The Fight Must Go On

The feed opens with static, as it always does. The mirage of the Tower looming large over us, moonlight illuminating the facade, the familiar patois of Eminem and Venom starts cutting into the darkness, and Dickie Watson’s face appears, holding the FIGHT! NYC Empire Championship above his head. As the mirage shimmers over the monolithic tower, Shawn Warstein, James Raven, Kasey Winterborn, Betsy Granger and Aiden Reynolds appear next to them, exactly as they stood at the end of Ascension. Raising their arms high into the New York skyline like Liberty herself.

The feed starts rolling, cutting, interference.

It’s weird 90s infomercial music, a crackled video feed of a cruise liner with surgically augmented and hyper-tanned models strutting back and forth on the bow of the liner. Then the words start scrawling across the screen in ticker-tape fashion..

Tara Fenix’s Charity Cruise presents..

An exclusive edition of..


And as the videotape shimmers and waves away with a really oldschool video transition, we cut to the live shot of the ringside area on the cruise. Top deck, crowd going wild, multicolored streams of paper flying through the air. All of the Tara Fenix Charity Cruise branding has been plastered over with pirate looking FIGHT! NYC flags, and a large flag sticks out of a strange looking perch that hangs over the entranceway. As the music continues and the signs are held up by drunk and elated cruisers, the camera pans through the audience until it finally settles on Miss F standing in the center of the ring.

Miss F: Thank you! Thank you!

Miss F tries to quieten down the crowd.

Miss F: We are so pleased and proud to have been invited to provide you blood-thirsty heathens to a prelude before Tara takes the captain’s seat back and brings this unforgettable event to its conclusion with some of the best cross-promotional matches in world wrestling today!

As Miss F continues to speak, the crowd starts chanting “We will miss Dru”. It doesn’t go unnoticed. Miss F steadies herself.

Miss F: Now, we are aware that something completely drastic happened on this ship last night involving not only one of the most beloved members of our roster, but our Bareknuckle Champion, Druscilla White. We currently do not have all of the facts and nothing concrete has been established, but in full support from her family, we will continue – as will the cruise – in her honor. We hope and pray that there is a good outcome to come, but know that she would have wanted proceedings to continue with all the good nature and fun that was intended. This will not be a sombre occasion. Please, raise your glasses for The Prophet, and let’s see some of the best in the world to what they are the best at.

The Status Has Changed

The quintet of Dickie Watson, Kasey Winterborn, Betsy Granger, Aiden Reynolds and James Raven walk out onto the ramp. Dickie with his Empire Championship on proud display over his shoulder and the Islands Championship around his waist, while the others hold their respective Islands Titles. The group of five walk down the ramp, as Shawn Warstein, sans-belt, pops out slightly behind them. 


Playing to the crowd the five in front all get in the ring, holding their titles high above their heads, much to the pleasure of the fans on the boat. Shawn makes his way down to the ring, where all their eyes turn to him. Not knowing what to do Shawn walks around the outside of the ring and snatches a microphone from the time keeper. He flips it in hand a few times, still uneasy about getting into the ring. With his palm he taps the mic a few times. 


Shawn: I want to take a moment here and just let all of you know something. Take one look at the ring right now. Look at the five of the most impressive people to ever grace the wrestling ring. 


Shawn starts to walk around the outside of the ring.


Shawn: You’ve got James Mother Fucking Raven. The GOAT of all GOATs. The man who showed up when it was needed. A man who came in and took the tide that was already swelling against everyone in the Ascension match, and for the Hundredth time showed that he changes landscapes. He brightens every company he graces with his presence. You can hate him, you can love him, but his impact is undeniable. 


Continuing around the ring Shawn pauses and smiles.


Shawn: Then there is dear Sister Mine. The one and only Betsy Granger. Clearly the better half of that duo, but her contributions are insurmountable. Without her making me better, there would be no Status Quo. There would be no People’s GOAT. The Impossible wouldn’t be attainable. With her we literally have Worlds at our fingertips. With her we decide what happens next. 


Not moving Shawn reaches over the barricade and takes a drink from one of the fans at ringside. 


Shawn: The Australian Wolf himself. Aiden Reynolds. All piss, no vinegar. The hired gun, who turned out to be more than that. He turned out to be a Lynchpin in the machine. Without him we aren’t standing here right now, kings and queens of Fight NYC! All this man has done is step up when we needed it, and knocked that bitch out of the park. 


Setting the drink down and making his way to the steps Shawn sets one foot on the bottom one and leans forward on his knee. 


Shawn: Then there is none other than the lovely and insatiable, Kasey Winterborn. No matter how often she doubts herself. No matter how many times we have told her not to. She still always comes back ready to fight. Ready to prove everyone wrong. Ready to prove to herself that she is better than even she knows. With us she’s unlocked a side of herself that she didn’t even know existed. 


Shawn climbs up the steps and onto the apron, stopping just short of getting into the ring. 


Shawn: And finally, there is THE REIGNING and DEFENDING, EMPIRE CHAMPION. Dickie Watson. The one all of you said was too small. Too bland. Too insignificant. Well here he stands. Slayer of the Montouri, on top of the Tower since DAY ONE. And yet all of you continue to dismiss him as if it was a fluke. I’ve seen a lot of flukes in my day. I’ve seen the undeserving climb to the top only to falter shortly afterwards. Dickie Watson is not a fluke. He is the Calamity. He is the Molotov. He is everything you wished you were in this industry.


Shawn continues to walk around the apron ring.


Shawn: I feel as if I’m missing someone…..


He runs his hand on his chin before pointing towards himself. 


Shawn: That’s right. ME! The “Captain”. We as a unit did exactly what we said we were going to do. We told you over and over that none of you stood a chance. That we would operate like a well oiled machine. Despite only being together for a short amount of time, we worked better than those of you who have been together for years. We simply showed you your cracks. We showed you your flaws and we exposed them. All of your petty infighting. All of your TMZ drama, used against you. And yet… we are garbage. A loss to us is enough to garner enough salt and thoughts of retirement….. Good. If anything it should be seen as a good thing. A bar for all of you to strive for. For too long everyone has been playing with the stick on the ground, content with your lot in life. It’s not our fault that some people came to the playground with a much larger stick. More Eyes. More Money. Just MORE in general. I’m not going to say I told you so, but a Thank You would be greatly appreciated. 


To a chorus of cheers, perhaps a few boos at the pure audacity that Shawn bleeds as he speaks, he lowers the microphone for a second, satisfied at the response. Turning to the ring then, he reaches upwards, and the hand to take the microphone is Dickie’s. He pauses a moment, listening to cheers erupt more. He waits for a moment, letting them die down.


Dickie: When we came into this company in July…we didn’t come as a pack. We weren’t a group of like-minded individuals who bounce from company to company, repeating the same tried and true bullshit. We didn’t revolve around one another, we didn’t fit the mold. Each of us brought our own sense of what it meant to be a leader into this company. We all had individual goals, but we were able to break them down and create a solid team with a common goal. The behavior led to the causation, and the creation, of what you and every one of you lost sight of along the way. Blinded by problems, stagnated by those who never sought to change even though they were led…what hope did you have?


