few spines, and standin’ across from him is the rainbow-sweet, sugar-rush burst o’ energy herself, Candy, who never met a bad mood she couldn’t fix with a smile or a superkick, an’ if she pulls off the upset tonight, it could be the sweetest win of her career! Simone: After that, the intensity level is going to skyrocket, because the Angry Officer of SCW, Liam Davis, steps between the ropes to try and shut down the momentum of the Workhorse of SCW, the Unbreakable Eddie Lyons, a man who has been on an absolute roll as of late, and you know Liam is coming in with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove, but Eddie is one of the most resilient, technically gifted wrestlers on this roster, and if he keeps this streak going here tonight, it’s going to push him even closer to the championship conversation! Lunam: Then it’s time ta batten down the hatches, ‘cause we’re in for a proper scrap when the roughhouse brawler Alexandra Calaway locks horns with the villainous Bea Barnhart, and I’m tellin’ ye now, there won’t be much pretty about this one, just two dangerous women who know how ta hurt people, with Alexandra lookin’ ta impose her will by any means necessary and Bea more than happy ta bend every rule in the book if it means walkin’ out with her hand raised! Simone: We’re also going to see two rising Bombshells collide when Harper Mason meets Amelia Reynolds in a match that could very well reshape the Bombshell rankings, because Harper has been grinding away, picking up steam and looking more impressive every time out, while Amelia is hungry to prove that she belongs in the conversation with the very best, and a win here for either woman could be the springboard that launches them straight into title contention! Lunam: And in our Main Event tonight, we’ve got a generational clash that has got everyone talkin’, as the ring veteran, multiple-time champion, and undeniable cornerstone of SCW, Alex Jones, goes one-on-one with the youthful, exuberant, and fearless LJ Kasey, a lad who seems absolutely determined ta make his name by toppin’ the greats, and if LJ can somehow find a way ta put Alex down for the three, he might just stamp his ticket from promising prospect ta bona fide main-event player in one night! Simone: All this and more on SCW Climax Control! The arena fades to black and as it does we are treated to an old school vintage black and white Hollywood movie countdown.
5
4
3
2
1
As soon as it hits zero that’s the moment that two spotlights land on the curtain and we can see a red carpet being rolled to the ring and at the same time Mo Money Mo Problems by Notorious BIG begins to blast across the speakers.
A gathering of paparazzi stand in front of the curtains and they begin to snap photo after photo as they wait in anticipation for the star to come through the curtains. It isn’t that long until we see Crystal Zdunich walking through the curtain The fans begin to roar with boos and she smiles as The crowd showers her with boos but money with Crystal’s face on the bills begin to fall from the sky. Crystal finally reaches the ring where she runs up the steps. She walks to the side of the apron before she throws a pose and jumps landing in a perfect split to enter into the ring. Justin: Making her way to the ring from Hollywood California, representing Mexico City, Mexico, being accompanied by Mercedes Vargas, she is the only six time World Bombshell Champion "THE SILVER SCREEN QUEEN" Crystal Caldwell! Crystal smirks as she looks at the World Bombshell Championship before glancing at the audience. She raises it high into the air as the cameras pan in on her face and she calls for a microphone. Crystal: Wow, this is such an amazing feeling standing up here and as the only person to win six World Championships in this company… I have but one thing to say.
YOU DESERVE IT!
YOU DESERVE IT!
YOU DESERVE IT! Crystal chuckles as she walks around the ring before looking into the cameras. Crystal: I have to say from the bottom of my heart that I really enjoy standing up here right now. At High Stakes dreams really do come true. I know a lot of people doubted me in SCW. There were people who didn’t think I could make it this far. They didn’t think I had neither the skills nor the talent but long behold I did exactly what I set out to do. I became champion and now I stand up here not as a champion but I am THE CHAMPION! What that means is I am the best of the best that this company has to offer. So to all of the women that didn’t want to wrestle me guess what. You are now forced to get in the ring with me if you want to be considered the best! Crystal chuckles as she continues to speak. Crystal: As far as Frankie is concerned, I am so happy that I am your hero because just like that I broke your heart, and I don’t give a damn if I inspired you. I always get what I want and if you ever wish to step back up to the table I won’t hesitate to put you back down. As far as Young Justice is concerned I still have you both in my sights and compared to me you really aren’t anything. Last but not least my beautiful bride and my sister in-law. I love you Seleana… You are my everything and as much as I want to continuously shout it from the roof tops I believe we still have unfinished business in this ring, and the same goes for Zenna. Until we deal with our issues we won’t be able to move on but I have a feeling we will be seeing each other very soon. SCW brace yourselves because the new year looks promising and it will be with yours truly leading the way into the new year. It’s good to be me! With that Crystal raises her championship high into the air as we fade out and go elsewhere. The camera fades in on the backstage hallway of the Global Credit Union Arena, the low thrum of the crowd audible even from behind the concrete walls. Ciarán Doyle stands with one leg propped up on a production crate, leaning into a deep hamstring stretch. He’s already in his ring gear, boots laced, wrists taped, a sheen of focus and pre-match nerves on his face. A few staffers and Bombshells pass by, giving him second looks and quiet smirks as he switches legs and rolls out his shoulders.
In the background, Teddy Steele-Warren passes by and does a double-take and walks right into the corner of the wall. He quickly dusts himself off and looks around to see if anyone saw and moves on his way.
Pussy Willow steps into frame with a microphone in hand, pausing a respectful beat as Ciarán finishes his stretch and drops his leg from the crate. She offers a professional smile to the Irish newcomer as the camera tightens in on them. Pussy Willow: Hi everyone, Pussy Willow here backstage at Climax Control, and I am standing by with SCW’s newest roster member, Ciarán Doyle. Ciarán, welcome to Sin City Wrestling. Ciarán straightens up, runs a quick hand through his hair and nods to her. Ciarán: Cheers, love, nice ta be… Beg pardon? He squints, head tilting just a little as if he’s not sure he heard correctly. Pussy Willow: I’m Pussy Willow. Ciarán blinks once, then holds up a finger. Ciarán: Right, right, just… one more time there for me, would ye? Pussy doesn’t miss a beat, repeating with a touch of amused confidence. Pussy Willow: Pussy. Willow. Ciarán’s eyes widen a fraction. He nods slowly, lips pressing together like he’s concentrating very hard on not laughing. Ciarán: Aye, that’s what I thought ye said. Just wanted ta make sure it wasn’t the nerves makin’ me hear things, so. Grand. Pleasure, Miss Willow. A faint ripple of chuckles comes from somewhere off-camera as Pussy shifts the mic back up. Pussy Willow: Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, Ciarán, welcome to SCW. Your debut match is coming up in just a few minutes against Brayden Hilton. This is a big stage, a big opportunity. How are you feeling heading into your first SCW match? Ciarán exhales through his nose, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, trying to shake out his legs. Ciarán: Honest now? Bloody well nervous. Stomach’s doin’ cartwheels, hands are a wee bit shaky, an’ I’m pretty sure me heart’s tryin’ ta leg it out the fire exit. He gives a self-conscious grin, flexing his fingers and rubbing his taped wrists. Pussy Willow: Really? I mean, your past as a dancer, performing in front of crowds all the time… that didn’t prepare you for this? Ciarán lets out a short laugh and gestures down at himself. Ciarán: Ah now, it helped a bit, sure. I’m used ta bright lights an’ people shoutin’ at me, no bother. Only differences out there tonight, I’ll be keepin’ me clothes on… which is new for a Saturday, like. But even then, back when I was dancin’, I still got nervous. Butterflies don’t care if ye’re in wrestling boots or in next ta nothin’. They flap all the same, yeah? He shrugs, good-natured but clearly telling the truth. Pussy Willow: Fair enough. But are you nervous about the man standing across the ring from you? Brayden Hilton has been in SCW a lot longer than you have. Are you nervous about facing him? Ciarán stares at her for a beat, expression flattening as if he didn’t quite catch that right either. Ciarán: …Ye’re havin’ a laugh, yeah? He leans slightly toward her, eyebrows raised. Ciarán: We’re talkin’ about the same lad, are we? The one sittin’ at what is it now, oh-and-eight? The poor eejit that couldn’t buy a win if he flashed his daddy’s black card at the timekeeper? That Brayden Hilton? A few muffled laughs echo from down the hallway as he continues, warming to it. Ciarán: Look, I’ll give him this, he’s persistent. Takes a special kind of stubborn ta keep comin’ back when the only thing ye’ve collected is L’s and sympathy. But nervous about facin’ SCW’s resident nepo-baby? The fella who’s mostly here ’cause the family name opens more doors than his actual talent does? He taps his own temple with a taped finger. Ciarán: I’m not intimidated by someone who’s never won a match in this place. Not once. If he couldn’t get the job done in eight tries, I don’t see why I should be losin’ sleep over bein’ number nine in the highlight reel of heartbreaks. Pussy’s eyebrows lift at the bluntness, and she eases the mic closer as he keeps going. Ciarán: Don’t get me wrong, I’m not takin’ him lightly. Man still hits, the ropes still hurt, an’ the canvas’ll knock the wind outta ye same no matter whose arse it is that puts ye there. But I’m not worried about Brayden embarrassin’ me. I’m worried about doin’ that meself. He pats his own chest twice. Ciarán: That’s the part that’s twistin’ me guts — goin’ out there on live telly, first impression for the whole SCW universe, an’ trippin’ over me own feet, or botchin’ somethin’ stupid, or makin’ an absolute ass outta meself before I even get ta show ’em what I can actually do. That’s what’s got me head spinnin’. He looks into the camera now, jaw setting with a little more steel. Ciarán: But nerves or no nerves, there’s one thing I’m sure of, yeah? When that bell rings, I’m not the one carryin’ eight losses on me back. I’m not the one livin’ off me surname. I’m just Ciarán Doyle from back home in Dublin, tryin’ ta make good on the chance he’s been given. An’ if Brayden Hilton’s the lad they’ve picked to welcome me ta SCW? He smirks, rolling his neck until it cracks. Ciarán: Then God help him, ’cause tonight I’m plannin’ on dancin’ all over that losing streak. Pussy turns back toward the camera, bringing the microphone up. Pussy Willow: Strong words from SCW’s newest star, Ciarán Doyle. He makes his debut next against Brayden Hilton, right here on Climax Control. Don’t go anywhere. Ciarán gives her a respectful nod, then claps his hands together once, shaking out his arms as he turns down the hallway toward gorilla position, the camera following him for a few steps before fading back toward ringside. Simone: Welcome to Climax Control and our opening contest is up next! This one features a returning Superstar taking on a new signee to the company as Brayden Williams returns to take on “Celtic Thunder” Ciaran Doyle! Lunam: As the name might suggest Ciaran comes to us from Ireland and comes highly touted, but Brayden is the son of Todd Williams so that might give him the edge. Simone: One way to find out! Let’s take it to Justin for our opening contest! Justin: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your opening contest scheduled for one fall! The arena lights drop into darkness with only a thin gold line glows across the stage. A hush ripples through the crowd. Then Antti Martikainen’s “Lords of Iron” erupts; deep drums, metallic Celtic strings, and a rising battle rhythm that shakes the air. On the very first swell of the melody, a spotlight snaps to life at the top of the ramp and Ciarán Doyle steps into it.
The crowd erupts instantly with cheers, signs waving, fans on their feet! Justin: Making his way to the ring! From Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland! Weighing 167 pounds! Making his SCW Debut! He is the 'Dawnhart' Ciarán Doyle! The introduction echoes as Ciarán begins his walk, the battle-charged rhythm matching the sway of his steps. He slips off the stage and moves down the ramp with a fluid, dancer’s glide, every motion smooth, confident, magnetic. Fans reach out and he meets them with touches of high fives, warm nods, quick smiles that light up his whole face.
At ringside he pauses, hands the nearest fan another white feather, then slides under the bottom rope with effortless grace. He rises in one fluid motion and heads straight for the corner, stepping onto the second turnbuckle. He spreads his arms as the camera catches his hair falling over his shoulder as he leans forward, inviting the crowd’s roar.
Ciarán hops down, runs a hand through his hair, and circles the ring with a focused calm settling in. The showman’s smile fades into a warrior’s readiness. He grips the top rope, testing its spring, body relaxed but poised, centered and prepared.
The music fades and Ciarán Doyle turns toward the center of the ring, eyes locked and expression sharpened, ready for the match to begin. Simone: Ciaran looks ready for battle in his opening contest! Lunam: But has to deal with a returning second gen wrestler! Justin: And his opponent! Forever by Drake” begins to blast across the speakers and as it does Brayden Hilton along with his girlfriend Carleigh Annis emerge from behind the curtains. Brayden smiles as the crowd welcomes the duo with an ovation of loud boos. He flips them off as he quickly sprints towards the ring. He doesn’t hesitate to slide right inside the ring where he kips up to his feet. He holds his arm proudly in the air before he does a backflip. The crowd just continues booing and that is when Carleigh begins to mouth off to them. She flips them off before she turns her attention to her husband inside of the ring and claps for him. He bounces around a bit before he lays down across the ropes showcasing that he is bored. Justin: From Detroit, Michigan, weighing 190ibs, BRAYDEN WILLIAMS! Simone: Brayden doesn’t look like he’s lost a step since he was last in SCW. Lunam: And he looks ready for war! Dawn goes over the rules with both men before she calls for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Stuffed full of love and I’ll never stop
From the first “Hey, sis” to the last late night
We’re serving turkey, truth, and pride so bright
I remember when my plate was lookin’ kind of bare
No family at my table, just an empty chair
Then you walked in with that thrift-store coat
Said girl, I brought pie and a little bit of hope
You lit up my kitchen like a disco ball
Mashed my potatoes and you answered my call
From broken hearts to broken heels
We turned leftovers into five-star feels
Now every year when the leaves all fall
We build our own family, roll call
No shame, no fear, no closet door
Just found family and a dance floor
I’m grateful and glam, pass the yams, I am
With my ride-or-dies, honey, here I stand
We got sequins with our stuffing, glitter in the air
Chosen family at the table, every queen, every bear
Raise a glass to the ones who never let me hide
Hold my hand through the storm, stay right by my side
From the gravy to the runway, watch our colors collide
This Thanksgiving, we’re feasting on friendship and pride
You were there when my wings wouldn’t let me fly
When I hated every mirror and I wanted to cry
You said paint that face, babe, you’re a masterpiece
And my panic turned to power, my fear turned to peace
Roasting all the haters like a holiday bird
We season it with shade and a four-letter word
But in this house we serve love first
Mashed trauma, whipped cream on the worst
We got queens in the kitchen, kings in lace
Non-binary babes carving up their space
We pass the plate, pass the mic, pass the light
A potluck of souls shining so bright
When the world says sit down, we take the stage
Turn our scars into sparkle, pain into rage
But at this table, you can finally breathe
Take off the armor and the tricks up your sleeve
I’m grateful and glam, pass the yams, I am
With my ride-or-dies, honey, here I stand
We got sequins with our stuffing, glitter in the air
Chosen family at the table, every queen, every bear
Raise a glass to the ones who never let me hide
Hold my hand through the storm, stay right by my side
From the gravy to the runway, watch our colors collide
This Thanksgiving, we’re feasting on friendship and pride
Stop the track, pass the mac, let me testify:
To the ones who picked me up when my eyeliner cried
To the couch that held us when our hearts were sore
To the friend who said “You’re enough” and then said “Now serve more”
To the baby queer shaking at their first big meal
We saved you a seat, we saved you a heel
To the family that found me when my own said “go”
I’m more stuffed with love than this bird, you know
We carve out a space where we all belong
Every “thank you” turning into song
If you’re hungry for a home, pull up a chair
We got extra love, we can always share
Who we thankful for?
My sisters!
Who we thankful for?
My brothers!
Who we thankful for?
My they/them lovers!
Who we thankful for?
This crew!
Who we thankful for?
Me and you!
Who we thankful for?
This fabulous view!
I’m grateful and glam, pass the yams, I am
With my ride-or-dies, honey, here I stand
We got sequins with our stuffing, glitter in the air
Chosen family at the table, every queen, every bear
Raise a glass to the ones who never let me hide
Hold my hand through the storm, stay right by my side
From the gravy to the runway, watch our colors collide
This Thanksgiving, we’re feasting on friendship and pride
So pile your plate and shake your shame
We’ll say our thanks in our own name
From the first hello to the last goodbye
We are loved, we are loud, we are Thanksgiving pride
So grateful, so glam!
Found family, that’s the jam!
Stuffed with love, babe, here I am!
Simone: And our opening match is underway!
Lunam: This should be good!
Once the bell rings Brayden stops to mock Ciaran’s dancing in the middle of the ring drawing boos almost immediately, those boos quickly turn into cheers as Brayden gets levelled by a forearm to the jaw by Ciaran and the Detroit native quickly bails to the outside, clutching his jaw in pain, this only buys him a few seconds because Ciaran comes flying over the top rope with as Springboard Cross Body from a running start.
Simone: Ciaran calls that the Aengus Flight.
Lunam: Ciaran and the Shields Sisters actually have something in common, namely that that come from dance backgrounds, and Ciaran just showed the agility that comes from that background at Brayden’s expense!
Ciaran rolls Brayden back into the ring before going for the first pin of the night and, by extension, his SCW Career!
ONE!
TWO!
And Brayden gets the shoulder up! Ciaran shakes his head at the failed pin attempt and heads to the top rope, waiting for Brayden to get to his feet, when Brayden does Ciaran goes for a flying meteora off the top rope but Brayden catches him with a Superkick!
Simone: Well? Brayden got his teeth knocked into the cheap seats at the start of the match, only fair Ciaran gets that treatment as well I suppose!
Lunam: Forget his teeth, I bet his head went flying after that kick!
Brayden goes for his first pin of the match.
ONE!
TWO!
And Ciaran gets the shoulder up! Not to be discouraged, Brayden follows that up by locking in a Single Leg Boston Crab on Ciaran, much to Carliegh’s delight! However Brayden gets cocky after a few moments and starts posing while maintaining the hold and this allows Ciaran extra time to reach the ring ropes and force the Rope Break!
Simone: And here I thought the kid was doing something right!
Lunam: Guess it’s true what they say about broken clocks!
Brayden lets go off the hold but continues to pose while Ciaran gets up to his feet behind him, once Brayden has finished posing Ciaran nails him with a beautiful dropkick to the face and then another when Brayden gets to his feet the third time around though? Ciaran backs Brayden up to the ropes and hits a couple of chops.
