JOHN BLADE, LATOYA HIXX & DEENA HIXX
- vs -
“SLICK” RICK JAMES
HANDICAP TAG MATCH
During the last episode of Anarchy, the former Evel Knievel enthusiast turned professional wrestler -Rick James- told the world that he wanted to face any champion with their title on the line or not. That is a level of gusto and bravery that I admire, and that may only be found in a man of Rick’s unique attributes.
If it’s a champion he wants, then it’s CHAMPIONS he’ll get!
Who better than the champions of unyielding persistence, hustle, loyalty and fraternal twindom Mr. John Blade and the sisters of the Hixx Foundation, Deena and Latoya.
Consider this Rick James’ trial by fire… his jumping of Snake River…
If he can win, perhaps the Fountains of Caesars Palace awaits
10 Minute Time Limit.
BETSY GRANGER & GCC's DOM DURANGO™
- vs -
MARISOL VILARO & SIR LIONEL PENNYFATHERING
THE HELPING HANDS MIXED TAG BASHTACULAR
Ah, yes!
Two of the most talented competitors - not just on Anarchy- but in all of XWF, are being tasked to MAKE A WISH this week.
Our beloved Revolution Champion Betsy Granger will be teaming with Dom Durango from the Global Culinary Combat league, whilst the ever-talented Marisol Vilaro will be teaming up with Anarchy’s favorite trouper, Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing in a match of epic proportions!
The rules are quite simple. This is an “old school” PFFFT mixed tag match.
Meaning the women will only wrestle the women, and the men will wrestle only the men.
Any breakage of that rule will result in an immediate disqualification!
….that is of course… unless I might be so convinced otherwise by the… performance of a lifetime.
ANYWHO!
If Betsy is able to drag Dom across the finish line, he will be named the head-chef/caterer of all XWF and awarded 250,000 dollars (This is the amount they always give away in these bloody contests) along with exclusive access to Michael Graves’ food.
If Marisol can drag Sir Lionel Pennyfathering to a victory? He will be cast in an exclusive Hol-lee-wood role depicting none other than the great XWF benefactor Vincent Lane in: “Wrestling Without Shadows: This Is All Hella Real!” Worth 250,000 dollars in compensation (see? I told you so)
15 Minute Time Limit.
DICKIE WATSON
- vs -
JENNY MYST
The top contender for the Anarchy Title versus the top contender on pretty much any wrestling program? It can’t get much better than that, can it?
Oh. I know what you’re thinking.
“But Bashy, where’s the ludicrous stipulation that might end up permanently injuring one of these tremendous performers?”
Well, sirs and madames.
You’re not getting that!
I know nowadays we like to book blood and guts and cu for no reason at all in the middle of the week. But allow me to do the XWF’s job for them and keep their talent safe for christ sakes!
I do believe that fans will enjoy a good old fashioned wrestling BASH as much as some bookers believe they enjoy the Tijuana Rodeo.
20 Minute Time Limit.
MR. OZ
- vs -
SUMMER PAGE
-#2 Contender Grudge Match-
On the last episode of Anarchy, Summer Page cost Mr. Oz a chance at becoming the top contender for the Revolution Championship.
This was of course after Oz slammed her through a table. So her reaction was most likely warranted.
Anyway!
The winner of this match will be ADDED to the Revolution Championship match between Granger and Kline, thus making it a…. THREE WAY BASH!
This one is for the Anarchy Tag Team Championships -The very championships I created (You’re quite welcome)- Hmmm.. I must say, while these challengers are spectacular, THIS Graves doesn’t really remind me of THE Graves that I loved ever so deeply. But he still seems great nonetheless. Kristoffer? Ohhh, I really do like this man. He’s quite BITING.
I don’t know much about the Rollerwhores, or this Sam Dyson character… only that I don’t trust them.
Anyway
Standard match
Clean Tags Only
One Fall
30 Minute Time Limit
May the best “people” win!
The broadcast of XWF Anarchy opens up backstage at the historic Kezar Pavillion.
We can hear the fans out in the stadium reacting to the broadcast going live on the XTron.
As the camera pans, it halts on a particular shot.
Of a particular star.
Who gets a particularly raucous ovation!
It’s Dickie Watson.
TODD: Welcome to XWF Anarchy, folks! And yes -your eyes do not deceive you- the former Universal Champion Dickie Watson is in the house tonight!
BAMA T: Oh baby. Big Dickie got himself a big time matchup tonight, on this big time edition of Anarchy with Big Barry Masterson back in the hizzy- - -
TODD: - - -wait, Bama… who is Dickie talking to?
Dickie is facing down a corridor that the camera can’t get a shot of…
An unusually radiant expression on his face, as his lips move in an inaudible conversation with…
The crowd roars even louder now as-
TODD: DOLLY WATERS!
-Walks into the frame.
BAMA T: Another former Universal Champion, and The President of the N-C-A-C Bay-beee! The best labor union in the world!
A set smile on her face as she steps next to Dickie.
The two of them turn together and start walking toward the camera shot.
So…
…It’s a yes?
Dickie stops in his tracks.
Another unusual, but confident smile curls in the corner of his mouth
For The Union?
For Dolly Waters?
He holds out his hand,
It’s a hell yes.
Dolly returns the smile, and extends her hand to grasp his.
The two of them exchanging a firm handshake…
…when an even firmer hand lands on Dolly’s shoulder…
The camera is rumbling now as the stadium fully erupts
”Madame President?”
Dolly turns to face The CURRENT Universal Champion… The Peasant KING of The XWF…
Scoops McGee
Yer’ majesty…
”My YES ballot is in the box too, boah.”
A confident grin sliding across her lips as she relives her hand from Dickie’s and hands it over to Scoops.
TODD: Bama -as you know- it was just weeks ago when Dolly reclaimed The Union and publicly announced her first order of business being a major vote regarding the future of a major star.
BAMA T: She made it clear to the world, baby. This union is for ALL the workers of professional wrestling. And if you cause harm to one of us, you’ve gotta’ answer to all of us.
And that scoundrel Samael Dyson who murdered his mother -the XWF great- Madison Dyson?
Well, it looks like he’s gonna’ be getting his answer tonight!
TODD: Folks, our first match tonight is… well, it’s certainly not a traditional match-up!
BAMA: Whatcha mean, Toddrick, is Rick James pissed off somebody and now he’s been booked into a three-on-one beatdown!
TODD: …Whole lotta time spent on her entering…
BAMA: Gotta build that suspense, Toddy baby! Wait until the crowds begging for her… then deliver![/white]
The lights went dark!
The sound of thunder Ker-ACKS throughout the arena!
Over the PA system, a woman laughs…
A Storm…
Is…
COMING
Suddenly, the lights turned blue! Rain falls from the rafters above as Latoya Hixx walks out at the top of the ramp, flexing her muscles!
[blue]TODD: Latoya Hixx! Coming fresh off scoring the biggest win in her young career just a few nights ago… Scoring a major upset over a champion of the wrestling world, Mark ‘The Dragon’ Cross!
BAMA: She didn’t pin Cross to get the win… actually, she pinned her fellow Chain Gang member, John Blade!
TODD: But the W in the win column says Latoya Hixx, Bama! And she’s got not only John in her corner again, but her twin sister, Deena! Can she keep the win streak? Can The Storm roll through tonight![/white]
The lights return to their default settings as Hixx walks straight down the aisle and she slaps a few hands of wrestling fans!
Hixx climbs up the steel steps, then enters the ring…
The lights dim and she flexes her muscles one final time!
…
The Time is now hit's as he walks out on stage. “The Surgeon of Thug” John Blade talks to the cameraman and bounces a little. He holds up his “Never Give Up” logo flag and tosses it to the fans. He salutes and runs straight down towards the platform!
[blue]TODD: John Blade! The Surgeon of Thug! He and Hixx both looked absolutely dominant ambushing Mark ‘The Dragon’ Cross!
BAMA: Cross got crossed up by Hixx and Blade! When he tried to make a comeback, Blade kicked Hixx into him… which setup that Death Valley Driver to the outside! But, while Blade wanted to continue the two-on-one beatdown, Hixx saw her chance, caught Blade with her patent bicycle kick, and scored the win!
TODD: Blade took his eye off the ball last Warfare, Bama! But tonight he and Latoya are on the same side! They either win together or they lose together! And if their opponent has his way, it’s going to be a loss! Can the Surgeon of the Thug operate his way to a win tonight?[/white]
John bounces off the ropes side to side and he holds up his “Hustle, Loyalty, and Respect” shirt. He takes off his hat and tosses his shirt to the fans, hands his Chain to the ref, and waits for his opponent to arrive![/align]
…
Let's light it up hits, and Deena Hixx comes out from behind the curtains and walks out on stage and skips on down the aisle and skips around the ring.
[blue]BAMA: Deena Hixx is a maniac, Toddrick! An absolute lunatic! She’s less predictable than the lottery!
TODD: Yes! She’s definitely bringing the potential for something explosive! Will her team use that explosiveness as a launch to propel them to victory! Or will their dreams of victory simply be blown to smithereens?
Deena slides into the ring and leans on the ropes with her legs crossed and waits for her Opponent to arrive.
…
The lights dim slightly as the opening beat drops. Ric James steps out onto the stage slow and composed, taking a second to look around like he already owns the moment. No rushing—everything is controlled.
As the beat kicks in, he starts walking down the ramp with a confident bounce, talking to the crowd, pointing, reacting—feeding off whatever energy they give him.
TODD: And there he is! The man they call Slick Ric! Ric James! He was robbed of a win in his debut match when he and Marisol Vilaro both secured a pin… and the official just counted Mari’s pin faster!
BAMA: And he’s been chirping ever since about how he wants to take on a champ… even though he still hasn’t even won a match yet!
TODD: Ric’s a daredevil, Bama! He’s not one to calculate risk, he’s here to defy the odds AND death itself!
BAMA: Well, I can’t imagine anyone stepping into the ring against Deena, Latoya and John Blade unless they have a death wish!
Halfway down, he pauses, smirks, and nods like he knows he’s the main attraction.
At ringside, he takes the steps, wipes his feet clean, then steps into the ring smoothly. Once inside, he bounces lightly, then hits a confident pose in the center—soaking it all in before getting ready.
…
Ric leaned back into his corner, rolling his shoulders loose while staring across at John Blade, Latoya Hixx, and Deena Hixx.
Latoya stood tall and composed, eyes narrowed with focused intensity.
John bounced in place like a caged heavyweight boxer.
Deena grinned wide, twitching with chaotic excitement.
Ric slowly pointed at all three of them…
…then held up one finger.
One.
Ding Ding!
The crowd roared.
And that little act immediately irritated John Blade.
JOHN BLADE, LATOYA HIXX & DEENA HIXX
- vs -
“SLICK” RICK JAMES HANDICAP TAG MATCH
10 Minute Time Limit
Blade stormed through the ropes first.
John charged—
—and Ric exploded forward first with a FLASH KICK right to the jaw!
TODD: GOOD LORD!
The superkick CRACKED against John’s face so hard spit flew into the air as Blade stumbled backward into the ropes.
John gets belted backwards, toppling through the ropes!
Ric spun toward Latoya—
DROPKICK!
Latoya got blasted off the apron before she could enter!
TODD: It looks like Ric James doesn’t care who the legal man, woman, or child is! He’s just handing out ass-whoopin’!
Deena springboarded in wildly—
Ric caught her out of the air with a SNAP POWERSLAM!
The crowd erupted.