He lowers the microphone for a moment, holding it to his chest over the championship. Dickie shoulders. Aiden reaches forward, not taking the microphone, but grasping it so that he can speak for a second.


Aiden: Uh, that would be none, mate.


Snorting, Dickie shook his head as he pulled the microphone back to mouth.


Dickie: What faced us all at Ascension required everyone to be on the same page, the same paragraph, the same word. That wasn’t going to happen if you’re at your own throats. Wives, husbands, families, best friends, teammates…you were blinded by your own greed and your own insecurities and it allowed us — the ones that you wouldn’t respect, the ones you wanted to drag into the trash bucket from the first go — to form a team and raise your level of mediocrity higher and higher. Shawn and I came into this company at the beginning.


He looks at Shawn, who at this point, has climbed into the ring with the others and is leaning back on the ropes lackadaisically. 


Dickie: None of you knew us. None of you gave a rat’s ass about me, or Shawn, or anyone, because you were so far up your own backsides and running your mouths about each other that you missed the way the world was going. Six of the greatest fucking wrestlers entered your halls. Six of us walked in of our own doing, and we took your greatest trophies. I faced your greatest achievement in Paul Montuori. I faced what you expected to defeat me, and look who came out of this swinging and not burying themselves in the woe is me bullshit — me.


A round of cheers happens again, and he shrugs his shoulders.


Dickie: I want you all to be on notice. I want you all to realize this one thing: we are not a force to be trifled with. When we get kicked down, we rise back up again, hungry and venomous. We raised the bar, and it’s up to you to meet it. 


Shawn is handed the mic, and raises it to his lips. 


Shawn: At Ascension…


Raven leans over.


Raven: Which you won because of me.


Shawn gives Raven a side eye, the People’s GOAT smiles as the crowd cheers. 


Shawn: When NSQ climbed our way to the top…


Raven: While I was already there, what took you guys so long?


Shawn: When we came out victorious..


Raven: After I took the troll woman down a peg or three.


Shawn: Sahara wasn’t up there.


Raven: My mistake. The other other troll.


Shawn: No, no, Allison Riggs wasn’t up there..


Raven: Sorry, there are so many. The little blonde.


Shawn: Not descriptive enough. 


Raven: Whatever. I was there. You were there. NSQ won or whatever.


Shawn: Can I tell it? Or do you want to?


Raven: Nah, you’re doing a great job. 


Shawn: Fine. We won. There. That’s how this is going to end. Are you happy?


Raven and the rest of NSQ stare at Shawn and then nod. 


Shawn: Okay. What everyone needs to do is step the fuck up. The game just changed. All of your piddly issues don’t mean a thing anymore. Dickie said it, I’ll echo it. Step up, or get the fuck out of the way.


Shawn drops the mic, and is the first out of the ring. Followed by the rest as they all disappear into the back. 

We Do What We Want

when we want

Dickie Watson stands, leaning his elbows on the railing of the ship, and looking out at the water that extends as far as his eyes can see. He looks to his right, and the camera pans with him. He looks to the left, and the camera pans again. And when he looks to the right again, the camera pans with him again, but this time Vincent Black is standing there. Dickie straightens up but doesn’t change the height difference at all. Wasn’t what he was trying to do, though. He was doing it because despite the rumors he’s heard, and the stories that have been told, Dickie didn’t want Vincent to think he was afraid of him. He wanted Vincent to know he wasn’t.

Dickie Watson: Black.

Vincent Black: Watson. I have a proposition for you. I’d like to move our fight up a bit. The first match, in fact. Thoughts?

Dickie Watson: I see no problem with that.

Vincent Black: I didn’t think you would. Shall we?

Dickie Watson: One of us shall.

Vincent Black: Let’s find out who.

Vincent Black vs Dickie Watson

The crowd gathered around the ring in their swimsuits and unbuttoned shirts cheered as Dickie Watson’s theme music hit. Fruit flavored and brightly colored beverages of all kinds in all manner of oddly shaped glasses bobbed in their hands and subsequently spilled to the floor. As Dickie exited the makeshift Fight curtain increasing the volume and visuals that are indicative of this level of excitement, then Vincent Black peppers in some absolute confusion, as he walks out right behind, not waiting for his own music, or even his name announced. 

The two men enter the ring almost at the same time. Dickie between the ropes, and Vincent Black stepping over. Vincent retreats to his corner, and turns his back to the middle of the ring, resting his elbows on the ropes and looking down at his feet. Dickie on the other hand, leaps up onto the turnbuckles middle rope, and slaps the Empire championship on his shoulder. 

Once Dickie descends, and hands off the title to the ref, he looks at Vincent Black’s back, which is still turned to him. The crowd begins to chant for Dickie, as a few select voices, the loudest of them all being Vhodka Black, chant for Vincent. The bell is rung and the ref gives the go ahead. Dickie holds in his corner, waiting for Vincent to turn, but Vincent does not. He keeps his eyes locked on the turnbuckle, and his elbows resting on the rope. Dickie walks to the middle of the ring, and waits for a movement from Black, but gets nothing.

Damon Havok Riggs: This…this is odd for Vincent Black, to say the least. The man used to pop off at the bell, and didn’t stop until…I don’t know, this is unsettling for me.

It was not unsettling for Dickie Watson, who knew a ploy when he saw it. Dickie walked over, and beckoned Black to turn around. To face him. And with each comment made, and each one ignored, Dickie became a bit more angrier, and visibly so. The crowd began to boo, and Vincent, who still had not looked up from his turnbuckle, barely blinked in acknowledgement. 

Dickie, having had enough, placed his hand on Vincent’s shoulder, and began to try to turn him. But the size of the man, as well as the way he was positioned in the corner, made his attempts look feeble at best, and weak at worst. Dickie began to comment his idea of what Black’s intentions were, and the mic picked them up clear as crystal.

Dickie: So this is how it plays, mate? Just gonna sit in the corner like a statue? For what? This is what the so called ‘legend’ does? This is what we’re all supposed to be afraid of? A coward?

Dickie lays it on thick, and with a tone of disrespect a lesser man would have no choice but to respond to. Dickie wasn’t sure what Black was out to prove but he was giving it his all. 

Dickie tried to pry Vincent Black away from the corner, but it was no use. Not because of the size of the man, which was tremendous, But because Vincent wasn’t just resting his elbows on the rope. He’d hooked them around it. Not seeing this, Dickie began to deliver kicks to the sides of Black, which started off as attention getters and slowly built into ones meant to damage. Dickie became incensed finally, and the pace of the kicks and the impacts of them grew and grew until Dickie was almost out of breath from the effort. The crowd began to boo, and one or two people even threw things at Vincent, who wasn’t paying them any mind either. Angry, Dickie turned and began to walk away.

And Vincent Black gave chase.

Turning the moment Dickie did, Vincent raced to the middle of the ring, and placed the entirety of his foot into the back of Watson’s head, sending him to the floor with a bang, and getting a jeering and jarring boo from the crowd.

Not caring in the least, Vincent bent at the knees and hovered over Dickie, watching the fury build in his expressions and watching his teeth mash against each other as he stood. Vincent begin to address Dickie as they locked eyes.