Crowd: WOOOOOO!
But than Brayden takes advantage of a lapse in judgement for a split second from the Irish wrestler by turning the situation around and hitting his own chops before sending him across the ring, Ciaran ducks a clothesline attempt and then takes out Brayden with a Slingblade!
Simone: Brayden’s cockiness is proving to be his downfall here!
Lunam: Ciaran meanwhile is proving that he’s more than just a pretty face!
Ciaran goes for a pin!
ONE!
TWO!
And Brauden kicks out! Ciaran picks up Brayden but gets surprised with a Small Package!
ONE!
Lunam: Brayden really exposing his small package to the world and in front of his girlfriend no less!
TWO!
Simone: You just had to say it, didn’t you?
And Ciaran kicks out! But Brayden gets to his feet before calling for his finisher!
Simone: Regardless, looks like we might see Brayden’s going for the Spartan Will!
Lunam: Will he win his return match?
Brayden sets up for the Top Rope Falcon Arrow but Ciaran shoves him off before hitting a Corkscrew Moonsault with his hands clasped overhead like a drawn bow!
Simone: And that is Ciaran’s finisher, The Arrow of OG!
Lunam: Stick a fork in Brayden, he's done!
Ciaran goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
Justin: Here’s your inner, Ciaran Doyle!
Simone: Ciaran makes her SCW debut in impressive fashion.
Lunam: And it’s back to the drawing board for Brayden!
Ciaran celebrates his win while Dawn checks on Brayden.
The whirring thud of the wheels on suitcase echoes in the backstage hallways of the Global Credit Union Arena, accompanied by the sounds of footsteps as Amelia Reynolds and Dickie Watson appear from around the corner. Dickie seems unbothered as he rolls the suitcase, fingers loosely around the handle as he falls just a step behind Amelia. His eyes dart back and forth just a little bit ahead of both of them, eyes watchful as they always are.
Amelia, conversely, is paying very little attention to where she’s going, trusting her wrestler boyfriend to lead her as needed to the locker room. Her hair and makeup are already done, obviously not reliant on any SCW staff to make it any better. Her cheeks shimmer with highlighter that matches the glittery effect of her gear, and her eyes are lined dark. She appears to be a little worried and has her eyes focused on her phone in her hands, chewing on her lip a little.
Dickie knows that look. He taps her on the shoulder.
Dickie: Preach to the choir, hey?
Amelia: Kallie’s sayin’ she’s super uncomfortable…
Dickie: She’s a bowling ball, so that tracks.
Amelia snorts and smacks Dickie in the stomach enough to make him “oof”. She rolls her eyes and stows the phone in her hoodie pocket. She reaches back for his hand and they continue forward a few more steps. Except…only to be almost run into by “Stoner” Scott Oliver. Amelia takes a step back with wide eyes, still not used to how interviewers just magically know where to find their prey interviewees.
He raises his hand high like he’s about to dap it up with his bestie down at the skate park.
Stoner: Sup, ‘Melia?!
Amelia looks at his hand and returns with the only thing she clearly feels comfortable doing: a fist bump. He takes it in stride, straight up throwing his hand back with a quiet “pow”. Amelia looks at Dickie, who shakes his head and keeps his mouth as straight as possible as he looks up at the ceiling like it’s become suddenly extremely interesting.
Stoner: So like, first Climax Control back on the map…not gonna lie, we kinda put this big ol’ “What If” on ya. Do you feel like you’re here to answer that, or to shut it up?
Amelia tilts her head, thoughtful for a second, and then smiles as she looks at him.
Amelia: I don’t really put a lot of stock into what everyone else says about me. People can say whatever, they kinda have that right…so it’s really neither of those. It’s really that I’m here to prove to myself that I can stand on whatever proof I need to give that I deserve to be here. And High Stakes kinda proved that, didn’t it? Evelyn gave me a shot against a really great competitor that just seems to be a little bit ditzy and unfocused right now, but that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a stepping stone for me. We’re in our next road and destination…I’ve got the whole world ahead of me, hey?
Scott nods like he’s either heard the best response in a long time or that he’s remembering the sandwich he had from Cheba Hut.
Stoner: Right, right. Speakin’ of that destination, Harper’s out here droppin’ that “almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades” line…between you and her, like…who d’you think is more sick of bein’ an “almost”? And what are you tryin’ to turn that into tonight? Somethin’ in your rearview, or a preview of what’s next?
Amelia: I let almost be the headline of my story, and that’s on me. That’s the difference, ya know? Between me and Harper, I’m kinda the one that will sit there and wear it like proof that I’ve already been in deep water and I didn’t drown. Harper can wear it like she’s gotten robbed of something that she wasn’t capable to earn, like an excuse she wears on her back. Tonight, I just want to prove that I’m capable of steppin’ forward and doin’ what’s right. Call it a preview–
Dickie: –of somethin’ great comin’ ahead. She’s got her head on her shoulders. That’s really all ya need to know.
Scott looks at Dickie like he’s just realized he’s here. And he appears affronted.
Stoner: Yeah, okay, so we’ve got Mister Hype Man chimin’ in over here–
He jabs a finger in Dickie’s direction.
Stoner: You always finish her sentences, or is that just when the red light’s on?
The question sounds awfully combative. Amelia tilts her head to look at Scott like she’s trying to deduce his motive in that question. Dickie tilts his head too and inhales slowly through his nose. Amelia tightens her hold on Dickie’s hand and smiles at Scott regardless.
Amelia: We’re a team, Scott. I think I’m pretty capable of speakin’ for myself…he’s just a lot louder about it. But let’s stay on course, right? End of the day, I’m the one gettin’ in the ring with Harper. Dickie’s just here to provide a second set of eyes, and even then…it’s pretty simple, Scott. Sin City Wrestling is either going to learn my name because they hear what I can do, or they’re gonna have it shoved down their throats by my very small, effective fists.
Stoner: Okay, okay…we got it…but Harper’s sayin’ the real equalizer tonight is ring rust. Be straight with me, Mels – did you really stay sharp for four months while you were away, or are we watchin’ you test yourself in real time out there?
Amelia: I wallowed in self-pity for two weeks and then I got back on the horse. I train with the best, because I want to be at my best when I get up in front of the crowd. Just because I wasn’t here doesn’t mean I didn’t do anything. Harper can think whatever she wants, but let’s be honest – I’m not only prepared for today, but I am excited, because I get another opportunity to prove my worth. And I’ll do it by putting Harper in her place…by not giving her any excuses tonight.
Stoner: Alright, so, you handle your business with Harper tonight and that “What If” tag starts lookin’ a lot more like “Oh, she’s for real.” When you look past this match, are you already thinkin’ about where you fit in the bigger Bombshell picture, or is that gettin’ too far ahead of ourselves?
Amelia paused. She thought about her answer, bit her lip, and then inhaled, exhaling slowly.
Amelia: Last time, I let the hype tell me how I was doing. I fed into the belief that I was truly better than everyone on the roster because I beat former champions on my way up. I’m not going to do that again. I’m not going to be so gullible to believe that the company is on my side.
That being said, when I look at the scene, I see people like Kayla Richards, who dominated this field for five hundred and ten days in the past two years alone. I see people like Bella Madison, who get up and try, try again, even if they didn’t get it the first time. And I see people like Frankie Holliday, who turn around and think they’re the gods’ gift to wrestling because they fluked past a dominant force and couldn’t capitalize when it came to actually proving herself.
There are so many places to fit myself into…anywhere is the next place I can go. But tonight, the focus is on laying Harper flat without an excuse to give her and to prove who I am in this company. I’m not a flash in the pan, I am a bonafide competitor. It starts here. Growth is moving through every person that steps in front of me. It doesn’t matter who your friends are – it’s all about you and what you can do.
Scott’s eyes become half-lidded as he listens, nodding in affirmation and almost like he’s saying yaaaaas queen in response.
Stoner: A’right, so you’ve got Kayla, Bella, Frankie all floatin’ around in your head, but tonight it’s Harper standin’ across from you. When that bell rings and it’s all said and done, what’s the one thing you want Harper to walk outta here knowin’ about Amelia Reynolds that the rest of SCW better catch up on real quick?
Amelia smiles widely, and turns her head to the camera, as if she’s talking directly to the rest of the Bombshells roster.
Amelia: I’m not your cute little “what if” anymore. I am your problem. If you didn’t like me as a question, you’re going to hate me as an inevitability. I’m small, I’m stubborn, and I don’t go away just because your ego says I should, or you think you’re better than the rest of the roster because someone blew up your ass. It doesn’t matter who it is – Harper, Frankie, Bella…whoever’s watchin’ in the back? Salivate on your success, because it’s goin’ out the window when I get to you. Get real comfortable sayin’ my name now…because you’re all gonna be spittin’ teeth around it later.
Scott just blinks at her, lets out a low whistle, and leans back toward the camera.
Stoner: …Yeah, okay, that’s…that’s a little terrifying. There you have it, folks—Amelia Reynolds, not your What If, your brand new headache. We’ll, uh…we’ll see how that plays out tonight.
Amelia’s mouth curls into a bright, unbothered smile at that, like she’s perfectly happy to own it. She gives Dickie’s hand one last squeeze, then releases it and steps out of frame, fingers lifting in a small, casual wave toward the lens as she goes.
The second she’s gone, it’s just Dickie and Scott left in the shot.
They look at each other.
Scott’s eyes dart up and down like he’s suddenly realized he’s locked in with something he didn’t sign up for. Dickie’s shoulders roll back, the lazy slouch straightening just enough to shift the air. He tilts his head, pops his neck, and takes one sharp step forward. Then he pops at Scott with a sudden feint, hands coming up like he’s about to lunge.
Scott yelps under his breath and jolts back like he’s just seen a ghost, nearly tripping over a production as he scrambles out of frame in a hurry.
Dickie stops right where he is, a low chuckle slipping out as he watches Stoner vanish.
Dickie: Still terrifying. Love that for me.
He throws the camera a quick, wicked little smirk, then turns and strolls off in the same direction Amelia went as the scene fades back to ringside.
Miles and Carter are leaning against a barricade, arms crossed, watching Cirian Doyle walk off the ramp after his first match victory. Both champions exchange subtle nods, clearly impressed.
Miles: I will say that kid moves well. Smart in the ring. Didn’t panic once.
HBCarter: Yeah. Timing’s good, his presence in the ring is solid... and he’s got heart. First match and he already looks like he belongs.
Cirian, still a little flushed from the match and visibly star-struck, approaches the two champions.
Ciarán Doyle: Hi...Cirian Doyle. I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you guys. This is unbelievable surreal.
HBCarter: Congrats on the win, Cirian. I’m Helluva Bottom Carter, your World Champion, and this is of course Miles Kasey, your Internet Champion.
Miles: Yeah, that was a solid first outing, mate. You kept your head, adapted quickly, and didn’t let the crowd or the pressure rattle you.
Ciarán Doyle: Thanks... honestly, I’m still kind of in shock. Not that long ago, I was on stage with Celtic Thunder, touring and performing, and now... I’m here, wrestling. SCW. It’s a completely different world.
HBCarter: That’s a big shift. From that to wrestling isn’t the usual path, but it explains the stage presence.
Miles: Exactly. You’re comfortable in front of people, it translates here. Keep honing that and building on it, and you’ll do fine.
Cirian laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair, clearly humbled.
Ciarán Doyle: I just... I didn’t expect to meet the champs on my first night here. I’ve looked up to you both for a while, and now... this is just insane.
Miles: It’s appreciated though. And hey, keep showing up, keep learning, and you’ll make your own mark soon enough. The first win is just the start.
After Cirian walks away, still smiling and clearly inspired, Miles turns to Carter with a small grin.
Miles: I thought I recognized him from somewhere... yeah, he was on stage at that... stripper show a while back.
Carter freezes mid-blink, head tilting slowly.
HBCarter: Wait... My husband knows what?
Miles: *grinning, teasing* Relax, it was years ago. Now he’s here, actually wrestling. I’m just saying, the stage presence makes sense.
Carter shakes his head, half laughing, half exasperated.
HBCarter: You’re unbelievable.
Miles: Maybe. But admit it, kid’s got potential. That’s what matters.
They exchange a small nod, turning their attention back to the rest of the locker room, the moment of levity passing but leaving both of them quietly impressed by the newcomer.
SCW INFOMERCIAL — “THE PEPPERMINT-POWERED POSITIVITY LEAF BLOWER!”
OPENING SHOT
A suburban yard. Leaves everywhere. Gloomy lighting. A sad trombone plays.
Candy suddenly pops up into frame in a bright pink tracksuit and sparkly boots.
Candy: Hi hi hiiiii, everybody! It’s your girl Candy from SCW! And OHHHH BOY, do I have something SWEETER than a cinnamon sugar funnel cake dipped in unicorn tears!
regular leaf blower struggles to move a single leaf. It sputters, coughs, and gives up.
Candy: UGHHH, BORING! Who wants a leaf blower that just… blows? Not me! Not you! Not ANYBODY with a functioning sparkle gland!
SFX: TWINKLE CHIMES!
Candy: Introducing the Peppermint-Powered Positivity Leaf Blower! The only leaf blower GUARANTEED to blast your yard, and your LIFE, full of winter-fresh motivation!
DEMONSTRATION
Candy lifts a glossy candy-cane-striped leaf blower that looks like Santa’s elf got into Red Bull.
Candy: Now, WATCH THIS! This baby runs on 100% organic peppermint extract and unfiltered good vibes! And when you fire it up…
She pulls the cord a cheery WHOOOOSH! and faint jingling bells. A blast of glitter-tinted peppermint mist fires across the yard.
Candy: BOOM! See that!? Not only do the leaves run for their LIVES … IT’S LIKE CHRISTMAS AND A SELF-HELP SEMINAR HAD A BABY!
POSITIVE AFFIRMATION MODE
Candy flips a big pink switch labeled “FEEL-GOOD BURST”!
You’re doing AMAZING today!
GO YOU! WOO! zzCandy, shrieking with delight.
TESTIMONIALS
A grumpy neighbor, arms crossed.
Peppermint glitter drifts over him. His eyes sparkle.
Neighbor, suddenly perky: Now I bake muffins for stray cats and high-five my mailman! Thanks, Peppermint Positivity Leaf Blower!SPECIAL FEATURES
Candy: But WAIT, THERE’S MORE! Turn the dial to Turbo Cheer Mode and…!
She does. The blower unleashes a hurricane of peppermint confetti powerful enough to send a garden gnome flying across the yard.
Candy (yelling over the wind): DO YOU HEAR THAT, WORLD!? THAT’S THE SOUND OF PRODUCTIVITY AND JOY COLLIDING!LIMITED-TIME OFFER
Candy: But you gotta act FAST! Order in the next ten minutes and you’ll get not ONE but TWO bonus items:!
The Pocket-Sized Peppermint Fogger — perfect for surprise compliments in small spaces!
And the Candy-Approved Glitter Goggles — because positivity is FUN, but temporary blindness is NOT!
CLOSING
Candy hugs the leaf blower like it’s a championship belt.
Candy: So remember… Why just clear your yard when you can clear your NEGATIVE ENERGY too?! Get your Peppermint-Powered Positivity Leaf Blower today and BLOW YOUR WAY TO A BRIGHTER TOMORROW!
Triumphant jingle, confetti explosion, Candy waving wildly as peppermint mist fills the screen.
Simone: Welcome back to Climax Control and our next match! At High Stakes Frankie Holliday lost the World Bombshell Championship to Crystal Zdunich who became a record setting 6 Time World Bombshell Champion in the process! Now Frankie is back in action against someone else who fell short at High Stakes: the ever lovable Candy!
Lunam: Ever lovable unless you ask Cassie Wolfe who felt that Candy wasn’t worthy of a High Stakes and, well, it’s hard to argue with the results! Candy’s got an uphill battle in this one because you know Frankie’s going to be incensed that her title reign was cut so short!
Simone: No doubt about that! Let’s take it to Justin!
The opening piano strokes of “Skeletons” by Wednesday 13 harbor the arrival of Frankie Holliday. As the guitar riffs begin to ramp up the song, Frankie parts the curtain. A sinister and knowing grin on her face as she doesn’t acknowledge the response in any way, walking down to the ring.
Justin: Introducing first, from Milwaukee, Wisconsin, she is a former World Bombshell Champion, FRANKIE HOLIDAY!
Once she hits the ringside area, she simply rolls under the bottom rope and sits in the corner, still with the grin across her lips. She even chuckles to herself as she readies herself for the match.
Simone: Frankie may grin but did you see the look she gave Justin for announcing her as a former champion?
Lunam: If looks could kill we’d need a new Ring Announcer right now!
Justin: And her opponent!
The lights dim as pink fog starts to take over the entrance ramp. "Pour Some Sugar On Me" by Def Leppard begins to play over the speakers as the lights brighten up. Pink pyro begins to cascade down from the tron as Candy comes bouncing out holding Fluffy. She skips her way down to the ring. Outside the ring, she hands Fluffy to stagehand before getting in the ring and bouncing around some.
Justin: From Malibu, California, THIS IS…………
Justin never finishes his ring introduction as Frankie blindsides Candy from behind, knocking the Malibu native down as Frankie stomps away at her, Holly Wood calls for the bell and tries to restore order as Frankie continues to stomp away at Candy.
DING DING DING!
Simone: And Frankie is not wasting any time tonight!
Lunam: It’s like Candy is a sheep being led to slaughter!
Needless to say? Holly has some stern words for Frankie as the former champion beats up Candy but Frankie just shoots Holly a dirty look before picking up Candy………..only to get caught by a Small Package from Candy!
ONE!
TWO!
And Frankie kicks out! And if Frankie wasn’t mad before? She definitely is now as she gets back to her feet only to get met with a high dropkick from Candy!
Simone: And we almost witnessed a major upset thanks to Candy’s small package on Frankie!
Lunam: Not to mention an early candidate for “Holy Shit/WTF Moment of the Year” come next year’s High Stakes!
Frankie scrambles to her feet but gets hit with another Dropkick from Candy causing her to bail from the ring, Candy goes to follow the former champion out but Holly stops her to allow Frankie some breathing room before the ref leans in between the top and middle rope to try to urge Frankie to get back in the ring, Frankie refuses so Candy takes matters into her own hands hitting a suicide dive on Frankie, leaping right over Holly in the process!
