(The EMF logo flashes on the screen.)
(We open up to the darken arena as pyrotechnics blasts on the stage. The lights turn on, and fans yell, and wave their signs. The camera gets a few shots of the crowd, and it takes a few shots of the crowd. We zoom out to display the location information. We get another shot of the crowd as the commentators speak over the shot.)
JR-Welcome to Saturday Shockwave. I’m good ol’ JR, Jim Ross. I’m joined by Jerry “The King” Lawler, and Kris “KG” Gaffney. King we have quite the show lined up for you tonight.
King-Jackson Gunner will defend the TV championship against Ragnar Ayerswindale.
Kris Gaffney-Both have a lot of history too. This is more than just the title.
JR-Let’s get started with the opening match of the night.
All of A Few Badd Men, minus Killer Tschida, walk out to the ring and they acknowledge what a legend Killer Tschida is and that this is his retirement party. "Hungry Like The Wolf" plays and the crowd howls like crazy as Killer Tschida gets in the ring carrying a luggage bag. Zack Ryder present Killer Tschida with a Rolex and a gold ring. Jackson Gunner pulls out beers, and toss it to all members of A Few Badd Men. They raise them in the air. Jackson Gunner claps for him. Killer Tschida thanks them for letting him in the faction and say the better team won. Killer has no ill feelings and no regrets. Jackson raises his arm. He then gives Zack Ryder a hug and says it was an honor being his friend and foe. Killer tells the Few Badd Men thanks and let him have some alone time in the ring. The Few Badd Men leave the ring as Killer addresses the crowd:
"I knew soon this time would eventually come and here it is! I have had one hell of a legendary ride! I was a biker! I was a redneck! I was a mercenary! I was an exterminator! I was a wolf! Hell at one point I was a Jesus Freak! I've tagged with my cousin at one point and I've tagged with enemies and strangers! I held Tag Team Championships! I held World Championships! I've been a lackey, silent member, and leader of some groups over the years! I even ran my own Federation! It is an honor to say that I am now OFFICIALLY retired and I am proud to have my last run in this Federation even though I never made it to World Championship caliber in this one! The wolf is now full! The wolf feeds no more! Thank you all!"
Killer Tschida opens his luggage and places in the middle of the ring his Long Island SV shirt and wolf shirt and his boots and waves to the crowd one more time and leaves the ring.
(The arena lights suddenly cut out, plunging everything into darkness. For a brief moment, the only sound is the murmur of the crowd, uncertain of what’s about to happen. Then, with a crackle of static, “My Way” by Frank Sinatra begins to play. But it’s not the smooth, classic version everyone knows—this one is slightly distorted, as if being played on an old, warbled record.
A lone spotlight flickers on, illuminating the entrance ramp where Jack "The Anarchist" Lynch stands, his silhouette stark against the chaos flashing on the titantron behind him—glitchy visuals of riots, fires, and carnage intercut with scenes from black-and-white films, all overlayed with the words "The Anarchist" in jagged, graffiti-style text.)
Announcer: Making his way to the ring. Fight from Wellington, New Zealand
. He stands 6'1" and weighs 230 pounds. He is The Anarchist, Jack Lynch!
(Jack takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his barbed-wire baseball bat resting casually on his shoulder. He wears a long, tattered trench coat covered in patches and scribbled phrases that look like they were done in a fit of madness. With each step, the crowd’s anticipation builds, his presence commanding yet erratic, like a ticking time bomb.
As he strides down the ramp, Jack’s grin is wide and manic, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of what’s to come. He stops suddenly, halfway down, as if a thought has just occurred to him. With a playful shrug, he pulls a flask from inside his coat, takes a swig, and sprays the liquid into the air. The mist catches the spotlight, creating a shimmering, chaotic halo around him as he continues toward the ring.
Reaching ringside, Jack doesn’t just walk up the steps like everyone else—no, that’s too predictable. Instead, he makes a sudden, wild dash toward the barricade, leaping onto it with the grace of a cat, balancing precariously on the edge. He taunts the crowd, swinging his bat playfully, then balances along the top of the barricade as if it were a tightrope, laughing all the while.
Finally, he jumps down and slides into the ring under the bottom rope, rolling to his feet in one fluid, exaggerated motion. He twirls his bat in his hand like a gunslinger ready for a duel, his eyes scanning the crowd as if daring anyone to challenge him.
Once inside, Jack heads straight for the nearest turnbuckle, leaping up onto it with a wild, unhinged energy. Perched there, he looks out over the crowd with a mix of madness and glee, as if soaking in the chaos he’s about to unleash. With a sudden, dramatic swing of his bat toward the titantron, the screen behind him glitches violently, flashing between images of destruction and his own maniacal grin.
Jack then hops down from the turnbuckle, casually tossing his bat to a ring crew member with a wink and a smirk, as if he’s just handed them a live grenade. He leans back against the ropes, whistling the last notes of "My Way" as if it’s all just a part of his twisted, chaotic day.)
JR-Jack Lynch is always looking for the chaos of the battle.
King-Or just chaos in general.
Kris Gaffney-He does love randomness…he’d probably be a good wWo member.