Vincent: You have integrity. I’ve always admired that in people.

Dickie threw a right hand that Vincent took, and to his surprise, had it move him back.

Vincent: I have it. Just not here.

Vincent leveled a stuttering kick to Dickie’s mid section, lifting the small man off his feet and sending him to the mat, if only to his hands and knees, and only for a second. Bouncing back up, Dickie’s feet hit the mat for just a moment, before he lept into the air and hit what would be later referred to as a ‘picture perfect wheelhouse dropkick.’ Hitting the bigger man in the chest and spinning head over heels and landing on his feet. Vincent stumbled and laid against the ropes, hooking his arms to stop him from tumbling over. 

Dickie: I got a lot more than integrity, mate.

Dickie rushed Vincent, and attempted a clothesline, but Vincent launched forward and caught Dickie in a modified German suplex hold, spinning in 180 degrees before tossing him over his head. As Dickie landed on his side, he pushed his arm against the mat and assisted the slide he was already in with a bit more oomph. Landing on the apron, he impressively spun up to his feet, jumped up onto the top rope, and landed a flying elbow clothesline that dropped Vincent Black onto his back, and even made him sit up and grasp his face, where the elbow hand landed. Dickie got back onto his feet, and ran at Black, but Black felt him coming in the vibrations of the mat, and rolled to his left. Dickie who had been attempting a dropkick to the back of Vin’s neck landed with a thud against the mat, right next to Vincent, coming face to face with him.

Vincent laid there and grabbed Dickie by the throat, punching him in the head, as Dickie grabbed Vincent by the ear, and pulled himself closer, elminating the space between them that gave Vincent, who had the longer reach of the two, the upperhand. Dickie began to pelt Vincent as well, neither man bothering to get to their feet, both far too concerned with keeping the other on the mat. As they continued to hit each other, a woman entered the ring, walked over to the two of them, leaped into the hair, and drove both of her feet down on each of their heads. Releasing each other to attend to the pain that was now rushing from their jaw and  cheek bone respectively. The referee in the ring, tried to grab the woman, but was roundhoused with brutality, and knocked unconscious immediately. 

Sahara: Listen to me, one and all. I’m over it. I am over being the laughing stock of this business. I am over being stepped on, and pushed around. I was supposed to be the first match of Season 2. An accolade that I didn’t want, but settled for. I am over settling. I am over having the Empire champion, and a fucking relic no one wanted dusted off, take my time, and not even have the fucking respect to switch with me. One because he’s the champ, and the other because he’s kin to he who rules. Well, allow me to thank you. I wanted to send a message as soon as possible. And fighting a mental midget in a halloween mask wasn’t exactly my first choice. But this…This will do just fine.

Sahara looks at Vincent and Dickie, who are both climbing to their feet. She begins to contrast and compare to the two of them, looking frantically back and forth at their faces. And then as the rise, and as they steady, she launches into the air, and places a devastating kick to the side of Vincent’s head, that sends him spiraling to the ground, and with that same motion of that same kick, lands a frighteningly loud impact on the front of Dickie’s face, which folds him at the knees and makes him crash to the mat.

Security rushes the ring, and Sahara rushes out. She vanishes into the crowd with the guards in tow. Vincent Black and Dickie Watson both stand up, and without looking for each other, turn and rush each other. Vincent goes low, looking to hit his ‘bullet with a name’ which is a diving spear, but is caught slipping as Dickie rushes to the side, and jumps. The crowd explodes as Dickie places his foot on the back of Vincent’s head, and almost catching him with a modified Rise To Glory, which is only missed because of the speed in which Vincent was moving. Hitting the ground and rolling out of the ring, Vincent lays on the floor, looking up at Dickie, who smiles and holds out his hand, producing a small space between his index finger and thumb.

Dickie Watson: …by this much, eh?

Vincent stands up, and smiles, but does not respond. He simply leaves, and ignores the outreached hands that beg for his attention, and Dickie hoists his Empire championship into the air, and soaks in the attention being given to him.

Sahara vs Dave the Dinosaur

Prehistoric Grudge Match

Sahara paced. She hadn’t waited for her music to hit, she hadn’t acknowledged the crowd. Fresh off a lap around the cruise ship with security in tow, she exhaled, waiting. Head firmly down, stitches in her forehead still. People wondered whether she was okay, whether she was in any position to be doing what she was doing.

After her outburst and actions during what should have been the night’s main event, but ultimately the opener, perhaps some of those questions could be considered answered. Or perhaps it opened a whole new set of questions about her mental wellbeing and whether she was fit to compete.

The camera caught Dane Preston and Ricky Rodriguez shuffling into the front row of the audience, concern washed over their faces. Sahara hasn’t been herself. Dane himself wanted to strangle the doctor that cleared her, despite him giving a fairly coherent reason for doing so.

Dave the Dinosaur came to the ring, and the audience were fully invested in Tyrannosaurus Funk. He was high-fiving the front row, until he came to Dane and Ricky. They were mean mugging him, and he raises his t-rex-like claws to his mouth, mocking fear.

As he gets into the ring, the crowd pop something fierce. He poses in a now-infamous T-Rex pose, before withdrawing a glass bottle from an oversized pocket in his pants, and starts waving it to the crowd and gesticulating whether he should reenact the happenings of Ascension.

Sahara has had about enough of this.

Did the bell ring? It was hard to tell in the commotion, as the crowd started jeering. Sahara threw a boot, the one that says Valhalla, up into the back of Dave’s mask, sending the full bottle clattering out of the dinosaur’s claws and into the front row. A muted cheer from the guys who caught the bottle is soon drowned by more jeers.

Sahara snarls, picking up the Dinosaur.

Sahara:  I wasn’t joking, I’m done with this.

She looks at the referee, who is perched above the ring on a literal tennis umpire’s chair, then down at Dave in derision. She grabs a hold of his mask, and starts to pull at it, but he’s wise. Maybe he used gorilla glue to attach it. He spins, whipping her feet from under her with his prosthetic tail.

The crowd go ballistic. DAVE! DAVE! DAVE!

And it was in that moment that she snapped. From her position prone on her ass, she slid out of the ring, grabbing a foot of the Dinosaur as she did it, and dragging him out. She drove his head into the guard rail, repeatedly. Then she whipped him into the ringside steps, and boos rung strongly through the audience again.

Dave looked up, and Sahara had no mercy to give. She pushed through the guard rail and there was only one thing on her mind. The crowd were trying to touch her, trying to touch Dave, and she ignored them all. She drove elbows into the back of his mask and continued to pull him towards the starboard edge of the ship, until there was nothing separating her and the dinosaur from the very insecure looking chrome railing that stood between them and the Atlantic ocean.

Dane Preston was hot on her heels. Of course he was. Ricky Rodriguez too.

Dane Preston: Lauren! LAUREN! NO!

Sahara turned, looked at Dane Preston and also Ricky who was trying to get her to stop.

Ricky Rodriguez: After what happened to.. Dru.. you can’t do this. Anything but this. Sahara!?!