Simone: Candy continues to bring the fight to Frankie and you have to ask, did Cassie’s criticism of her light a fire under Candy?
Lunam: Whatever it is? She’s giving Frankie a better fight than most expected!
Holly restarts her count while Candy poses for the crowd, however she takes a bit too long showboating and gives Frankie a chance to recover and thus? When Candy goes to return to the ring? Frankie grabs Candy by her legs and proceeds to Powerbomb her onto the barricade! Frankie then throws Candy back into the ring and follows her in before Frankie goes for her first pin of the night.
ONE!
TWO!
And Candy gets the shoulder up!
Simone: And just like that? The pendulum has swung back in Frankie’s direction.
Lunam: She is a former champion for a reason but so is Candy!
Frankie shakes her head before getting to her feet but as she watches Candy get back to her feet it becomes apparent that Candy’s back is hurting her after that powerbomb on the barricade and Frankie immediately seizes the advantage, going behind Candy and firing off shots to her lower back before going for a Back Suplex, Candy manages to flip out of the attempt however and scores with an Enziguri when Frankie turns around before heading to the top rope.
Simone: Candy’s back is clearly hurting her but she’s not giving up the fight to Frankie!
Lunam: And now she’s about to fly again!
Frankie recovers from Candy’s kick and goes to meet the Malibu native on the top rope, Candy for her part fires back with punches to Frankie’s face before sending the former World Bombshell Champion off the Top Rope with a shove and following that up with a High Cross Body, getting a lot of hang time in the process! Holly drops down to make the pin as Frankie struggles.
ONE!
TWO!
And Frankie rolls through the pin while holding onto Candy and hits a massive backbreaker! Frankie goes for her own pin!
ONE!
TWO!
And Candy kicks out! But Frankie follows that up by locking in a Boston Crab!
Simone: Candy almost had Frankie pinned again but Frankie turned the tables by targeting Candy’s back.
Lunam: And that Boston Crab won’t make things any better!
Holly gets into position and asks Candy if she wants to submit but the bubbly one refuses to give up the fight that easily as she struggles to get to the ropes, Frankie does everything in her power to stop Candy in her tracks but it proves to be for naught as Candy eventually reaches the bottom rope and forces the Rope Break! Frankie shakes her head before dragging Candy back to the middle of he ring and locking an Abdomial Stretch!
Simone: And now Frankie’s really stretching Candy!
Lunam: I haven’t seen candy stretched this much since I went Trick or Treating!
This time? Candy manages to break the hold by her own by Hip Tossing her way out of it and hitting a Shining Wizard on Frankie when the former champ sits up, she goes for a pin!
ONE!
TWO!
And Frankie kicks out! However Candy decides it’s time to end this as she makes her way to the top rope!
Simone: Candy’s looking to hit The Gumdrop!
Lunam: If she hits this then Frankie will never hear the end of it!
Candy goes for the Eclipse but Frankie meets her on the top rope, delivers a stiff headbutt and then sets her up BEFORE HITTING THE DAHMERE DRIVER OFF THE TOP ROPE!
Simone: TOP ROPE NORTHERN LIGHTS BOMB!
Lunam: Stick a fork in Candy, she’s done!
Franke goes for the pin!
ONE!
TWO!
AND FRANKIE PULLS UP CANDY! She then picks up Candy and drops her with the Wisconsin Autopsy!
Simone: OH COME ON! A VETREBREAKER AS WELL?!
Lunam: Frankie wants to send a message!
Frankie follows that up locking Candy in a Guillotine Choke but Holly doesn’t even bother checking on Candy, instead calling for the bell.
DING! DING! DING!
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen, Candy can no longer continue, therefore the winner via technical knockout, FRANKIE HOLIDAY!
Simone: If Frankie wanted to send a message? It was received loud and clear!
Lunam: Better luck next time Candy!
Frankie refuses to let go of her submission for a few moments but eventually does so, celebrating her win while Holly checks on Candy.
We cut to the ringside area when suddenly? Justin heads into the ring with a microphone in hand.
Simone: Err, why is Justin entering the ring? We don’t have a match scheduled yet.
Lunam: I have a bad feeling about this.
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to introduce one of this year’s award winners, she is the most fantabulous, majestic, beautiful, charismatic, smartest, toughest, sexiest, and savage twenty year old SCW has ever met.
Simone: Oh god no.
Lunam: Please no!
Justin: This year’s Manager of the Year, BROOKE SHIELDS!
“Hope Castrated” hits the speakers and Brooke comes out alongside Logan and Marissa, the latter of whom couldn’t be less excited to be dragged into this mess.
Simone: Well, it was revealed on Twitter that Marissa got her manager’s license shortly after this year’s High Stakes but, well, she has to manage Logan.
Lunam: I understand her wanting to be a more active part of the show but is this really worth it?
The trio enter the ring where Brooke takes the mic from Justin, holding her award aloft.
Brooke: One year ago me and Logan made our SCW debut, and one year later I am the manager of the year motherfuckers!
The crowd boos Brooke but she ignores them.
Simone: Funny how they aren’t bringing up the OTHER award they won.
Lunam: I think they’d rather forget that Logan dragging Brooke overboard at Summer
Treme won Holy Shit/WTF Moment of the year!Brooke: This is the most important moment of the show! Who cares about Crystal actually winning a title?! We actually have a running bet on how long that’ll last! Alex Jones vs. LJ Kasey?!
Brooke feigns falling asleep.
Brooke: Oh sorry, I just remembered that that match is the cure for insomnia! And most importantly, for those expecting me to apologize for pushing Pussy………..
Brooke passes the award to Marissa before holding one middle finger in the air with her free hand.
Brooke: PUH-LEASE! If that bitch had ACTUALLY done her job? I wouldn’t have gotten physical………
Evelyn: I beg your pardon…
The diplomatic voice heavily laced with an accent directly from the United Kingdom, redirected the attention Brooke obviously craved toward the stage where the General manager of Sin City Wrestling, the impossibly statuesque Evelyn Hall, steps out onto the stage with a house microphone in hand, ready to regain control of the program.
Evelyn: What was that you said just now? If she had done her job?
Evelyn waits a moment, her brow raised, but continued on before either Brooke or Logan had a chance to speak up.
Evelyn: Might I remind you, Miss Shields, that all staff, not just the referees but the reporters and their like, work for Sin City Wrestling. Not for you. Not for anyone else that stands backstage. Certainly not poor Justin Decent who you apparently have held as a captive audience. Miss Pussy Willow was under specific instructions - my instructions - to conduct an interview with someone else. Someone of importance, when you stopped her. When you, for lack of a better term, hijacked her time much like you are now, hijacking the time of everyone else in attendance.
Evelyn waves a hand toward the crowd, drawing applause and general signs of support.
Evelyn: You won one award.
qThe GM raised a single finger.
Evelyn: Just one. And while I congratulate you on that accomplishment and question all those who cast a ballot in your name, your inflated sense of self importance is not why I am out here. It is the general belief that you have free reign to do whatever it is you wish, either at ringside or in the back, without fear of consequences. Simply because you are a…
She air quotes.
Evelyn: A ‘trust fund baby’.
Boos begin to rise from the crowd as Evelyn gives the fans time to get it out of their systems before her gaze returns to everyone standing inside of the ring.
Evelyn: I’m here today to inform you how very wrong you are. And how there are more fitting, and much more creative, forms of punishment other than garnishing someone’s salary.
Logan takes a mic from a stage hand.
Logan: What the hell are you talking about?!
Brooke: And besides, there’s NO ONE more important than me!
Brooke adds with a hair flip, unbeknownst to them Marissa has grabbed a mic of her own.
Marissa: Do you want a comprehensive list? Because I’ll be here until next year’s High Stakes if I have too.
The crowd laughs at Marissa’s joke.
Marissa: Oh and Evelyn? Thanks again for helping me get my manager’s license.
Evelyn smiles.
Evelyn: It was a pleasure, dear. I figured Logan might need the extra support with what’s to come.
But then Evelyn turns her gaze back to Brooke, and her composed composure is at its breaking point.
Evelyn: No one more important than you? Dear, I think it’s time for you to have a reality check. As important as managers are to their clients, I think you need to understand that when all is said and done, the wrestlers themselves are the stars. Logan Hunter is the star. Not you. And while many managers do have their fans and support systems, in the end, it is the wrestlers who the fans pay to see. Not some attention seeking debutante who runs around, yapping her head off and trying to be the “pick me” girl of Sin City Wrestling. So…! Here is what we are going to do.
Evelyn turns to the side and waves her arm toward the curtains.
Evelyn: You are going to bring this silly celebration of yours that nobody wants to see to a close. You are then going to join me backstage where we are going to discuss a suitable punishment for your actions. For both of you.
Evelyn turns to Marissa.
Evelyn: Not you, dear. You are clearly the only one of that trio that has a clear head on her shoulders.
Evelyn then motions with her finger to “come, come” before she vanishes backstage behind the curtains. Logan and Brooke frown before they reluctantly leave the ring and Marissa follows them out.
Simone: Looks like they’ve really stepped in it.
Lunam: Well, Brooke and Logan at least, Marissa? Not so much.
“Kingslayer” by Bring Me The Horizon ft. BABYMETAL slow, haunting synth intro begins to play as we have a black screen. Close-up of LJ’s hands wrapping his wrists. Sweat dripping. A flash of his eyes in the mirror.
LJ's Voice: Everybody knows my last name before they know my story. Kasey. As in Miles Kasey. As in ‘the older brother,’ the established one.
Cut to slow-motion shots of fans cheering Miles in the ring, LJ pacing backstage, jaw tight.
LJ's Voice: People see me and assume they already know the whole story. The underdog. The shadow. The kid brother.
Music builds, the pulsing synths and fast drumbeat. Hearing Oli Sykes scream “GO!” as we get hit with a high paced visual Montage:
LJ running ropes in empty gym at sunrise.
We see on the screen in deep green, “The Grind Never Stops”
Superkicks, hard falls, near-falls.
LJ screaming, pushing through exhaustion.
LJ's Voice: But shadows don’t bleed for this. Shadows don’t break bones to build futures. Shadows don’t walk into rings with giants and refuse to stay down. I do.
Music shifts to verse: frantic, electric energy. The visual in front of us is the following, LJ buried in law books, notes everywhere, highlighting. LJ’s homelife, cooking breakfast for Ashlynn, kissing Ally goodbye. LJ lifting in the gym, exhausted, pushing for one more rep.
LJ's Voice: People don’t see the hours. They don’t see the balance. They don’t see the grind I put into law school... being a partner... being a wrestler. But I live it. Every. Day.
First heavy drop of the chorus, guitars and drums explode. Another montage shows us LJ’s highlights from the ring, him hitting the Kingslayer at the very top of the package, surviving near-falls, roaring at opponents. Crowd reaction shots: chants, faces in awe.
LJ standing tall after a brutal match.
We now hear an instrumental bed of his theme song, low intensity. LJ steps into a dim locker room, camera tight on his face. He breathes hard, wipes sweat from his brow, staring directly into the lens.
LJ: I’m tired of being underestimated. Tired of people acting like I should apologize for being ambitious… for being hungry… for trying to pull myself out of a shadow I never asked to be in. Miles earned everything he’s got. I’m proud of him. But I will NOT be ‘Miles lite.’ I won’t let the veterans use my last name as a punchline. And I won’t let the old guard treat me like I’m just some kid stepping into their yard.
Quick shots of LJ bouncing back and forth, pacing the hallway, lacing boots, fists clenched.
LJ: I’m building something. A legacy that’s mine. A path I carve, not one I inherit. Every match I fight, every bruise I take, every test I face… every morning I wake up with Ally and Ashlynn reminds me what I’m fighting for. That’s what makes me dangerous.
Bring Me the Horizon’s music swells, triumphant, defiant. With yet another video montage, LJ walking toward the ring, head high, eyes blazing. Fans on their feet, chants swelling. LJ looking dead into the camera.
LJ: I’m done asking people to notice me. I’m here to MAKE you notice me. I am the Kingslayer!
SCW Logo flashes.
With an overlay....
The camera returns to ringside!
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall to a finish! Introducing first!
Breaking The Law by Judas Priest plays over the sound system as Liam Davies, wearing Police Shield Chest protector and a black shirt with black trousers and black boots, also wearing gloves and elbow pads stamping his feet with his nightstick and handcuffs in his pocket. He stamps his feet, shaking his whole body about to the ring.
Justin: From Orlando, Florida, he is Order Of Authority, Liam Davies!
Liam slides in the ring and holds up his nightstick to the fans. After he did that, Liam gives the weapons of his nightstick and the handcuffs to the ringside announcer before going in the ring again and pumps his fists in the air before standing in the middle of the ring, waiting for his opponent to come out.
Justin: And his opponent!
As Clouds by NF begins A fog fills the stage area, as Eddie Lyons appears in the middle, hoodie up, and arms folded. He stands there looking down at the ring for a few moments.
Justin: From Baltimore, Maryland! Weighing two hundred and thirty pounds! “Unbreakable” Eddie Lyons!
Shooting a fist into the air, Eddie pulls his hoodie down, and makes his way down the ramp, tagging the hands of a few fans along the way before climbing the stairs into the ring. Eddie extends his arms to both sides then drops to a knee, and punches the mat, he then moves to his corner to await the start of the match.
Referee Jasmine St. John calls for the bell!
DING DING DING!
The bell rings and the crowd inside the Global Credit Union Arena comes alive as Liam Davis and Unbreakable Eddie Lyons circle up in the center of the ring.
Simone: You can feel the tension already! Liam Davis has been itching to get his hands on Eddie Lyons all week!
Lunam: Aye, and Eddie’ll not be backin’ down, Simone. The Lyons family pride’s on the line here, so it is!
They lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie. Liam immediately tries to bully Eddie backward, muscling him toward the ropes. Eddie drops his weight, spins out, and switches into a side headlock, cinching it tight.
Simone: Classic technical start from Lyons, controlling the head and neck.
Lunam: Keep the hooligan grounded, that’s the way, lad!
Liam shoves Eddie off toward the ropes. Eddie rebounds, shoulder tackle drops Liam to the mat. Eddie hits the ropes again, steps over Liam as he flops to his stomach, rebounds a second time! Liam pops up, leapfrog, but Eddie stops short and snatches him with a sharp arm drag. Liam scrambles up into another arm drag, then a deep hip toss that sends him almost skidding into the corner!
The fans cheer as Eddie pops up into a ready stance!
Simone: Eddie Lyons is wrestling his pace, quick and technical.
Lunam: He’s makin’ the gobshite look daft out there already!
Liam rolls to the outside, shaking his arm and jaw, pacing angrily. Jasmine starts the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
FIVE!...
Liam shouts at some fans heckling him, then climbs back onto the apron at five. Eddie reaches over to grab him, but Liam dips low and drives a shoulder into Eddie’s midsection through the ropes. Eddie doubles over and Liam slingshots over the top, grabbing the head and snapping his neck across the rope. Eddie stumbles back, clutching his throat!
Simone: And there’s the difference maker. Liam Davis with a nasty neck snap off the rope.
Lunam: Cheap but effective, the little toerag.
Liam slides in and pounces with clubbing forearms across Eddie’s upper back, hammering him down to one knee. A barrage of punches to the side of the head follows, the referee warning about closed fists! Liam ignores it, stomping Eddie to the mat and grinding the heel of his boot against Eddie’s face!
Simone: Rough and dirty, just how Liam Davis likes it!
Liam yanks Eddie up and whips him hard into the corner. Eddie hits sternum-first and bounces back right into a big back suplex that rattles the ring! Liam floats into a cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Eddie kicks out, a shoulder shooting up!
Liam snatches Eddie’s arm and swings the match into his style, dropping down into a Fujiwara armbar, wrenching back brutally on the shoulder and elbow. He grinds his forearm across the side of Eddie’s head for extra discomfort!
Simone: Liam Davis is trying to tear the ligaments out of that arm. Smart strategy against a technical wrestler.
Lunam: You take away Eddie’s arms, you take away a good chunk of them suplexes and holds, aye.
Eddie grimaces, digging his boots into the mat, inching toward the ropes. Liam torques the hold, shouting at him to tap! With a final lunge, Eddie hooks a boot over the bottom rope. The crowd roars as the ref orders the break. Liam drags the count all the way to four before finally letting go and then stomps the arm again for good measure! He drags Eddie up by that same arm and yanks him into a short-arm clothesline! Eddie hits the mat and rolls to his side. Liam follows, yanking him up again and whipping him into the corner. Liam charges in, but Eddie throws up a boot! Liam staggers back, clutching his jaw, and Eddie hops to the second rope. He launches with a flying clothesline, dropping Liam to the canvas!
Simone: Lyons finds an opening!
Lunam: C’mon Eddie, ya’ve got him rockin’!
Both men are down for a moment. Eddie clutches his arm but pushes up first, the fans rallying behind him. He grabs Liam and hits a crisp side headlock takedown, rolling through and holding it on the mat, grinding the headlock tight. Liam fights back to his feet and backs Eddie into the ropes, shoving him off. Eddie rebounds and ducks under a wild clothesline, then catches Liam on the return with a running shoulder tackle that sends Liam sprawling.
Eddie strings it together: arm drag, then another hip toss, and when Liam gets up groggy, Eddie catches him with a belly-to-belly suplex, snapping him over hard. Eddie covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Liam powers out!
Simone: The tide is turning in favor of Unbreakable Eddie Lyons!
Lunam: The lad’s feelin’ it, you can see it in the way he’s movin’!
Eddie hauls Liam up and whips him into the corner. He follows with a running corner clothesline, smashing Liam’s chest. Liam slumps, and Eddie hops up, mounting the second rope and raining down punches as the crowd counts along!
Crowd: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE!
Liam ducks under a sixth, slips out between Eddie’s legs, and pulls his ankles. Eddie crashes down face-first onto the top turnbuckle, then tumbles back into the ring! Liam quickly grabs him from behind and snaps off a nasty falling neckbreaker. He rolls over, hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
Kick out from Eddie!
Liam snarls, dragging Eddie up and ramming him shoulder-first into the ring post through the corner! Eddie collapses to the mat, clutching his shoulder. Liam grabs the arm again, dragging Eddie to the center and dropping his knee across the arm repeatedly!
Simone: Liam Davis has dissected that arm since early on. That’s veteran-level focus!