[The arena dims, setting the stage for a dramatic entrance. The opening notes of "KICK BACK" by Kenshi Yonezu fill the space, its energetic and upbeat rhythm instantly gripping the audience. The titantron comes alive with vibrant animations reminiscent of action-packed anime sequences.]
Announcer: "Making his way
to the ring, from London, England, weighing in at 275 pounds, he is 'The Samurai Otaku'... Mansa Carthage!"
[As the music swells, the lights pulse in sync with the beat, casting bright, dynamic colors across the stage. Mansa Carthage bursts onto the scene with an exuberant energy, wearing a fusion of samurai-inspired attire and modern streetwear, complete with symbolic touches from his favorite animes.]
[Mansa moves with a playful yet confident swagger, embodying the larger-than-life characters he admires. He performs exaggerated, anime-style poses and martial arts moves, engaging the crowd and drawing them into his world of fantasy and excitement.]
[As he makes his way down the ramp, the titantron displays iconic scenes from various animes, interspersed with clips of Mansa's own in-ring highlights, showcasing his agility and strength.]
[Upon reaching the ring, Mansa leaps onto the apron with a flourish, pausing to strike a dramatic samurai pose, complete with a mock sword drawing gesture. He then flips over the top rope with acrobatic ease, landing in a superhero landing pose that sends the crowd into a frenzy.]
[With the music reaching its climax, Mansa bounds to each corner of the ring, energetically engaging with the fans, showing off his charismatic and playful side. He then centers himself, closing his eyes for a moment as if channeling the spirit of both anime heroes and samurai warriors, preparing himself mentally and physically for the battle ahead.]
[As the song fades, Mansa opens his eyes, poses, and now focused and ready, his playful demeanor giving way to the serious, disciplined side of a warrior ready for combat.]
JR-Mansa Carthage has become quite the force.
Kris Gaffney-You’re a force!
King- Of lameness…
[Jack Lynch and Mansa Carthage stand in the middle of the ring. The bell rings, and Jack Lynch throws a few knife edge chops to the chest, Mansa Carthage connects with a knee lift to answer back, and he whips Jack Lynch to the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Mansa Carthage goes for a clothesline, but it’s ducked under, and Jack Lynch ducks under, and he connects with a combination of kicks, and punches to the ribs, legs and side of the face, and Jack Lynch connects with a spinning back elbow, and then finishes it up with a spinning back fist to complete the Anarchy Blitz. Jack Lynch hits a kick to the gut, and he plants him down on the mat with a DDT. Jack Lynch goes into the corner, and he measures up on Mansa Carthage. Mansa Carthage gets up slow, and Jack Lynch runs towards Mansa Carthage. Jack Lynch connects with a pandemonium kick to the face that drops Mansa Carthage. Jack Lynch goes into the cover on Mansa Carthage. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2……….KICK OUT by Mansa Carthage.]
JR- Jack Lynch landed some big moves, but is not able to keep Mansa down.
King-Well…that is chaos.
Kris Gaffney-There you have it!
[Mansa is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet, Jack Lynch runs towards the ropes, and Mansa Carthage connects with a power slam. Jack Lynch hits the mat, and he is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Jack Lynch falls into the corner, and Mansa Carthage connects with a running splash in the corner, and he stumbles out of the corner. Jack Lynch throws a dazed fist, and Mansa Carthage ducks under, and he connects with a belly to back suplex that puts down Jack Lynch. Jack Lynch is slow to get up to his feet as Mansa Carthage goes into the corner, and he measures up, and he connects with a super man punch on Jack Lynch that drops Jack Lynch. Mansa Carhage goes into the cover on Jack Lynch. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2…..KICK OUT by Jack Lynch!!]
JR-Mansa Carthage with an almost three.
King-Well…can’t have chaos with chaos going against you.
Kris Gaffney-Fair enough.
[Jack Lynch gets picked up, but Jack Lynch counters with a reverse jaw breaker. Jack Lynch goes to the outside of the ring, and he climbs up to the top rope. Jack Lynch jumps off of the top rope, but Mansa moves out of the way. Jack lands on his feet. Jack Lynch turns around, and Mansa Carthage drops Jack Lynch with a Dragon’s Descend!! Mansa Carthage goes into the cover on Jack Lynch. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………..2……….3!!]
JR-Jack Lynch took a chance that did not pay off.
[An uneasy ripple moves through the EMF Arena as the lights dim to military green. A gravelly bugle call pierces the air, and the jumbotron flashes with vintage footage of boot‑camp drills. The crowd stirs with nostalgia as Sgt. Slaughter strides through the curtain—broad‐chested, campaign hat fixed, swagger stick tucked under one arm. He salutes the audience, barking “Atten‑hut!” before marching down the ramp. Though past his prime, the Sarge’s presence commands respect; fans respond with a patriotic roar, waving miniature flags. Slaughter climbs the steps, wipes his boots, and steps through the ropes, brandishing the swagger stick like an old warhorse ready for one more battle.]
Jim Ross: “By God, it’s Sgt. Slaughter—a living legend of squared‑circle wars. But tonight, King, he marches into uncharted territory against The Wretched Nobody.”
Jerry “The King” Lawler: “That monster put Lex Luger on a gurney last month, JR. Sarge’s valor is unquestioned, but bravery alone might be suicide.”