Ric kipped up immediately and spread his arms wide like a performer taking applause on opening night.
That was his mistake.
John Blade slide back under the bottom rope, his expression twisted with embarrassment and anger.
Ric turned—
RUNNING SHOULDER BLOCK.
Ric got turned inside out.
The entire pace changed instantly.
John mounted him and started throwing heavy forearms down into his face!
TODD: A little too much show-boating there for Blade’s taste! And now Ric James is taking some punishment!
Ric covered up as Blade dragged him up and hurled him violently into the corner.
TAG TO LATOYA.
Latoya entered with purpose.
No theatrics.
No wasted motion.
Just violence.
Corner shoulder thrust.
Another.
Another.
Ric’s body folded inward under the pressure as Latoya drove into his ribs like a battering ram.
She grabbed him by the wrist—
BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX ACROSS THE RING.
Ric crashed hard and rolled toward the ropes clutching his spine.
Latoya flexed over him confidently while the crowd booed.
TODD: Latoya Hixx has been riding momentum ever since that massive victory over Mark Cross!
BAMA: Latoya has been demanding title shots ever since her debut… But I will say, a victory tonight would certainly be an argument to revisit some title shot…
TODD: Except the Revolution, of course! None of the Chain Gang can challenge for it as long as Betsy holds the belt, after Betsy won that lumberjack match against John Blade!
Latoya pulled Ric up again—
Ric suddenly fired back with a sharp forearm.
Then another.
Then another.
The crowd rallied behind him.
Ric bounced off the ropes—
Flying forearm smash!
Latoya staggered backward.
Ric fed off the reaction immediately.
You could SEE it happen.
His face lit up.
His confidence surged.
He hit the ropes again—
—and paused to dance.
The crowd cheered.
Latoya did not.
She nearly cut him in half with a SPINEBUSTER.
BAMA: THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU START CELEBRATIN’ BEFORE YOU FINISH THE DAMN JOB!
TAG TO DEENA.
Deena stormed into the ring like a human firecracker.
Running dropkick.
Monkey flip.
Arm drag.
Another arm drag.
Ric stumbled up dazed—
WHEELBARROW BULLDOG!
Deena popped up screaming incoherently while bouncing around the ring with manic energy.
TODD: Deena Hixx, unleashing a furious barrage of offense that, I think can best be described as, your younger sibling jamming on all the buttons in a fighting game they’ve never played before!
BAMA: But it’s working right now, Toddrick!
Ric tried standing in the corner—
Deena charged full speed—
Ric sidestepped.
Deena SPLASHED chest-first into the turnbuckles.
Ric grabbed her from behind—
GERMAN SUPLEX.
The crowd gasped at the impact.
Ric held the bridge.
ONE—
John Blade stomped him in the face to break it.
BOOOOOOOO!
The official tries to usher John back to the outside…
But instead, Latoya simply comes through the ropes and all three begin swarming James!
TODD: We saw this on Warfare! The Chain Gang looking to stomp Ric James into a blood splatter!
John grabbed Ric by the arms while Deena hammered punches into his ribs.
Latoya entered and delivered brutal axe-handle strikes across his back.
Ric was getting dismantled.
The trio whipped him into the ropes—
DOUBLE CLOTHESLINE attempt—
Ric ducked.
Rebound—
DOUBLE FLYING CLOTHESLINE FROM RIC!
The arena exploded.
All three opponents dropped.
Ric staggered upright breathing heavily.
Sweat dripping.
Chest heaving.
His eyes widened.
That adrenaline hit.
That performer instinct.
He climbed the turnbuckles.
TODD: Ric James is thinking big here!
Ric stood tall on the top rope, soaking in the cheers.
Pointing to himself.
Nodding.
Taking too much time.
John Blade recovered first.
John hit the ropes.
Ric lost balance—
AND GOT CROTCHED ON THE TOP TURNBUCKLE.
BAMA: AND DOWN GOES HOLLYWOOD!
Latoya shoved Ric’s legs outward from underneath, dropping him down to the mat!
The official finally gets the wherewithal to force Deena and Latoya back outside…
TODD: The referee finally instilling some order to this match… but is the damage already done?
…
John hives over the prone Ric James…
“Five Knuckle Shuffle” taunt.
The crowd booed.
John charged to the ropes, looking for his leaping punch…
But Ric kip-ups to his feet!
Ric countered with a sudden DDT!
Both men collapsed.
Latoya entered immediately and yanked Ric upward—
BEAR H-
…
NO!
Ric countered mid-lift into a CUTTER!
SCENE STEALER OUT OF NOWHERE!
Latoya rolled out of the ring unconscious.
The crowd came unglued.
Deena flew in immediately with a DIVING CROSSBODY—
Ric rolled through it, turning into an O’Connor Roll pin!
ONE!
TWO!
NO!
Deena escaped.
Ric slammed the mat in frustration.
Deena shakes off cobwebs as she scampers dazedly back to a vertical base…
In a flash, Ric pulled Deena upward.
Hollywood Ending attempt—
Deena ducked.
SHINING WIZARD!
Ric crumpled.
TODD: DEENA WIZARD! SHE GOT HIM!
ONE!
TWO!
RIC KICKED OUT!
The crowd erupted again.
Deena looked genuinely shocked.
John Blade tagged himself in aggressively.
He shoved Deena aside.
Blade hauled Ric up.
DEATH VALLEY DRI-...NO!
Ric slipped off Blade’s shoulders, landing behind him.
Blade turns around…
Into a FLASH KICK!
John stumbled.
Ric hit the ropes.
SCENE STEALER—
NO!
Latoya and Deena both simultaneously deliver kicks to Ric’s back as he hits the ropes!
Ric cradles his spine as he stumbles forward…
DEATH VALLEY DRI-
…
No! Ric slips off the back!
And somersaults over Blade’s back, securing a sunset flip!
The official drops to count!
ONE!
The Hixxes are caught off-guard!
TWO!
They dive through the ropes!
…
But not before…
THREE!
Winner: ‘Slick’ Ric James
TODD: WOW! What a victory by Slick Ric! Not many people could take out three members of the Chain Gang at once! But the Stuntman pulls it off! And he did it with style!
TODD: Up next, Bama we’ve got a contest that’s going to showcase the XWF’s desire to make the wildest dreams of the needy and downtrodden come true!
BAMA: Our partnership with the “Make A Wish Foundation” might’ve been severed once Elon’s AI Bot told him that charity was rife with fraud and waste, but that doesn’t mean that we can do our very own version of it right here on Anarchy!
TODD: And what a wish that’ll be granted here tonight for two lucky guys, in being paired with two of the most impressive talents in XWF today…
The synthesized beat of Shake it Off By Taylor Swift begins to play over the public address system, as the opening lyrics soon begin, as the fans boo and flashes going off, people are waiting for the arrival of the Fitness Queen herself.
I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
As a spotlight is on the entrance ramp and the lights dim, first stepping out is none other than the legendary Snarktopus Nessa Wall, who smiles brightly before trash talking the fans as she smiles, before ordering a couple of stage hands to come out they each have a mirror in hand they face the entrance ramp, as soon out from the back steps La Marvillosa herself Marisol Vilaro.
I go on too many dates
But I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say, mm-mm
That's what people say, mm-mm
TODD: And here she comes, Bama! The Founder of the VilaroMaxx fitness and looksmaxing regiment… The XWF Superstar, Marisol Vilaro!
BAMA: You talk about a lucky opportunity for her partner tonight, Todd.
Marisol oozes confidence, and for good reason, baby! She’s in perfect shape. She’s a bonafide savant between those ropes, and she’s as beautiful as she is bold.
The only thing unclean about her, is that she’s *filthy* rich!
Her training program has helped turn millions of schmucks across the globe from slobs into hearthrobs….
Marisol stops to admire herself in each mirror posing and showing off, what her hard work has given her and mouthing about how she’s the inspiration these out-of-shape people need. After a few moments of posing she brushes right past, giving her manager/mentor a hug before they head off with Nessa leading the way taking the time to give the fans at ringside a hard time for even trying to touch them.
But I keep cruisin'
Can't stop, won't stop movin'
It's like I got this music in my mind
Sayin' it's gonna be alright
Marisol herself takes the time to pose some more showing off her muscle, and trying to sell them on the VilaroFit mission, and how they need it to improve themselves, As the devious duo soon make their way toward the ring side area Nessa soon goes up the ring steps and takes the time to bark orders at the referee, showing him exactly how lower the ropes for herself, and her client, after being lectured by the Ambitchous one, the referee complies doing it exactly as Nessa demanded enters the ring and motions for Marisol to go up the steps, as she climbs up the steps she takes each moment to keep shilling her products, which doesn’t endear her to the fans, as she soon enters the ring under the rope and soon she rudely brushes past the referee as Nessa presents her to the booing fans as she raises her arms high in the air soaking in the boos, and catcalls.
'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play
And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break, break, break
And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake
Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake
I shake it off, I shake it off (hoo-hoo-hoo)
TODD: …we know her partner tonight has spent the last couple of weeks working through the VilaroMaxx program. But is that long enough to see true, measurable results?
BAMA: If there’s any fitness scheme on earth that could break a sad sap like her partner out of his cocoon of mediocrity, this VilaroMaxx
Marisol then does a series of poses once again before turning around and gracing the other side of the area raising her arms high in the air and then doing a similar series of poses showing off her physique and how in shape she is. While Nessa claps her client before they head into their corner, and Nessa is getting Marisol psyched and going over the game plan as they wait for…
Perhaps her greatest success story…
I WANNA’ ROCK!
The high pitched wail of Dee Snider pierces the air as the Twisted Sister classic pumps through the PA system. As two big pyro towers shoot off on either side of the stage
The
Crowd
Loses
Their
Shit
TODD: OH MY GOODN- - -n’ooooh. Right.
Until they realize that this is not XWF CEO Vincent Lane, but rather…
"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing spinning out of the entrance ramp, wearing his favorite t-shirt, a cutoff Faster Pussycat screen print, long silver tights and shining silver boots.
BAMA: Hey, man! Sir Lionel Pennyfathering… is actually VilaroMaxxing this performance!
And Bama isn’t wrong.
He struts down the aisle, strumming the air guitar and leaping into the air with a jumping split. As he hops onto the ring apron, he swings around, facing the crowd, and pumps his fist along to the music, singing along and inciting the crowd to do so as well.
TODD: I’ve got to agree, Bama. Sir Lionel has really dug his heels into this opportunity and made the most of it! And if he’s somehow able to hold on to Marisol’s coat tails tight enough to pick up a win tonight, then he’ll be cast in the role of a lifetime
BAMA: I believe, Todd! Because I believe in Mari! I believe in the power of VilaroMaxx!
“Now, who’s ready to be baptized into a new era of entertainment?!”
The lights go out in the arena as the voice calls out its query. A moment later, bright, twinkling lights like stars scatter across the building.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day
You gotta climb a little higher,
To the top of the display,
Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
The starlight intensifies as a figure rises from beneath the platform, her back to the crowd, head down. The song continues to echo throughout the arena, electric and intense. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight shark-braid that swings back and forth as she bounces from foot to foot.
“If you want it, just take it,
The world's yours, don’t waste it,
Go make the stars align, to shine-”
The rising platform levels to the arena floor in unison with the beat drop to the song.
“BRIGHTER!”
As the word echoes through the arena, an explosion of sparkling pyrotechnics go off as Betsy Granger throws out her arms, revealing a blue chiffon robe lit with bright stars.