Lunam: He’s like a dog with a bone, and I’d love to boot ‘im for it!
Liam drags Eddie up and hoists him for a backbreaker, driving Eddie’s spine over his knee! He keeps him there, bending him over the knee, pushing down on chin and thigh. The referee checks on Eddie as he groans in pain! Liam finally shoves him off his knee and stalks behind him. When Eddie gets to his knees, Liam bounces off the ropes and blasts him in the side of the head with a stiff running kick. Eddie drops flat, and Liam covers deeply, hooking both legs.
ONE!
TWO!
Eddie kicks out again, to a big pop from the crowd!
Simone: Eddie Lyons refuses to stay down!
Lunam: That’s the Unbreakable bit in the name, Simone. Heart for days, that lad!
Frustrated, Liam signals for something bigger. He drags Eddie up and hooks him for a brainbuster. He lifts, but Eddie kicks his legs, shifting his weight. Eddie slips out behind, lands on his feet, and shoves Liam chest-first into the corner. As Liam staggers back, Eddie traps him in a schoolboy roll-up!
ONE!
TWO!
Liam just escapes, rolling through. They both scramble up, and Eddie explodes with a rolling elbow that cracks across Liam’s jaw. Liam spins and drops to one knee, eyes glazed!
Simone: That rolling elbow nearly took Liam’s head off!
Lunam: Hit him again, Eddie! Put the gob on the mat!
Eddie stays on him, hooking Liam and hitting a sharp vertical suplex, swinging him over with authority and bridging into a pin!
ONE!
TWO!
Liam kicks out, but more slowly now!
Eddie gets to his feet and drops a measured elbow drop across Liam’s chest, then another. He pulls Liam up and whips him into the ropes. On the rebound, Eddie plants Liam with a snap powerslam, landing perfectly in the center of the ring. Another cover.
ONE!
TWO!
Liam gets a shoulder up at the last instant!
Simone: Eddie Lyons is pouring it on, chaining those moves together.
Lunam: He’s got the whole arena behind him, listen to ‘em roar!
The crowd is buzzing as Eddie signals to the fans, drawing energy. He pulls Liam up, but the heel fires back with a sudden thumb to the eye, hidden from the referee’s view! Eddie reels back, clutching his face as the fans boo loudly!
Simone: Oh, come on! Liam Davis going right back to his dirty tricks!
Lunam: Of course he is. If there’s a shortcut, he’s takin’ it!
Liam capitalizes with a brutal running bulldog, planting Eddie face-first into the canvas. He rolls Eddie over, hooks the leg.
ONE!
TWO!
Eddie kicks out once more, to another explosion of cheers!
Liam slaps the mat in anger and motions that it’s over. He drags Eddie toward the corner and climbs up to the second rope, maybe thinking superplex. He drags Eddie up with him, hooks the head, preparing to take him crashing down. Eddie, however, buries shots into Liam’s ribs! One, two, three! Liam’s grip loosens. Eddie pushes him back, sending Liam crashing awkwardly onto the mat!
Simone: That could be the opening Eddie needs!
Lunam: Don’t waste it, Eddie, get movin’, lad!
Eddie steadies himself on the top rope, the crowd roaring. As Liam rises, Eddie launches with a diving forearm smash that drops Liam again. Eddie kips up slowly, clutching his arm but feeding off the crowd’s energy! He hauls Liam to his feet and nails a back body drop when Liam charges him, sending the heel crashing down hard on his back. Liam arches in pain, clutching his spine. Eddie follows with a running corner clothesline, smashing Liam back into the turnbuckles. As Liam stumbles out, Eddie hooks him around the waist and snaps him over with a sharp belly-to-belly suplex!
Simone: Eddie Lyons is in full control now!
Lunam: This is the Unbreakable fightback! He’s not just takin’ punishment, he’s dishing it right back!
Eddie stands in the corner, shaking out his injured arm, and crouches slightly as Liam slowly pushes up to his knees near the middle of the ring. The crowd senses what’s coming and ramps up the noise!
Simone: Uh-oh, I know that look. Lyons might be thinkin’ about that Mane Kick!
Lunam: Finish him, Eddie! End the eejit’s night!
Liam, dazed and on one knee, looks up just in time to see Eddie charge. Eddie bursts from the corner and drives his knee forward, colliding flush with Liam’s temple! Liam crumples forward, nearly out. Eddie staggers back from the impact but quickly refocuses, grabbing Liam by the head!
Simone: Mane Kick connects! Liam Davis is out on his feet!
Lunam: Time to hear the Lyons Roar, so it is!
Eddie hooks Liam in a front facelock, wrenching down. The crowd is on their feet, volume peaking. Eddie hooks one of Liam’s arms, plants his feet, and drives down with a sharp twisting drop, spiking Liam’s face and forehead into the mat in a brutal faceplant variation! The arena erupts as Liam bounces and flops onto his back, completely laid out. Eddie rolls him over and hooks the far leg deep, pressing his weight down across the chest!
Jasmine slides into position!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
DING DING DING!
The bell rings, and the crowd explodes in celebration as Eddie Lyons rolls onto his back, breathing hard but smiling up at the lights!
Justin: Here is your winner! “UNBREAKABLE”! Eddie! Lyons!
Simone: He did it! Unbreakable Eddie Lyons overcomes the odds and puts away Liam Davis with the Mane Kick and the Lyons Roar DDT!
Lunam: That’s how ya do it! That’s how a Lyons fights, SimONE! Heart, grit, and a good crack o’ the skull for a gobshite like Liam Davis!
Eddie slowly rises, clutching his arm but raising his other hand to the cheering fans in the Global Credit Union Arena as Liam Davis lies sprawled on the mat, the victim of the Lyons family roar as Climax Control moves on.
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome back to the stage – Moss Amanda Hugginkiss!
Amanda Hugginkiss steps out onto the stage to a swell of cheers, her bright red lipstick framed by a perfect smile, a flared polka-dot dress cinched tight at the waist with a glossy white belt, pearls at her throat, hair set in soft 1950s curls, and a pair of sensible little heels clicking against the floor as she gives a prim, housewife-perfect wave to the roaring crowd.
Amanda: I was standin’ in the kitchen, in my rhinestone heels
Feelin’ like a snack and lookin’ like a full-course meal
Turned on the TV, nearly dropped my spatula
‘Cause Jared Padalecki popped up like “Hi, how are ya?”
My heart did a backflip, my wig did a spin
I said “Lord above, where do I begin?”
I grabbed a little butter just to fry my toast
But suddenly that dairy was not what I wanted most
Oh Jared, Jared Padalecki
You got me meltin’ like a stick of butter, baby, nice and messy
You’re my tall glass of “yes ma’am,” my cowboy dream
And I’m the queen with the spatula, stirrin’ up steam
Yeah, Jared, Jared, on my TV screen
You got my butter workin’ overtime, if you know what I mean
Nothin’ dirty, nothin’ crude, just a flirty flutter
But I’m feelin’ some type o’ way ‘bout you and this stick of butter
I slapped that butter in the pan with flair
It sizzled like my DMs when I curl my hair
I’m hummin’ “Carry On” in a sequined robe
While the butter starts dancin’ like it’s on the road
I’m whiskin’ up eggs, but I’m thinkin’ ’bout you
With that flannel shirt and that “how you do?”
The butter slide-sli-slides, and I bite my lip
Thinkin’ “Jared, come over, we could share this dip.”
Oh Jared, Jared Padalecki
You got me meltin’ like a stick of butter, baby, nice and messy
You’re my tall glass of “yes ma’am,” my cowboy dream
And I’m the queen with the spatula, stirrin’ up steam
Yeah, Jared, Jared, on my TV screen
You got my butter workin’ overtime, if you know what I mean
Not explicit, just exquisite, like a kitchen mutter
When I sigh your name while I’m spreadin’ all this butter
I’m not sayin’ anything scandalous, no tea, no shade
Just a little daydream in my breakfast parade
You got fans with posters, I got pans on the flame
I’m just over here remixing your name
J to the A, R-E-D,
Padalecki, baby, serve that fantasy
I’ll keep it PG, but it’s still a thrill
When the butter starts to melt like I know you will (my heart, that is…)
Honey, let me tell you somethin’
When that butter hit the skillet, it did a little shimmy,
And I said, “Same, girl, same.”
If my cholesterol don’t get me, this crush just might.
Oh Jared, Jared Padalecki
You got me meltin’ like a stick of butter, baby, nice and messy
You’re my prime-time crush, my apron fantasy
And I’m the drag queen chef of your TV bakery
Yeah, Jared, Jared, hear my heart go “clutter”
Every time I see your face, I reach for one more butter
Not too naughty, just a wink, just a stutter
But boy, you turn my kitchen into hot cross butter
So if you see me in the grocery in my lashes and glitter
Just know I’m in aisle five, buyin’ feelings… and butter.
The song ends and Amanda prances about the stage to all sides, blowing kisses before vanishing backstage behind the curtains.
The ring is set up with balloons, tables with champagne bottles like some sort of party. Already in the ring in a fancy shirt, pants and little bowtie is Darian Price. He has a big smile and holds a microphone.
Darian: We all witnessed history at High Stakes when our queen Victoria Lyons became the Bombshell Internet Champion, starting what will certainly be yet another glorious and record breaking reign. Not only that she was voted SCW's 2025 woman of the year. A true inspiration for young women all over the world. So if you would please show your appreciation and welcome your SCW 2025 woman of the year and your new Bombshell Internet Champion, your queen Victoria Lyons!!!
The crowd boos as Hey You by Nova Rockefeller and plays on the PA and Victoria Lyons appears on stage with the Bombshell Internet Championship on her shoulder and that familiar smirk on her face as she makes her way down to the ring where she gets a mic.
xVictoria: Order has been restored because Victoria Lyons once again stands before you as a champion. Now while my Championship victory was expected, being crowned the woman of the year was not. That one honestly took me by surprise. But it honestly should not have, I am me after all.
Her and Darian laugh as the crowd boos.
Victoria: You really think your jeers are going to get to me tonight when I have so much to celebrate? My Championship victory, being crowned woman of the year and well….
She smiles at Darian who lifts up a hand to show a ring on his finger.
Darian: WE'RE GETTING MARRIED!!
Darian claps happily and he and Victoria share a kiss.
Darian: I'm going to be Mr. Victoria Lyons!!
The crowd starts a he's a simp chant.
Simone: He's taking her last name?
Lunam: Hey, we live in a modern society I don't judge.
Simone: Neither do I, just a bit unusual is all.
Victoria: That's why we're out here to celebrate not listen to you, come on Dare Bear pop a bottle, and let's get some music.
Darian immediately pops open a bottle and pours two glasses as Dancing Queen plays on the sound system, and Victoria clink glasses and take a sip they start to dance before she kind of motions toward the outside.
Darian takes note and pours two more glasses of champagne and takes them to the outside and sets them in front of the announcers, Lunam shrugs and happily takes a sip of his glass and starts vibing to the music because….why not?
Lunam: Um…Thanks!, and congratulations!
Darian back in the ring with Victoria drinks some of his glass and the two continue dancing, even some members of the crowd are enjoying themselves and dancing along for fun.
Harper: Awww, isn’t that sweet? Victoria finally found a man who can stand to be around for more than five minutes!
The music stops as Harper appears at the top of the ramp and Victoria turns around.
Harper: Oh don’t mind me guys! Continue to dance the night away and manage to make Lunam look less white by comparison!
Lunam: HEY!
Harper makes her way down the ramp and gets in the ring as Victoria stares her down.
Harper: Sorry to crash the party but someone had to make this borefest more exciting! And if that sounds familiar to you Victoria? It should because that’s the exact wording you used to justify your attack on me, also known as the only fucking reason your holding that title in the first place!
Simone: She has a point, Victoria was only added to the Bombshell Internet Title Match at High Stakes after she attacked Harper at the Go Home Show.
Lunam: Prior to that? It was a one on one match between Harper and Mercedes!
Harper then turns her attention to Victoria’s fiance.
Harper: Oh yeah! Darian, congrats on the engagement! Tell me, what’s it like having a total bitch wear the pants in the relationship? Has she used the strap on yet? Or are you still on the couch because Victoria crashed out of the High Stakes Tournament?
Victoria takes a mic angrily.
Victoria: Do you ever quit? First of all, how dare you. You do NOT talk to my fiance like that. You have a problem, you address me and leave him out of it.
She pauses shortly.
Victoria: Yeah I attacked you, get over it. And from the looks of things, it paid off.
She holds out the Bombshell Internet Championship
Victoria: But I’m seriously not in the mood to deal with your complaining today. So either come celebrate, or go find whatever they’re serving you in catering.
Harper: I’m sorry, did you say something? All I heard was “BLAH BLAH BLAH I’M THE BOMBSHELL INTERNET CHAMPION, BLAH BLAH BLAH MY PRECIOUS HUSBAND TO BE WHO I MET THREE MONTHS AGO GOT HIS FEELINGS HURT”.
Harper shakes her head.
Harper: Please Victoria, you really think this reign is going to be anything like the first? Did you forget how much you slipped towards the end of the Roulette Title Reign? Because trust me bitch!
Harper gets in Victoria’s face.
Harper: I fully intend to work my way up to being deemed worthy enough to take your ill gotten title away from you but the moment you slip and lose your precious title? Well, maybe then Darian will get to see you on your back for more than five seconds for once but more importantly? I will be there and I will make sure you never forget it
Victoria smirks.
Victoria: Fully intend to work your way up? That's the problem. I chose to insert myself and take it and that's why I'm the champion and you're not. You know maybe you could have a little thing like winning the match instead of complaining about my tactics. But seriously feel free to keep earning your opportunity, I'll be waiting for you there on the top, as champion.
Harper: You know what? Keep waiting, because i’ll just prove why I’m the better woman between us.
Harper pokes a finger in Victoria’s chest.
Harper: Because unlike you? I don’t take shortcuts willy nilly, unlike you? I believe in earning my shots fairly and unlike you?
Harper smirks.
Harper: My brother actually loves me!
Simone: OH!
Lunam: She just pushed the Vincent button in a huge way!
Victoria drops her champagne glass and angrily gets in Harper's face.
Victoria: How absolutely fucking dare you. I understand you're all pissy because I'm the champion and you're not and you think I took something from you. But you do NOT get to speak to me like that. I already took you out once I have no problem doing it again.
Victoria motions to Darian who pulls her spiked glove “The Lyons Paw” out of his shirt pocket.
Victoria: If you really wanted to prove something, you'd take me out right now and insert yourself just like I did to you. But you don't have in you to pull the trigger.
Victoria steps back and holds both arms out.
Victoria: Do it. Give me what I deserve. You know you want to.
Harper shakes her head as she starts to back off.
Harper: One other thing I know I’m better than you at: I won’t let myself stoop to your level.
Harper goes to leave the ring but Victoria goes to blindside Harper, Harper hears her coming and ducks the blow, grabs one of the campaign bottles and starts shaking it up before spraying the contents all over Victoria and Darian! They quickly retreat, Victoria’s hands on the title, as Harper pours herself a glass.
Harper: To the happy couple, Victoria and her power bottom Darian! And more importantly? To your mercifully short reign!
Harper drinks her drink while Victoria seethes.
Bea Barnhart is relaxing in her dressing room in the backstage area of the Global Credit Union Arena. Bea is already in her wrestling attire which this time consists of Jeans, a pullover shirt, and of course her wrestling boots. There is a knock on the door and when Bea opens the door there is a camera person there who has been assigned to get comments from Bea before she makes her trip to the Staging Area. Bea has the camera person set up their camera and then she begins her comments concerning her match against Alexandra Calaway.
Bea: Thanks to everyone watching my pre-match comments. Tonight I face off against Alexandra Calaway. This is not the first time we have faced off against each other and most likely it will not be the last time we will face off against each other in the wrestling ring. Apparently, from the comments on our match, Alexandra has fallen down and is having a difficult time getting up and performing well in the wrestling ring. If Alexandra believes that facing me in our match tonight is going to move her up in the rankings she is wrong…seriously. . .seriously wrong.
Bea sees one of the backstage persons entering her dressing room and they inform her that she will need to be ready to make her way to the staging area in a few minutes. Bea acknowledges the backstage person and she moves into the hallway to be ready to walk to the staging area.
Bea: I am going to make my way to the Staging Area now. Thanks to the viewers who tuned in to hear my pre-match comments. Bye!
As Bea and the backstage person start their walk down the hallway to get to the staging area the camera person keeps focused on them until they turn a corner and go out of camera range then the Network cuts the feed from that camera.
Justin: This match is scheduled for one fall… introducing first… hailing from Lawrenceville, Georgia…. Bea Barnhart.
WE’RE NOT GONNA TAKE IT by Twisted Sister hits the speakers and we see Bea Barnhart exit from the backstage area dancing to her entrance music. Her wrestling attire consists of black leather pants, a white pullover type of tee-shirt, and a black leather jacket. As the music continues Bea makes her way down to the ring where she climbs the ring steps then ducks through the ropes into the ring. She plays the crowd for a bit before running across the ring leaping up into a corner then executing a backflip landing on her feet. Bea then settles into a corner to wait for her match to start.
Justin: And her opponent….
The lights go down and "Cry Little Sister" by Lyric Noel starts to play. The arena is filled with Red and lights and fog. The Silhouette of Alexandra can be seen at the top of the ramp. She poses on the top of the ramp and as the beat drops, she starts to make her way down the ramp, towards the ring. Stopping halfway down the ramp, she stops looking out over the crowd, before continuing on. She smirks seeing some of the signs people made, a cocky smirk crosses her face.
Justin: From DALLAS, TX.. ALEXANDRA CALAWAY!!!!!
Finishing her walk down the ramp, she climbs onto the ring apron and up onto the turnbuckle. She slips into the ring and poses on the ropes, leaning forward on the ropes, sometimes talking shit with people in front row. She stares at Barnhart, as the ref moves in and check both for weapons before indicating for the bell to be rung…
DING DING DING!
zCalaway and Barnhart circle the ring before stopping and move in, as Calaway readies herself to lock up, but Barnhart instead gets into Calaway’s face and begins to shove her a few times, which Calaway is unsure what is happening and tries to respond back but Barnhart takes a step back and Calaway goes for a wild swing, but Barnhart dodges and fires in a forearm shot and catches Calaway in the side of the head and she stumbles away to a corner, as Barnhart follows her and then begins to drive multiple boots into Calaway’s stomach, which Calaway gets lower and lower before the ref moves in and intervenes and forces Barnhart away.