Sahara pauses only to make sure both of them are staring at her, only to make sure they realise that she is staring back at them, making stone-cold eye contact.

They didn’t understand. They would never understand. Maybe this would help get it through their fucking mind?

She drove the inside of her elbow into the chin of Dave, european uppercut style, and his body lashed against the chrome railing. As he exhaled through force, she grabbed him by the mask and dumped him straight over the railing. She didn’t even look to see him fall. She didn’t care.


Ghost Ship

Anne Boleyn was billed to be on the ship. Anicka Swan was waiting for the cue to go out, but the cue never came. In fact, the communication internally had misfired to the point that nobody had yet realised that Anne had not boarded the ship at all.

Anne Boleyn: Excuse me, what is this? I was told it was a boat.

Ship Attendant: This, ma’am, this is a boat. Are you okay?

The former queen of England shook her head, perplexed. She reached out and touched the hull.

Anne Boleyn: It is cold. A lovely oak ship would not feel cold. This feels like it is.. Iron.

Now the perplexion was the attendant’s.

Anne Boleyn: It’s obvious, isn’t it?  Drop a plank into the water and it floats. What about a sword? Even the finest swordsman cannot craft a blade that will float. No. Absolutely not.

Ship Attendant: Uh?

Anne turned on her heels, walking away from the ship.

Anne Boleyn: I don’t know who let her be in charge of the door. Off with her head, I say.


Sahara's Secret

The FIGHTers from FIGHT were a little out of their element, being outside of the tower for a special season kick-off show like this. Though the cruise ship was exquisite, it was little things that made all the difference. Such as the gentle sway of the ship, or the more confined spaces that made it all the more difficult for everyone involved. Ricky Rodriguez was no exception. He’d found a small, relatively private area and was doing some basic stretches as he warmed up for his match against newcomer Lycana. That’s when he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye.


Though he was sure she was somewhere on the ship, he’d not seen her since the closing moments of Ascension. He immediately called out to her…

Ricky Rodriguez: Sahara!

But the blonde with the stringy wet hair and blood smeared boots simply passed by without a glance. Ricky quickly backpedaled to catch up with her, but she continued on as if nothing had happened. As if nobody was there…

Ricky Rodriguez: Sahara… What the hell is going on with you?!

Ricky shook his head.

Ricky Rodriguez: LAUREN!

He rarely used her real name, but was willing to try anything to get her attention at this point. She’d not been responding to his texts, calls or any other attempts to communicate. But once again, she did not respond…

His brow furrowed.

Ricky Rodriguez: But I’m your little lion–

Upon hearing those words, she stopped dead. Finally!

Turning toward the man she once referred to as her little lion, Sahara slowly approached him. She reached up and gently took his face in her hands, her thumbs lovingly sweeping over his high cheekbones as she looked him in the eyes. Moments pass. Suddenly – and quite violently – she yanks him toward her and holds him by the scruff of his neck. She presses his face against her clavicle … and begins whispering something in his ear.

When her lips stop moving, she closes her eyes, but continues to hold him tightly in the same awkward position. Slowly, she begins to sway.

Her words were disconcertingly even and calm.

Sahara: Oh, how I love this song.

But there was no music.

Ricky’s arms hung to the side in confusion as he felt her free hand slowly run down the small of his back, pulling him in even closer. She continued to sway back and forth as if dancing with a long lost love. His hands slowly came up as he gave in to whatever the hell was going on and wrapped his arms around the small of her back. Her free hand finally came to a rest on his right buttock, and she gave it a gentle little squeeze–

And just like that, she let go and walked off leaving her little lion in a state of total confusion.

Ricky held his arms out to the side as he called out to her–

Ricky Rodriguez: What the hell did you mean by that?! What about the NSQ?!

Lycana vs Ricky Rodriguez

Ricky Rodriguez was a man whose personal life and career had been on a rollercoaster as of late and thus had much to digest as he moved into his first match of season two. At Ascension Ricky had to suffer not just one loss but two, the first to his friend and stablemate Todrick Tabor Ramsey and the second when the aforementioned stable Dynasty had not only been unsuccessful as cementing themselves as the top team in FIGHT but even worse than that, they had downright imploded. All of this Ricky could have swallowed, after all, he was ever the optimist but the thing that had been a little tougher was Sahara’s sudden change after her devasting performance in the biggest show of the season. So, when Ricky Rodriguez met Lycana in the ring it was with an idea in mind that was very simple – leave all of the anger and frustration and confusion out there in the ring.

Lycana had no such baggage going into this match only the desire to prove herself in the new and exciting uncharted waters of FIGHT. It’s enough on one’s shoulders to debut in a new company but even more when that debut is done on a cruise ship in front of a who’s who of the industry. While Ricky was weighted down with what had happened before, Lycana was weighted with the magnitude of the stage she found herself on competing not just for the fans and roster of FIGHT and her home fed XWF but also for anyone else who might have an eye on her performance.

Ricky dominated the early moments of the match as Lycana got her sea legs about her so to speak turning the tides with an unexpected stunner out of nowhere that shook Ricky’s concentration and threw him off the gains he had made in his offense. As Lycana pulled Ricky up from the mat by the scruff of his hair like a mama wolf might do to her pup Ricky tried to land an elbow to her midsection. But the blue haired woman was a blur, Ricky’s elbow finding only air moments before her knee connected with his fair face sending him to his back on the mat. It was the Metamorphosis that was Rodriguez eventual undoing, his body coming off the mat only a second too late to stop the three count and another bad day.


The Voodoo Queen is dead...

Rest In Peace Druscilla White

The cameras caught Mama walking down the halls of the ship, her stoicism was palpable, given the current events surrounding her family. Her eyes were rimmed red, and bloodshot from her tears. She held the weight of the whole coven on her shoulders, in the wake of losing her daughter. She had to make a statement, given her daughter’s position within Fight! NYC. Once she exited the main hall and stepped into the crowd’s view, their cheers resonated vehemently. Not everyone knew what had happened the previous night. Henry consoled Diesel and Cela, while Zion had gone in search of her brother; needing answers.

Mama took a deep, shaky breath as she was given the microphone. She turned, seeing hundreds of signs bearing her daughter’s name. She fought to maintain her composure, when all she truly wanted to do was curl up and cry.

”Friends… Mama have bad news.” She began; her voice strong but hiding her sorrow. ”Our dear Prophet… Mama’s daughter… Druscilla…” She was choked up, clutching her chest. So much like Dru, yet so different. She took a deep breath and looked back up, her sorrow-filled eyes looking out over the hushed fans. ”Druscilla murdered after her match last night.” The silence of hundreds of fans, other wrestlers, even the commentators was deafening. You could literally hear a pin drop.

Diesel stepped up behind Mama, the tall man seemingly smaller. He was still wearing his blood-soaked shirt, the patches on his cut soaked in crimson. He took the mic from Mama and hugged her tightly. It was a testament to their bond as family that in the face of his gut-wrenching tragedy, they clung so tightly together. He sighed. “My sister is a force…” He cleared his throat, trying so hard to maintain it. ”My sister was a force. She was one of you. She was a fighter.” He held Mama’s hand as they stood shoulder to shoulder.

