In a dimly lit area at the Barclays Arena, Aries clutched his jaw in agony, his normally smug expression replaced by a grimace of pain. The boisterous cheers for Sheldon seemed distant now, drowned out by the throbbing ache in his face.

As he leaned against a cold concrete wall, nursing his injuries, the sharp click of dress shoes echoed through the corridor. A rotund man with a meticulously tailored suit approached, his steely eyes fixed on the fallen wrestler. This was Brian Feinstein, Aries' cunning lawyer and confidant, who always seemed to emerge when chaos reigned.

Feinstein: “I am so sorry! I knew I should have been out there!”

Aries, still clutching his jaw in his hand, voraciously nods his head in agreement.

Feinstein: “Look at what I got here, my Top G.”

Daddy G snatches a sheet of paper from Brian’s buttery fingers, and puts the paper close to his face to get a closer glance.

Aries: “Is this what I think it is?”

Feinstein: “Oh yes, GOAT. That paper states, that if Sheldon Tremblay lays his hands on you anytime before that bell rings, he will start the match with a severe handicap!”

Aries attempts to smile through the pain, and lets out a broken laugh.

Aries: “This is perfect, Brian. Let’s see that jerk sucker punch me now! This place is FILLED with degenerates! DEGENS, BRIAN!

Feinstein: “Absolutely! Now let's get you out of here, and get some proper medical care for that legendary jaw of yours. The Top J.”


Aries: “Don’t ever say that again.”

Feinstein’s smirk quickly leaves face as he nods his head. He helps the OCW legend to his feet, and both men move to leave the Barclays Arena.

The camera opens to the backstage area revealing a pink ivory wood door. A janitorial staff member slides the name of Empress off the door panel and replaces it with a crystal name plaque that reads Tiberius Octavian Dupree, OCW General Manager.

The janitor gives the plaque a quick polish with his rag before walking off. Suddenly the sound of loud banging and things getting tossed around comes from beyond the door. As we pan inside we see Tibrious Dupree ripping through the draws of his desk.

Dupree: Don’t tell me this cretin tossed all my phreaking snacks. How in the hell can I focus without my maple, phreaking reeeeee-diculous!

As Dupree continues to rustle through his desk. Suddenly an ear piercing commotion can be heard coming from outside the door. Then another loud bang makes Tibby jump from his seat in shock.

The pink ivory door swings open hitting the wall. Dupree's freshly polished name plate comically falls off the door then shatters into a kazillion pieces. Another desk much like his own aggressively penetrates the door frame.

Emp crawls over the desk into the Office on her hands and knees dragging a can of beer behind her.

Emp: Honey! I’M HOME!!! Did you miss me?!

Emp gets to her feet and takes a deep breath before looking down at the shattered name plate on the floor.

Emp: I hope that wasn’t new. Hey, Du-Pee can I get a hand?! Someone left this awesome desk out in the hall. I think it was from the HR room.

Dupree: Kneesus phreaking Christ! Whaa, what are you doing here!? How the heck!?

Emp mockingly cracks a classic half smile at Dupree, spins around and opens a drawer on her desk. She pulls out a decadent metal box and slams it onto the desk with so much authority it makes Tibby flinch.

She then takes out an even more decadent skeleton key and opens the metal box retrieving a long legal document with Jay Sensation’s signature and OCW seal.

Emp: Are you inactive and uninformed or just stupid, IRON CLAD CONTRACT! Read it and weep Tibbles!

She damn near feeds the legal document to Dupree as she shoves the iron clad contract in his face. Dupree gives her the disgusted dad stare, reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out his reading glasses.

Dupree: This has to be a deep fake, this can’t be phreaking real. This is AI generated blackmail! I won’t stand for this! SECURITY!! SECURITY!!

Security is too busy getting assaulted to answer his pleas for help. Somehow while Dupree was reading the contract, Emp completely set up her desk and office accessories. Emp laughs maniacally as Dupree draws a deep deep sigh.

Emp: Old man Sensation fucked up! All he had to do was give me what I wanted! SO Drago can’t fire me and I get to keep my GM position IRON CLAD CONTRACT.

Emp cracks open one of the beers and kicks her feet up on the desk and with a smile on her face.

Emp: Ohh and one other thing since I know you don’t pay attention to anything around this place. I appointed The Man, The Myth, The Legend …Ryu Matsumoto as my Co-GM.

The sound of a record scratching can be heard as Dupree’s gaze breaks from the contract. His eyes rise up from the edge of the paper with the intensity of 1000 suns hearing as the words “RYU MATSUMOTO” scrap across Dupree’s ears drums like sandpaper.

Dupree slams his hands down on top of the desk he starts to foam at the month like a rabid dog as he looks over toward Emp.

Dupree: YOU STOOPID MUDDA……

The camera cuts back to the same janitor from earlier and is seen sliding in a new crystal name plate on the pink door. The nameplate reads “EMP, OCW General Manager”, the janitor gives it a quick polish before we fade to black.

SCUMCHESTER CCW CHAMPIONSHIP INVITATIONAL

WREX* vs. ???????