Simone: Well that’s an unusual start from Barnhart. Instead of locking up she shoves and pushes Calaway, which confuses Calaway. Calaway tries to respond but Barnhart dodges and fires in a forearm shot.
Lunam: Calaway moves to a corner, but Barnhart follows and begins to drive boots into Calaway and Calaway slumps down to the corner before the referee comes in and forces Barnhart back.
Barnhart moves away, as Calaway makes her way back to her feet as she holds her torso. Barnhart goes to move back in and Calaway gets a foot up, but Barnhart grabs it before dropping it and then fires in an uppercut, which rocks Calaway, as Barnhart then grabs her by the hair and drags her to the next corner and bounces her face off the turnbuckle but she doesn’t stop and she grabs Calaway once more and again bounces her face off a turnbuckle before repeating the process as this time she bounces Calaway’s face off a turnbuckle multiple times until the ref moves in and Calaway falls backwards.
Lunam: Barnhart backs away but its only brief, as she moves back in, Calaway tries to defend herself but fails and Barnhart catches Calaway with an uppercut before grabbing a handful of hair and drives her face into multiple turnbuckles.
As the ref and Barnhart exchange a few works, Calaway rolls from the ring and takes a few steps backwards before moving back to the apron as she checks her face for blood and takes her time to attempt a recover, as Barnhart turns and bounces off the ropes and then baseball slides right into Calaway and sends Calaway to the floor. Barnhart makes her way back to her feet and climbs onto the apron and takes a few steps backwards, as she watches Calaway make her way to her feet before leaping off and hits a flying crossbody onto Calaway.
Simone: Calaway falls backwards and bails from the ring, as Barnhart turns back around to find Calaway out of the ring and trying to recover, but that recovery is short lived, as she caught with a baseball slide.
Lunam: Barnhart isn’t done and she climbs onto the apron and leaps off with a crossbody onto Calaway.
Calaway catches her and then charges forward and towards the ring post, where Calaway drives Barnhart’s back into the ring post. Barnhart barely cries out, as the air is expelled from her lungs. Calaway backs up and does it again and this time she drops Barnhart as the ref demands the action to be brought back into the ring.
Simone: Calaway catches Barnhart and then drivers her spine into the ring post.
Lunam: Not once but twice.
Calaway moves to Barnhart, who rolled onto her hands and knees and she proceeds to deliver a punt kick to her ribs before grabbing her and pulls her up, where she rolls her back into the ring, Calaway then climbs onto the apron and then through the ropes, where Barnhart moves to her hands and knees once more and before she can react, Calaway moves in and hits a curb stomp.
Lunam: She drops Barnhart, who then crawls away but she doesn’t get too far and Calaway delivers a stiff kick to her ribs. Calaway then rolls Barnhart into the ring and she follows and hits a curb stomp.
Calaway drops down and grabs Barnhart and rolls her onto her back and goes for a pin…
ONE!
TWO!
TH…kickout!
Simone: Calaway goes for a pin but Barnhart kicks out.
Barnhart kicks out, as Calaway looks to the ref and indicated that she kicked out and Calaway tried again…
ONE!
TWO!
Kickout!
Barnhart kicks out again, as Calaway lets out a sign and rubs her head, as she makes her way to her feet, where she grabs Barnhart and drags her up to her feet, where she drives her into a corner, where she fires in some punches and kicks to Barnhart’s prone body. She then stops and grabs Barnhart pulls her out of the corner and hits a STO into the turnbuckle.
Lunam: Barnhart kicks out again, as Calaway takes a moment before making her way to her feet, where she grabs Barnhart and drives her into the corner before unleashing punches and kicks and then hits a STO.
Simone: Barnhart is in trouble here.
Calaway climbs back to her feet and grabs Barnhart once more and drags her up, where she then moves to the ropes and begins to climb them with Barnhart in tow as she looks to go high risk and finish off Barnhart. Once on the middle ropes, she tries to set up for her apocalypse finisher and as she gets to Calaway’s shoulders, she fires in some elbow shots into Calaway’s head, which unsteadies Calaway and Barnhart hits a headscissors takedown.
Lunam: Calaway drags Barnhart up and, as she looks to go high risk and finish the match. But Barnhart begins to fight back and hits a headscissors takedown and Calaway lands on her back before rolling away.
Barnhart stays down, as Calaway rolls away surprised by the headscissors takedown before making her way to her feet. Barnhart slowly climbs to her feet, as Calaway turns and rushes towards Barnhart is ready and she grabs the top rope and watches Calaway sail over the top rope and to the outside. Barnhart stays down, as Calaway stays on her feet and quickly turns and leaps onto the apron, as Barnhart stands to her feet and Calaway goes for a wild swing, which is blocked and Barnhart grabs Calaway’s head and drops to her knee and bounces Calaway’s throat off the top rope and Calaway drops to a knee holding her neck as Barnhart pulls herself back up and grabs the ropes and drives both feet through the ropes and catches Calaway and sends Calaway off the apron.
Simone: Barnhart gets back to her feet, as does Calaway and she rushes at Barnhart, but Barnhart sends Calaway over the ropes. Calaway turns and gets back to the apron and she wildly swings at Barnhart but Barnhart grabs Calaway and hands her against the ropes.
Calaway stays down for a moment, as Barnhart shakes her head before climbing back to her feet, where she watches Calaway and as Calaway rise back up, Barnhart grabs the ropes and leaps and hits a springboard plancha onto Calaway and sends them both down.
Lunam: Barnhart takes a few more moment before standing and then hits a springboard plancha onto Calaway.
The ref looks down at Calaway and Barnhart, as Barnhart rolls away as she still reels from the earlier attacks, as Calaway doesn’t move at first. The ref demands the action to be brought back into the ring. Barnhart crawls away from Calaway, as Calaway gets to her hand and knees and begins to crawl to the ring steps.
Simone: Both down, which gives them time to recover, but they only have a certain about time.
The ref begins to count…
ONE!
TWO!
Barnhart gets to the barriers and pulls herself up, as Calaway uses the steps to her to her feet.
Lunam: Both back to their feet.
THREE!
FOUR!
They both turn to face each other, and they rush in and begin to trade shots.
FIVE!
SIX!
They continue to brawl…
SEVEN!
Simone: Ref up to Seven.
But they soon stop and realise that the ref is up to seven and they turn and rush the ring and dive back in together. Once they are in the ring, Barnhart pounces first and hits a standing dropkick and sends Calaway down to the mat but she rushes to get back to her feet and Barnhart goes for a roundhouse kick, but Calaway ducks and as Barnhart turns back around Calaway drives her head forward into Barnhart face.
Lunam: they realise that both could get dq’d here and dive back into the ring. Barnhart pounces first and hits a standing dropkick.
Simone: She tries to follow up with a roundhouse kick, but Calaway ducks and then drives her head forward and into Barnhart’s face.
Barnhart stumbles back and drops to a knee, as she holds her face. Calaway rushes forward and hits a guillotine leg drop. Calaway grabs Barnhart by the hair and drags her up and then hits a running bulldog before moving back to her feet and she grabs Barnhart once more and this time she sets up and hits the Kudome Valentine {Reverse Gory Special Piledriver}.
Lunam: Barnhart can’t respond or come back from any of this.
Simone: Kudome Valentine.
She then goes for a cover…
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Lunam: Calaway picks up the win.
DING DING DING!
Justin: Winner of this match via pinfall… Alexandra Calaway.
Calaway’s music hits over the p.a as she rolls off Barnhart and makes her way to her feet, where the ref raises her arm in victory.
The scene opens backstage at Climax Control where we see Cassie Wolfe sitting on a crate with a frown on her face.
Cassie: So, High Stakes has come and gone and after all that talk about how Candy is more worthy of a Supercard spot than me, what happens?
Cassie shakes her head.
Cassie: She didn’t promote her match against Amelia Reynolds at High Stakes or her match tonight against Frankie and lost both! At least I put in a fucking effort!
Cassie shakes her head.
Cassie: But more important? I didn’t get pinned! Bella had to steal my spotlight and my finisher to win and for what? To “teach me a lesson”? About what? Advocating for myself? Being the only one to speak the truth about a has been hack?! But sure, I’m the bad guy and not the out of touch higher up who thinks that being a former champion is reason enough to get booked on the biggest show of the year!
Cassie stands up and folds her arms.
Cassie: I don’t care what anyone says, I was justified! And with the new year just around the corner, I have a resolution for you: this time next year I WILL BE A CHAMPION!
The Aussie walks off as the scene fades.
The cameras fade back into the ring, the crowd buzzing with anticipation as Justin stands at center ring. On commentary, Belinda Simone and Erik Lunam are already keyed in.
Simone: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Climax Control! We are set for singles action, and this one has the potential to steal the entire broadcast.
Lunam: That’s putting it lightly, Belinda. Harper Mason is hungry, starved, even, for a win that reasserts who she is. But Amelia Reynolds? She’s not just unpredictable. She’s volatility in wrestling boots.
The lights in the arena snap out as the jagged electronic rhythm of "Better on Mute" by Sophie Powers rattles across the personal address system. A hot pink glow crosses the stage, rippling in time with the beat, which is sharp enough to rattle the barricades. Powers' grungy sound catches the attention of the crowd, who give a mixed reaction upon the twinkling lights blinking onto the stage in bright white and silver.
Through the glare, Amelia Reynolds steps out from behind the curtain, rhinestone-studded jacket catching the light with every confident step she takes. She stops at center stage, her smirk playful but precise, chin tilted toward the crowd as she turns into the strobe.
A few seconds later, Dickie Watson joins her. He's steady and calm, his gaze flicking toward her with the kind of quiet pride that doesn’t need an announcement. When he reaches her side, Amelia leans into him for a moment, looping her arm through his and pressing her cheek lightly to his shoulder. It’s soft, almost sweet...at least until the next beat drops.
The moment the bass hits, she lets go, stepping forward into the light like she’s flipping a switch. Her whole demeanor shifts. Sugar turned spark, grin wide and wicked as she starts down the ramp. The lights catch on the silver edge of her jacket as she walks, each step hitting clean with the rhythm. Halfway down the ramp, the chorus slams through the speakers. Amelia stops, turns toward the hard cam, and raises a finger to her lips not necessarily to hush, but to make a point.
Then, with a laugh caught between defiance and delight, she sings along, echoing with lyrics, “Better on mute, fuck you, I’ll do it myself.”
The line lands, the crowd reacts, and she answers with a sharp wink before continuing forward. Behind her, Dickie’s smirk deepens, head shaking slightly as he follows at an easy pace, amused and quietly protective.
Justin: Representing Wolfslair...from the beaches of the Gold Coast of Queensland, Australia..."The Skyborn" AMEEEEELIIAAAAAAAA REEEEYYYYNOOOOLLLLLDDDDSSSSSS!!!!
At ringside, Amelia brushes her fingertips along the apron, then springs up in one clean motion. She balances for a breath, hair catching the light, before pushing off into a flawless springboard over the ropes. She lands in a low crouch, grinning toward the camera before rising.
Climbing the second rope in the nearest corner, Amelia poses with one hand under her chin, the other tracing the air near her lips as the lights pulse pink and silver around her. When she hops down, she slips off her jacket and tosses it toward Dickie, who catches it at ringside with a quiet smirk.
She takes a few slow steps toward the turnbuckle she's slated to go into, shoulders rolling as the last notes echo through the arena. The crowd’s noise swells and she looks out over it, her chin tilted, eyes glinting beneath the haze, before the corner of her mouth pulls into a grin as her music fades out.
Jonathon Young’s cover of “New Divide” by Linkin Park hits the speakers and Harper emerges from the back throwing some kicks in the air to the opening beat as her manager Joshua Acquin watches on with approval, once the initial lyrics hit Harper does a spinning roundhouse kick before dropping to one knee and throwing up the Devil Horns.
Justin: From Orlando, Florida and being accompanied by Joshua Acquin, she is the “Slaytanic Avenger” HARPER MASON!
Once Harper hears her name called she jumps to her feet with a massive grin on her face, she sprints down to the ring clapping hands with the fans at ringside before she jumps into the ring and down a forward roll landing on her knees and grinning broadly, ready to throw down with her opponent, Josh applauds his charge from the outside as they wait her opponent.
The camera pans to ringside where Joshua Acquin stands at Harper’s corner, arms folded. Across the way, Dickie Watson lounges casually against the barricade, pointing toward Harper and winking obnoxiously.
Harper stands in her corner, shaking out her hands, rolling her shoulders. Amelia, in contrast, bounces in place like she’s storing kinetic energy she can’t wait to release.
DING DING DING!
The bell rings and Amelia doesn’t hesitate. She darts forward, snapping off a quick forearm that catches Harper across the cheek.
Simone: Amelia firing first, no surprise there.
Lunam: She treats the opening bell like a starting pistol.
Harper blocks the second forearm, tries to clinch, but Amelia hits a knife-edge chop flurry, one chop after another, sharp, echoing, finishing with a vicious backhand that snaps Harper’s head aside.
Harper exhales sharply and fires a stiff European uppercut. Amelia staggers back for half a second, just enough. Harper steps in and snapmares her down to the mat.
Amelia rolls backward, lands on her feet, and in one smooth motion springs onto the middle rope.
Harper steps forward, SPRINGBOARD ARM DRAG! Harper crashes onto her back.
Simone: Beautiful elevation. Amelia wastes zero movement.
Lunam: She never touches the ground longer than she has to. She’s like, like someone told her the mat is lava.
Harper tries to regain vertical base, but Amelia darts in with shoot kicks to the ribs and thigh, inside leg, outside leg, an echoing kick to the body. Harper covers up, absorbing the shots as best she can.
Amelia spins, Spinning backfist!
Harper barely ducks in time. She lunges, ties Amelia up, And drops her with a standing front facelock swinging neckbreaker.
Simone: Harper needed that. She needed to ground Amelia.
Lunam: Yeah but let’s see if she can keep her there. Amelia Reynolds has a pathological aversion to being stationary.
Harper floats into a quick cover, ONE, kickout with force. Harper wastes no time and pulls Amelia up, driving a firm forearm into her jaw. She whips Amelia to the ropes, Amelia rebounds, and Harper catches her with a running STO.
Amelia hits hard. Joshua yells encouragement from the corner. Harper nods once, breathing deeper, settling herself. She grabs Amelia’s leg, hooks it over her own, and leans back with precision, SLAYTANIC PANIC locked in. Amelia gasps, instantly clawing for the mat.
Simone: That elevated kneebar is dangerous. If Amelia can’t get free, it may be a short night.
Lunam: Rare for anyone to slow her like this. Harper might be onto something.
Amelia writhes, twisting her hips, reaching, sweat already forming at her temple as Harper pulls down harder. Dickie climbs onto the apron, pointing wildly.
Dickie Watson: Use the momentum! Roll it! ROLL IT!
Joshua steps over, shouting back.
Joshua: Get down, off the apron!
Harper glances toward the commotion, Amelia uses the moment, rolls through, flips her body, and kicks Harper off with a desperate burst of adrenaline. Harper hits the mat but maintains her footing. Amelia, however, clutches her knee briefly.
Simone: That knee was torqued badly.
Lunam: She’ll ignore it. It’s what she does. Probably not smart, but it’s very, Amelia.
Harper tries for a ripcord setup but Amelia spins out, hits the ropes, and hurls herself back with a running leg lariat. Harper goes down hard as Amelia hits the ropes again and hits a Running forearm smash!
Harper reels in pain as she scrambles back up to her feet just before Amelia hits another! That one sends Harper slumping toward the corner. Amelia sprints and comes across with a Running facewash! Her boot scrapes across Harper's jaw. The crowd reacts with a mix of awe and wincing sympathy.
Harper rolls onto her side, disoriented. Amelia measures, takes a breath, then leaps with a standing moonsault press. Cover,
ONE!
TWO!
Harper kicks out.
Simone: Amelia stringing offense together now. Harper needs to reset.
Lunam: Reset? She needs a full system restore.
Amelia pulls Harper up by the wrist. She whips her toward the ropes, Harper reverses, Amelia rebounds, Harper swings for Into the Earth, the ripcord roaring elbow, But Amelia ducks, slides behind, grabs the waist, Harper elbows back,
At ringside, Dickie gets right in Joshua’s face.
Dickie: Your girl telegraphs everything!
Joshua: Touch me and I’ll put you through the barricade!
Dickie: You’re lucky to tie your own shoes! How the hell are you even a manager?
Harper looks toward the noise, just a glance, And Amelia strikes, Basement dropkick to the back of the knee! Harper collapses.
Simone: Distracted by ringside! That’s the second time Dickie’s caused trouble.
Lunam: Dickie’s not laying hands on anyone, so technically he’s within the rules. Annoying, but within the rules.
Amelia hits a low dropkick to the back of Harper’s head, driving her face-first into the canvas. Harper is dazed. Amelia runs, Running Meteora! Both knees crash down on Harper’s shoulders and chest. Cover!!!
ONE!
TWO!
THR, NO!
Harper rolls out with sheer instinct.
Simone: Harper is fighting with everything she has. She refuses to stay down.
Amelia grabs Harper’s wrist, Harper yanks her in, Jumping neckbreaker! Amelia bounces off the mat, clutching her neck. Harper drags herself up using the ropes. Her jaw is swollen, lip cut, but her eyes are sharp.
Simone: Harper Mason digging deep here.
Lunam: She’s got miles in her legs. She can go as long as she needs to. The question is, can she keep up with a meteor?
Harper pulls Amelia up and hits a snap suplex, floats over,
ONE!
TWO!
...KICKOUT!
She keeps the wrist, pulls Amelia up again, Rolling vertical suplex #1, rolls through again and hits #2, Harper rolls through one more time hits #3. The third has Amelia thrown across the ring like a ragdoll. Harper stands, chest heaving but posture strong. She stalks Amelia, waiting for her to rise. Amelia uses the ropes…
Harper sprints, goes for Breakdown! Throwing the running knee lift, BUT AMELIA SIDESTEPS! Harper completely wiffs, trips over her feet and hits the corner hard, shoulder-first. Amelia wastes no time; she runs from one corner and then hits her Handsring back elbow! She crashes into Harper. Harper collapses to the mat, clutching her shoulder. Amelia scales the turnbuckle. Her knee trembles slightly as she steps to the top rope. Dickie pounds the mat rhythmically, shouting:
Dickie: STARBREAKER!