”She was our Bare Knuckle Champion. She was the president of our charter. She was a businesswoman. She was everything everyone needed. She was my sister. She was… my best friend.” His voice cracked, Mama wrapped her arms around him and her sobs could be softly heard over the PA system. ”Her loss is as tragic for us as it is for you, her fans and family.”

”We will be holding a public funeral for her in the coming days, and I encourage anyone who knew and loved her to join us in celebrating her life.” He was so torn up, his voice wavered as tears dripped from his eyes. He watched the faces around him. Other wrestlers he knew. Some he’d never met. A few Dru spoke of highly. And some, she spoke of with reverence.

”I would also like Tara Fenix to know, Dru Brew Breweries will be donating 100% of the sales for the next month to Dru’s chosen charity, in her name and yours.”

Cela walked out to meet her husband, she kissed him softly and kept his hand in hers as she took the mic. “I would like to say of my sister in law, there was never a better person. She was one of a kind. I know her love for us, her Wolves, was deep, but her love for those of you in Fight NYC and the wrestling community was just as deep.” Cela stopped for a moment, looking from her husband to Mama to the crowd, now somber. ”Let’s honor Dru as she would have wanted. Not with sadness and mourning, but with the love and happiness she carried with her everywhere, no matter what she had going on. Remember her fondly. Love one another. We’ll miss you Druscilla… So very much.” Cela blew a kiss to the sky and handed the mic to one of the commentators as she, with her husband and Mama, walked back into the halls of the ship. Mama’s hauntingly broken sobs fading into nothing as the show resumed. A large dedication image had been created and placed where everyone could see. The Fight NYC family sends their condolences to the family and friends of our Bare Knuckle Champion Druscilla White during this time. Rest In Peace, our Prophet. Written in a beautiful calligraphy across the bottom.

Kasey Winterborn vs Ashlynn Cassidy

Kasey Winterborn circled Ashlynn Cassidy.

Both of them knew a win tonight would make the world of difference. Kasey, though, felt more confident for a change. New Status Quo were on top. She was on top, she was on a run.

A quick collar and elbow tie-up led Kasey to gain a positional advantage, dragging Ashlynn to the mat. And then Ashlynn slipped her leg out, sat through and got back to her feet, high school wrestling style. Stalemate.

Ashlynn started to get the upper hand, and this was frustrating Kasey, who tried with all her might to get a grip on the match. A stranglehold. The other members of NSQ seemed like they were steamrolling through the competition, and she was getting taken through the ringer by a newbie.

Ashlynn put her finger to her lips, shushing the crowd as they willed Kasey onward. Kasey went for a right hook, and Ashlynn ducked then front-flipped into a clothesline. Under/Over. She tried a pinfall, but Kasey kicked out at one and a half, furious.

The momentum shifted from that point, with Kasey taking out a bit of a mean streak on Ashlynn. She kept the momentum for the following three or four minutes, before dragging Ashlynn to the corner and choking her with a boot. She then whipped her all the way across the ring and then started to ascend the turnbuckles.

Just as Kasey looked dead set to land LITTLE MISS VEX, Ashlynn pushed herself free, then used Kasey’s momentum to hit IAL, a crucifix tiltawhirly thing

For a moment, Ashlynn thought about going for the cover, but then she grabbed the brown hair of Winterborn, dragged her up to her feet and laced up her legs, before dropping her viciously on her skull.

Lasting Impression.

Ashlynn was as shocked as Kasey was. Kasey bolted towards the one who’d defeated her, but Ashlynn dropped to the canvas and slid out of the ring.


I Was Robbed, Now What?

Austin Ramsey can be heard cussing and screaming outside of his room. Todrick Tabor-Ramsey sits on the bed, looking at Austin pacing the room and poorly expressing himself.

Austin Ramsey: What in the entire fuck? How does this happen?

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: Austin.

Austin Ramsey: I spent my hard-earned Blood Money, and the money Toddy loaned me and won the bid for a shot at the Bareknuckle Championship. How ironic that a gunshot has taken all of that away from me. Fuck Austin, yet again, right?

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: Austin.

Austin Ramsey: Do we even know if she is okay? Is this FIGHT trying to bury me again? They knew I was going to fight with everything I had, so they made this up to put me back on the shelf.

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: Austin.

Austin Ramsey: No, no, no! Ugh, my head hurts.

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: AUSTIN!

Austin Ramsey: WHAT? Fucking shit fuck.

Todrick stands up and folds her arms across her chest, and gives Austin a look that immediately makes him stop pacing and sit down on the bed.

Austin Ramsey: I’m sorry, Baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m so confused, angry, sad, and the #Austins won’t shut the fuck up. They are all arguing, and we need to be focused on Dane Preston. The new guy is about to go berserk, but it’s not time for him yet. He has been wanting to break shit and toss people overboard all day. I’m low-key exhausted from fighting him.

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: I need you to calm down and take deep breaths. Focus on the sound of my voice and feel yourself rising towards the light. Come back to me, my love.

Austin closes his eyes and slows his breathing. He focuses on Todrick, who sits next to him, and she wraps her arms around him and pulls him onto her chest.

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: What are you really upset about? All day, you have been on edge, and those Twitter brawls you were in this morning were a bit much. So, what’s up, my love.

Austin doesn’t resist, and he is finally back in control of himself.

Austin Ramsey: I love Dru. I’m pissed that she is gone. We’ve had some good times and some very dark times but survived it all, and we have put on some pretty spectacular matches against one another. I miss her, but the new #Austin won’t let me grieve. This was supposed to be my road to redemption. I needed to be extreme so that the people would remember me again. Now what? What’s next for Austin, yet again?

I’m tired of them overlooking me, and I’m tired of not being one of the names that people talk about. Every time I get put on the card, all the predictions are for the other person. Why not Austin? What’s wrong with Austin? Now Dru is gone, and I was robbed of two things that I love. I just need the new guy to leave me alone, he can have his fun with Dane Preston tonight, but there is a time and place for him. This isn’t it. He won’t allow me to mourn her passing because it takes all my focus to keep him at bay. I’m just tired, Baby.

Todrick Tabor-Ramsey: Last season, you kept me uplifted, and I’m going to do the same for you. You are not worthless, Austin Ramsey. The world was robbed of Dru, and tonight you are going to honor her memory by giving all you got in that ring when you wrestle Dane. I will be here to love you when you are done. My love is enough, just like yours was for me. You have a job to do, and you go out there and show them that Austin “MF’in” Ramsey is alive and well. You got this, my love.

Austin closes his eyes with a peaceful look on his face, and the scene fades to black.

Dane Preston vs Austin Ramsey

A flurry of fists signals the beginning of the match. As the boat sways a Ramsey right swings wildly and Dane takes advantage. Two lefts and a right later Dane has Ramsey up in the air and brings him down with a Suplex. Another sway of the boat and Dane stumbles a bit while reaching for Ramsey, seizing an opportunity Ramsey uses Dane’s momentum to make him stumble head first into the middle turnbuckle. 

