The COO of OCW, Drago Cesar, walks down the hallways carrying four ice cream cones. As he approaches the GM office, he hears several things being slammed and blood curdling screams going along with it.
Just another day at the office.
He sighs, then carefully uses his elbow to turn the doorknob. As soon as he opens the door, he’s greeted by the sight of EMP attempting to pull Tiberius Dupree’s hair from his head while simultaneously attempting to slap Spider in the face.
EMP: I OWN THIS PLACE NOW MOTHERF***ERS!!!
Drago clears his throat, and the co-GMs stop in their tracks. EMP smiles and walks up to Drago.
EMP: Need help with that?
Drago: Please take seat.
She rolls her eyes and sits at the GM table. Drago distributes the ice cream cones to each GM; Dupree marvels at the frozen treat bestowed upon him, glazed with maple syrup. He shoves the ice cream cone into his face.
Dupree (muffled): So good….
EMP: Fatass.
Drago has a seat at the head of the table and points to his co-GMs.
Drago: I’m try, once again, to have you all get along. I’m know tension is high with S Cup and everything, but is good to relax once in while.
Spider takes a lick of his ice cream and purses his lips.
RYU: Y’know Drago, I invented ice cream. But you wanna know what I like more than ice cream?
Spider spikes his ice cream cone, goes prone, and starts licking the floor, staring defiantly at Drago.
Dupree: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!
EMP: I’m gonna puke.
Drago stares back at Spider in horror, Dupree begins to dry heave, which causes EMP to dry heave. Tibby struggles to speak through the terror, pointing a finger at EMP.
Dupree: This…this is more disgusting than…than a Perfect Storm…and and you!
Both EMP and Spider glare a hole through Dupree’s face.
EMP & RYU: Rude!
The disappointment on Drago’s face is incalculable.The Super S Cup logo appears promoting the upcoming main event between EMP vs. Sue Plex.
The sting of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the musky scent of sweat and chalk dust. Sunlight streamed through grimy skylights, illuminating the cavernous professional wrestling gym.
Ropes hung limply from the ring in the center, its canvas worn thin from countless battles. Around it, a motley crew of wrestlers stretched, sparred, and grunted, their grunts echoing off the metal walls.
In the corner, bathed in a spotlight's harsh glare, Paul Harris stood before a camera, his silhouette stark against the canvas backdrop. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a steely focus that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned wrestlers watching from the shadows.
The rhythmic thud of heavy bass music pulsed through the speakers, building anticipation. Sweat glistened on Harris's bare chest, each muscle corded with tension. He wore only black trunks and taped wrists, his attire echoing the seriousness of his intent.
PH: Aleksander Bolek, BASH, Mad Dawg Davis, Paul Boulet. Anyone who considers themself a rookie in OCW. Except JynX, because despite our issues, I don’t think you want to go to jail for violating a restraining order…
PH: Gentlemen. I stand before you, not as a rival, but as a fellow newcomer to OCW. An opportunity presents itself. An opportunity to test yourselves, to prove your mettle against another newcomer.
PH: I propose a challenge. A spectacle, a clash of up-and-comers. The Paul Harris Invitational if you will permit me. On the grand stage of either Riot or Turmoil or Ambition, if I am again deemed lofty enough by the powers that be to grace its presence. I invite each of you, the cream of the rookie crop, to face me.
PH: There are rookies I haven’t mentioned. Consider yourself invited too. It isn’t just the one’s I named. Bolek, I know you have a win over me. I have a win over you too. Maybe if you’re finished playing with Pugh you can test yourself against me once more. Paul Boulet, you and I have unresolved business. I didn’t tap to your Loc Quebecois, but will you tap against me?
PH: I manhandled Samuel Omen before his buddy JynX played with the lights and distracted me. Don’t you want to know who the real winner would be? Palkha Aadne, I know you’re a big Mongolian fella but I bet you will tap like your buddy Boulet.
PH: Victory won't be easy. My arsenal of technical wizardry and unorthodox offence will push you to your limits. But for the one who emerges victorious, the spoils will be plentiful. Recognition, respect and the right to claim yourself as the standout rookie of this rookie class. The ball is in your court.
The camera zoomed in on his face, capturing the glint of challenge in his eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, reflecting the spotlight's harsh light.