Harper, on instinct, lunges, SECOND-ROPE FRANKENSTEINER! Amelia crashes hard.
Simone: Harper Mason with the counter of the night!
Lunam: Amelia might’ve just seen every past life she’s ever lived.
Both women lie on the mat, gasping for breath. Harper crawls towards the ropes, shaky but determined. She grips the top rope, pulling herself upright. She steps onto the apron, she measures Amelia carefully, jumps and springs off the ropes...
Masonline Special!
BUT AMELIA DUCKS, Harper’s leg sails overhead basically doing a superhero landing, jamming up Harper’s knee, Mason stumbling, turns, Amelia leaps and hits a Standing Hurricanrana! Harper is whipped headfirst into the corner turnbuckle. The crowd collectively gasps.
Simone: Amelia Reynolds turning the ring into her playground again.
Harper tries to pull herself up with the ropes, dazed. Amelia slips behind, the both fall as Amelia hits a Backstabber! Harper arches in agony, clutching her spine.
Amelia grabs her wrist and drops into Opaline Coil, the Black Widow submission, but Harper rolls before Amelia can lock it in fully, escaping narrowly. Harper stumbles to her feet, Amelia faster though hits her with a Running European uppercut! Harper drops to one knee. Amelia hits the ropes one last time, she returns and delivers a devastating Shining Wizard! Causing Harper to collapse flat.
As Amelia drags herself to the corner, Harper stirs, just barely. Amelia lifts herself to the top despite the pain pulsing through her knee. She takes a moment, looking at Harper, making sure the angle is set.
Simone: This is it. If Amelia lands this...
Lunam: Harper’s night is over!
Amelia launches off the top and STARBREAKER! Springboard corkscrew moonsault lands PERFECTLY. Amelia hooks both legs deep and Referee Drew Patton is right there for the count...
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rings.
Justin: Here is your winner... AMELIA REYNOLDS!
Amelia rolls off Harper, sitting back against the ropes, chest rising and falling rapidly. The strain of the kneebar, the crashes, the impact, it all sits on her face for a brief, human moment before the manic spark returns.
Dickie rushes over, tapping the mat excitedly, shouting praises Amelia ignores in favor of staring at her own hands, shaking from adrenaline.
Harper rolls to her side. Joshua kneels by her, speaking softly, checking her shoulder, helping her sit up.
Simone: Harper Mason fought with every ounce of will she has, but the chaos, the unpredictability, the sheer velocity of Amelia Reynolds was the difference maker tonight.
Lunam: And let’s be honest, Dickie Watson playing distraction bingo at ringside didn’t help. But even take that away, Amelia was on another level. Harper pushed her to dig deeper, but Amelia thrives in that space.
Amelia stands, leaning on the ropes as her hand is raised. She never takes her eyes off Harper. Not in mockery but in recognition.
Simone: A hard-fought match on both sides. Amelia Reynolds leaves with the victory, but both women showed exactly why they are rising forces in SCW.
Lunam: That was a TV match with PPV-level commitment. I’d watch them run it back anytime.
The camera lingers on the two competitors, Harper bruised but defiant, Amelia triumphant yet exhausted, before fading to the next segment.
SCW's annual Christmas edition of Climax Control aka Winter Wonderslam - Bring a toy and get a free ticket and meet your favorite Superstars and Bombshells!
The lights in the Global Credit Union Arena dim as the opening synth of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way hits the sound system, the first beat kicking in as purple and silver lights sweep across the crowd. The fans leap to their feet with a loud, positive roar.
Justin: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring! He is the reigning and defending SCW World Heavyweight Champion! Helluva Bottom Carter!
The curtain parts and Helluva Bottom Carter steps out onto the stage. He’s dressed casually sharp in a white soft knit polo, tan slim-fit chinos and suede loafers with the SCW World Heavyweight Championship fastened snugly around his waist. Carter pauses at the top of the ramp, spreading his arms wide, drinking in the ovation with a bright, infectious smile.
Simone: Listen to this reaction here tonight in the Global Credit Union Arena! That is our World Heavyweight Champion, and these people absolutely adore him!
Lunam: As they should! High Stakes XV was huge for Carter, and you can see what it means to the SCW faithful! This is their guy and they’re letting him know it!
Carter turns to each side of the stage, pointing out into the stands, blowing a playful kiss to one side and patting the face of the title with one hand to another round of cheers. He starts down the ramp, taking his time, veering from side to side to slap every outstretched hand he can reach. Fans lean over the barricade with phones out, some wearing Carter shirts, some holding handmade signs in glitter and rainbow Pride colors.
Simone: You talk about a feel-good moment Climax Control, this is it! The champ, the fans, and absolutely no shortage of love in this building!
Lunam: And after the year this man has had, you can’t say he didn’t earn every single one of those cheers!
Carter reaches ringside, hops up onto the apron and pauses, one hand on the top rope while he looks out over the sea of fans again. He unhooks the title from around his waist and holds it up high with one arm, the crowd volume rising another notch. He then steps through the ropes and into the ring, circling once, pointing to different sections of the arena, acknowledging a sign that reads STILL HELLUVA CHAMP.
He moves toward the nearest corner, steps up onto the second rope and hoists the World Heavyweight Championship overhead with both hands. Camera flashes and phone lights sparkle around the arena as the music continues under the cheers!
Simone: That right there is the top prize in Sin City Wrestling, and it’s been living around that man’s waist for a reason!
Lunam: High Stakes XV tried to take it from him. Aiden Reynolds tried to take it from him. But the champ is still standing, still smiling, still shining. That belt looks right at home up there!
After a long moment, Carter hops down from the turnbuckle and hands the belt over the ropes to the ringside attendant, who holds it carefully. A stagehand passes a house microphone into Carter’s waiting hand. The music fades, leaving the steady hum and buzz of the crowd as Carter moves to the center of the ring.
HBCarter: Phoenix, Arizona! How are we feeling tonight!?
The cheap pop hits in full force, the arena responding with a thunderous positive reaction! A loud mix of cheers and whistles rolls down, some fans stomping their feet in the stands.
Simone: I’d say they’re feeling pretty damn good!
Lunam: The energy in here is electric. You can feel it through the monitor!
Carter grins, one hand resting on his hip, the other holding the mic as he nods along with the crowd noise.
HBCarter: That’s what I like to hear, because I’ve been dying to come out here and talk to you about High Stakes XV!
The mention of the event draws another cheer.
HBCarter: High Stakes XV! That was the culmination of one of the best years of my life! And I’m not just saying that because I am still SCW World Heavyweight Champion.
He gestures toward the belt resting at ringside, then taps his own chest.
HBCarter: Don’t get me wrong, this championship means the world to me. But this year, this year was special in more ways than one. Because when the dust settled, when all the votes were counted for the 2025 Year End Awards, I walked away with four of them.
Simone: Four Year End Awards. That’s not just a good year, that’s a legacy year.
Lunam: Couple of the Year, Most Popular, Man of the Year, Wrestler of the Year. That’s not a bad trophy shelf to look at when you get home.
Carter laughs softly to himself, lowering his head for a second as if the memory still humbles him before looking back up.
HBCarter: First, Couple of the Year with my husband Miles. That one? That one hits me right in the heart. Because Miles has been my anchor, my partner, my co-pilot through every high and low. If you voted for us, just know you were voting for a love story I am ridiculously proud of.
A warm cheer rolls through the building, and a small Miles and Carter sign is shown on camera.
HBCarter: Then there was Most Popular. And I gotta be real with you… that one? That probably affected me the most. Because there are a lot of faces in that locker room. A lot of talented people in this company, past and present. To know that you all looked at all of that, at all of them, and still said, Yeah, we’re riding with Carter. That means more than you know.
The fans respond with another loud ovation. Carter nods, moved, pacing slowly.
Simone: This is what makes him so easy to root for. It’s not just the moves, not just the wins. It’s the way he connects with people.
Lunam: He wears his heart on his sleeve every time he steps through those ropes, and you can hear it right now.
HBCarter: Man of the Year. That one almost feels unreal. Because if you had told me when I first walked into SCW that someday people would look at me and say, That’s our guy, that’s our standard… I would have laughed and asked what you were drinking.
He smirks, shrugging lightly.
HBCarter: But I worked. I fought. I stumbled more than once. And every time I did, you all were there, pushing me back up on my feet. So if I am Man of the Year, it’s because this ring, this company, and every single one of you helped shape me into that man!
Another cheer rises, some fans on their feet applauding. Carter takes it in for a moment, then continues.
HBCarter: And then… Wrestler of the Year.
He pauses deliberately, letting the mention sink in as the crowd pops again. Carter gives a half-laugh, half-sigh.
HBCarter: That one… I still think it might be a clerical error.
Simone: Come on, that’s humility talking and nothing else.
Lunam: Still, that’s Carter for you. He’s the World Champion and he still finds a way to give credit to everyone around him.
HBCarter: Because if you asked me, if you asked me to put money on who Wrestler of the Year should have been? I’d have slid my chips right across the table to Kayla Richards or Victoria Lyons without thinking twice.
The mention of their names gets a mixed but loud reaction, a respect for their ability whether loved or hated.
HBCarter: Those two women, they have been killing it. Night after night. Month after month. They have been going out there and putting in the kind of work that inspires you, challenges you, forces you to step up your own game just to keep pace. So as far as I’m concerned, Wrestler of the Year could have, should have, easily been either one of them. They deserve that level of recognition every bit as much, if not more, than I do.
Simone: That is a World Champion paying respect to two of the best in the game right now.
Lunam: He’s not wrong, either. Kayla Richards and Victoria Lyons have been on another level. But so has Carter, and that’s why we’re having this conversation at all.
Carter rests his forearm on the top rope for a moment, looking around at the fans nearby before pushing off and returning to the center of the ring.
HBCarter: High Stakes XV was the exclamation point on that chapter. I went in there with Aiden Reynolds for the second time and I walked out still the World Heavyweight Champion.
There’s a pop, along with a few scattered boos at the mention of Reynolds’ name, reflecting his reputation.
HBCarter: Now, I know what some of you are thinking. Aiden Reynolds is, without a doubt, a colossal douchebag.
The crowd pops big at that, laughter and cheers mixing together.
HBCarter: But even a colossal douchebag can bring a hell of a fight, and I’m not going to stand here and pretend he didn’t. He showed up. He pushed me. He threw everything he had at me in that ring. And when it was all said and done, he made me earn every second of that victory.
Simone: That match was a war, and Carter is giving credit where it’s due.
Lunam: That’s twice now he’s turned back Aiden Reynolds, and he’s still willing to recognize the fight the man brought to the table. That’s championship mentality.
Carter paces slowly again, nodding to himself as he gathers his next thought, the crowd settled into a steady buzz of anticipation.
HBCarter: So here we are. High Stakes XV in the rearview, the awards handed out, Aiden Reynolds beaten for the second time and your World Heavyweight Champion still standing tall.
He stops, staring directly into the hard camera, his expression sharpening just enough to hint at what’s on his mind.
HBCarter: Which brings me to what’s next on the agenda for the World Championship.
Carter lowers the microphone just a fraction, the camera zooming in on his focused gaze as the crowd noise swells, hanging in the air on that point as the scene holds.
There is a sudden surge of activity at the top of the ramp. Shouting can be heard as a pile of security surge through the curtain being shoved back by who else but Alexander Raven. Anger boiling in his eyes as he pushes forward, microphone in hand. He taps it repeatedly, but it does not appear to be turned on. Security continually attempting to push him backwards.
Alexander Raven: Turn my fucking mic on now!
Raven’s eyes narrow as the microphone is turned on at exactly that moment, playing out his frustration for the crowd. Security holds him back at the top of the ramp as he stares down at the ring, straight at Carter.
Alexander Raven: What’s next? What’s fucking next? You know exactly what is next! I told you, I was coming for everything you hold dear. Not quite the way I envisioned it, but nothing changes. Nothing stops what is to come. I’m coming for you and that World Championship Carter!
The crowd roars with boos, the camera cutting between the two men as they stare daggers at each other. Alex in frustration cracks one of the security right across the jaw, trying to break free of the immovable wall of men now holding him back. Ensuring that he doesn’t get to the ring, to the World Champion.
Carter lifts the mic to respond.
HBCarter: You’re coming after everything I love? Pumpkin, you couldn’t even come after a three count two weeks ago when Alex Jones had you staring up at the lights! You remember that, right? That little speed bump on your road to greatness where you faceplanted in front of the whole world?
Simone: I was wondering if someone was going to bring that up.
HBCarter: You keep talking about the World Heavyweight Championship like it’s just another prop in your sad little monologue, but here’s the gag, Alexander: there is a ladder in SCW, and you are not at the top of it. You’re not near the top of it. You’re not even on the good side of the middle. You’re that rung people step on without looking, the one that wobbles and makes everybody nervous because it might snap! You want to come for everything I love? Start small. Try coming for a win streak that lasts longer than a TikTok!
Lunam: Ouch!
Alex’s face contorts in pure disdain the crowd chanting ‘Loser, loser’ over and over again at him. Alex stops struggling against the security, staring them dead in the eyes taking a step back to give himself just a little bit of breathing room.
Alexander Raven: You’re right. I lost, I’m not afraid to admit my shortcomings. I never have been. But maybe you just need a reminder of how good I can be. How good I am. Why I was able to go away from here and become World Champion. To beat the likes of your friend Amber Ryan. Matt Knox fell by the wayside too. So here’s something for you Carter.
Alex rubs his jaw a little, pacing back and forth. Looking every bit the agitated and caged animal he was painting himself as. He stops for a moment and turns, a cheshire grin spreading across his face.
Alexander Raven: How about this, Carter. Next week, you and me. Non-title, because god forbid the champion defends it every time they step in the ring. I win, I get my match. I get that opportunity at the final event of the year. I lose? I’ll never get an opportunity at that World Championship again, whilst you are champion.
The crowd ooo’s and murmurs at the stipulation put on the table. He smiles, dropping the mic as he slowly begins to back up, extending his arms out, palms up. Implying the offer is on the table. Carter stands tall in the ring, a smile on his face and his arms held out!
Lunam: Bloody hell! Carter versus Alexander raven!? Next week!? Are we gonna see it!?
Simone: It looks like Carter is just fine by that idea but now it’s the call of Evelyn Hall!
The camera fades in on the backstage hallway of the Global Credit Union Arena, catching up with SCW General Manager Evelyn Hall as she strides with purpose, a faint, satisfied smile on her face. Just behind her, Logan Hunter and his manager Brooke walk in tense silence, the earlier confrontation still hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Evelyn’s heels tap against the concrete floor, a steady rhythm as the trio move past rows of marked dressing room doors, production crates stacked neatly against the walls, and crew members hurrying by with headsets on and clipboards in hand.
They pass the hair and makeup area, where stylists hover around Bombshells and wrestlers in various stages of preparation, powders and sprays catching in the overhead lights. Evelyn glances over briefly, the corner of her mouth curling, then looks back over her shoulder at Logan and Brooke. She flashes them a pleasant, almost disarming smile, and with a light wave of her hand, motions them to keep up.
Evelyn: Come along. Do try and keep up.
Evelyn leads them on, past a lounge space where a few wrestlers sit on worn leather couches, focused on monitors showing the live broadcast feed. The murmur of commentary and crowd noise bleeds through the speakers, mixing with the distant thrum of the arena’s sound system. A few heads turn to watch Evelyn march by with Logan and Brooke in tow, curiosity flickering across their faces before they return their attention to the screens.
They continue down another corridor, the walls now lined with sponsor banners and SCW event posters. The camera tracks alongside, catching Evelyn’s composed expression contrasted with the stiffer posture of the two following her. They move past the media room, where cameras and light rigs are set up for interviews, a stagehand rolling a rack of microphones out of the doorway as Evelyn, Logan, and Brooke step around him.
Without breaking stride, Evelyn offers another casual glance over her shoulder, her expression almost friendly as she lifts a hand and gestures them forward again, as if this were all just a normal tour rather than the setup for a consequence. She leads them through a set of double doors, and the soundscape changes immediately.
They emerge into the concourse level of the arena, where the atmosphere is bright and bustling. The roar of the crowd inside the bowl becomes a muffled thunder in the background, while the closer noise is lively chatter from fans milling about, the hiss and pop of soda fountains, and the sizzle of grills from nearby food stands. The camera swings around to show families in team shirts and SCW merch, kids clutching foam fingers and souvenir cups, and fans checking their phones or laughing with friends as they line up for snacks.
Evelyn guides Logan and Brooke along the concrete walkway, weaving them through the flow of people. Overhead, signs advertise classic arena fare: hot dogs loaded with toppings, paper trays of crispy chicken tenders and fries, slices of greasy pizza, jumbo soft pretzels sprinkled with coarse salt, buttery buckets of popcorn, candy, churros dusted with sugar, and racks of chilled soda, bottled water, and beer. The bright menu boards cast a soft glow over the lines of fans, the smell of melted cheese, grilled meat, and frying oil heavy in the air.
The camera focuses on Evelyn as she moves, poised and composed, clearly in control of the situation. She finally slows her pace as they reach a particularly busy section of the concourse. Ahead of them is a stand dedicated to one of the most popular staples of any event night: nachos. The stand is slammed with customers, the line stretching far back into the walkway. Only two employees behind the counter are working frantically, scooping tortilla chips into cardboard trays, ladling out bright, molten cheese, sprinkling jalapeños, and trying to keep up with the orders being barked at them from all directions.
The line is long, winding, and impatient. Fans shift their weight from foot to foot, children tug on sleeves, and someone at the back lets out an exasperated sigh as the camera pans along the queue. The contrast between the chaotic stand and Evelyn’s cool demeanor is striking as she comes to a stop directly in front of it.
She turns to face Logan and Brooke, that same serene and knowing smile returning to her lips. She folds her hands neatly in front of her, eyes flicking briefly to the overwhelmed workers behind the counter, then back to the two at her side.
Evelyn: Well! Here we are!
Brooke and Logan share incredulous looks before Brooke speaks up.
Brooke: You can’t be serious?!
At this point? Marissa has caught up with them and takes in the scene.
Logan: How long will this go on for?!
Evelyn: Until further notice.
Brooke: Oh hell no!