“Brighter than the heavens in the skies above,
(oooh oooh)
You’ll be,
BRIGHTER!"
TODD: You want to talk about someone who believes they can make a dream come true? I’m not sure anyone in this business embodies that more than our Revolution Champion, Betsy Granger!
BAMA: Betsy is looking awfully fired up here tonight, baby! She’s taken on this seemingly impossible challenge with a big smile on her face.
TODD: Why wouldn’t she, Bama? If there’s one thing the XWF fans love and admire about Betsy Granger, it’s her unwavering positivity in the face of adversity. She never gets too low, and has a unique knack for carving out the silver lining around any cloud that's facing her.
BAMA: After a brief setback, falling just short of defeating Scoops McGee for the Universal Championship, she rallied The Exiles and helped glue that fractured team back together in a HUGE win in Warfare’s last main event.
Twirling gracefully to face the crowd, she points skyward as the lights in the arena flood back on. Betsy bounces twice before half-running, half-skipping down the ramp towards the ring.
"Going supernova, all the eyes look up
(at you, at you)
BRIGHTER!”
The song switches to an instrumental break as she does one complete circuit around the ring. Throwing off her cape on the announcer's table, she dashes towards the ring and jumps onto the apron in a one clean move. Using her momentum, she bounces clean over the top rope and spins on her toes to the center of the ring, arms out wide. As she comes to a stop, the music swells, and the crowd joins in like a devoted choir, just the same as the song itself.
“BRIIIIIIIIIGHTEEEEERRRRRRR”
Betsy grins widely and bounces from foot to foot, smiling at the ramp way as…
GCC’s Chef Dom Durango appears on the ramp way, an unnaturally large smile stretched across his aging face.
Dawning a toque blanche, and a white chef's coat, he rolls out a table-side cooking cart and slowly raises his arms into the air.
Mamma Mia!
He brings his hands back to his lips, kissing his fingertips and stretching his arms out again
The crowd reacts with an indifferent murmur to what is meant to be quite the spectacle.
TODD: And there he is folks, the man Betsy will be tasked with trying to see his dreams become a reality…
BAMA: It’s a wonderful thing, indeedy… but we’ve all got to ask ourselves, how much of this chance is a dream come true for Chef Dom, and how much of this is about cooking up a cold dish of revenge?
TODD: It’s a great question, and one that might not be answered here-
Hello-ah, fans of da XWF-ah! Chef Dom Dorango has-ah arrived!
Midway down the ramp, Chef Dom produces a mic as the swelling romance music abruptly cuts out beneath his booming voice.
Tonight-ah… we cook!
He points dramatically toward the ring.
And what am I-ah cooking? Hm?
A beautiful Italian feast? A spicy arrabbiata-ah? A delicate risotto made-ah with love and care?
Dome shakes his head,
No, no, no…
Tonight-ah, we prepare-ah garbage!
The crowd gives a confused murmur as Betsy throws her arms out, trying to get him to hurry up.
Becasue Michael Graves? Mamma mia… this guy is-ah like a station meatball sub.
He-ah came into MY kitchen in dah Global Culinary Cabal-ah and tried-ah to disrespect Italian cuisine!
You wrestlers think-ah you can just walk into any profession!
“Oh look at me! I hit-ah da powerbomb! I wear-ah da leather jacket! I brood-ah dramatically!”
Bada bing bada boom! Everybody claps for dah shitty spooky meatball-ah!
Dom parks the dinner cart beside the apron and proudly lifts the silver cloche with a proud flare.
Beneath it sits a bubbling black sludge over a tiny blue flame.
And so tonight, in honor of Michael Graves…
I present-ah my newest signature dish…
He dips a ladle inside into the thick bubbling substance.
Gravy TarTAR
TODD: Gravy Tartare? Those are two completely different - - -
Lionel leans through the ropes, giving the “dish” a most quizzical glance, and- - -
AHHHH! You want-ah sample?!
BON APPITEIT-AH!!!
Chef Dom hurls a ladle-full of “Gravy TarTare” directly into Lionels’ face!
BAMA: BABY THAT AIN’T TARTARE THAT’S ASPHALT!!!!
Lionel immediately flops to the mat screaming in agony, clutching his eyes as smoke rises from his face.
Dom immediately slides into the ring,
THAT is-ah what happens when you OVERCOOK DA SAUCE!
The ref looks horrified.
Betsy looks utterly confused.
But with everyone somehow in position… the bewildered official signals for the bell.
BETSY GRANGER & GCC's DOM DURANGO™
- vs -
MARISOL VILARO & SIR LIONEL PENNYFATHERING
THE HELPING HANDS MIXED TAG BASHTACULAR
15 Minute Time Limit.
DING DING DING!
TODD: OH my goodness, Bama! And just like that, all of the HARD HITTING work that Lionel put in during his VilaroMaxx training might be ruined!
Chef Dom has pounced on Lionel, clawing at him like a rabid animal,
BAMA: Oh I’m sure he’s fine! Lionel is a trooper. It’s going to take a lot more than some hot tar to ruin - - -
As Lionel is rolled over, giving everyone a better look at him, Mari screams from the apron
BAMA: Oh… oof… man… ummm, it’s not that bad?
MY MASTERPIECE!
Mari hits the ring and immediately attacks Dom, kicking him in the ribs
Which brings Betsy into the match- - - cleaning Mari’s clock with a reverse roundhouse kick!
Lionel stands, disoriented, holding his face and itching out with another hand.
He pats Betsy on the back
Is it ok? Do I look….
Betsy turns, getting a good look at Lionel, and shrieks.
TODD: Oh, I suppose it really isn’t that bad... he’s just a little disfigured.
Out of pure reflex, she roundhouse kicks Lionel in the face!
The ref finally tries to restore order- ordering both Mari and Betsy back to the apron.
Betsy throws both hands into the air.
TODD: And technically speaking, Bama, Betsy just struck Lionel!
BAMA: Yeah, but look at him! That was less a wrestling move and more of a medical reflex!
Lionel stumbles backward, one hand over his tar-scorched face, the other dramatically reaching out toward the hard cam.
My visage, dude… my beautiful instrument…
Dom grabs Lionel by the shirt and whips him toward the ropes!
Except Lionel immediately hooks both arms around the top rope, refusing to rebound.
NAY, MAN! I shan’t be Irish-whipped until my motivation is TOTALLY established!
Dome charges anyway-
And Lionel drops flat to the mat!
Dom goes flying over him, hits the ropes, rebounds back-
Only for Lionel to spring up with what appears to be a dramatic stage slap!
SMACK!
Dom’s head barely moves.
Lionel looks horrified.
Dom slowly turns back toward him.
That-ah was-a not a slap! That-ah was-a garnish!
Dom winds up….
SMACK!
….and blasts Lionel with a cartoonishly loud open-hand chop that sends him spinning in place before collapsing to one knee.
I have been struck by passion itself!
BAMA: I don’t know what that means, but I believe him!
Dom grabs Lionel by the wrist and sends him into the corner!
Lionel hits sternum-first and flops backward, collapsing like a mannequin.
Dom wastes no time, pulling a wooden spoon from inside his chef coat.
Now-ah we tenderize!
The referee immediately snatches the spoon away.
Dom looks betrayed.
But ref-ah! Issa culinary technique!
TODD: A wooden spoon is not legal in this match!
BAMA: You’re right, baby! That Bashmaster wouldn’t allow for any tomfoolery here tonight!
Both men turn and give sheepish looks into the hard cam.
Meanwhile, Dom argues with the ref long enough for Lionel to crawl on all fours toward Marisol.
Mari’s face twists with disgust.
Patético! Get up, kitten-man!
Lionel reaches for the tag.
Madam… I mean, dude… uh… I beseech thee!… grant me thy palm… and I shall become the instrument of thine victory…I mean… lets rock!
Mari rolls her eyes.
Then slaps his hand.
While also…
TAG ON THE BACK OF DOM’S SHOULDER!
The crowd perks up as Betsy immediately steps through the ropes.
TODD: And now we get the matchup everyone wanted! Betsy Granger and Marisol Vilaro, one on one!
Mari storms in hot, but Betsy meets her in the center with a collar-and-elbow tie-up.
Mari immediately tries to overpower her, driving Betsy back a step, but Betsy pivots beautifully, slips behind, and takes Mari down with a quick waistlock takedown.
Mari pops up furious.
Betsy smiles.
Mari charges again- - -
ARM DRAG BY BETSY!
Mari back up-
SECOND ARM DRAG!
Mari scrambles to her feet, swinging wildly, but Betsy ducks under and catches her with a crisp dropkick right to the chest!
Mari rolls backward into the corner, eyes wide with rage.
Betsy kips up.
The crowd pops.
TODD: That’s the Revolution Champion right there! Smooth as silk!
Mari snarls, charging out of the corner with a clothesline, but Betsy ducks, catches her from behind, and snaps her over with a release German suplex!
Mari lands hard and rolls under the bottom rope, clutching the back of her head.
Betsy stands tall, pointing to Dom.
Dom claps wildly.
Mari staggers outside, where Nessa Wall tries to fan her off and restore her composure. Betsy doesn’t wait. She hits the far ropes, comes flying back-
But the referee steps in her path!
Reminding her that she can’t attack Nessa or Lionel.
Betsy skids to a halt, looking at the ref.
That split-second is all Mari needs.
She reaches under the bottom rope and yanks Betsy’s ankle, dropping her face-first onto the canvas!
The crowd boos as Mari slides back in and immediately starts stomping Betsy down with sharp, vicious kicks.
BAMA: THAT is VilaroMaxx, baby! Efficiency! Precision! Control!
Mari drags Betsy up by the hair, whips her into the corner, and follows with a crushing running knee to the ribs. Betsy doubles over, and Mari snapmares her out of the corner before drilling a basement dropkick into the spine.
Cover!
1!
2!!
Betsy kicks out!
Mari slaps the mat, furious.
TODD: Marisol is dangerous, Bama. The comedy around this match can distract from the fact that she is absolutely vicious between those ropes.
BAMA: She’s not just trying to win. She’s trying to make Betsy look bad while doing it.
Mari locks Betsy in a single leg Boston crab, wrenching back while shouting toward the camera.
Look at her! This is your Revolution Champion? This is your inspiration? Weak posture! Poor core stability! Zero Vilaro discipline!
Betsy grits her teeth, refusing to quit.
The crowd starts clapping.
Dom slaps the turnbuckle in rhythm.
Come-ah on, Betsy!
Betsy fights up to one knee.
Then spins, slinging Mari neck-first into the bottom rope.
Mari ricochettes from the rope, her head smacking the canvas.
Betsy gives her no time
She dives, and elbows Mari once.
Twice.
Three times!!!
Betsy pops up and hits the ropes-
But Nessa grabs Betsy’s boot!
Betsy stumbles forward-
Mari is up and catches her!
VILAROIZER FISHERMENS SUPLEX!!!!!
Cover!
1!
2!!
3 - NOOOO!!!!!!!!
BETSY KICKS OUT!!!!
The crowd erupts.
Mari’s eyes go wide.
NO! No, no, no! That was perfect form!
Mari drags Betsy up again, but Betsy suddenly explodes with a forearm!
Then another!
Then another!
Mari swings back, but Betsy ducks, leaps, and catches her with a Pele kick!!!
Both women are down!
TODD: Betsy desperately needs a tag!
BAMA: And I cannot believe I’m saying this, but she needs Chef Dom Durango!
Betsy crawls.
Mari crawls.