The music faded, leaving only the sound of his ragged breaths and the pregnant silence of the wrestlers.
The gauntlet had been thrown, and the air crackled with anticipation. In this gym, where dreams were forged in sweat and steel, the stage was set for a new chapter to begin.
ROUND 2 TURMOIL BLOCK
KAMEYO HADA vs. MARISA
The scene opens up to a posh, dimly lit room with plush leather chairs and mahogany accents. An impeccably dressed man in casual smoking attire leans against a polished wooden table, a crystal ashtray atop the table. The shadows in the dimly lit room obscure our view of his face.
He reaches for the perfectly rolled blunt in the ashtray, at which point we find C-Note's distinctive mask next to it. T The man who we can only assume is C-Note takes a pull from the blunt; the smoke of BC finest escapes his lips before he addresses the camera.
C-N: Mark I’ve heard you’ve been waiting for a response from me. Well, big man you can stay waiting for all I care.
C-N: You really think you’re worthy of stepping into the ring with me? Please bra!
The camera pans to showcase C-Note’s stylish ensemble – a tailored suit with an open-collared shirt, the faint aroma of bud lingering in the air.
C-N: You see, I’m not just a fighter; I’m a game-changer. I step into that ring, and I don’t just win; I transform lives.
He takes a contemplative drag from his blunt, reminiscing about past victories.
C-N: Telos and I went to war and look at him now. A monster able to tap into his inner raw power. His hot return to OCW, all me, guiding him through the shadows.
C-N: Then there's the Prodigy, who was able to shed the dead weight and harness the darkness within him, propelling him to even greater heights and winning his first major singles title. Yeah I did that.
He leans forward, emphasizing the impact of his mentorship.
C-N: And just wait and see what a career comeback my newest associate, Claude Hall, will have. With just a bit of my guidance, everyone in OCW will once again see him as a rising star in this company.
C-Note, exuding confidence in his ability to mold competitors by unleashing the untamed power within them, smirks as he reflects on his unique coaching approach.
C-N: You see, my course correction isn’t for everyone. I bring out the true potential of my competitors, but Mark, you’re past your prime, living in the glory days long gone.
C-Note gestures toward the luxurious surroundings, a not-so-subtle nod to his success.
C-N: Look at this room, this lifestyle. I didn’t get here by wasting my time on every Tom, Dick, and Mark who thinks he’s got something to prove.
He takes another puff, exhaling confidently.
C-N: You’re just another name on the list, my friend. I’ve got bigger battles to fight, and you? You’re just not worth it.
C-N: Helping someone like you would be a waste of my expertise. I reserve my guidance for those who can still taste victory, not for those desperately clinging to the shadows of their former selves.
He chuckles, the cigar smoke swirling around him.
C-N: So until I find a good enough reason to grace you with the chance to go one-on-one with the True Messiah of HIS Glorious Change go find something to do. I hear catering is looking for someone to wash dishes, Seems like a great fit for a good ol’ boy like you,
The scene fades out with C-Note continuing to enjoy his smoke.
The following segment has been pre-recorded.
The sound of wood being chopped fills the air.
Thunk.
It’s joined by bird song as the camera traverses some grass, passing through a corn field.
Thunk.
In the distance a man can be seen swinging an axe, working hard.
Thunk.
We get close enough to see who it is, a shirtless Big Country, Mark Reese.
Thunk.
The mountain of a man notices the camera and sets his axe down carefully, looking with pride at the massive pile of chopped firewood. He wipes some sweat from his brow before turning to address the audience.
Reese: Oh, didn’t see you there. I was too busy bein’ a bridesmaid or whatever nonsense C-Note was ramblin’ about.
Reese picks up a chunk of wood with one of his massive hands.
Reese: Then he brought out some guy that looked a lil’ R rated to me later on, so I decided to stay at home this week. See… You can teach an old dog new tricks, but I’ve got a heck of a lot of years left in me… But that’s besides the point.
Reese: I know how this goes, you call me out, claimin’ to be a man, I waddle on out to the ring and bam, your new pal blindsides me, you beat me up, do a stupid lil’ evil laugh and proclaim you’re amazin’
Reese hefts the wood up and down, as if testing it’s weight
Reese: So I figured I wouldn’t be the dumb country boy for tonight, I’m sure you’ve got some words to say, heck, I might even check the show out later when I’m done doin’ some hard work here, but I know you’ll check what I’ve said.