Brooke goes to storm off but Marissa stands in her younger sister’s path.
Brooke: Get out of the way Marissa.
Marissa: Nope! You made your bed, now sleep in it.
Brooke fumes.
Marissa: Oh and by the way? I’m feeling hungry so………..
Marissa motions to the line.
Marissa: I’m getting in line!
Evelyn smiles as Marissa heads to the end of the line before she turns back to face Logan and Brooke.
Evelyn: In answer to your question, Mister Hunter. These little… tasks, I suppose you might call them, will continue on until Miss Shields here gives a personal apology to the woman she manhandled at High Stakes XV, Pussy Willow. And Miss Shields?
Evelyn turns to her specifically.
Evelyn: If you refuse, if you choose to walk out instead, then you will remain out. Outside of the arenas, outside of SCW entirely. Plus, you will be served for breach of contract. And even the fact that you are a…
She air quotes.
Evelyn: Trust fund baby … will not protect you from that. Ta ta!
Evelyn walks past the two flabbergasted stars when she comes up short and turns around.
Evelyn: Oh dear, I almost forgot the most important thing!
Evelyn reaches into her immaculate pockets and removes two – HAIRNETS!
Marissa looks up in time to see the hairnets and grins.
Marissa: Oh this is gonna be fun.
Brooke and Logan grumble before they put on the hairnets as the scene fades.
The shot returns to ringside with the energy in the arena humming, that particular kind of tension that only shows up when everyone knows the main event is about to decide something bigger than just a win or loss.
Simone: It has been a wild night on Climax Control, but this is the one everyone’s been circling. Alex Jones, fresh off that statement win at High Stakes XV over Alexander Raven, against a young man who’s been carrying the sting of missing that card on his shoulders—L.J. Kasey.
Lunam: Alex called himself a slave to an idea. He says professional wrestling is dead and he’s the last one who remembers how it should look. Tonight he says he’s testing L.J. to see if he’s the one fit to inherit that so-called legacy… or if he’s just another pretender like his brother.
Simone: L.J., on the other hand, is making a point when he speaks this week. He doesn’t care about Wolfslair, he doesn’t want to be ‘Miles’ kid brother’—he wants to be the future of this company. This is about identity for him as much as it is about victory.
The arena is suddenly plunged into darkness.
For a heartbeat, everything is silent – then the opening stabs of “Kingslayer” by Bring Me The Horizon (feat. BABYMETAL) rip across the sound system. Neon lights pulse to the beat, flickering in jagged patterns across the stage as smoke rolls out in thick waves.
A single spotlight snaps on, revealing a hooded figure at the top of the ramp.
L.J. Kasey stands there, head bowed, long black-and-gold jacket hanging off his frame like weighted wings. The camera pushes in close. Under the shadow of the hood, there is a flicker of something in his eyes—tired, maybe, worn from the last few months—but sharpened to a narrow point.
When the tempo kicks, he reaches up and peels the hood back. The crowd answers with a roar.
Justin: The following contest is your main event of the evening, scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… from Middleton, United Kingdom, weighing in at 210 pounds… L! J! KAAAAASEEEEY!
He smirks, the expression not cocky so much as stubborn. He takes in the reaction, jaw tight, then starts down the ramp with a measured stride—no bouncing, no overplaying it. This is still fun to him, but tonight it is heavy too.
He slaps a few hands, but his focus never leaves the ring, never leaves the space he has to fill opposite Alex Jones. At the foot of the ramp, he stops, unhooks his jacket in one fluid motion, and lets it fall into the hands of a ringside attendant.
Then he steps back, sprints forward, and leaps onto the apron in one smooth motion, hands catching the top rope. He pauses there, eyes sweeping the crowd once, then slingshots himself into the ring, landing in a low crouch before rising and spreading his arms wide, soaking in the noise.
Simone: Listen to this place, Lunam. They remember he wasn’t at High Stakes. They know what this opportunity means for him tonight.
Lunam: He said missing that card cut deep. This is his chance to answer the question he asked himself: “Did I already peak?” We’re about to find out.
The music fades, leaving the murmur of the crowd and the faint buzz of the lights. L.J. moves to a neutral corner, rolling his shoulders, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, eyes fixed up the ramp now.
A heavy guitar riff tears through the sound, the aggressive opening of “Cancel The King” by Tommy Vext.
Red and white lights strobe across the entranceway as Alex Jones steps out onto the stage, framed in the glow. He wears his full gear – black tights with the green, red and yellow dragon graphic, black boots and kickpads – and over it, a black and red Wolfslair t-shirt. The logo sits bold across his chest, worn like a banner.
The reaction is immediate and mixed: respect for what he did at High Stakes, resentment for how he talks about the rest of the roster. Boos layer over scattered cheers for a name that has been synonymous with big matches for years.
Alex stands at the top of the ramp for a moment, eyes scanning the arena with a cool, measuring look, then cutting straight to the ring where L.J. waits. The corner of his mouth curls in a faint, dismissive smirk.
Justin: And his opponent… from Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 225 pounds… he is a former two-time SCW World Heavyweight Champion… ALEX… JOOOOOONES!
Alex walks down the ramp with an easy, unhurried stride, the kind of poise you only get when you’ve carried more gold than most of the roster combined. His fingers drum once idly against the Wolfslair logo on his shirt as he passes ringside fans, some jeering, some reaching. He doesn’t break stride for any of them.
Lunam: This is the man who walked into High Stakes XV and shut down Alexander Raven’s rise and aspirations. Multi-time world champion, X*Crown, you name it, he’s held it.
Simone: And he says wrestling is dead, and the youth of SCW keep proving him right. In his words, he’s looking for a successor. L.J. Kasey is the first one to get that test.
At ringside, Alex leaps up onto the apron in a single flex of muscle, then turns deliberately to face the crowd, arms outstretched as “Cancel The King” hammers on. He soaks in the noise—good and bad—like it’s oxygen.
Then he steps through the ropes, eyes locked on L.J. The noise in the arena doesn’t die so much as it narrows, a focused buzz as the two men stand on opposite sides of the ring, measuring each other. Alex peels off the Wolfslair shirt slowly, almost ceremonially, the logo catching the glow of the overhead lights. He tosses it toward his corner, where it lands draped over the middle rope, bright and deliberate.
The referee checks both men quickly. Tape on the wrists, boots laced, nothing foreign. L.J. bounces once more in place, shaking out his arms. Alex just rolls his neck, shoulders loosening.
They step toward the center at the same time. For a full moment, they just stare.
L.J. Kasey, tall and wiry, with the look of a man who has gone without his moment and isn’t prepared to lose another. Across from him, Alex Jones, thicker through the shoulders, scarred by years of doing this at the highest level, eyes hard with a mixture of contempt and something like hope twisted into it.
You can almost feel the question hanging in the gap between them.
Simone: You could cut this tension with a knife.
Lunam: Old guard versus the man who says he actually cares about the future of this place. If L.J. wants to step out of every shadow that’s ever followed him, this is the night.
The referee steps in between them, glances at both, then turns and signals to the timekeeper.
The bell rings.
DING DING DING!
Neither man moves at first. Alex speaks first, words just loud enough to be picked up on the hard camera.
Jones (unaided): You wanna be more than your worthless brother? Prove it.
L.J.’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t rise to the bait verbally. Instead he steps in, lifting his hands. They lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up that scrapes and slides for position. Alex dips low, driving forward, using the extra bulk to force L.J. back a step, then another. Boots squeak on canvas. L.J. digs in, long frame braced, teeth gritted. He shifts his hips at just the right moment and pivots, turning Alex and walking him back two steps instead. The crowd reacts right away.
Crowd: OHHH!
Simone: Look at that, L.J. not giving an inch in the early lock-up.
Lunam: He wants to show he can stand eye-to-eye, shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex Jones. No flinch, no back step.
Alex breaks out of the tie-up first with a shove to the chest that sends L.J. rocking back a half step. Alex smirks again and taps his own temple with two fingers.
Jones (unaided): Think, kid. Or this’ll be over quick.
L.J. nods once, slowly. Then they circle again.
Another lock-up, this time quicker. Alex slips behind into a standing switch, cinching a waistlock. L.J. drops his base, reaches for Alex’s wrist, and executes a clean standing switch of his own, now behind Alex. Before Alex can react, L.J. snaps him down into a quick waistlock takedown, floating over into a front facelock.
The crowd reacts to the clean technical exchange.
Alex pushes to a knee, rolls through, and reverses, coming up behind L.J. with a hammerlock. L.J. winces, reaches back, rolls under, and comes up with Alex’s arm captured, transitioning into a standing arm wringer. Alex drops to a knee to relieve pressure, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Lunam: We’re seeing that high-flyer/technical mix from L.J. early. He said he wasn’t a spark that would burn out – he’s trying to show he can hang on the canvas with a man who’s wrestled everywhere.
Alex surges to his feet, reverses the pressure, and yanks L.J. into a short shoulder block, dropping him to the mat hard. L.J. rolls back to a seated position, looking up at him. Alex looks down with that same bitter half-smile.
Jones (unaided): Decent, but not good enough.
L.J. pushes himself up, dusts his hands off, and steps right back into Alex’s space, bumping chest to chest. The crowd buzzes again.
Alex’s smile disappears.
He lashes out with a stiff forearm smash to L.J.’s jaw, the impact echoing sharp in the arena. L.J.’s head snaps to the side—but he doesn’t fall. He turns back slowly, eyes blazing. Then he answers with a forearm of his own. The second shot draws an “OH!” from the fans. Alex’s head rocks back. He licks a bit of moisture from his lip, almost amused, then swings another forearm. They trade again. And again.
The pace slows to something deliberate and ugly as each man plants his feet and tests the other’s resolve with heavy, echoing shots to the face and jaw. No fancy footwork, no flying—just two wrestlers standing in the center of the ring, asking the same question over and over. Who’s going to blink first?
Simone: These aren’t pretty, Erik. These are receipts.
Lunam: L.J. said he was done being polite. This is what that looks like.
Alex finally breaks the pattern, faking a forearm and driving a sharp knee into L.J.’s midsection instead, doubling him over. He follows with a stiff martial arts kick to the chest that sends L.J. staggering back into the ropes. Alex steps in, hooks an arm, and sends him off with an Irish whip. On the rebound, Alex lowers his shoulder, looking for another shoulder block—only for L.J. to leapfrog clean over him, hit the opposite ropes, and come charging back with a sharp lariat that catches Alex square in the chest and drops him.
The pop is loud and immediate. L.J. doesn’t go for the cover. He stands over Alex for a second, breathing hard, and then backs off, gesturing with both hands as if to say, Get up. Again.
Simone: That’s what L.J. has to do. Match the physicality, but force Alex to keep proving himself at every turn.
Alex rolls to a knee, rubbing at his chest, eyes narrowed. For just a heartbeat, there is something like satisfaction there – like he wants to see that fire. He rises, circling again.
Another lock-up; this time Alex cuts it off with a quick knee, then grabs a side headlock, wrenching it tight. He grinds down, controlling the pace. L.J. grimaces, hands going to Alex’s wrist. He shoves them both toward the ropes, pushes Alex off, and sends him running. Alex hits the ropes, comes back, and L.J. drops down, then pops up with a running snake eyes, catching Alex and driving his face into the top turnbuckle on the far side.
Alex recoils, staggering back. L.J. hits the ropes again and snaps a roundhouse kick clean across the side of Alex’s head, sending him stumbling down to one knee. The crowd surges with noise. He grabs Alex by the head and snaps him down with a quick brainbuster variation, dropping him high on the back of the neck. L.J. floats over into the first cover of the match, hooking the far leg deep.
ONE!
TW–
Alex powers out with authority at two.
L.J. doesn’t argue the count. He rolls to a knee, looking down at Alex, chest heaving slightly. The young Brit takes a breath, then glances over toward the far corner – where the black and red Wolfslair shirt still hangs over the middle rope like a flag. The crowd reaction shifts instantly, like they know what might be coming. L.J. pushes himself to his feet, walks to the corner, and plucks the shirt off the rope, holding it by the shoulders. He looks down at the logo, the crowd already buzzing.
Simone: Oh boy…
Alex, still on his back, sees what he has in his hands. His eyes sharpen. L.J. lifts the shirt up, turns back to Alex so he can see it clearly, and then, with the entire arena watching, he tears it straight down the middle. The fabric rips loud enough to be picked up on the nearby microphone.
The crowd explodes.
Crowd: LJ! LJ! LJ!
L.J. lets the shredded pieces fall to the canvas between them like an offering he has zero respect for.
Lunam: There’s your answer, Alex. L.J. meant it when he said he didn’t give a damn about Wolfslair.
Simone: That was the banner, the brand, the identity Alex has worn for years, and L.J. just tore it in half in the middle of the ring.
Alex’s jaw clenches as he pushes himself slowly upright, eyes never leaving the shredded shirt at his feet, then lifting to meet L.J.’s stare. For the first time tonight, the veteran’s composure shows a crack. He rises the rest of the way, shoulders tight, and steps right through the tatters until they are nose-to-nose again, the crowd chanting and roaring around them. The match, and everything it means, has just sharpened.
They stand nose-to-nose, tatters of the Wolfslair shirt crushed under Alex’s boots, the crowd rolling into a steady roar. Alex breaks the stare first. He laughs.
It isn’t a pleasant sound. It is sharp and joyless, but there is a hint of something else buried in it – relish, maybe, that someone finally has the guts to cross that particular line. Then his fist shoots out, catching L.J. square in the jaw with a blistering right hand. L.J.’s head snaps to the side. Before he can fully recover, Alex follows with another shot, then another, driving him back into the ropes with a volley of heavy strikes that have none of the measured, testing quality of their earlier exchanges. This is anger, experience, and precision all rolled into one.
He grabs L.J.’s wrist and sends him across the ring with an Irish whip. On the rebound, Alex explodes forward with a running knee strike—the V-Trigger-style V-Strike—that connects clean with L.J.’s face, dropping him hard to the canvas.
The crowd gasps at the impact. Alex doesn’t go for the cover right away. He paces in a slow circle around L.J.’s body, shaking out his hands, breathing measured through his nose as he forces the fire back into something cold and deliberate. Then he drops down, hooks L.J. by the head, and snaps him over into a snapmare, following immediately with a sharp soccer kick to the spine. L.J. arches in pain, teeth gritted. Alex kneels behind him, laces his hands under the chin and around the neck, and yanks him into a tight rear chinlock.
Simone: That change in gears from Alex – L.J. ripping that Wolfslair shirt set something off.
Lunam: You heard Alex all week. He wants to see if someone like L.J. can carry the legacy forward. You tear up the banner and survive? Now you’re in the real exam.
Alex leans in close, speaking low by L.J.’s ear, but the camera picks up snatches.
Jones (unaided): You think this little tantrum makes you the future? You’re still just a Kasey. Decent. Not good enough. L.J.’s fingers claw at Alex’s forearms, trying to break the hold. The veteran keeps it snug, weight exactly where it needs to be to sap the younger man’s wind. The crowd begins clapping, a slow build of rhythm. Crowd: LJ! LJ! LJ! L.J. shifts his hips, twists onto one knee, then the other, forcing himself up with Alex still clamped on his back. He drives an elbow back into Alex’s ribs. Once. Twice. On the third, Alex’s grip loosens just enough for L.J. to spin out, grab his wrist, and whip him toward the corner. Alex reverses mid-stride, yanking L.J. in instead and catching him with a pendulum backbreaker that bends the younger man over his knee viciously. Alex doesn’t release—he rolls through, holds on, and transitions into a second backbreaker, then finally dumps L.J. to the mat.
Cover.
ONE!
TWO—
L.J. kicks out, shoulder up.
Alex sits back on his heels for a second, eyes narrowing—not confused, not surprised, just recalibrating. Then he grabs L.J.’s leg, steps through, and turns him over into a sharp figure-four leglock. The crowd surges as L.J. cries out, hands immediately going to his knee. Simone: Figure four in the center of the ring! Alex going back to the roots, back to the classics. Lunam: You want proof professional wrestling isn’t dead? Alex is using the same holds that built this sport—but he’s using them to try and bury the future. Alex sits up, adding torque, shouting over the noise. Jones (unaided): C’mon, kid! Show me you’re more than a pretender! L.J. digs his fists into the mat, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. The pain is white-hot and immediate, but he grits his teeth and tries to roll. Alex fights him, pushing the opposite way, but L.J. uses his height and leverage, inch by inch, until they shift their combined weight enough to roll the hold over, reversing the pressure.
Now Alex grimaces, the pressure on his knees. He quickly unwinds the hold, breaking it before L.J. can capitalize, and rolls to the ropes, using them to pull himself up. L.J. clutches at his leg, testing it, the damage obvious but not catastrophic. Alex sees that limp and pounces. He closes the distance and drives a series of stiff kicks into the thigh and knee, each one precise, each one designed to chip away at L.J.’s vertical base. L.J. tries to cover up, hopping on his good leg, but Alex yanks him in, hooks the head, and snaps him down with a clean spinning neckbreaker.
Another cover.
ONE!
TWO!
L.J. shoots a shoulder up again. Simone: Alex is dialing in now. Attacking the leg, the neck, taking away the base and the high-flying both. This is that decorated résumé at work. Lunam: And this is exactly the conversation he talked about—‘you’re decent, but not world title good.’ He’s dissecting L.J., trying to prove that point in real time. Alex exhales through his nose, then shifts his body around, sliding an arm under L.J.’s neck and threading the other under the trapped arm before pulling back into a tight Koji Clutch. The crowd noise spikes. L.J.’s face contorts as Alex wrenches back, the pressure tearing at his neck and shoulder, legs scissored around his head. The referee drops down.
L.J. shakes his head immediately, fingers digging into Alex’s thigh, searching for leverage. The hold isn’t just painful—it’s suffocating. The world starts to tunnel.
He reaches out, hand stretching for the ropes, but they are a good foot away.
Alex snarls, cranking harder. Jones (unaided): Tap out, kid! Your brother would. That lights something behind L.J.’s eyes. He tucks his chin as much as the hold allows, twists his hips, and reaches his free arm back, managing to shift just enough to roll their combined weight sideways. It doesn’t break the hold, but it changes the angle, loosening the torque just enough for L.J. to push his legs, inching them both toward the ropes.