Kris Gafney: “Hope Slaughter polished those dog tags, because he could be leaving them at ringside—a memorial.”
The arena lights dimmed as the crowd hushed. Smoke soon crawls across the canvas surrounding everyone in the ring, at ringside and the front rows of the audience who begin anticipating the arrival of The Wretched Nobody when the monitors all go static. A single spotlight shone on the center of the stage as a low, as the ominous tune filled the air. Suddenly, the sound of thunder roared through the speakers as the arena shook with each strike as thick red curtains parted, revealing a large black casket positioned in the center of the stage. "Marche Funèbre MMXXIII" begins to play, the casket starts to rise slowly from the stage, flickering in and out of sight with each flash of strobe lights. As the casket ascended, smoke began to pour out of its cracks and crevices, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, the lid of the casket burst open, revealing a thick mist from which a massive hand shot out from the depths of the casket, grabbing onto the edge and pulling The Wretched Nobody out of his resting place. The crowd erupted in cheers as The Wretched Nobody emerged from the casket, which fell away in pieces as he stood up towering over seven feet tall and covered in various tattoos and scars. The Wretched Nobody paced back and forth, staring down at the ring with an unflinching glare. The Wretched Nobody broke step as the lights flicker again, as he strides down the ramp, ignoring the fans' outstretched hands and taunts.
Ring Announcer: Making his way down the aisle THE DARK STAR OF EMF! hails from The Danvers State Lunatic Asylum, Salem Massachusetts and at Six Foot Eleven inches tall – at Four Hundred and Twenty Pounds he is… he is Your former Six Time EMF Heavyweight Champion of the Woooooorld! DEATH HIMSELF! THE WRETCHED NOBODY!
As he approached the ring, bolts of electricity shot out from the turnbuckles, illuminating the darkness around him. The Wretched Nobody climbed up onto the apron, peering down his opponent with a look of pure disdain. Wretch easily stepped over the top rope and made his way to the center of the ring, where he raised his arms and let out a guttural roar. The crowd responded with deafening cheers, their excitement building to a fever pitch. The Wretched Nobody rocks side to side, staring down his opponent ready to charge forward, to unleash his wrath upon anyone who dares to stand in his way.
Jim Ross: “Look into those blank eyeholes—there’s no remorse, no respect—just annihilation.”
Jerry Lawler: “For once I’m rooting for nostalgia—but reality says the Sarge is outgunned.”
Kris Gafney: “Out‑tanked, out‑cannoned, pick your war metaphor. This is Normandy without backup.”
[The referee issues quick instructions, glancing nervously at the masked behemoth. Slaughter jabs a finger into Wretch’s chest and shouts “You maggot!”—the old bravado sparking cheers. Wretch never flinches. Reyes signals the bell, and the massacre commences.]
[Slaughter lunges with a barrage of right hands that rattle Wretch’s jaw. The crowd pops at the show of fire. Sarge winds up his trademark roundhouse—Wretch snatches the wrist mid‑swing, squeezing until knuckles blanch, then head‑butts Slaughter square between the eyes. The sound is like a melon dropped on concrete. Slaughter stumbles backward, blood trickling from the bridge of his nose.]
Jim Ross: “That headbutt could cave a steel helmet! Slaughter’s seeing artillery shell flashes already.”
Jerry Lawler: “He might be concussed thirty seconds in!”
Kris Gafney: “Shock and awe—mostly shock.”
[Wretch advances methodically, launching a tree‑trunk boot to Sarge’s gut, doubling him over. The monster hooks Slaughter’s arms and heaves him up in a Texas Tower Bomb “Abreaction,” driving him from near roof height to mat with cataclysmic force. Ring boards creak. Wretch kneels on Slaughter’s chest—one… two… Sarge kicks weakly, instinct more than will. Wretch’s mask tilts: curiosity? amusement? hard to tell.]
[Hauling his prey up by the chin, Wretch traps Slaughter’s arms over the top rope and unleashes body blows—ham‑fist lefts and rights to the ribs. Each thud leaves the legend wheezing. The ref counts; Wretch releases at four, only to clasp both hands and club Slaughter’s sternum with an overhead double‑axe. Sarge collapses to his knees. Wretch steps back, measures… running knee lift snaps Slaughter’s head back violently, causing his campaign hat to sail into the third row.]
Jim Ross: “Sarge’s trademark hat just became a war casualty!”
Jerry Lawler: “And Sarge might be next—look at his eyes glazing.”
Kris Gafney: “Incoming, old soldier—duck and cover doesn’t apply.”
[Wretch drags the near‑limp veteran to center ring and cinches a torture‑rack backbreaker—mocking Slaughter’s famed Cobra Clutch days with merciless irony. Wretch bounces, grinding vertebrae. Slaughter screams, hand flailing. He refuses to quit. Eventually Wretch flings him forward like spent ammunition. Sarge lands face‑first, barely conscious. The monster circles, savoring the dominance.]