Dom stretches his hand out, bouncing on the apron.
Lionel, still half-blinded, reaches…
TODD: What on earth is Lionel doing?
…toward the wrong corner.
BAMA: He’s shimmied all the way around the ring apron!
Mari? Mistress? Why hath your hand become so hairy, dude?
THAT-AH MY HAND!
Dom slaps Lionel across the face from the apron.
Lionel spins around just as Mari reaches him. Frustrated, she redirects him around the ring apron…
TAG!
Betsy lunges-
TAG!
Dom enters like a man possessed.
NOW-AH! THE MAIN COURSE!
Dom charges at Lionel, who immediately drops to his knees and begs off.
Good sir, let us settle this through art! Through monologue! Through interpretive-
Dom kicks him in the stomach.
TODD: Bama, it’s like the second that Lionel’s face became partially impaired by that tar, half of his Vinnie Lane instincts left him.
BAMA: Half? I’m not sure if there’s even ten percent of Lane left there… all of that hard work Mari put in, wasted!
Dom hooks Lionel and plants him with a surprisingly clean DDT!
The crowd reacts with shock.
TODD: WHERE DID THAT COME FROM???
Dom covers!
1!
2!!
LIONEL KICKS OUT!!!
Dom looks pissed.
He grabs Lionel and whips him into the ropes. Lionel rebounds and throws himself into what might be a crossbody, or might be a fainting spell.
DOM CATCHES HIM
LOOKING LIKE AN ABSOLUTE POWERHOUSE!
But then his knees buckle.
Lionel falls on top!
1!
2!!
DOM KICKS OUT!!!!!
BAMA: Lionel almost won by being too heavy!
TODD: That may be the purest expression of his wrestling style.
Dom rolls out of the ring and starts digging frantically through his cooking cart.
The referee shouts at him.
Betsy shouts at him.
No-ah worry! I got-ah plan!
He pulls out a handful of spaghetti.
Betsy’s eyes widen.
Dom, no!
Dom climbs in the ring and hurls the spaghetti at Lionel!
It slaps wetly across Lionel’s chest and hangs there.
Lionel looks down, offended.
Carbs? In this temple, dude?
Mari shrieks from the apron.
NO! DO NOT CONSUME![/[ink]
Lionel, trembling, slowly lifts a noodle to his mouth.
Mari screams louder.
[pink]RESIST, KITTEN-MAN!
Lionel’s eyes water.
I… must… VilaroMaxx…
He drops the noodle.
The crowd cheers like he just escaped addiction.
Dom is horrified.
You-ah refuse my pasta?!
Dom charges, but Lionel sidesteps, and Dom crashes chest-first into the turnbuckle.
Lionel rolls him up!
1!
2!!
DOM KICKS OUT!!!
Betsy exhales in relief on the apron.
Dom staggers up, wild-eyed, and suddenly points to the cooking cart.
Fine-ah! If-ah you no want pasta… you get-ah dessert!
Betsy grabs the tag rope with both hands, pleading.
Dom! Just wrestle!
Dom ignores her, climbs back out of the ring and reaches under the cloche, producing a massive cream pie.
TODD: Oh no…
BAMA: OH YES!
As Dom climbs back in the ring, the referee immediately tries to confiscate it.
Dom holds it high above his head.
Issa not weapon! Issa pastry!
Lionel rises behind him, woozy and dramatic.
The stage… the lights… the role of a lifetime…
Dom turns with the pie-
But Lionel ducks!
Dom smashes the pie directly into the referee’s face!
The crowd gasps.
Betsy throws both hands onto her head.
TODD: The official is blinded!
BAMA: That’s not even the first man blinded by Chef Dom tonight!
Dom panics.
Nessa hops onto the apron, screaming for Mari to take advantage.
Mari storms into the ring illegally and charges Betsy, knocking her off the apron with a cheap shot!
Betsy crashes to the floor!
The crowd boos thunderously.
Mari slides out after her and grabs Betsy by the hair-
But Betsy fires back with a kick to the mid-section!
And another!
And another!
Betsy whips Mari into the barricade!
Mari hits hard, stumbling back- falling to a single knee
Betsy runs, catches her head and - - -
PLANTS HER WITH A SNAPMARE DRIVER ON THE FLOOR!
The crowd explodes!
TODD: Betsy Granger just folded Marisol on the outside!
BAMA: That woman is a star, baby!
Inside the ring, Dom is still trying to wipe pie off the referee’s face with a dinner napkin.
Lionel sees his chance.
He staggers toward Dom, grabs him from behind, and tries to lift him.
Nothing happens.
Lionel strains.
Still nothing.
Dude… a little cooperation, if you please!
Dom turns around.
What-ah you doing?
Lionel panics and throws a desperate kick.
It catches Dom low.
The crowd groans.
The referee, still half-blind with whipped cream, sees only Dom collapsing and Lionel standing heroically above him.
TODD: Was that low?
BAMA: Todd, I think that was below the dinner table.
Betsy slides back onto the apron, reaching for the tag.
Dom crawls toward her.
Betsy is right there.
The crowd is screaming.
Dom reaches-
But then he sees the table-side cart again.
And his eyes light up.
Betsy freezes.
No.
Dom nods.
Yes-ah.
No!
YES-AH!
Dom rolls away from the tag and crawls toward the cart.
Betsy looks like she might combust.
Dom pulls himself up and reaches for the bubbling pot of Gravy TarTAR.
Now-ah… we finish-ah with the signature sauce!
The referee finally clears enough pie from his eyes to see Dom lifting the pot.
He screams at Dom to put it down.
Betsy screams at Dom to put it down.
The entire front row screams at Dom to put it down.
Dom does not put it down.
Lionel, still dazed, sees Dom coming with the pot and suddenly drops into a full theatrical death pose.
Alas! I am slain before I am slain!
Dom trips over Lionel’s outstretched leg.
The pot flies into the air.
Dom windmills his arms.
The pot lands perfectly upside down over Dom’s own head.
Then Dom slowly tips backward. He hits the mat flat on his back, the pot still stuck on his head.
Lionel, having no idea what happened, rises to his feet.
He watches with baited breath as Dom tries to stand.
He’s hunched over, his arms failing around…
Dude… I know this one…
Lionel hooks around Dom’s arms
Twists the chef into an inverted position
Lifts!!!!
BAMA: NO WAY! IS THAT VINNIE’S - - -
TODD: BLACK LABEL DRIVER!!!!
The exhausted Lionel barely drapes an arm across Dom’s chest
The referee turns.
Betsy lunges through the ropes-
But Mari grabs her ankle from the floor!
1!
BETSY KICKS BACKWARD, KICKING MARI RIGHT IN THE FACE!
2!!
BETSY DIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WINNERS - Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing & Marisol Vilaro
The crowd erupts in a mixture of shock, laughter, and disbelief.
I WANNA ROCK! blasts over the PA
TODD: I DON’T BELIEVE IT! SIR LIONEL PENNYFARTHING HAS PINNED CHEF DOM DURANGO!
BAMA: HE DID IT! THE MAN VILARO-MAXXED HIS WAY INTO HOL-LEE-WOOD!
TODD: He was barely conscious!
BAMA: That’s method acting, baby!
Betsy slides into the ring a half-second too late, staring at the referee in disbelief.
Dom lies motionless, the pot still covering his head.
Betsy looks down at him.
Then at the referee.
Then back at Dom.
She slowly mouths:
Why?
On the outside, Marisol staggers upright, clutching her jaw, then immediately raises both arms like she masterminded the whole thing.
YES! EXACTLY AS I TRAINED HIM!
Lionel slowly sits up, dazed, spaghetti still stuck to his shoulder, face half-scorched, tights crooked, eyes glassy.
Did… did I get the part?
…
……
……….
As the dust settles, and everyone else lears out, Marisol is still in the ring celebrating the victory.
The X-Tron flares to life, showing someone sitting in a chair with their back to the camera. Then, a masked figure steps into view:
Masked Man: Expecting someone else, Marisol?
The masked man grabs the camera and moves it around to the other side of the seated person, revealing a bruised and tied up Big Pretty! Marisol is livid. The man turns back toward the camera, which he's now placed on the opposite side of the room.
Masked Man: You thought you could push XXXVI to the edge with those attacks and face no consequences? Well baby, I am the consequence! Before his match, he saved a life. Not to be a hero, but because it was exhilarating not knowing whether he would live or die in the process. It unlocked a piece of him...of us that had been dormant for too long. It really could have gone either way, but honey, you and Not-So -Pretty here costing him a chance at the Anarchy championship? That was the tipping point. The pendulum swung the wrong way and the old T-6 can't come to the phone right now!
He turns and backhands Big Pretty across the face. A bit of blood gets on his gloved knuckles. He offers a hand to the camera.
Masked Man: Call me Death Wish. I'm what happens when you push a decent man too far. So, Leap of Faith. T-6 wanted in on the Leap of Faith match, so I'll give you a choice. Door number one: You also opt in to the Leap of Faith match so I can send you into orbit for your indiscretions...or door number two: You. Me. One on one in a cage match. Winner becomes the number one contender to the Anarchy championship. Choose wisely! Oh, and Marisol, say good night to Mr. Pretty.
Marisol runs out of the ring toward the back as Death Wish raises a riot baton over his head and Big Pretty lets out a muffled scream! The feed cuts suddenly as Marisol frantically searches in vain for her Vilaromax follower and his assailant.
Todd: One of the more disturbing things I've seen in some time. Was that XXXVI!?
Bama: Weren't you listening? That's Death Wish! Completely different person! Whoever he was, I like him! I wonder which door Marisol will choose!
Todd: We'll find out at Leap of Faith!
TODD: Up next, Bama? Two of the biggest stars in XWF are set to do battle!
BAMA: Dickie Watson and Jenny Myst shared some heated words in the lead up to this one, baby! This one should be explosive!
The lights die without warning. Not a fade, but a full blackout that sucks the air out of the arena like the calm before a fire. Then, a strobing light, lime green, flares beneath the metal of the floor. Another, quicker and sharper. A third, holding longer now. Long enough for the crowd to catch a glimpse of the static forming on the screen overhead.
The distorted bass of “DEATHLIST” by Code: Pandorum and GHØSTKID blares across the arena’s speaker system low, grinding and industrial. It doesn't start like music, but more like a warning. Like the hum of something broken beneath concrete.The speakers rattle, and with them the crowd begins to stir as the opening continues to play, rhythmic and angry. Noise from the crowd rolls through like a cold draft in a sealed room, a few cheers, a few chants. But mostly unease.
"Do I love you? Or do I hate you?
Can I trust you without failing you?
Gonna tell you what the secret is...
You're number one on my DEATHLIST."
Whispered, the lyric doesn't rise above the crowd but cuts under it, precise and personal. The music drops out completely, not a fade, and not a glitch, just the same as the lights as they die out entirely. But then, detonation as the bass slams back in without warning, twisted and violent, louder than before. Strobe lights erupt in a manic wash of toxic green, casting sharp, flickering shadows across the sate. It's disorienting, like a spotlight wielded as a weapon. Motionless in that moment, Dickie Watson stands framed in light. No grand pose, no war cry, hair falling in his face and shoulders loose like man who doesn't need to prove he belongs here -- he already knows he does.