Ramsey gains his feet with a strut and whips Dane across the ring to the far corner, he charges in and leans with the roll of the boat leaping into the air catching a back shoulder to the face from Dane. A failed DDT by Dane leads to a Back body drop by Ramsey that gives him the upper hand. Ramsey uses a series of stomps, knee drops, and a big knee drop from the top rope to wear Dane down.

A failed pin attempt later and Ramsey is mounting the top rope again, he reaches up into the air before leaping just as Dane reaches his feet and the boat rolls again to the side. Ramsey loses his footing and Dane slams into the ropes, Ramsey falling to straddle the top. Dane takes him by the head and plant’s him with a spike DDT.

This time Dane fails at the pin attempt. Dane pulls Ramsey to his feet and sets him up for the Sweet Dreams. Just as he has the hold locked on the boat rolls again and now he is stumbling backwards with Ramsey in his arms. Dane slams back first into the corner, the back of Ramsey’s head slamming into the face of Dane. Both men crumple to the mat.

At the 8 count both men are on their feet and locking up in the middle of the ring, the attempt at wrestling breaks down as lefts and rights are exchanged between the two over and over. Dane blocks a right, then Ramsey follows suit. Now a left is blocked by both, Dane lashes with a kick but Ramsey catches it and spins Dane around, hooks both arms over his back then his legs and hits him with the After shock. 

The boat rolls some more as Ramsey ascends the top corner and waits for the roll to stop, he leaps off with a shooting star press from the top and lands the Air Austin, immediately hooking the leg and getting a near count.

Dane is quickly on his feet, and Austin bolts toward him, in disbelief. From nowhere, a vicious ONESHOTKILL nearly decapitates Austin Ramsey.

There would be no kickout.


Venom 11/1


The mood is set before our Main Event of the evening (or place where ever you need to) aboard the cruise ship for Venom when the lights dim out; or the best they can, I mean this is a cruise ship after all.


The “smart” fans on the deck of the ship completely lose their shit upon the countdown clock ticking down to zero before transitioning into “Judas” by Fozzy. A single spotlight hits the top of the wrestler’s entrance as thick white clouds of smoke engulf through a black curtain separating the fans from a backstagesque area. 


There’s a massively mixed reception as seen walking out through the smoke is one of the goats of professional wrestling; thirty-year veteran, multiple times Heavyweight Champion, Hall of Fame(s) or Legends depending on the label or organization. 


He is. 




Chris Page stands and looks out across the fans aboard the cruise ship before he starts to make the short walk down an elevated platform towards the squared circle to the shock and dismay of most in attendance. Chris reaches the ring where he steps through the ropes and into the ring. CCP motions for a microphone as he walks across the squared circle where he reaches through the ropes where he’s handed the microphone. 


Chris walks back across the ring taking his place in the center. The lights come back up as the music fades away leaving the crowd with a mixed reception of cheers and boos directed towards the ring while an audible chant of “CCP! CCP! CCP!” can be heard.


“I know that some of you might be scratching your heads right about now, asking yourselves if you’re watching the right program.”


Chris looks directly into the camera before he continues. 


“I assure you that you are because Chris Page is standing in the middle of a FIGHT ring live and in living color.”


The chant from the crowd breaks out into a big pop as it’s continued to be mixed with boos from the onlookers. 




There’s a smirk from Chris Page as he nods his head for a moment. 


“It’s a logical question to ask yourselves, so let’s just dive straight in by saying “CHRONIC” CHRIS PAGE has accepted the extremely lucrative deal for a select amounts dates effective right… now.”


The crowd pops big before breaking into a “CCP! CCP! CCP!” chant.


“Let me first say that there are several pieces of talent currently on this roster that I do share a bit of history with; names like James Raven, like Shawn Warstein, like Betsy Granger, like Lycana… I’m not here for any of you, but I will be the first to say that if you get in my way I’m going to floor you. It’s really simple.”


Chris glances off towards the crowd before cutting his attention back towards the camera.


“If I’m not here for them then who am I here for? I mean when you’re a decorated professional with a resume that consists of a who’s who of people that have been put down by my hands you don’t have to look hard to find anyone to sign on that dotted line to try their hands at brushing with the greatness that is Chris Page.”


There’s a break from Chris before he continues to speak. 


“I’m not the man to sit around and wait when I’ve been watching from the shadows. There are several key pieces of talent that I am interested in working with. FIGHT has something going for; you guys pride yourself on a youth movement.




The fans explode upon the mention of Manhattan Champion’s name while Chris lowers the microphone allowing the adulation from the crowd to be heard. There’s a chant of “TODDY! TODDY! TODDY!” that starts to pick up from the crowd.


Chris takes a look around at the response from all aspects of the crowd before raising the microphone back up to his lips.


“Fight’s Manhattan Champion. Let me make something perfectly clear, I didn’t come here for the Championships. My trophy case is filled with them. I came here for competition, and there’s no denying that Todrick encompasses what this promotion is all about. So, Mr. Ramsey…”


Chris uses his free hand, he raises it into a fist before making a knocking gesture as he states. 


“Knock, knock.”


Chris lowers his free hand. 


“This is me knocking on your door. It’s going to be up to you if you choose to open it.” 


Chris takes a moment. 


“You’re just the first of many here in FIGHT that shall feel my wrath, that shall come to the realization that I am on a different level. At fifty years old I can outwrestle, I can outfight, and I can outperform anyone on any day.”


Chris gazes directly into the hard camera, his cold blue eyes pierce through the lens. 


“I talk about a big game… I’ll back it up.”


Chris motions around him with his free hand. 


“You don’t see a group of people beside me to fight the battles, so for all of you out there within the sound of my voice that seem to think I need ANYTHING other than my ability to get the fucking job done… I’m not a hard man to find; it doesn’t matter who you are.”


Finally by Amorphous and Kelly Rowland starts to play, and Todrick Tabor-Ramsey saunters out to the elevated platform. She spins around and holds her hands up and bends over, and rotates in a circle while blowing a kiss at the audience. She raises the FIGHT! NYC Manhattan Championship above her head and poses for the cameras. She begins to make her way to the ring, and once she gets to the ropes, she twerks for the crowd before stepping through the ropes. She is handed a microphone, and she walks towards Chris with a smile on her face.



“Surprise, Rockstars! She is here, and it looks like this is where she is supposed to be.”



The crowd pops, and Todrick smiles and waves. She turns to look at Chris Page, and she quickly sizes him up. Chris was a legend in this business, and it was such a humbling experience to her that he had taken notice of her. She had come a long way from doubting herself, to her road to redemption, to stellar performances, and then winning and retaining championship gold. The next chapter in her story was starting to take shape, and it was beginning with answering the challenge that Chris Page was issuing. 



She seemed to be the person that everyone wanted a piece of these days. Some big names were knocking on her door. First, the legendary Betsy Granger said she wanted to mix it up in the ring before Ascension. A bidding war had broken out for a chance to challenge for the title at Venom #12, and the very first Manhattan Champion Joe Montuori had won the battle. The stage was set and now upping the ante even more, was one Chris Page. This meant that her star was on the rise, and she was “that girl to beat”.