[Blood from Slaughter’s nose drips onto the canvas as he claws at it, trying to rise. Wretch stoops, grips Sarge’s jaw with vice‑like fingers—the dreaded Snap Iron Claw. Slaughter’s arms flutter. Wretch lifts him by the face, feet dangling, then violently drives Sarge down in a Reverse Chokeslam, planting him chest‑and‑face first with horrendous thud. Rolling the legend onto his back, Wretch hooks no leg—simply presses one massive hand on Sarge’s forehead. Reyes counts—one… two… Slaughter’s shoulder jerks up! Tiny pop from the crowd for defiance. Wretch’s hand stays planted; he glares, then lifts Sarge again.]
Jim Ross: “Heart of a Marine—Sgt. Slaughter refusing to die easy!”
Jerry Lawler: “Nobody questions his courage—but courage meets concrete tonight.”
Kris Gafney: “More like courage meets coroners.”
[Wretch heaves Slaughter into a corner, hoists him onto top turnbuckle as though lifting a sandbag. The monster climbs to second rope—hooks for a super plex. The ring looks to implode as Slaughter is driven spine‑first from apex to canvas. Fans wince collectively. Slaughter’s body lies arched, unmoving.]
Jim Ross: “GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY! Slaughter’s back may be shattered!”
Jerry Lawler: “Ref, call for the bell—this is overkill!”
Kris Gafney: “War is hell. Wretch is worse.”
[Wretch stands slowly, looming dark. He heads to corner, crouches, boot pistoned—setting the final artillery: “Trephination.” The hush is funereal. Slaughter, somehow on instinct, rolls to his side, drags himself onto one knee, defiant eyes to the last. Wretch charges—running big boot obliterates the legend’s face. Slaughter folds lifelessly, sprawled on his stomach, arms askew.]
[Wretch doesn’t bother rolling him; he plants a foot between Sarge’s shoulder blades, leans forward, palms down, sadistic push‑up position—Reyes drops—one… two… three.]
Jim Ross: “Mercifully done—Sgt. Slaughter has been decimated.”
Jerry Lawler: “I’ve watched the Sarge battle Hulk Hogan, Ric Flair, the Iron Sheik—but never, NEVER has he been man‑handled like this.”
Kris Gafney: “Legends die hard, but they still die.”
[“Lux Aeterna” resounds as EMTs sprint past the departing Wretched Nobody. He lifts the chain onto his shoulder, never glancing back at the broken soldier. Medical staff stabilize Slaughter’s neck, gingerly roll him to a gurney. The crowd, shocked to silence, offers a respectful, tremulous “USA” chant as their hero is wheeled away. At the top of the ramp, Wretch pauses, tilts his head once more, then disappears into shadow, leaving only dread and a battered icon in his relentless wake.]
[The EMF Arena rocks beneath a chorus of tribal drums as the house lights flood crimson. Jacob Fatu storms through the curtain first—lava‑lava flaring, tattoos shimmering, eyes ablaze. Solo Sikoa follows, stoic and war‑painted, cracking his neck while scanning the jeering crowd. The Samoan cousins descend the ramp like twin warheads, ignoring outstretched hands. Inside the ring they thump chests in unison, unleashing a guttural battle cry that vibrates through the rafters.]
Jim Ross: “There they stand, King—Solo Sikoa and Jacob Fatu, equal parts power and primal fury.”
Jerry “The King” Lawler: “Two walking earthquakes, JR. They’ve crushed everyone in their path. But tonight they’re up against experience—Tony Ikeda and CM Punk.”
Kris Gafney: “Experience? Maybe. But experience bleeds the same as anyone when Samoan hammers start swinging.”
[The lights snap to white as Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality” detonates. CM Punk strides onto the stage, hoodie half‑unzipped, raising his arms in the classic “clobberin’ time” stance. Crowd erupts. Guitar feedback bleeds into Disciple’s “Game On” and Tony “The Badd Boy” Ikeda emerges, bumping Punk’s fist before both men march to ringside. Tony, twenty‑plus years deep and still carved from iron, flashes a calm grin at the Samoans, flexing taped fists. Punk mouths “Let’s go!” and hops to the apron. Both enter, taking opposite corners to soak in dueling cheers.]
Jim Ross: “Punk brings the venom. Ikeda brings the ring IQ. Together? A dangerous cocktail.”
Jerry Lawler: “If they can out‑smart the Samoans, they might survive. If not, bring a mop.”
Kris Gafney: “I’m betting on broken bodies before the night’s done.”
[Bell rings. Punk volunteers, squaring off with Solo. They lock up; Solo shoves Punk across the ring. Punk bounces up smirking, fires stiff leg kicks—thwack, thwack—to the thigh. Solo swings a lariat; Punk ducks, rebounds with a cross‑body—Solo catches him and snaps a Samoan drop for the first near fall.]
Jim Ross: “Punk’s speed met a Samoan brick wall!”
[Quick tag—Fatu enters with piston‑like chops, blistering Punk’s chest. He whips Punk; Punk slides under, delivers a jumping calf‑kick. Tag Ikeda. Tony lights up Fatu with boxing jabs, snap‑suplex float‑over—two count. Fatu powers Ikeda into his corner; Solo tags and the cousins stomp Tony until ref’s four‑count.]
Jerry Lawler: “Classic Samoan isolation—cut the ring in half, chew your prey.”