He holds this, eyes floating over everyone, and then moves a beat later. Not with urgency, not with showmanship. Just steps forward like the rest of the world is moving slower than him. He doesn't look to the sides, doesn't soak it in. He's not here for the moment, he's here for the thrill. Every movement is precise, like a blade being unsheathed. Quiet, measured. He walks down the ramp towards the ring, eyes still glancing off to the side, turning his head slightly to acknowledge fans and enemies alike. At the barricade, he reaches out and slaps a few hands not necessarily out of respect, but more of obligation. These are the people who kept him alive for so long, and what he does this for.
He rounds the corner to right, bypasses the steps, and jumps, both feet hitting the apron in one clean lift. Without grabbing the ropes, without pause, he slings himself over the top and lands near the dead center of the ring, bent knees taking the brunt of his leap. He circles the ring once, loose-limbed, cracking his neck slightly, and stops. Near the far corner, he crouches with his elbows on his knees, fingers dangling inbetween as his music fades.
"Sex Metal Barbie" by In This Moment plays as Jenny Myst makes her way to the ring.
The lights drop hard.
A low pink glow bleeds across the arena as the opening pulse of “Sex Metal Barbie” hits—industrial, predatory, unmistakable. The crowd reaction swells immediately, a mix of boos, awe, and uneasy anticipation, because everyone knows what that song means.
Then she steps through the curtain.
Jenny Myst doesn’t rush. She arrives.
Leather gleams under the lights as she pauses at the top of the ramp, chin tilted slightly upward, eyes scanning the crowd like she’s counting debts. The X-Division Championship, Mortimer, rests over her shoulder—not displayed, not flaunted—carried like a weapon she’s already used tonight. Her expression is calm, almost bored, but there’s cruelty sitting just beneath it, coiled and patient.
On the second beat drop, she rolls her shoulders and starts down the ramp with deliberate, confident strides. Each step syncs with the rhythm—measured, heavy, inevitable. She ignores the fans reaching out, the insults, the chants. Their noise doesn’t register. This isn’t their moment. It’s hers.
Halfway down, Jenny stops.
She turns slowly, eyes locking with the hard camera, and smirks—not playful, not charming, but sharp. A reminder. She lifts Mortimer just enough for the gold to catch the light, mouthing a few words only the camera gets: mine. Then she lets the title fall back against her shoulder like it belongs there… because it does.
At ringside, she wipes her boots on the apron with exaggerated care before stepping up, climbing through the ropes with smooth precision. No wasted movement. No nerves. Inside the ring, she walks straight to the center, turning once more as the music continues to snarl through the arena.
Jenny Myst raises the title high—not for the crowd, but for her opponent—eyes cold, posture relaxed, utterly in control.
The music fades.
And suddenly, the ring feels smaller.
DICKIE WATSON
- vs -
JENNY MYST
20 Minute Time Limit.
DING DING DING!
Myst and Watson go for a collar and elbow tie up.
Watson transitions into a sleek drop toe hold.
Watson pops up, dropping a standing elbow to the prone Myst!
Myst rolls out of the way!
Watson back up, swiftly with another elbow attempt!
Myst rolls!
Myst with a drop toe hold,
Transitions into an STF!
Watson counters, sliding into side control.
Watson grabs the left leg, and sets back for a half crab.
Myst pivots the hips, countering the lock, and sets in a knee bar.
Watson frees his knee, and flips over into a cradle!
1…
2…
Myst bridges out!
TODD: What athleticism on display here so far!
BAMA: Neither competitor wants to admit they lost just the classic ‘plain old match’ here tonight!
Jenny lifts Watson up for a piledriver!
NO!
Watson shifts his legs, setting his feet back on the mat, and gives a back body drop to Jenny!
NO!
Jenny actually lands on her feet atop the turnbuckle!
Moonsault from Myst!
It lands!
She gets to her feet, and rushes the ropes, rebounding with a leg drop!
Myst flips Watson and goes for the pin!
1…
2…
Kickout, but Myst reapplies the pin after planting the shoulder back down!
1…
2…
Kickout again, and Jenny goes for an armbar.
Watson maintains, though, not giving up the arm, and shifts their weight onto their feet and holding Jenny down with a pin!
1…
2…
Myst kicks out!
Watson immediately drops a knee to Myst’s skull!
Myst recoils as Watson stands, regaining composure!
Myst brings herself to her feet, appealing to the referee that the knee was illegal.
Both competitors go to tie up again!
NO!
Myst ducks, and grabs Watson in a rear waist lock!
German suplex from Myst, but Watson is smashed into the referee!
Watson rolls aside from the impact, but the referee is knocked silly!
TODD: Well, wait, this is a plain old match, just a regular match, and now the referee is unconscious!
BAMA: That’s right Todderino.
TODD: That means anything can happen here.
BAMA: Correctomundo, Todd, pretty spiffy powers of observation you have there.
Seeing the referee is out, Myst slides out of the ring and reaches around underneath it!
The crowd is going insane over all this!
Jenny pulls a chair out from under the ring!
She climbs onto the ring apron, and stands, raising the chair for the crowd to see!
Watson dropkicks the chair out of her hands!
Jenny spins!
Watson stands, and Watson catches Jenny with a suplex back into the ring!
Watson maintains the clutch, rolling through, and transitions into a bridging German suplex!
But the referee is still out!
TODD: Watson with a clear and clean pin here, but the referee is still reeling from getting crunched by an errant German!
BAMA: My uncle was once crunched by an errant German in Havana!
TODD: What? That sounds like way too interesting a story you never told me!
BAMA: It’s boring, Toddski, watch the match!
Noticing the referee is still down, Watson releases the pin and goes to the referee, attempting to roust them!
The rousting is interrupted by a desperate double axe handle from a diving Jenny!
Jenny to her feet, and throws a snap kick to Watson!
Jenny rushes the ropes, looking to rebound again!
Jenny rushes back, and Watson counters with a drop toe hold!
Jenny’s neck and shoulders are bridged across the middle rope!
MOLOTOV COCKTAIL FROM WATSON!
Jenny is sent keeling back into the center of the ring, until she tumbles out!
Jenny catches herself on the outside, leaned against the apron!
Watson beckons for Jenny to get back into the ring!
Jenny waves him off!
Jenny starts marching back up the entrance!
TODD: Myst seems like she doesn’t want any more of Watson here!
BAMA: Or these fans!
The fans are riotous as Jenny walks up the ramp, seeming to wave off of the match.
The crowd goes wild as the old familiar song starts playing.
Jenny points and laughs at Watson as the XWF Universe sings along.
“YOU’RE DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD, YOU’RE DEAD AND OUT OF THIS WORLD.”
Bobby Bourbon steps out onto the Anarchy stage, the Television Championship around his waist.
The crowd sings along.
“STAY DEAD, STAY DEAD, STAY DEAD, STAY DEAD AND OUT OF THIS WORLD!”
TODD: Oh no, Bama, Bobby Bourbon is here at Anarchy, and it looks like B.O.B. is gelling again!
BAMA: It was just a matter of time before Bobby showed what kind of bastard he was..
TODD: Or was it???
Bobby grabs Jenny and picks her up.
He marches her back down to the ring.
The slides her in.
Jenny stands, screaming at Bobby.
She turns to Watson.
DICKIE’S REVENGE!
The referee is moving as Watson makes the pin!
1…
2…
3!
WINNER: DICKIE WATSON
The pinfall counted, Watson rises to his feet.
BAMA: Dickie Watson is your winner folks, but this is just getting going!
TODD: Bobby Bourbon is climbing the ring steps and entering the ring!
Bobby enters the ring and produces his microphone, the microphone of a Sith Lord, and looks at Watson.
Watson glares back.
”Hey everybody, look, it’s Dick!”
“You just proved sometimes the small ones are what get the job done.”
Bobby cocks an eyebrow, smirking.
Watson takes a deep breath, still ready to fight.
”Easy, killer, easy.”
“I’m not here for blood, I collect that weekly on Warfare now, or at least that’s my new job title.”
“Besides, the last toy someone told me to play with must’ve been bought off Temu because it broke way too easy.”
“Strong work tonight, I guess I have a few more wannabe bastards to go visit still.”
Bobby approaches Watson, who cocks a fist back, ready to fight.
Bobby grabs Dickie’s wrist.
The referee looks mortified, screaming at Bobby not to do anything!
TODD: Here it comes, Bama!
BAMA: Dickie, get out of there!
Bobby raises Dickie’s hand in victory.
The crowd erupts as he does.
Bobby turns and whispers something into Dickie’s ear, winks, and leaves.
Todd: "Hold on Bama... I'm getting word that—SOMETHING'S GOING DOWN BACKSTAGE!"
Cut to backstage where we see Micheal Graves storming down the hallway with purpose.
"DOM!"
Production crew scatter out of the way as Graves pushes past them.
"YOU PASTA PASTE PUSHIN' PISSANT! YOU WANT SOME!?"
He shoves his way through a pair of swinging double doors right into—THE ANARCHY KITCHEN!
"YOU GET SOME!"
And the unmistakable smell of shitty canned pasta simmering on the stovetop.
Towards the back we see Dom Durango calmly slicing vegetables with a huge knife.
He doesn't even look up from his task as Graves storms in.
"Ah. There-ah he is-ah."
Slice.
Slice.
Slice.
"You know... most people would apologize after humiliating themselves on live culinary television."
Graves cracks his neck, ready for a fight.
"I beat your ass in a cookoff."
Dom faintly smiles, still not looking up at Graves.
"You-ah mixed-ah bunch-ah trash-ah into a pot-ah and—"
Graves points and cuts him off.
"AND COMPTEN CEE'S GUT SAID ME!!!"
Dom finally looks up.
"And with-ah that gross-ah misjudgement-ah, every serious chef-ah in the world-ah died a little inside-ah."
Graves takes a step forward.
"You wanted me in your kitchen for a fight?"
Another step.
"Here I am."
Dom wipes the knife clean on a towel.
"No."
He smiles.
"I wanted you surrounded."
The entire kitchen staff turn toward Graves.
And that's when we realize that are all wearing oversized foam mascot heads of Dom Durango's smiling face.
Huge cartoon chef heads with dead black eyes and massive fake mustaches.
Graves stares.
"...the fuck?"
WHAM!
A baking tray cracks across the back of his head.
Another mascot tackles him into a prep table as ingredients go flying.
CRASH!
Steel bowls scatter across the floor.
Three more mascot chefs swarm him immediately, stomping him against the floor while the giant smiling Dom heads bob over him.
Dom backs away as violence explodes around him.
”Flam-ah-BAY him! Choppah and-ah PEAL-AH him!”
YES CHEF! The mascots bark, one hivemind perfectly tuned to execute Dom’s commands!
One mascot starts choking Graves with an apron.
Another smashes a sack of flour into his face.
A third repeatedly blasts him with one of those metal serving lids like a cymbal.
A fourth douses him with a bottle of alcohol… and pulls out a culinary blowtorch!
TODD: Holy SHIT!
Graves manages to KICK the blowtorch out of that mascot’s hand and decks one sprinkling himalayan pink salt into his wounds… But each time Graves takes out one, two more mascot Doms spring forth!
CLANG!
"I'LL KILL..."
CLANG!
YOU BIG HEADED...
CLANG!
BITCHES!"
An industrial mixer gets slammed into Graves ribs.
Dom crouches beside the pileup with a grin.
"You embarrassed-ah me on-ah my stage."
He adjusts his cuffs.
"So I thought-ah..."
The mascot chefs Shield style powerbomb Graves through a steel prep table that collapses around him on impact.
Dom smiles down at him.
"...I'd return-ah the favor on yours-ah."
One mascot chef raises a rolling pin.