“Well, today must be my lucky day. Here I was wondering what I was going to do next, and I heard a whisper in the wind that you wanted to make a name for yourself in FIGHT! NYC. Seeing as I’m one of the ones to beat on the roster, it’s no surprise that you chose me as your first dance partner. I’m honored, and I accept your challenge.”



The crowd erupts in cheers, and Todrick nods and claps with them.



“There are some things you need to know before we step into that ring. I’m not the same girl that I was six months ago when we started this wild ride at Blood Money. I am wiser, faster, stronger, and more confident than I’ve ever been about what I can do in that ring. The fear has been replaced with humility and boldness, the likes of which you have not seen in quite some time. I know my value, and I know my worth, and that makes me a dangerous competitor. I respect the hell out of you but this won’t be an easy battle. You want to prove that you still got it? Well honey, I am IT, and that crown was passed to me a while ago, and I’m not giving it up.”


Todrick stares into Chris’ eyes with a fire burning in hers. Suddenly there’s that slick smirk that starts making its way across the face of Chris Page. 


“Allow to go ahead and correct you, I don’t have to make a name for myself in FIGHT! NYC… I’m already that name, sweetheart. The second thing I feel the need to enlighten you on; if I wanted easy I’d called out your husband.”


The crowd immediately starts to shift on Page and boo as he shows no intimidation, no fear because this shit isn’t new to him. His confidence speaks volumes as Todrick’s expressions drastically shift upon the slight personal dig from Chris Page. 


“Finally, I’m not sure you really understand who you got your eyes locked on… but uh… You can’t get back what you never fucking lost. So I’m looking you in the eyes, and I know just how big this moment is for you; but the question is, do you? When you step inside this ring with me you’re not stepping into the ring with a scrub… you’re stepping into the ring with a GOAT.”


Chris reaches out his free hand offering a to shake Todrick’s.


“I know I’ve already struck a nerve; but if you shake my hand you need to understand that our game is going to begin. I play for keeps.” 


Todrick’s eyes narrow, and she does not like that comment about her husband, Austin, at all. She reaches out with a free hand and firmly grasps Chris’ extended hand and steps closer to him.


“I hear what you are saying, and I understand who you are, and the legacy you bring. I respect that but we both know that you are only as good as you current performance. Fight is unlike any other place you have competed in and while I respect you, I respect you enough to not hold back and unleash my full potential. I’m going to throw everything at you except the kitchen sink but at Fight, that could happen as well. The torch you carry belongs to the future…me.


This has nothing to do with my husband, this is between you and me now. Everyone who has underestimated me has fallen in combat. If you keep that attitude that you are going to walk in and easily defeat me, then you will become a mark on my victory vanity. I told you, I’m not the girl I was six months ago, but now let me show you.”


Todrick lowers her microphone and does not break eye contact or the grip she has on his hand. The crowd aboard the cruise completely explodes with a huge chant of “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” knowing that they’re witnessing something that could draw big numbers. Todrick looks to release her grip as she turns only to be yanked back towards Chris and into a Judas Effect elbow strike! 


The crowds chant erupts into massive boos as Todrick hits the mat with Chris Page standing over her looking down at the Manhattan Champion with a look of disdain etched across his face. Page kneels down next to Todrick as he picks up a microphone in his right hand, still knelt he speaks directly to Todrick.


“Do you think I give a fuck about who you were versus who you are? Lesson number one, don’t trust anybody.”


Chris’s attention is drawn towards the Manhattan Championship on the mat next to its Champion. Chris reaches over snatching it with his left hand before standing back up to a vertical base. He looks at the gold plates before tossing it down on the Champion. 


“Game on.”


Page tosses the microphone down to the mat as the fans boo intently towards the squared circle. Chris acknowledges the boos as he throws up the middle fingers on both hands displaying them to the crowd before stepping through the ropes where he makes his way back up the elevated platform while in the ring your Manhattan Champion slowly begins to stir after a cheap shot via Chris Page. 





Montuori vs Reynolds

No one knew exactly what to expect when it came time for Aiden Reynolds to face down Paul Montuori in front of a live crowd of fans and industry professionals. Aiden was clearly the darling of the match as one of the newest faces of New Status Quo as well as general well-liked fella. Some people use their likeableness as a sort of cover for whatever happens to lay underneath, what laid underneath Aiden’s affable manner was a mind for this business and a talent big enough to make things happen in it. No doubt, many people probably saw Aiden as Dickie Watson’s less serious counterpart but what those people didn’t realize is that Aiden knew something very important: when it was time for jokes and when it was time for business. And let me tell you, boyo, Aiden was giving the business to a very angry Paul Montuori at that very moment whipping him into the ropes and driving the other man to the mat with an English bulldog.

Paul Montuori was at rock bottom. Disgraced in the business, lied to by his family, completely and utterly alone. He had a clear chip on his shoulder in this match and was growing more and more frustrated by the minute as Aiden put him through the paces with relative ease. Aiden landed a open handed strike to Paul’s chest which most of the assembled crowd winced at Paul screamed his anger daring Aiden to really let him have it, which Aiden was none too happy to oblige too. Another strike, another shout from Paul for another, Aiden shrugging his shoulders before he reared back and put every inch of potential in his body into the weight of his hand on Paul’s swollen and reddened chest. Paul angrily looks to nail Aiden with an uppercut but hits hair as the Australian ducks under his arm and hits the rope coming back to knock Paul down with a clothesline. Aiden moves in for a cover but Paul easily tosses the other man off before rolling to his knees and gaining his footing. Aiden is just a moment slower than Paul is getting to his feet and eats a kick to the midsection from the furious Paul Montuori who follows that kick up with another and another and another each kick faster and harder than the last as Paul looks to be totally losing it. Aiden is able to roll and diminish some of the damage he is taking but Paul drops down to the mat, literally sitting on top of the other main and raining down fists with guttural wordless screams coming out of his mouth. Aiden gets his arms up in front of his head which only angers Paul more who grabs Aiden by the hair pounding the back of his head into the mat twice until Aiden drops his arms from protecting his face to try to remove Paul’s grip from his hair. This was what Paul had been planning on all along, keeping one hand with a firm grip on the other man’s hair as he used his right to pelt him with fists. The Ref is in the middle trying to break Paul’s hold on the other man but cannot get them separated, instead for his trouble he eats a right hand to the temple courtesy of a wild Paul Montuori. The bell instantly chimes disqualifying Paul from the match but it hardly registers in his mind. What finally does get through to him is the New Status Quo descending into the ring headed right towards the two men looking to do what the match officials could not. Dickie Watson is appropriately the first to reach them yanking Paul backwards off of Aiden as the others hang back waiting for anyone who might show up and come to Paul’s aid. Paul falls back into the mat and Dickie inserts himself between Paul and Aiden with his hands up ready to take up where Aiden had left off before Paul landed that lucky kick. Paul for the first time seems to be seeing something other than red as he looks up at the man who had beaten him just a few weeks ago, scowling at him before rolling under the rope to the side of the ring where he points at Aiden and then back at Dickie with a smile.



"Part of the ship, part of the crew."

A new signing?


