Ladies and Gentleman we are back on the scene! With RIOT 626
GO ULTRA!
SCUMCITY DEATH MATCH H20 vs. WREX
The hum of the crowd buzzed around them, a mixture of excited fans and the occasional flash of a camera. Anthony Martin and Paul Harris sat at their booth, signing glossy photos of themselves in their signature gear, though today’s energy was different. They weren’t champions. They had just fallen short of securing the OCW Tag Team Championships at Summercide.
Anthony handed back a photo to a fan with a tight smile. The words “Thank you” barely left his lips before his eyes wandered to the space in front of them—no championship belts, no grand prize. The moment from Summercide clung to him like an anchor. Paul, ever observant, caught the look in Anthony’s eyes.
PH: Hey, man.
Paul said, nudging him.
PH: Focus. We've got another hour of these.
Anthony shifted in his seat, his shoulders slumping slightly.
A-Mart: Yeah, yeah. Just… thinking.
Paul signed another autograph, then looked at him sideways.
PH: Thinking or stewing?
A-Mart: What’s the difference?
PH: One gets you where we are. The other keeps you stuck.
Paul replied, handing a signed t-shirt to a fan.
PH: You’re stuck.
A-Mart: I’m not stuck, I’m just...
Anthony trailed off as the next fan approached, an awkward grin plastered on his face while he signed another photo. When the fan left, he lowered his voice.
A-Mart: I’m the reason we lost at Summercide. I ate the pin, Paul.
Paul stopped mid-signature and turned to face Anthony.
PH: You’re not the reason we lost. You’re a part of why we got that shot in the first place.
A-Mart: Come on, man. You don’t have to say that. I know what the fans are saying.
Anthony’s voice was low but tight with frustration.
A-Mart: They’re saying I’m the weak link, that if the wrong Anthony Martin shows up, we don’t have a chance. And that’s exactly what happened at Summercide—the wrong me showed up, and we blew it.
Paul set his marker down for the first time, his expression hardening.
PH: That’s complete bullshit, and you know it. They want to say ‘the wrong you’ showed up? Fine. But they forget about all the nights when the right Anthony Martin showed up. They forget that you and I beat Dark Net Society. We wrestled BASH and he just wrestled for the CCW Championship.
PH: They forget that you and I beat Mass Effect just to get that title shot in the first place. You more than held up your end in that match, you got the pin on RyVaughn.
PH: They’re forgetting that we beat John Carter, a former Tag Team Champion, a guy who beat Doc at Wrestlution, and The Last Blacksmith, who last year beat Quartz, Rust Cohle and Kassidy Hayes.
Anthony ran a hand through his hair, staring at the table.
A-Mart: It just feels like I’m letting you down. Like if I’d been better, we’d be standing here as champions right now.
Paul's voice softened, but it carried the weight of a leader.
PH: You didn’t let me down. We win as a team, and we lose as a team. You can’t take the blame for the loss if you’re not going to take credit for getting us there. That shot was earned because of both of us.
Anthony still looked conflicted, his fingers nervously tapping the table.
A-Mart: Yeah, but… I was the one who got pinned.
PH: And so what?
Paul countered, his eyes sharp but understanding.
PH: You think that one pin defines everything? It doesn’t. That match wasn’t on you. We didn’t get the gold, but we’re still The Pivot. And we don’t just pivot from wins—we pivot from losses. If anyone out there thinks you're the weak link, they don't know a damn thing about wrestling.
A fan approached, breaking their conversation momentarily. Both wrestlers signed a poster for a kid who looked awestruck by being this close to his heroes.
Before the fan walked away, Paul called out after him, grinning.
PH: Hey, next time you see us, we’ll have those belts. You’ll want a new poster, right?
The kid nodded enthusiastically before scurrying off, leaving Paul and Anthony to settle back into their chairs. Paul turned to Anthony again, his voice low and serious.
PH: We came up short at Summercide. That’s part of the game. But don’t buy into the trash talk about you being some kind of x-factor, like we win or lose based on which version of you shows up. You’re always showing up. The fans might not get that, but I do. You’re not the problem. You never were.
Anthony finally looked up, his expression softening as the weight of Paul's words sank in.
A-Mart: Thanks, man. I guess I needed to hear that.
Paul gave him a solid pat on the shoulder.
PH: We beat Mass Effect. They beat us. A rubber match will inevitably follow. People will want to know whether our first win was a fluke or whether Mass Effect’s win at Summercide was a fluke. And when we get that match, the right Anthony Martin and the right Paul Harris will be there to claim gold.
Anthony smiled, a little more at ease.
A-Mart: Yeah. Let’s go get those belts.
PH: Exactly.
Paul picked up his marker, grinning.
PH: Now, let's finish these autographs before we start planning our next title shot.
As the line of fans continued, Anthony’s mind felt clearer. They hadn’t won the gold at Summercide, but with Paul by his side, the loss didn’t feel so heavy anymore. They were The Pivot—and that meant they always found a way to turn things around.