SMACK—right across the top of Graves skull!
He's out cold.
”Revenge is a dish-ah best served cold, Mister-ah Graves… And it’s-ah very cold on Mars… I will-ah see you… at Leap-ah of Faith!”
And with that, Dom leaves with his mascot cronies in tow!
Todd: "I can't believe it! Bad Blood from their GCC meeting has spilled over to Anarchy as Dom Durango and his kitchen staff of mascots just laid out the former Universal champion!"
Bama T: "Baby, I don't know what kinda Hell's Kitchen we just witnessed... But Graves has a title match later tonight and he suddenly doesn't look very fit to compete!"
The camera zooms in on Graves as Dom and his cronies exit the kitchen.
BAMA T: Hold up, baby! Before we move on I’ve just gotten word from the back that XWF Xtreme Champion Samael Dyson is broadcasting LIVE from an undisclosed location.
TODD: I’m sure this won’t be horrible and offensive at all. Let’s go to Sam.
The shot cuts to a wide view of the X-Tron, which lights up with a view of Samael Dyson’s face!
Samael’s wearing a deep scowl and he proceeds to shout into the camera!
DOLLY!
DOLLY WATERS!
Get your narrow ass out here RIGHT NOW!
You think you’re gonna expel me from the XWF you got another thing coming bitch!
The arena lights dim slightly. It’s not a full black out. But just enough for the mood in the arena to shift.
No music plays… but the crowd rises anyway.
A wave moving through the Kazer Pavillion as their focus turns on one person.
Dolly Waters.
No pageantry. No smile. No raised fist.
Just that -unfortuantly now- familiar limp.
That knee brace.
That cold look in her eyes, that suggests she hasn’t slept much since March Madness.
TODD: There she is… Madame Presidente herself!
BAMA T: Business is about to pick up, baby!
Dolly cuts right through. No waves to the crowd. No looks at the hard cam. Her attention fixed entirely on the XTron.
On Samael Dyson.
He sneers from the screen as Dolly raises a microphone.
Y’know Sam… you sure do spend a whole lot of time screamin’...
She pauses.
…for a dead man.
Sam’s expression twists instantly,
Ooooh, bravo, you clever little bitch! Yeah, I bet you think you’re real clever ABUSING the power of the union to enact some petty revenge on me, Dolly. I mean, let’s boil this down to brass tacks. This is about my mother, that’s all this has ever been about!
Let me make somethin’ perfectly clear before you go throwing another tantrum on live television…
This ain’t personal revenge.
If it was? I would’ve come looking for you with something a whole lot meaner than a ballot box.
This is accountability.
Something this company forgot existed a long time ago.
I said it on Warfare, and I’ll say it again, when it comes to our Union: A Crime against one of us, is a crime against all of us.
Tonight, yer’ gonna’ answer for yer’ crimes.
All you’ve ever done is scream and cry about Madison. Like what happened in the past gave you permission for what happened.
Like yer’ grief is some sort of hall pass.
Like pain turns murder into poetry.
It dont.
Oh fuck off!
You know what, Dolly?
Let’s boil this down to even brasser tacks!
Uh….yeah!
What this is about is your GUILT COMPLEX!
You moonswill drinking redneck , I had my mother for MONTHS and what did you do about it? NOTHING! You did NOTHING to help her. No gallant rescue efforts. Not so much as a lifted goddamn finger! Yeah, what a great friend you are, Dolly. And now you’re taking that misplaced guilt out on me when in fact you’re just as responsible for her death as I am!
You wanna’ know the truth, Sam?
Maybe I SHOULD’VE done more.
Maybe I should’ve drug myself on one leg to whatever stupid Leviathan’s World yer’ hiding at, and kicked the damn door down myself.
Maybe I should’ve dragged her outta’ that darkness by her ankles.
Maybe I should’ve seen how bad you’d gotten before all of this turned into blood, funerals and ghost stories.
She shakes her head,
I’ll carry that with me until they put me in the ground.
Her voice hardens now,
But don’t you DARE sit there and confuse my guilt with yer’ innocence.
Because I failed somebody I love.
And you murdered someone who tried to love you.
That’s the difference between us, Sam.
You keep talkin’ like this vote is about revenge.
It aint. It’s about protection.
Protection for every poor soul in that lockerroom who's gotta’ wonder whether they’re standing next to a coworker… or a corpse waiting to happen.
You want the truth?
I don’t hate you, Sam.
I think yer’ sick.
I think yer’ an angry little boy.
I think you’d rather burn the whole fucking world down, rather than admit you need help.
But the second you spilled blood? The second you killed her?
This stopped being about what happened to you… and started being about what yer’ willing to do to everyone else.
So tonight, the workers decide whether this company still belongs to human beings…
…or monsters like you.
And if the NCAC returns a 60% vote tonight?
Then you can spend the rest of yer’ miserable life screaming at ghosts instead of yer’ colleagues.
The crowd starts chanting: N-C-A-C! N-C-A-C!
YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME BECASUE YOU HIDE BEHIND THAT STUPID FUCKING UNION?! WEAK!
YOU’RE ALL HYPOCRITES! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU!
YOU DIDN’T CARE ABOUT MADISON DYSON UNTIL SHE WAS DEAD!
No, Sam.
I cared about Madison while she was here.
If it weren’t for Madison Dyson, there would’ve been no Revolution.
There would’ve been no Union.
She was the embodiment of hope… the hope that people can change.
That’s why this hurts.
But this ain’t about hurt anymore… It's about consequences.
And now, it’s time to face yers’.
Dolly points back toward the ring, at the XTron hanging above it, where a graphic is now displayed tabulating the results of the NCAC Balot Measure.
“To Terminate Union Membership and Banish From The XTreme Wrestling Federation: Samael Dyson?”
YES: 59.6%
NO: 40.4%
No… no… that’s not… it was higher earlier… way higher!
Hahahaha don’t worry, Dolly! There’s at least one vote still remaining
Sam jerks a middle aged man into view of the camera. But it’s clear that something is very, very wrong here. One of the man’s eyes is puffy and black and blue, and a thin rivulet of blood is seeping out of the corner of his eye.
Yesssss ma’am. I got Tom the camera guy ready and willing to give the final vote!
What did you do?! God dammit, WHAT DID YOU DO?
Ohhh, you can feel it deep down in that stinky whisker biscuit, can’t you Dolly? The tide turning! Sam leers. So Tom, you’re the last remaining crucial vote. Let’s not dither any longer……what is it?!
Tom’s vacant unfocused eye almost look like it’s going to focus for a moment. Almost. HAMBURGERS!
Sam shakes his head, tut-tutting. No Tom….THE VOTE. What are you going to vote?
A thin stream of drool drops out of Tom’s mouth. Oh….oh yeah! I vote NO!
The crowd boos uproariously and Dolly looks absolutely disgusted as the numbers on the X-Tron recalibrate.
What the hell did you do to him, Sam?!
Sam mocks locking taken aback. Bwuh? Me?! I didn’t do anything! This is Tom’s unfiltered and honest opinion. Sam pauses for a bit, wagging a finger at the camera. But maybe….just maybe….this could have gone another way if you had focused a little less on the stars of the show and paid more attention to the true heroes of the XWF….the rank and file! The backstage producers. The ring crew. The techs! But I paid attention to them, Dolly. His voice sinks into a sinister mien. Oh yes I did. I paid attention. To them. To their families.. And we had some frank conversations about why it would behoove them to vote “no” today. Didn’t we Tom old pal?
Chili cheese dogs!
Bah! Sam casually pushes Tom out of sight of the camera.
Dolly looks absolutely irate now. You absolute bastard. You think this ends here, you think this ends today?!
Oh sure….sure! Hold another vote. Let’s see how many more “Tom’s” I can find. Sam threatens.
No, not another vote! But this will end at Leap of Faith. Because you see I had a contingency plan in place. I figured you might do something to fuck with the vote. So, I already spoke with management and it’s a done deal. If you refuse to defend your XTreme championship at the pay per view, you are FIRED!
Sam’s lip curls up in a sneer and the fans pop huge.
Oh, and by the by Sammy, the special guest referee for your match? NONE OTHER THAN KRISTOFFER ARROYO!
The fans pop even louder!! Dolly’s expression turns up into a smile.
Now get this piece of garbage off the screen and let’s get on with the show.
Just as it looks like Sam is about to protest, his feed is abruptly cut. Dolly gives one final nod to the fans as she heads towards the back. But no sooner does she reach the backstage area than does she run into Kristoffer Arroyo!
Kris is all smiles, and he shakes Dolly’s hand.
Thank you for that.
No problem. Now I’m not gonna tell you to cheat the man outta his title….but-
Kris stops her mid sentence
-say no more.I hear you. Loud and clear.
The shot then cuts again, this time to the announce position.
BAMA T: The leader of the union laying down the law!
TODD: Samael Dyson may have figured out a way around the vote here tonight, but there’s gonna be hell to pay at Leap of Faith when Sam is finally forced to defend his championship with his hated enemy Kristoffer Arroyo as the referee!
BAMA T: It’s gonna get white hot, live on pay per view!
TODD: Welcome back to Anarchy, folks! This next one is not only about an opportunity for the Revolution Title! It’s also about VENGEANCE!
BAMA: Very true, Toddrick! These two people both want a shot at the Revolution Title! But more than that, I think it would fill each one with a sense of revulsion and disgust to know they weren’t getting the shot, and their opponent is!
TODD: These two simply don’t like each other, Bama! These two sharing the ring isn’t going to be great for either’s health… but it’s going to make for some INCREDIBLY VIOLENT wrestling!
…
S&M By Rhianna will play throughout the arena as the crowd cheers while Summer walks down the aisle. Summer gets to the ring side and walks up the ring stairs. Summer looks out at the crowd and raises her arms out to the crowd as the crowd cheers louder.
TODD: Summer Page has been hunting for her first taste of championship gold since making her Anarchy debut! Despite challenges in a title match environment, it’s worth remembering she went over a calendar year UNDEFEATED in non-title matches!
BAMA: Summer’s got the wins on her record to support a title shot almost whenever she wants! And she looked dominant in the early-going, eliminating Reggie Estrada with her patented Pure Perfection on the outside of the ring! She looked poised and ready to do anything it took to get a shot against Betsy Granger for the Revolution Title…
TODD: But, then, when Summer had both competitors down and looked ready to take them out one at a time, Mister Oz delivered a Gravitas through a table and sent Summer out!
BAMA: She’s got one more chance at taking a spot for the Revolution Title at Leap… Can she do it?
Summer turns her attention to inside the ring where she motions to the referee to open the bottom and middle ropes so they can enter. Summer walks over to the closest ring corner and climbs up to the middle turnbuckle.
…
Oswald stands amidst an indie metal band, watching the ring, looking at the band. Soon a choir is heard as the band begins to play his theme song. He walks towards the lead guitarist, clapping him gently on the back so as to not mess up her playing. Oswald, walks down the ramp, the bottom of his white cloak dragging along the ground. Once at the ring, he'd leap onto the apron before launching himself to show how strong and agile he was to lift such mass with such ease right over the top rope and de-cloaked himself, placing it in his corner before stretching out his arms in a lower case t and roaring out to the crowd before going and sitting on top of his cloak, awaiting the bell as he mentally plans out the match, as well as how to try and beat his opponent.
TODD: Speaking of competitors who almost punched their own ticket to a Revolution Title match at Leap of Faith, Oz came in second! For a moment, it looked like he had Solomon Kline dead to rights!