[Solo clamps a nerve hold. Crowd rallies; Tony elbow‑breaks, hits ropes—Fatu cheap‑shots him from apron. Solo crushes Ikeda with a hip‑attack, then mocks Punk by flashing straight‑edge X‑arms. Frequent tags follow: a double back‑suplex/neckbreaker nets Fatu a long two. Punk paces apron, boiling.]
Kris Gafney: “Ikeda’s in a torture chamber, and Punk’s forced to watch.”
[Ikeda counters a Samoan Spike by jamming a thumb into Fatu’s eye, then nails a desperation Badd Boy Cutter. Both men down. Hot tag Punk!]
[Punk springboards, clotheslines Fatu, drop‑kicks Solo off apron, then corner‑knee/bulldogs Fatu. He signals GTS; lifts Fatu but staggers as weight shifts. Solo reenters—Punk dodges double super‑kick; Solo clocks Fatu! Punk tosses Solo outside, nails a discus lariat on Fatu—two‑and‑nine‑tenths! Tag Ikeda. Duo suplex Fatu; Punk tope‑suicida Solo on floor.]
Jim Ross: “Momentum swinging wildly—veteran teamwork paying off!”
[Ikeda spine‑busters Fatu, transitions to Texas Cloverleaf; Solo breaks it at 2. Punk springboards again—Solo swats him in mid‑air! Chaos reins ringside.]
[All four brawl near announce desk. Solo belly‑to‑belly suplexes Punk onto the table (it teeters but holds). Fatu whips Ikeda into barricade. Ref’s count at seven before Samoans roll Ikeda inside.]
Jerry Lawler: “Tony might be too battered to finish.”
[They execute a pop‑up Samoan spike/powerbomb—Punk dives, saves the match at 2.99.]
[Punk rallies, springboard drop‑kicks Solo; Ikeda drop‑toeholds Fatu. Punk hits running knee, tags Tony. They attempt roundhouse‑into‑Badd End combo; Solo yanks Punk’s leg, Punk crashes. Fatu super‑kicks Ikeda—near fall.]
Kris Gafney: “Prime chance slipping through Ikeda’s fingers!”
[Samoans set for Samoan Wasteland (electric chair dive). Punk recovers, springboard drop‑kick topples stack. Ikeda rolls through, plants Fatu with a full nelson slam. Punk springboard shining wizard to Fatu’s temple; Tony grabs Fatu and lands the Full Nelson Suplex!! Cover—one… two… three!]
Jim Ross: “Tony Ikeda pins Jacob Fatu! Experience and grit overcome Samoan might!”
Jerry Lawler: “What a finish—Punk’s knee, Ikeda’s driver, lights out!”
Kris Gafney: “Okay, credit where due—Ikeda still Too Badd.”
[Punk drags Ikeda up; they hug, arms raised to thunderous applause. Solo pulls a woozy Fatu from ring, glaring daggers. Punk signs “sleep” gesture at retreating Samoans while Ikeda mouths “Just Too Badd” into the hard cam—battle‑tested, victorious.]
(“Radio” blasts on the PA system. Zack Ryder walks out on the stage with his web camera. He walks down to the ring, and he steps inside of the ring.)
JR-Zack Ryder is coming off a battle with the Amigos, and it continues this week.
King-It didn’t work out as well as he wanted to, so maybe he can get some revenge here.
Kris Gaffney-One might think that.
[div align="center"][video][/bbvideo][/align]
The arena lights dim, and the opening beats of NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" blast through the speakers. As soon as the first note hits, bright spotlights flash in sync with the music, and a thick cloud of smoke rises from the stage. The crowd immediately erupts in a mix of cheers and laughter, knowing they’re in for something special. As the beat drops, multicolored fireworks explode around the stage, and through the smoke, Patrick Payne bursts out, dancing his way onto the stage like he’s straight out of a 90s boy band video. Patrick starts hitting the iconic "Bye Bye Bye" choreography, exaggerated and dripping with his own flavor. He smirks at the camera, pointing at random fans in the crowd, and moving with the beat like he’s starring in his own music video. He stops midway down the ramp, faking a pause, and then launches back into the dance, arms waving and hips moving as the crowd sings along to the chorus.
EMF Ring Announcer: From wherever he damn well pleases, standing 6 feet 1 inch tall, weighing in at 210 pounds he is the unpredictable, the unstoppable, Patrick ˜The PP Express Payne!!!
As the music continues, the lights flash in rhythm, and Patrick slides into the spotlight, twirling and dipping to the beat. Nearing the ring, he stops for a second, tilts his head toward the camera, and breaks into a final burst of the dance, fully embracing the ridiculousness of it all. Without breaking his flow, he leaps over the top rope with a fluid, acrobatic jump, landing in a perfect roll before bouncing right back into the Bye Bye Bye dance inside the ring. Patrick moves effortlessly, finishing his routine by running up the turnbuckle, arms wide, and executing a picture-perfect backflip off the top rope. As his feet hit the mat, he drops into a flawless superhero landing, kneeling down, one fist on the ground, with a cocky grin stretched across his face. He rises slowly, arms outstretched, soaking in the crowd’s reaction, while the music fades and the lights settle back to normal. The camera zooms in as Patrick winks at the audience, mouthing, "You’re welcome!" before leaning casually against the ropes, waiting for his match to begin.