Reese grins.
Reese: You might be wealthy in the wallet, but I’m wealthy in the soul. Your hands are stained with blood and gold, mine with soil and sweat. You and I, C-Note, we’re chalk and cheese, water and oil, a possum and a tiger shark. We just don’t mix.
Reese’s demeanour changes a little, becoming more serious.
Reese: That’s why I wanna talk about On Deadly Ground. I’m gonna fling out the challenge to you, just you C-Note, no shenanigans, no jackassery, just you… Versus me. Let’s see who should be next to try and climb that mountain, because if you get in my way, I’m gonna throw you off the damn thing.
Reese grunts and seizes the wood with both hands, with great force he tears it apart, splitting it in two. His voice drops to more of a low growl as he says his parting words.
Reese: If I get my way and you show your even half the man you claim to be, On Deadly Ground you’ll be standin’ on Dangerous Ground.
STEP UP CHANCE WILLIAMS
vs.
MAXX EDWARDS
The locker room hums with the energy of the night's events. Steel lockers line the walls, some dented and worn from years of use. Gear, bags, and equipment are scattered around, creating a sense of organized chaos.
Devon Flash, dressed in his street clothes, stands before a cameraman who has entered to find Ry to get an explanation for his earlier actions. Devon’s intense eyes focused on delivering a message he begins speaking.
DEVON FLASH: Well, well, well... in case you missed the chaos earlier, let me fill you in. RyVaughn admittedly went off the rails tonight when Bobbi decided to go out there and run her mouth, pleading Grit and Glory's case for a rematch against The Future Idiots. Now as yall can see, Ry ain't with me right now and that’s because I told him to get some air. He was fuming and rightfully so!
He takes a deep breath trying to suppress his irritation with the whole situation, choosing his words carefully he continues.
DEVON FLASH: I won't hit women, that's not how I operate, but I understand why Ry got riled up. Bobbi disrespected Mass Effect, and that's something we don't take lightly. You speak on us then someone giving us a pound of flesh.
Devon shifts gears, attempting to place the blame elsewhere because he’s realizing this facade of him being some kind of upstanding citizen is quickly falling.
DEVON FLASH: dookieshoes honestly, Chance this is all on you if you want to be real. Bobbi wouldn't be in this situation if you knew the #1 rule of pimpin' like Flash and that’s Control yo hoe bro!
DEVON FLASH: She shouldn’t be out there with a man like Ry, my boy is a demigod jacked on pre-workout. In this world, some words might as well be punches so really, she was out there letting off a combo. Ry had to retaliate.
He raises an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. He’s clearly pleased with his delusional reasoning.
DEVON FLASH: Now, Grit and Glory, listen up. I won't lay a hand on a woman, but make no mistake, I'll smack some bitches if you keep trying to interrupt Mass Effect's journey to the tag titles. Go crawl back to the sewers you came from and take that rat with ya.
Devon locks eyes with the camera, delivering a direct warning.
DEVON FLASH: Stay out of our way. We're on the road to those OCW Undisputed Tag Team Titles. You lost, Your chance was squandered.
DEVON FLASH: You did put on a banger all while being the two ugly sons of bitches you are though, so it's only right you guys will be our first title defense when we get to the top of the mountain and trust we will reach that top and knock The Future Idiots right on their ass.
The anticipation in his voice builds as he hypes his upcoming challenge.
Devon Flash: Speaking of the Tag Champs, my PPV singles debut is on the horizon and what could possibly be a better way of showing how ready I am for the big moments than pinning a champion.
DEVON FLASH: Jordan, I hope you’re taking me seriously because trust buddy, I am coming to show you that we don't need to sneak attack you to get ahead. We just love being jerks and Ry’s gonna be right there ringside for me so you better bring John to pick ya teeth up!
As Devon is about to finish, a backstage crew member bursts in, breathless and alarmed.
CREW MEMBER: Devon! Chance and RyVaughn are tearing each other apart in the parking lot. It's chaos out there!
Devon's eyes widen with concern. Without a moment's hesitation, he drops the mic and bolts out of the locker room, ready to save his partner. The camera lingers on the empty locker room, capturing the tension in the air.