BAMA: But then Summer decided to stick her nose in Oz’s business after getting eliminated and knocked Oz right in his yellow bricks!
TODD: …Are you implying Oz’s testicles are yellow? That sounds like a possible infection. Regardless, Summer and Oz both see the other as the reason they missed out on the chance to compete for championship gold at Leap of Faith… And one of them is going to be slid into the match making it a triple-threat!
BAMA: But to do that, they’re gonna have to go through the other!
Summer Page stood in her corner with her jaw clenched, shoulders rolling loose, glaring at Mister Oz with visible contempt. Across from her, Oz sat motionless atop his folded entrance cloak in the corner, head tilted downward as if meditating. The crowd buzzed with anticipation…
MR. OZ
- vs -
SUMMER PAGE
-#2 Contender Grudge Match-
The winner of this match will be ADDED to the Revolution Championship match between Granger and Kline
25 Minute Time Limit
The bell rang and neither competitor moved immediately.
Then Oz slowly rose to his feet.
The moment he stood upright, Summer stormed forward.
SMACK!
A brutal forearm cracked across Oz’s jaw before he could fully step out of the corner.
TODD: Summer wasting absolutely no time!
Another forearm.
And another.
Summer hammered him backward into the turnbuckles before whipping him hard across the ring. Oz exploded out of the opposite corner with shocking speed—
—but Summer immediately ducked low and DROPKICKED the knee out from under him!
Oz stumbled forward.
Summer grabbed the head—
SNAP DDT!
Oz spiked into the canvas and immediately somersaulted backward toward the ropes to create distance… He stands tall, no-selling getting spiked on the head!
Summer kipped up and screamed a wild shriek at him!
TODD: …Holy shit.
BAMA: They might actually kill each other, Toddy baby, and I am HERE for it!
TODD: Based on his promo, I think we all thought Oz would be the out-of-control maniac, but he’s thus far been cold and calculated… measured and thoughtful!
Oz stared back at her with an eerie calmness that somehow only made her angrier.
Summer charged again—
Oz suddenly burst forward and nearly turned her inside out with a massive shoulder tackle.
The impact echoed through the arena.
BAMA: GOOD LORD! She got RUN OVER!
He leans over the prone Page and SCREAMS back in her face!
TODD: …Disregard, that was a ploy, Oz is clearly EVEN ANGRIER than Summer!
Oz stood over her, breathing heavily, then spread his arms out slowly as if blessing the audience.
BOOOOOOOOOOO.
Summer pushed herself up angrily and slapped him across the face.
The entire crowd gasped.
Oz FUMES!
He grabbed Summer by the throat and hurled her violently across the ring with a release body slam.
Summer crashed hard and rolled to the apron, clutching her back.
Oz followed immediately.
He grabbed her by the hair—
—but Summer snapped his neck across the top rope!
STUNGUN!
Oz staggered backward holding his throat.
Summer slingshotted herself into the ring—
SLINGSHOT SUPLEX!
Oz flew overhead and crashed flat on his back.
Summer floated over into the cover.
ONE!
TWO—
Oz launched her off with authority.
TODD: Oz just too big! Summer’s gonna have to figure out what she couldn’t figure out how to do while she was still legal that elimination four corners match… and that’s how to keep Oz down!
BAMA: She at least figured out how to do one ILLEGAL way and that’s kicking him in the balls!
Summer landed hard but came back immediately with sharp precision strikes to the face and chest.
TODD: You can see Summer settling down… settling into her game! Every one of these shows is imbued with purpose.
BAMA: Sum-Sum knows she can’t overpower him, so she targeted openings with ruthless efficiency! That’s the sort of offense that wins matches!
High kick to the ribs.
Forearm to the jaw.
Basement dropkick to the knee.
Oz swung wildly with a clothesline—
Summer ducked.
CHICK KICK!
The superkick snapped Oz’s head sideways and staggered him into the ropes.
Summer hit the opposite side.
OZ TURNED HER INSIDE OUT WITH A BIG BOOT!
TODD: WHAT A COUNTER!
BAMA: And that sort of defense is what wins CHAMPIONSHIPS!
Summer flipped backward from the impact and crumpled near center-ring.
Oz grabbed her dead weight with both hands and hauled her upward into a delayed vertical suplex. The crowd began counting along as he held her suspended.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
Oz started doing squats while still holding her upside down.
The crowd roared.
Six…
Seven…
Eight…
Then he finally DROVE her into the mat.
BAMA: That man is a FREAK!
Oz covered.
ONE!
TWO!
Summer barely got a shoulder up.
Oz immediately transitioned into a crushing bear hug, squeezing the life out of her.
Summer screamed in pain as Oz leaned backward, compressing her ribs.
TODD: This is exactly where Summer does NOT want to be! She’s in there with a stronger, heavier athlete and Oz knows it!
Summer desperately hammered elbows into the side of his head.
Oz absorbed them.
She raked his eyes.
The referee reprimanded her—
—and Summer slipped free.
Oz stumbled blindly forward.
HIGH KNEE!
Oz dropped to one knee.
Summer hit the ropes—
CODE RED!
The crowd exploded as Oz got SPIKED into the canvas.
ONE!
TWO!!
THR—NO!
Oz powered out violently.
Summer slapped the mat in frustration.
Her anger started creeping in now.
She grabbed Oz by the head and screamed directly into his face before trying to hook him for Pure Perfection—
—but Oz suddenly muscled her upward.
GORILLA PRESS!
The crowd gasped as he held her high overhead.
Then—
GUTBUSTER!
Summer folded in half across his knee and collapsed to the canvas coughing violently.
Oz stalked her now.
Not theatrical anymore.
Predatory.
Summer crawled toward the ropes.
Oz charged.
STRIKING SPEAR!
NO!
Summer sidestepped at the last second and Oz SPEARED THE TURNBUCKLE POST THROUGH THE PADDING!
TODD: OHHHHH MY GOD!
Oz staggered backward in agony.
Summer saw her opening.
Her entire expression changed.
Cold.
Focused.
Ruthless.
She sprinted forward—
SPOILED ROTTEN!
The backstabber drove Oz downward.
He bounced upward in pain—
TOTAL KNOCKOUT!
SUPERKICK!
Oz collapsed to both knees, dazed.
Summer hit the ropes again.
SWEET & SASSY!
The Frankensteiner SPIKED Oz onto the top of his head and the crowd erupted.
ONE!
TWO!!
THR—KICKOUT!
Summer lost it.
She slammed the mat repeatedly in fury.
BAMA: Summer’s letting the emotions get to her!
BAMA: How many times has Summer come inches away from a title victory? From removing that title match monkey off her back! Of course, her emotions are high! She’s asking herself what the hell she’s gotta do to get the job done against a monster like Oz!
She grabbed Oz and started hammering forearms into him recklessly now instead of strategically.
Oz absorbed them.
One by one.
Then suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Summer froze.
Oz slowly rose to his feet while still holding her arm.
The crowd began roaring.
Summer tried another forearm—
Oz blocked it.
Another—
Blocked again.
Oz yanked her inward—
DOUBLE A SPINEBUSTER!
The ring SHOOK.
Both competitors laid motionless for several seconds.
Then Oz sat up first.
His eyes locked onto Summer.
He slowly raised one hand.
The crowd buzzed nervously.
TODD: He’s thinking “I Failed You!”
Summer stumbled upward using the ropes.
Oz grabbed her from behind.
MANDIBLE CLAW—
NO!
Summer BIT HIS HAND!
The crowd exploded.
Oz recoiled in shock.
Summer immediately trapped the leg—
PERFECT 10!!
FIGURE EIGHT LEG LOCK!!
Oz screamed in agony instantly.
TODD: SHE’S GOT IT LOCKED IN! SHE’S GOT IT FULLY BRIDGED!
Oz clawed desperately at the mat.
TODD: We’ve seen Oz look calm this match… we’ve seen him look angry… but this is the first time tonight he’s looked like he doesn’t have total control!
He tried powering upward.
His knee buckled.
He screamed again.
Summer arched higher, wrenching the hold tighter while shouting at him to tap.
Oz reached for the ropes.
Too far.
He clawed forward inch by inch.
Summer dragged herself backward to the center of the ring.
Oz pounded the mat in fury.
Then finally—
HE TAPPED.
Winner: ‘Spoiled’ Summer Page
TODD: SUMMER PAGE HAS DONE IT! SUMMER PAGE IS GOING TO LEAP OF FAITH!
BAMA: Betsy Granger’s odds just got WAY worse! Not only does she have to overcome a very game competitor in Solomon Kline… but Summer Page has never looked more primed to don championship gold around her waist!
Summer released the hold and rolled backward onto the mat, exhausted and sweating heavily.
Meanwhile Oz sat against the ropes clutching his knee, staring at Summer with quiet hatred.
TODD: I don’t think it’s over between these two!
BAMA: Not while they’re both still breathing, Toddrick!
TODD: Welcome back everyone! Tonight has been one heck of a ride… We’ve witnessed
stunts that defied the odds,
dreams come true,
dreams become shattered,
democracy itself challenged by institutional rot,
grudges settled,
grudges stoked,
vengeance enacted
…and so much more on our last stop before Leap of Faith..
BAMA: Baby! Its felt like TWO DAYS worth of BASHTACULAR action!
TODD: And now it’s time for our main event!
…but not before…
Magic by Pilot blasts through the arena speakers!
THE BASHMASTER BARRY MASTERSON ARRIVES ON THE RAMP… to a decent-enough ovation… and joins Todd and Bama in commentary.
TODD: Ladies and gentlemen… we have a very special guest joining us in the booth for this main event.
BAMA: YES WE DO, BABY!
TODD: The former full-time General Manager of Anarchy, and the man who first brought us the Anarchy Tag Team Championships… THE BASHMASTER BARRY MASTERSON!
BASHY: Ahoy, my merriest of men! What an arousing, swashbuckling spectacle this program has been tonight, wouldn’t you say?
TODD: Anarchy is always special, Barry, but I must admit, this episode has packed a unique touch tonight
BASHY: Well said, Throbby Toddy. I do hope I haven’t… come too late
Barry settles into the headset with a grin entirely too pleased with itself.
BAMA: Never too late for Bashy, baby!
TODD: And what a match for you to return to commentary for.
The Anarchy Tag Team Championships are on the line here tonight, Barry… titles YOU introduced nearly a year ago.
BASHY: Ahhh yes… my beautiful chrome-plated little bastards. Aren’t they gorgeous?
I envisioned those championships as the beating heart of Anarchy itself.
Violent.
Unpredictable.
Slightly sticky.
BAMA: That last part concerns me.
BASHY: It should!
Though I must confess, there is another reason I simply HAD to join you boys tonight…
Michael Graves.
TODD: I had a feeling you were going to mention him.
BASHY: Ahhhh, but not just any Michael Graves, darling. THIS Michael Graves.
You see, I was dreadfully fond of the alleged one. That magnificent, leather-clad degenerate held my beloved Anarchy Championship for ages! A proper menace. Like a aroused raccoon with a switchblade.
But this Graves…
BAMA: You ain’t sold yet?
BASHY: Oh, I didn’t say that, Beefcake Bama. Quite the contrary.
This one frightens me.
…and I find that rather attractive.
Todd exhales.
TODD: Folks, earlier tonight we saw Chef Dom Durango assault Michael Graves backstage in retaliation for the events of the GCC competition. Graves was struck repeatedly with kitchen equipment and reportedly suffered an injured back after being powerbombed through a steel table!