JR-Patrick Payne fell on some hard times, but in recent weeks has been gaining momentum.
King-God knows what’s important in wrestling.
Kris Gaffney-Quick Patrick, have someone slap you, or something.
[Patrick Payne and Zack Ryder pace around the ring they lock up. Patrick Payne puts him into an arm bar. Zack Ryder looks for a way out of the hold, and he pushes him towards the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Patrick Payne connects with a running shoulder block. Zack Ryder gets up to his feet, and he runs towards Patrick Payne. Patrick Payne counters with an arm drag. Zack Ryder is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Patrick Payne connects with a few fists to the face, and he whips him to the ropes, and he drops Zack Ryder with a falling spin buster. Zack Ryder is slow to get up t his time, Patrick Payne lifts up Zack Ryder, and he connects with a body slam. Patrick Payne goes to the turnbuckle, and he climbs up to the top rope. Patrick Payne jumps off, and he connects with the flight risk!! Patrick Payne goes into the cover on Zack Ryder. The ref goes inot position to make the count. The ref counts 1……………..2…………KICK OUT by Zack Ryder. Patrick Payne connects with a few stomps on Zack Ryder as he considers his next move.]
JR-Patrick Payne might be looking to end this match.
King-Not sick bro?
Kris Gaffney-Patrick probably think it is…
[Zack Ryder is slow to get up to his feet. Patrick Payne kicks him in the gut, but Zack Ryder spins out. Zack Ryder ducks under a wild fist by Patrick Payne. Zack Ryder connects with a step up ezuguri to the side of the head. This makes Patrick Payne stumble around. Zack Ryder gets up, and he connects with a few fists to the face that knocks him backwards. Zack Ryder tries to whip him to the ropes, but Patrick reverses the whip. Zack Ryder bounces off of the ropes. Patrick Payne lowers his head, but Zack Ryder counters with a swinging neck breaker puts down Patrick Payne. Zack Ryder takes a few moments to recover. He watches as Patrick Payne gets up in the conrer. Zack Ryder runs towards the corner, and he connects with a clothesline in the corner. Patrick Payne stumbles around, and he falls into the corner into a seated position. Zack Ryder grins, and he backs up. He fist pumps (woo! Woo! Woo!) Zack Ryder connects with a broski boot to the side of the face.]
JR-It was only a matter of time before Ryder could turn the match around.
King-He’s always going to be in the fight.
Kris Gaffney-You can definitely never count him out for sure.
[Zack Ryder measures up on Patrick Payne. Zack Ryder goes for the Rough Ryder, but Patrick ducks under. Ryder turns around. Patrick hits a kick to the gut. Zack Ryder gets hit with the Payne Per View on Zack Ryder!! Patrick Payne goes into the cover on Zack Ryder. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2……..3!!]
JR-Patrick was able to avoid the Rough Ryder, and he took advantage of the window to get the win.
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[As the opening beats of "Protect Ya Neck" by Wu-Tang Clan start to resonate throughout the arena, the lights dim to a moody, understated ambiance. A single spotlight focuses on the entrance ramp, creating a sense of anticipation and mystery.]
[The titantron flickers to life, displaying a montage of New York City’s shadowy streets and skylines, setting the stage for Billy Breeze’s entrance. The screen then transitions to a spectral figure moving through the darkness, New Yorks own vigilante, The Crimson Wraith.]
[Suddenly, a soft, blue glow illuminates the ramp, casting a cool, ghostly light. A thin layer of fog creeps along the floor, adding to the spectral atmosphere, suggesting the presence of something or someone not quite of this world.]
[Then, emerging from the back, Billy Breeze strolls out nonchalantly, his demeanor calm and composed, but with a readiness that you cannot train for. He’s dressed in his signature ring gear, exuding a quiet confidence. Rex "Retro" Savage follows behind, his flamboyant attire contrasting with Billy’s simplicity, playing up to the crowd and hyping them up.]
Beautiful female announcer: "Hailing from the shadows of New York City, here is the enigmatic, the unpredictable... Specter, Billy Breeze!"
[Billy’s walk to the ring is unhurried, his eyes scanning the crowd with a detached yet intense gaze. The spotlight follows him, keeping him the focal point amidst the dimly lit arena. He occasionally pauses, giving the audience a nod or a slight smirk, but his silence speaks volumes.]
[Upon reaching the ring, Billy slides in effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise. Rex "Retro" Savage takes a position at ringside, continuing to interact with the crowd and serve as Billy's charismatic mouthpiece.]
[The music and lights subtly shift as Billy prepares for the match, the fog dissipating and the spotlight fading, leaving Billy in the ring, a figure both enigmatic and ready for combat, as the arena buzzes with excitement for the upcoming match.]
JR-Billy Breeze’s technical ability might be key in bringing down Fenrir Kaine.
King-I’m certain he’s done it in a video game.
Kris Gaffney-That’s all that matters…even though I’m certain he’s done it in the actual wrestling ring before too.