The Captain’s Quarters: Tara is sitting on her side of the desk, away from the door, as Vhodka Black and Jennie Fenix enter the doorway; Vhodka has a smile on her face as she walks into the room.


VHODKA BLACK: Good morning, love!

TARA FENIX: Good morning.


TARA FENIX: Good morning, Jennie. 


Tara was a little less energetic than Vhodka; the pressure of wanting to put on a successful event seemed to be getting the better of her, but despite those pressures, she still did manage a brief smile and stood up from her seat to give Vhodka a greeting hug. Jennie pulled a chair up from the corner of the room as Vhodka took a seat across from Tara, and Tara returned to her own seat.


TARA FENIX: I’m so glad you made it!

VHODKA BLACK: I wouldn’t have missed it! But you know, as fun as it’s been, we’ve got some business to tend to. And… well…


Vhodka shrugged her shoulders a bit, and gave off a wry smile; as if Tara knew what she was already talking about. Tara’s eyes widened and she gave a subtle nod in exchange.


VHODKA BLACK: You’ve teased it before, and I just thought that now would be the time for you to… umm…


Jennie couldn’t help but gasp from the corner of the room.


JENNIE FENIX: You mean?!


Vhodka nodded as she pulled a contract from her pocket. It was neatly folded, creased only where intended, and Vhodka did her best to straighten the document and set it on the paper. Tara tapped her finger against her chin as she eyed the Fight! NYC logo that sat as the header of the document.


VHODKA BLACK: You believed in what we were doing from day one. Why not come be part of us? Part of the ship, part of the crew.


Tara took a deep breath while her eyes lingered on the contract for a moment longer… And just then, the scene went to the upper deck where FIGHT was taking place.

Miss Michelle (c) vs Jennie Fenix

FIGHT! NYC Bronx Championship

Miss Michelle was by now starting to be tired of the fanfare. Jennie Fenix had been playing up to the crowd, and they were all there for it. A million Jennie stans in the crowd, all here for her big sister’s charity function.

And now the new main event for the night was going to be a title match, featuring the hostesses’ kid sister getting a shot at the FIGHT! NYC Bronx strap. Insanity. And desperate to make sure this evening remained special for her, despite her elder sister signing a contract with the organization and it becoming public knowledge right before her match, she knew she was going to have to come out of the gates fast.

Michelle, even on her best day, was not down with this. She didn’t believe she belonged in this match. Jennie wasn’t on her level and she aimed to prove it. She laid the Bronx Championship down in the corner of the ring and then stared at Jennie.

Miss Michelle: I hope you know what you signed yourself up for.

Jennie Fenix: SURE DID.

And with that they were off. Jennie got the upper hand in the early going, taking the experienced veteran off guard. A period of dominance punctuated with a vicious looking maneuver she calls the Chelsea Smile. The referee counts, letting Fenix know that she ought to break the hold. She thinks about it, then releases it, then drives a fist into Michelle’s skull. She immediately transitions it into a cross armbar and all of a sudden the belt is flashing before Michelle’s eyes.

It takes willpower, patience and time for Michelle to work her way to the ropes to get clear of the submission hold. Jennie followed up with more offense, but Michelle wanted no part of it. She slid out of the ring, regrouping.

As Jennie played to the crowd, she decided to follow her opponent to the outside. Michelle showed all of her veteran nous by using the opportunity to get in a cheap shot.

And from there it was cheap shot after cheap shot, bitch slap, cunt punt, a little bit of everything. Michelle then dumped Jennie back in the ring just in time for the pair of them to not be counted out.

As Michelle had decided that this was over, she started running through a series of moves that typically lead somewhere dark. A roundhouse kick, followed by a meteora from the middle rope, then a swift round kick to the liver. Jennie’s doubled over. It’s over, surely it is over. She starts to set up for her famous leg trap sunset flip powerbomb, but Jennie decides against violence, pushed herself off, and springboards from the middle rope before hitting a diving reverse DDT. She makes a desperate cover and the whole crowd counts along, willing the match to come to an end right here and now.

The Bronx Champion, though, doesn’t want it to slip through her fingers quite so easily, so she digs deeper than she ever did. Thinks about Ezra, spending five days without his mom. Thinks about Brandon, who was in rehab. Poptart, the ladder match, everything.

She thrusts her arm into the air, breaking the pinfall.

She slides to her feet, behind Jennie, leaps into the air with the last gasp of energy within her body, wraps her legs around the neck of her challenger and drives her skull into the canvas sickeningly.

J Michael Brilliance: Not a more apropos name for a move in the business. She hits this, you don’t fuckin’ move. Broken Dreams, indeed.





Time For Anarchy

...somewhere, elsewhere...


A single drip of water.

The air spells out an aura of loathsome blues, and who do we find if not Brandon Moore? Of course we find this man among this sad, lonely and pathetic scene. The broken failure of a man is front and center, talking to an unknown figure while curiously a moth and butterfly mingle with his extended index finger. Each taking turns gracefully whispering to the man, only to rescind and dissipate as Brandon looks up at the unknown figure before him.

Brandon Moore: I didn’t know who else to turn to..

He scoffs at himself as he shakes his head, the statement hitting him hard in the gut where his ego should have absorbed the blow. But this isn’t the story about an overbearing ego. This is the story of a bleeding heart, and it’s worn all upon his sleeve for the entire world to see.

Brandon Moore: I know what has to be done bubba.. But the past is standing in the way. The fractured and torn friendship I once prided myself in has now become my torment. It has become my undoing. I have spent the past two weeks scratching and clawing at a way out of the hole I have dug for myself, as you know is per usual, the more I gained, the more I lost as I only made the gap wider. The bottom further.

Brandon stops, his eyes still lost wandering as he slowly brings his hands up to wipe away his face before holding his chin as he stares in the disbelief that has plagued him since his failure at Ascension. His teary eyes are swollen. He is fighting them back, giving no ground. He looks at the unknown figure in the darkness.

Brandon Moore: And then reality came full circle, as I have come full circle. The roads I have traveled seem destined to all lead back to you. Can you imagine the ego death I have suffered, to stand before you now and admit you were right? Now I need you to open up a channel, and reconnect two lost friends, because what comes next.. I can’t do it without him. I can’t do it without you either, Damon.

The lighting of the room expands to reveal Damon Riggs staring at Brandon Moore, a sense of intrigue lifting his face.

Damon Havok Riggs: You are both a force to be reckoned with individually.  Together you are unstoppable.  I tried to show you that all those years ago.  But in order to get to him, you must go through her.  Both you and Michelle must make amends with Allison before he will entertain you.

Brandon Moore: There’s no time Damon, if we don’t act now then we are already lost. Speak to him. And tell him if he is interested, give him this. It has all the info on where he can meet me.

Brandon slips out a black business card, extended to Damon who stares and growls beneath his rasping breath.

Damon Havok Riggs: I’m telling you what you need to do.  I’ll give him the card.  But I’m not sure it will be enough.

Brandon Moore: Give it to Allison then. Tell her it grants her amnesty before the House of M. Tell her it’s time to talk.

In reality, the time to talk had already came and went. It was time for something else.

It was time for a little anarchy.