BAMA: Which means somehow… somehow… Graves might actually come into this match in a BAD mood.
TODD: That’s a terrifying sentence.
BASHY: Mm. And poor timing for our champions.
TODD: Speaking of the champions, the Rollerwhores have managed to survive every challenge put in front of them since capturing those titles under the guidance of Samael Dyson.
BAMA: Well… usually with Samael hiding behind them while THEY do the dirty work.
BASHY: And yet curiously absent from the arena tonight…. Outside of his broadcast appearance.
TODD: That’s no coincidence. Kristoffer Arroyo has spent months hunting Samael Dyson.
BAMA: And after what went down earlier tonight? We now know Kris is gonna be the special guest referee at Leap of Faith when Dyson finally steps into the fire!
BASHY: Which means dear Samael has wisely elected not to stand anywhere near Mister Arroyo this evening.
A shame, really.
Fear adds such marvelous texture to a man.
Todd pauses as the camera pans over the crowd and toward the ring.
TODD: This match may have standard rules attached to it, but there is absolutely nothing standard about the challengers.
BAMA: Arroyo and Graves together just FEELS wrong, man. Like seeing two apex predators sharing the same cage.
BASHY: Or two sharks discovering they rather enjoy the taste of the same blood.
TODD: Well one thing’s for sure… whether Barry’s here for nostalgia, curiosity, or something else entirely…
we are about to find out whether these championships are entering a very dangerous new era.
The arena is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades.
He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross.
TODD: Kristoffer Arroyo has become one of the most unsettling competitors on the Anarchy roster over the last several months.
BASHY: Mm. There’s an intimacy to his violence I find deeply… concerning.
BAMA: “Concerning” ain’t the word I’d use!
BASHY: I’m trying terribly hard not to say “erotic,” Bama.
He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.
Green lasers scatter across the stage.
Graves steps through the curtain with a noticeable limp from his earlier ambush. His head tilts, his jaw clenches, and he just stands there.
The drums kick in.
The lights sweep the arena in a blast of lime and purple.
Graves starts down the ramp in no hurry.
Fans reach out to him.
He doesn't acknowledge them.
The cameras catch quick cuts on the XTron of Graves smashing faces, laughing mid-beating, spraying mist, weapons, blood, ugly mayhem.
TODD: There’s visible damage on Graves after what happened earlier tonight.
BAMA: Chef Dom Durango jumped this man backstage with kitchen equipment and at least a dozen sous chefs… and Graves STILL insisted on competing.
BASHY: Ahhh… now THIS is more familiar.
TODD: Excuse me?
BASHY: The alleged Graves was chaos. Delicious chaos. But this one?
This one behaves like pain is merely a scheduling conflict.
He reaches the ring. Stops. Looks around. Then he slides in under the ropes, stands up slow just as the song hits—
♪ IT'S YOUR FUCKIN' NIGHTMARE ♪
Graves backs into his corner, sliding his cape off his shoulders tossing it aside.
He and Arroyo nod at one another, knowing exactly what they’re out to accomplish tonight.
BAMA: You see that look right there? They didn’t come for a wrestling match, man.
TODD: No…
BASHY: They came for a harvest.
S.E.X rolls through the arena as strobe lights intensify with each beat.
Graves and Arroyo position themselves at the front of the ring. Nearly frothing at the mouth, waiting on the Anarchy Tag Champs to appear on the ramp.
The music keeps playing…
….and playing…
But not ROLLERWHORES on the ramp?
TODD: Where are the champions?
BASHY: Perhaps a no-show like their boss?
BAMA: OH! LOOK OUT!
Just then, Violet and Elektra hop the barricade, slide into the ring undetected and begin assaulting Arroyo and Graves from behind!
The Rollerwhores immediately use the advantage, smashing their metal rollerskates into the backs of the challengers’ knees!
Graves drops to one knee!
Arroyo stumbles forward into the corner!
TODD: The champions striking first!
BAMA: And striking DIRTY!
BASHY: Mmm. Yes.
Violet jumps onto Graves’ back, clawing at his eyes through the pain from earlier tonight while Elektra grinds the side of her skate against Arroyo’s throat in the corner.
The referee desperately tries to restore order!
But the Rollerwhores only laugh behind their masks.
Anarchy Tag Team Championships
30 Minute Time Limit
DING DING DING!
TODD: AND THE MATCH IS UNDERWAY!
Violet wraps herself around Graves from behind, raking at his face while Elektra repeatedly drives her shoulder into Arroyo’s ribs in the corner.
The challengers are being rocked early!
BUT ARROYO SUDDENLY SNATCHES ELEKTRA BY THE THROAT!
BAMA: Uh oh.
Elektra fires a forearm!
Arroyo doesn’t budge.
Another!
Nothing.
Then Arroyo smiles.
AND HEADBUTTS HER DIRECTLY IN THE FACEMASK!
Hard enough to echo through the arena!
Elektra stumbles backward in a daze.
Arroyo follows instantly with a vicious leg sweep before floating directly into a grounded crossface, wrenching back with terrifying intensity.
TODD: Arroyo is just folding her up!
BASHY: Oh, that’s gorgeous. Look at the control. Like a ballroom dance performed during a Cenobite sex party.
Meanwhile Violet keeps clawing at Graves from behind - - -
UNTIL GRAVES REACHES BACK AND GRABS HER BY THE MASK!
Violet panics immediately.
She tries prying his hands loose…
But Graves just slowly rises to his feet with her still attached to his back.
BAMA: GOOD LORD THE POWER OF GRAVES!
Graves reaches up…
…and peels Violet off him over his shoulder with raw force before launching her halfway across the ring with a fallaway slam.
Violet rolls violently into the corner, and tumbles under the ropes and onto the floor.
Graves stands there breathing hard through the pain in his ribs.
Then laughs.
BASHY: Ahhhhhh.
TODD: You alright there, Barry?
BASHY: I forgot how much I missed the sound of SLAMMING.
Graves and Violet eventually make their way back to their respective corners, while Kris has been laying the work to Elektra. Batting her around like a cat playing with a half-dead mouse.
Left leg sweep.
Right leg sweep!
Running STO!!!
Elektra desperately claws toward her corner, and Arroyo just stalks behind her on all fours like an animal.
She makes the tag!
Violet scrambles in
RIGHT INTO A SPEAR FROM GRAVES!
The crowd explodes.
TODD: Graves nearly cut her in half!
Graves immediately rolls into mounted punches, hammering forearms into Violet’s mask over and over and over again while the referee counts.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
FOUR!
Graves keeps swinging.
TODD: Graves has to break!
BAMA: He don’t know how, Todd!
Finally Arroyo calmly steps up and places a hand on Graves’ shoulder.
Graves stops instantly and then heads back to his corner.
BASHY: Oh that’s interesting.
TODD: What is?
BASHY: They trust each other.
Violet tries crawling away
Arroyo stomps directly onto the back of her leg, trapping her in place.
Then he calmly DRIVES repeated knees into the side of her head.
BAMA: They’re treating these women like crash test dummies!
Arroyo drags Violet up by the chin and kisses forehead… mocking her.
Then whips her hard into the corner.
Running knee!
Another knee while balancing on the ropes!
Another!
Another!
Violet collapses in a heap.
Arroyo turns and looks directly into the hard cam.
Smiling.
TODD: And remember… Samael Dyson is somewhere watching this.
BASHY: Mm. And I suspect Mister Arroyo wants him to watch every second.
Elektra finally charges in illegally trying to save her partner…
She rushes toward the corner where Arroyo has Violet in a bad way…
BUT A BIG BOOT FROM GRAVES OVER THE TOP ROPE NEARLY TURNS HER INSIDE OUT!!!
The crowd roars.
Graves doesn’t even look at her afterward.
He just grabs the top rope and steps into the ring slowly.
The referee tries forcing him back out…
But now BOTH challengers are standing over the Rollerwhores.
ARROYO GRABS VIOLET - - -
GRAVES GRABS ELEKTRA- - -
STEREO CORNER WHIPS!!!!
Both Rollerwhores crash hard into opposite turnbuckles.
Then Graves and Arroyo simultaneously charge.
RUNNING STO IN ONE CORNER!
CORNER SPLASH IN THE OTHER!
The challengers immediately switch targets afterward like they practiced this for years.
BAMA: WAIT A SECOND! These dudes only teamed one time before tonight!
TODD: You wouldn’t know it watching this!
Graves scoops Elektra up…
GRAVE DIGGER!!!!!!
Arroyo cracks Violet in the skull with a beautiful roundhouse kick!
SHES OUT COLD!
The Rollerwhores are completely unraveling now.
Elektra coughs violently trying to stand.
Mist.
GREEN.
Directly to the face.
TODD: OH NO!
BAMA: THE MIST!
Elektra screams, clawing blindly at her face while stumbling around the ring.
Straight into Arroyo's waiting arms.
He cradles her head in position, and plants a deep, slow, wet kiss on her mouth
BASHY: Yessss…
ROMEO’S LAMENT!
ARROYO SPIKES HER HEAD FROM THE CANVAS WITH THE SWINGING DDT
The crowd groans at how nasty it looks.
Violet staggers to her feet and desperately swings at Graves…
BLACK MIST!!!!
The arena erupts.
TODD: BLACK MIST?!
BASHY: Oh dear.
Violet collapses to her knees screaming
Graves grabs her by the throat and drags her upright, and shoves her head between his knees…
He lifts her up
Turning her into a human crucifix on his shoulders…
GRAVE CONSEQUENCES!!!!
He plants her on the mat right next to Elektra
Then rather than pinning immediately…
Graves just looks at Arroyo.
Arroyo nods.
The two men step forward together.
Arroyo places a boot on Elektra’s chest.
Graves places one on Violet’s.
TODD: Now, Bashy… I thought this match was supposed to stick to clean tags..
BASHY: There’s been nothing clean about this match since the onset, darling. The way I see it, the Rollerwhores are getting a bit of what they deserve
The referee counts.
1!
2!!
3!!!
WINNERS - AND NEW ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS - MICHAEL GRAVES & KRISTOFFER ARROYO
BAMA: BABY THEY JUST RAN THROUGH THE CHAMPS!
TODD: New Anarchy Tag Team Champions!
BASHY: …oh, I adore them.
The crowd gives a thunderous mixed reaction as Arroyo and Graves stand motionless over the fallen Rollerwhores.
The referee cautiously hands them the Anarchy Tag Team Championships.
Arroyo takes one belt.
Graves takes the other.
Graves stares down at the faceplate for a long moment.
Then slings it over his shoulder carelessly.
TODD: Michael Graves has reclaimed championship gold in XWF.
BASHY: And rather alarmingly… it suits him even better this time.
Arroyo slowly turns toward the camera.
Toward wherever Samael Dyson may be watching.
And drags his thumb slowly across his own throat.
TODD: Leap of Faith is coming.
BAMA: And if I’m Samael Dyson?
BASHY: You soil yourself.
XWF Anarchy fades to black as Arroyo and Graves raise their newly won championships in the air.
Thank you to our match writers!
Peter Principle
Bobby Bourbon
And to our segment writers!
Sam Dyson
Micheal Graves
Chef Dom
XXXVI
Oh shit! Hater alert! The following 1 user Hates "The Bashmaster" Barry Masterson's post!1 user Hates "The Bashmaster" Barry Masterson's post Mr. Oz (05-16-2026)
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for no reason at all in the middle of the week. But allow me to do the XWF’s job for them and keep their talent safe for christ sakes!
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