(As the lights in the arena plunge into darkness, an eerie silence descends over the crowd. The faint sound of wind howling fills the air, sending shivers down spines. Suddenly, the opening notes of "Wolf Totem" by The HU (featuring Jacoby Shaddix) thunder through the speakers, primal and haunting. A blood-red light floods the entrance ramp, illuminating a swirling mist of smoke that creeps along the ground like tendrils of something alive.
The screen above the stage flickers to life, showing the silhouette of a massive wolf prowling through a dark forest. As the beat drops, bursts of flame erupt from the stage, casting wild shadows across the arena. Through the flames and smoke emerges Fenrir Kaine, "The Demonic Werewolf." His imposing frame is silhouetted against the fiery backdrop, his head lowered, and his crimson eyes glinting beneath his hooded brow.
Ring Announcer: Now making his way to the ring! Fighting out of the Shadows of the Abyss! Weighing in at two hundred and ninety-five pounds and standing six feet and four inches tall! He is "The Demonic Werewolf" FENRIR KAINE!
Fenrir’s presence is palpable, an aura of raw, predatory menace that freezes the audience in place. As he begins his slow, deliberate march down the ramp, the flames on stage ignite once more, illuminating his every step. The red lights follow him like a spotlight, casting a sinister glow over his powerful frame. The mist clings to his boots as if the darkness itself refuses to let him go.
He reaches the ring steps and pauses, turning his gaze to the crowd. Their boos and jeers are drowned by the pulsating rhythm of his theme song, yet Fenrir remains unfazed. A low, guttural growl escapes his lips as he climbs the steps and enters the ring.
Once inside, Fenrir moves to the center of the ring, his massive frame towering over the referee. He throws back his head and lets out a bone-chilling howl, synchronized with a final burst of flame erupting from the ring posts. The lights flicker back to full brightness, but the chilling aura lingers as Fenrir Kaine removes his hood and glares out at the crowd with predatory intent.
He moves to his corner, leaning against the turnbuckle like a wolf surveying its prey, waiting for the match to begin. The arena buzzes with tension, every eye fixed on the terrifying force that is Fenrir Kaine.)
JR-Fenrir Kaine power is going to be difficult to defeat.
King-There is a reason why he’s an IC champion.
Kris Gaffney-Well, Breeze has been world champion, this should be an interesting challenge for him.
[Fenrir Kaine, and Billy Breeze throws. Fenrir Kaine is able to block one of them, and he connects with a big head butt that knocks down Billy Breeze. FEnrir Kaine grabs Billy Breeze around the throat, and he hurls him towards the corner. Billy Breeze crashes into the corner, and he stumbles out of the corner. Fenrir Kaine picks Billy Breeze up, and he holds him for a few moments before hitting fall away slam. Billy Breeze slowly gets up in the corner on the other side of the ring. Fenrir Kaine connects with a hip attack, and he waits for Billy Breeze to stumble towards him, and he does. Fenrir Kaine kicks him in the gut, and he sets him up spinning urnage that drops Billy Breeze. Fenrir Kaine goes into the cover on Billy Breeze. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2…..KICK OUT by Billy Breeze!!]
JR-Billy Breeze kicked out!
King-Playing video games sure have helped him.
Kris Gaffney-Somehow I think someone he knows might know someone that could help him with that.
King-Who’s that….
Kris Gaffney-….I’m….not sure….
King-He’s speaking non-sense…get him! JR and King jump Kris
[Billy Breeze slowly gets up to his feet, and Fenrir Kaine picks up Billy Breeze over his shoulder, but Billy Breeze is able to hit a few elbows to the side of the head, and he spins out,a nd he drops Fenrir Kaine with a DDT. Billy Breeze takes a few moments to rest up. Fenrir Kaine is slow to get up to his feet as Billy Breeze gets up to his feet. Billy Breeze ducks under a fist, and Billy Breeze connects with a few fists to the face, and he hooks Fenrir Kaine, and he connects with a t-bone suplex. Fenrir Kaine is slow to get up to his feet. Billy Breeze connects with a Harlem Hook to the jaw dazing Fenrir Kaine, and Billy Breeze runs towards the ropes. Fenrir Kaine throws a wild fist, and Billy Breeze ducks under, and he hooks Fenrir, and he connects with a german suplex with a bridge. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………..2………KICK OUT by Fenrir Kaine!!]
JR-Billy Breeze has turned this match on a dime.
King-gives a thumb up
[Billy Breeze waits for Fenrir Kaine, and he hooks on the Specter’s grip, but before he can bring Fenrir down. Fenrir drives Billy into the corner breaking the hold. Billy Breeze climbs up to the second rope as Fenrir Kaine stumbles effected by the Specter’s grip. Billy Breeze jumps off the second rope, but at the last moment Fenrir avoids it. Billy Breeze turns around into a pick up. Fenrir Kaine lifts up Billy Breeze, and he drops him with a Eclipse Driver!! Fenrir Kaine goes into the cover on Billy Breeze. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………….2………..3!!]
JR-Fenrir Kaine escaped the Specter’s grip before it could truly took effect, and got the victory.
The arena lights dim, plunging the space into an anticipatory darkness. A hushed silence falls over the crowd, broken only by the distant sound of thunder. Suddenly, the opening notes of "Medieval Viking Music - For Honor (Ft. Peyton Parrish)" resonate through the speakers, their haunting melody echoing in the vastness of the arena.