The crowd wills him on. Crowd: LJ! LJ! LJ! Finally, his fingertips brush the bottom rope. He claws, stretches—then grabs on. The referee immediately calls for the break. Alex holds the Koji Clutch to the count of three before releasing at four, letting L.J. flop onto his side, gasping for breath. Simone: Look at the resilience from L.J. Kasey. That hold has put away better men than him, but he refuses to tap. Lunam: Refused to tap and forced a rope break—that’s the kind of decision-making you expect from a veteran, not someone a year and a half in. Alex gets to his feet first, chest rising and falling a little faster now. He looks down at L.J., something caught between irritation and grudging respect flickering across his face. He hauls L.J. up by the wrist and whips him into the corner. L.J. hits hard, chest-first, and staggers back right into Alex’s waiting arms. Alex threads his arm across the chest and drives him backward with a snap DDT, spiking his head into the mat. Another cover, hooking both legs this time.
ONE!
TW–
L.J. kicks out again, just before the three. Alex sits back, hand running over his beard. He looks to the official, holds up three fingers, gets two in response. He nods slowly—no theatrics, just adjustment. He drags L.J. up again, but as he does, L.J. suddenly hooks his arms, rolls his weight, and yanks Alex down into a small package out of nowhere.
The crowd leaps to their feet.
ONE!
TWO!!
Alex just manages to kick out, rolling free and popping up with a hint of shock in his eyes. Simone: L.J. almost stole it right there! Lunam: That’s the kid’s ring IQ you were talking about—out-thinking the veteran, if only for a heartbeat. L.J. stays down for a second, sucking wind, then forces himself up using the ropes. Alex charges, looking for another knee strike, but L.J. pivots, grabs the top rope, and dumps Alex over it to the apron. Alex lands on his feet, clutching the top rope, but L.J. is already moving. He sprints to the far ropes, bounces off, and in one fluid motion launches himself toward Alex with a springboard dropkick that catches Alex flush in the chest and sends him crashing to the floor at ringside. The crowd roars its approval. Simone: There’s that explosiveness! L.J. Kasey turning defense into offense in a heartbeat! Alex staggers up on the outside, shaking his head clear, using the barricade for support. L.J. grabs the top rope, glances once around the arena, then back to Alex. And then he goes higher. He scales the turnbuckles in a few quick steps, perching on the top rope. The fans rise with him, sensing the risk.
Alex turns just in time to see L.J. launch himself off the top in a gorgeous arc, twisting – Spanish Fly to the floor. Both men crash to ringside in a tangle of limbs, the impact nasty and real. The arena explodes. Crowd: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! Lunam: Spanish Fly to the outside! That could’ve wrecked both of them! Simone: L.J. said he was done being polite – this is what ‘done’ looks like. He’s willing to torch his own body to make this statement. Both men lie in a heap for a moment, L.J. clutching at his back, Alex staring at the lights spinning overhead. The referee begins the count.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
L.J. is the first to stir, rolling onto his stomach, then forcing himself to crawl toward the apron. Alex follows a heartbeat later, dragging himself on his elbows.
FOUR!
FIVE!
L.J. grabs the apron skirt, pulling himself up. His leg buckles once, but he grits through the pain and shoves Alex back under the bottom rope, breaking the count. He follows, climbing to the apron, then hauling himself up the turnbuckles again, breath ragged but eyes locked on the prone veteran. Simone: He’s going back up—this is risky after everything his neck and leg have taken. Lunam: Risky is the whole point, Simone. He misses High Stakes, he misses his shot, and now he’s throwing himself into everything Alex said he couldn’t be. L.J. stands tall on the top rope, swaying slightly, then leaps, turning his body in mid-air into a diving cutter – Blast From the Past – crashing down across Alex’s neck and chest. He hooks both legs deep, folding Alex up tight. The crowd counts along.
ONE!
TWO!
THR–
NO! Alex kicks out!
The sound of the escape feels like air being sucked out of the building. L.J. rolls to his side, hands in his hair, staring at the referee in disbelief. It isn’t a protest—it is the realization of how close he has been. Simone: Blast From the Past connects and Alex still kicks out! What does L.J. have to do? Lunam: You heard Alex. If you beat him, you better be ready to climb the ladder. L.J. is learning in real time just how hard that first rung is. L.J. takes a moment, breathing deep, then forces himself to focus. He drags Alex toward the center of the ring by the arm, then slides behind him, threading his arm under Alex’s chin and wrenching back into a tight Dragon Sleeper – Dragons Keep! The arena comes unglued. Crowd: TAP! TAP! TAP! Alex’s eyes snap wide as L.J. pulls, torqueing his neck and spine. His free hand flails for a second, then curls into a fist. Simone: This is huge! L.J. has Dragons Keep locked in—this is exactly the kind of moment he said he wanted! Lunam: Imagine this—Alex Jones, the man looking for a successor, forced to submit to the kid he called a pretender. This would change everything. Alex refuses to let the picture be that simple. He plants one boot, then the other, using his veteran awareness to twist his body just enough to shift their combined weight. He pushes backward, driving L.J. toward the corner. On the third step, he manages to kick off the turnbuckles, rolling their bodies sideways and forcing L.J. to break the hold or get crushed under the momentum.
They tumble, the hold breaking violently.
L.J. hits the mat hard, knocked looser than he expects; Alex rolls through onto his knees, one hand at his throat, coughing, blinking spots out of his vision. Both men lie there, breathing ragged, the match now clearly taking its toll. Simone: L.J. had him! He had him! But Alex rolled, used the ring itself to break out— Lunam: That’s what twenty years in this business looks like. That’s the difference between decent and champion. The question is – does L.J. close that gap before this is over? In the center of the ring, L.J. pushes up to his hands and knees, then to a shaky vertical base. Across from him, Alex does the same, rubbing at his neck, glaring at the younger man through the strands of his hair. They look at each other. The crowd swells again. L.J. raises his fists. Alex nods once, almost imperceptibly.
Then they step back into range, ready for the next exchange—this time with the pace about to quicken and the stakes about to sharpen into something brutal. Both men push up to their feet at roughly the same time, slow at first, then faster as adrenaline forces tired muscles to cooperate. The noise in the arena has settled into a constant roar—no more tentative reactions. Everyone in the building feels the weight of the next few minutes.
They step toward each other again.
Alex throws the first shot: a stinging chop across L.J.’s chest that echoes off the rafters. L.J. winces, chest reddening immediately - but answers with a chop of his own. The sound draws a fresh “WOO!” from the crowd.
Another from Alex.
Another from L.J.
Forearms now, heavy and deliberate. A knee from Alex. A body shot from L.J. The pace edges from measured into frantic as both men try to assert that last bit of dominance, that last bit of “I own this ring.” Alex cuts the exchange off with a sharp kick to the knee he has already softened, then turns and hits the ropes, coming back with another running knee strike aimed for L.J.’s temple.
This time L.J. ducks it. Alex rebounds off the far side and L.J. snaps his own step-up enzuguri, boot cracking across Alex’s head and staggering him sideways. The building erupts. Alex stays on his feet by instinct alone, legs wobbling. L.J. grabs his wrist, yanks him in, and drives a short arm lariat square into his chest, dropping him flat. L.J. doesn’t even go for the cover. He stumbles back to the corner, chest heaving, one hand braced on the top rope as he sizes Alex up. Simone: Look at L.J. go! This is not the kid we saw miss High Stakes. This is a man trying to rip the page out of his own story and rewrite it on the fly. Lunam: And he’s doing it against someone who’s made a career out of closing that book on people. Alex rolls to his knees, dazed. L.J. pushes off the buckles, steps in, hooks Alex around the waist, and with a guttural exhale muscles him up and around – reverse-spin Michinoku driver. The impact rattles the ring; Alex’s body folds, then snaps flat. L.J. hooks the leg deep.
ONE!
TWO!
THR—
Alex kicks out.
L.J. collapses to his side, both arms wrapped around his ribs, eyes wide at how close he has been again. Simone: That was as near a near fall as you’re going to get without a bell. L.J. Kasey is inches away from the biggest win of his career. Lunam: And inches away from answering every single thing Alex said about him this week. He sits up slowly, forcing focus back into his face. He looks at Alex lying there, chest rising and falling, and something in his expression shifts from disbelief to resolve. He drags Alex up by the hair, turning him so his back is to L.J., then threads Alex’s arm into a hammerlock and reaches for the head. The crowd recognizes the setup. A murmur of anticipation turns into a rising shout. Simone: Wait a second— Lunam: We’ve seen what this kid’s got in his arsenal. He might be thinking Kingslayer right here. Spinning hammerlock tombstone, if he hits this, Alex isn’t kicking out. L.J. adjusts his grip, trying to hoist Alex for Kingslayer. His leg trembles under the strain, the earlier figure-four and kicks catching up with him. Alex’s weight shifts awkwardly; he sandbags, forcing L.J. to strain harder. L.J. clenches his teeth, fighting through it, but in that one, stretched-out second of effort, Alex’s voice cuts through the noise, raw and hoarse. Jones (unaided): DO IT! END ME! BE BETTER THAN YOUR WORTHLESS BROTHER! BE SOMETHING! The words hit like another strike. L.J. freezes – not completely, but just enough. The struggle to lift, the scream in his leg, the roar of the crowd, Alex’s taunts – all of it collides in his head. For a heartbeat, he hesitates.
Trying to hoist a man like Alex Jones for a move like Kingslayer with a half-second’s doubt and a bad leg is a recipe for disaster. Alex surges, using that tiny lapse. He twists out of the hammerlock, lands behind L.J., and drives a vicious forearm across the back of L.J.’s neck, sending him stumbling forward into the ropes. L.J. hits chest-first, bounces back—
And Alex hooks the arm in mid-rebound, snapping him down with a hammerlock clothesline that nearly turns the younger man inside out.
Alex doesn’t stop there.
He drops to a knee beside L.J., grabs a handful of wrist and fingers, and stomps down on the extended arm, once, twice, softening it before falling back into a tight grip and wrenching it between his legs. AJ LOCK. Cross armbar. He hyperextends the limb in an instant. L.J. cries out, free hand clawing the mat.
The referee drops down.
L.J. practically shouts “NO!”, shaking his head violently, eyes squeezed shut as Alex yanks back on the arm. L.J. digs his nails into the canvas, manic with refusal. He twists his hips, tries to stack Alex, but Alex shifts, keeping the arm straight. The ropes are too far. His fingers hover, shake – but never tap. Simone: He’s in the center of the ring, nowhere near the ropes, that arm could snap at any second. Lunam: This is that choice L.J. talked about—pressure can crush you or turn you into something sharper. Right now it’s trying to tear his shoulder apart. With a last, desperate surge, L.J. rolls his body sideways, using the momentum to stack Alex’s shoulders for a flash pin attempt.
The referee slaps into position.
ONE!
TWO!
Alex is forced to release the AJ Lock to kick out.
He rolls away, clutching at his own ribs now, breath ragged, but L.J. stays down, arm cradled tight against his body, the damage done. His fingers flex uselessly, nerves screaming. Both men get to their knees at nearly the same time, facing each other across a few inches of canvas. The crowd rises with them.
Alex is the first to move. He crawls forward and grabs a fistful of L.J.’s hair, yanking his head up so their eyes meet. He lets go only long enough to slap L.J. across the face. The sound cracks like another chop. L.J.’s head snaps to the side. He turns back slowly, eyes glassy but burning. Then he slaps Alex back. The arena blows up. They rise the rest of the way to their feet, swaying, and trade slaps, then forearms, then wild, tired fists. L.J. catches Alex with a short elbow that rocks him, then a roundhouse kick with the good leg that drops Alex to his knees.
L.J. steps back, sucking air, looking at Alex kneeling in front of him. The veteran lifts his head, blood in the corner of his mouth, and smiles. Actually smiles. Jones (unaided): There it is. Finish it. MAKE THE STATEMENT. L.J. looks around at the crowd, at the ring, at the spot they are standing in—the kind of moment he has been dreaming about since he signed his contract. He backs up a step, then another, lining Alex up. The fans surge to their feet. He charges forward. At the last second, his bad leg buckles.
The curb stomp he seems to be winding up for turns into a stuttered step, and he clips Alex, but not cleanly. It knocks the older man sideways instead of down. The stumble sends a bolt of pain up L.J.’s knee; he grabs for balance, momentarily exposed.
That is all Alex needs. He surges up, nearly on instinct, and as L.J. turns—
The Dragon Sleeps. The Zigzag/Dangerzone variation snaps L.J. backwards, whiplashing his already punished neck and shoulders into the canvas. The entire ring shakes. L.J. lies flat, eyes blank, chest heaving on autopilot. Alex pushes up to one knee beside him, looking down, hair hanging in his face.
He could’ve covered.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he stands. Slowly, methodically, he walks to the nearest corner and plants his boots there, one hand on the top rope, the other brushing his damp hair back from his eyes. He stares across the ring at L.J. struggling to his hands and knees, body refusing to fully quit even as everything screams for it. Simone: He could’ve pinned him. Why isn’t he pinning him? Lunam: Because this isn’t just about a three-count anymore. This is about the lesson Alex has been preaching. In his head, you don’t half-finish something like this. Alex pounds his boot once, twice, three times into the canvas, each thud louder than the last. The crowd, sensing what’s coming, starts to shout and boo all at once. Jones (unaided): GET UP! C’MON, FUTURE! GET UP! On all fours, L.J. drags one knee up under him, then the other, shaking, one arm hanging useless. He gets to a low crouch, head bowed. Alex steps out of the corner, measures the distance, and then sprints forward. Dragon’s Breath! The curb stomp drives L.J.’s face and chest into the mat in one brutal, decisive shot.
He bounces once and then lies still. Alex drops to his knees beside him, shoves him over with both hands, and hooks the leg hard, forearm grinding across L.J.’s jaw as if he still doesn’t entirely trust him to stay down.
The referee slides into position.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
The bell rings.
DING DING DING! Justin: And your winner…..ALEX JOOOOOOONNNEEESSS!!!!!!! “Cancel The King” hits the speakers again, but it is almost drowned out by the mixture of boos and shocked applause. The referee moves to raise Alex’s hand; Alex yanks it away for a moment, breathing too hard, then lets the official lift his arm. Simone: And just like that, Alex Jones puts the exclamation mark on what might be the defining match of L.J. Kasey’s young career. Dragon Sleeps and Dragon’s Breath, back-to-back. That was decisive. That was brutal. Lunam: L.J. wanted to prove he was more than a spark. Tonight he burned a whole lot brighter than anyone expected… but Alex demanded a wildfire. And when that hesitation hit, when the doubt crept in, Alex did exactly what he’s done his whole career. He closed the door. The camera cuts to L.J., still on the mat, hand sliding instinctively to his arm, then to his jaw. An official kneels beside him, checking on him. Slowly – too slowly – L.J. rolls onto his side and then onto his back, staring up at the lights like he has been staring at the ceiling in that dim locker room, confronting the same question all over again.
Alex stands over him now.
He looks down at L.J. for a long moment, chest still heaving, eyes searching the younger man’s face. No microphone, no speech. A few words uttered, uncaught by the camera this time, shared only for L.J. and Alex to know. He straightens, turns, and steps right over the shredded remains of the Wolfslair shirt on his way out of the ring, not bothering to look back.
L.J. pushes himself up to a seated position with the help of the referee, pain etched across every line of his face, but there is something else there too. Not defeat. Not completely. Something harder. Sharper. The crowd, sensing it, starts to clap. First in pockets, then spreading, until the building is giving him the kind of ovation usually reserved for the ones who actually win. Simone: He didn’t get the win. That’s the reality. But if Alex Jones is looking for someone to make him dig, L.J. Kasey just forces him to dig as deep as we’ve seen in a long time. Lunam: I could only make a little bit out, but Alex said: ‘almost doesn’t change this business.’ L.J. has a choice after tonight. Let ‘almost’ crush him… or come back sharper, meaner, with that hesitation burned out of him. If he can do that? This company might have just watched its future lose—and still arrive. The last image before the show cuts away is L.J. Kasey, kneeling in the center of the ring, one arm clutched to his chest, staring after the ramp where Alex has disappeared. He blinks sweat from his eyes, swallows hard, and then, just barely, nods to himself.
The story isn’t over. Tonight has just written the first truly permanent line in L.J.’s rise in Sin City Wrestling.
The cameras return to the ringside table, the roar of the crowd in the Global Credit Union Arena still echoing from the final match of the night. Fans are on their feet, some already starting towards the exits, others lingering to chant and wave signs as the hard camera focuses on the announce desk. Simone: What a night it has been here at Climax Control, live from the Global Credit Union Arena. Incredible action from top to bottom, and so many questions raised heading into the weeks to come. Lunam: Aye, an’ if tonight’s any indication, we’re in for a wild ride, ya know that. Champions makin’ statements, contenders steppin’ up, an’ everybody else fightin’ like their lives depended on it. That’s SCW for ya. Simone: On behalf of everyone in Sin City Wrestling, we want to thank all of you here in attendance, and everyone watching at home or wherever you’re joining us from. Your energy, your passion, is what keeps this company going week after week. Lunam: Couldn’t have said it better, love. T’ all o’ ya packed in this arena, t’ all o’ ya streamin’, watchin’, shoutin’ at the screens an’ wakin’ the neighbors… thank ya. Ye make nights like this worth every second. The camera pans briefly over the cheering crowd, catching handmade signs and fans waving to the lens, before drifting back to the announce table. Simone: And we are far from done. Next week, SCW rolls into Tempe, Arizona. Climax Control will emanate from the Mullett Arena, and you know things are only going to escalate from here. Lunam: Tempe, we’re comin’ for ya, so get ready. Warm up the seats, chill the drinks, an’ bring those loud voices o’ yours. If tonight was hot, next week’s gonna be scorchin’, mark my words. Simone: For my partner Lunam, for everyone backstage, the crew, the wrestlers, and all of you fans around the world… thank you for spending your time with us here tonight. Lunam: Take care o’ yourselves, take care o’ each other, and we’ll see ya next week in Tempe at the Mullett Arena. Good night, folks. The final shot lingers on the two announcers as they nod toward the camera, then widens to take in the sea of fans once more, the SCW logo rising in the corner of the screen. The arena lights shimmer over the ring as the crowd continues to cheer, and the image slowly fades out to the SCW banner before the broadcast comes to a close. THANK YOU! To everyone who wrote for this show. Match writers and segments are always appreciated and highly valued! Without all of you, there would be no SCW!