As the music swells, the titantron flickers to life, displaying a mist-covered Nordic landscape. Towering mountains and dense, shadowy forests under a twilight sky fill the screen, creating an atmosphere of ancient, rugged wilderness.
Amidst this mystical backdrop, scenes of Viking lore begin to unfold on the titantron. Images of longships sailing through stormy seas, warriors brandishing shields and axes, and ethereal figures of Valkyries descending from the heavens captivate the audience, weaving a tale of epic battles and Norse mythology.
A deep, bellowing horn sounds, reminiscent of a Gjallarhorn, heralding the approach of a warrior. The crowd stirs with excitement as a lone figure emerges from the backstage, his silhouette imposing and powerful.
Ragnar Ayerswindale steps into the light, his figure colossal and commanding. He stands for a moment at the top of the ramp, surveying the arena with a calm, unyielding gaze. His attire, a fusion of traditional Viking elements and modern combat gear, complements his muscular build, and Norse runes glint on his gear under the arena lights.
As he begins his descent down the ramp, the music intensifies. The titantron shows images of thunderous battles juxtaposed with serene, majestic landscapes of the Nordic fjords, symbolizing the duality of Ragnar's nature – both a fierce warrior and a stoic guardian of ancient traditions.
Ragnar's movements are deliberate and measured, exuding confidence and a sense of purpose. He occasionally pauses to make eye contact with fans, his expression unchanging, an embodiment of the calm before the storm.
Reaching the ring, Ragnar ascends the steel steps with ease. He stands on the apron for a moment, closing his eyes as if to draw strength from the gods themselves. Then, with a swift and fluid motion, he steps over the top rope and enters the ring.
The music reaches a crescendo, and Ragnar raises his arms, acknowledging the crowd and the arena. The Norse imagery on the titantron gives way to a single, ancient rune, glowing brightly as if imbued with mystical power.
As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Ragnar begins his pre-match ritual, a silent nod to the Viking warriors of old. The arena buzzes with anticipation, the presence of this modern-day Viking leaving an indelible mark on all who witness his entrance.
JR-Ragnar Ayerswindale won this championship title shot.
King-He’s been looking to get a championship, this might be his night.
Kris Gaffney-He does have the gods on his side.
King-Too bad they aren’t the Melon Gods!
JR-Jackson Gunner is going to be difficult to defeat.
King-However, Ragnar does have experience facing him as he was apart of the Golden Empire who battled A Few Badd Men all of 2024.
[Jackson Gunner and Ragnar Ayerswindale pace around the ring, they lock up, and Ragnar Ayerswindale connects with a knee lift. Ragnar Ayerswindale runs towards the orpes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Jackson Gunner connects with a belly to belly over head throw that sends him flying across the ring. Ragnar Ayerswindale is slow to get up to his feet, and once he gets up to his feet. Jackson Gunner connects with a few fists to the face that knocks him backwards. Jackson Gunner tries to whip him to the ropes, and he bounces off of the ropes. Ragnar Ayerswindale lowers his head, but it’s countered with a knee lift into the face, and Jackson Gunner hooks Ragnar Ayerswindale into a double under hook, and he drops him with a double arm DDT into the mat. Ragnar Ayerswindale is down on the mat, but Jackson Gunner isn’t down, and he picks up Ragnar, and he lifts him up, and he drops him with a stacked power bomb. Jackson Gunner holds Ragnar down in a pinning combination. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1………….2…….KICK OUT by Ragnar Ayerswindale!!]
JR-Ragnar Ayerswindale was able to kick out at the last second.
King-Ragnar is looking to be champion, he knows it’s not going to come easy if he’s going to have to go through Jackson Gunner.
Kris Gaffney-That’s for sure.
[Jackson Gunner picks Ragnar Ayerswindale, he whips Ragnar to the ropes, but Ragnar reverses the whip. Jackson bounces off of the ropes, and Ragnar lifts him up, and he drops him with a spine buster!! Ragnar sets up Jackson, and he lifts him up, and he drops him with a runestone power bomb!! Ragnar Ayerswindale goes into the corner, and he measures up on Jackson Gunner, and he runs out of the corner, and he connects with a Gunginar spear!! Jackson Gunner is seemingly down. Ragnar goes into the cover on Jackson Gunner. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2………Jackson Gunner kicks out!!]
JR-Jackson Gunner got hit with a few big moves, but it wasn’t able to keep him down.
King-He thought he had him there.
Kris Gaffney-Maybe he was wondering what his celebration would be like.
[Jackson Gunner is slow to get up to his feet Ragnar attempts to ready himself for another Gunginar spear, but as he goes for it, Jackson Gunner kicks him in the face. Gunner lifts up Ragnar, and he drops him with the Burning Samoan!! Jackson Gunner falls into the cover on Ragnar Ayerswindale. The ref goes into position to make the count. The ref counts 1…………2……..3!!]
JR-Jackson Gunner took a few big moves, but he was able to over come that to retain the TV championship!
(Jackson Gunner is feeling the effects of the match as Shockwave goes off the air.)
