It began with alarm.
A piercing M.O.X News breaking bulletin screamed across the screen as red, white, and blue graphics slammed into place with frantic urgency. The network logo spun over a backdrop of waving American flags, stock footage of military cargo planes, crowded hospital corridors, and panicked foreign crowds gathered outside pharmacies and embassy gates. Beneath it all, a bold red banner flashed over and over again.
BREAKING NEWS: PRESIDENT McSTRUMP TO ADDRESS THE WORLD
The feed cut inside the M.O.X studio.
Everything about the set looked built for crisis. Cold blue lights washed over steel panels and glass. Giant monitors behind the desk cycled through maps, viral infection charts, footage of civil unrest overseas, and a live shot of the White House Rose Garden where a podium stood waiting beneath a line of American flags. The atmosphere felt less like journalism and more like the command deck of a nation preparing to declare victory over history itself.
Parker Karlsson sat at the center of it, perfectly composed, hands folded, expression grave in a way that almost looked rehearsed. Beside him, Judge Pauline Firro leaned forward with both palms pressed to the desk, her eyes already alive with the kind of gleeful intensity she reserved for moments when fear, patriotism, and television ratings all converged into one glorious fireball.
Parker looked into the camera first.
Parker Karlsson: Good evening, America. We interrupt all scheduled programming for what may prove to be one of the most important announcements in modern human history. In just moments, President Ronald McStrump is expected to address not only this nation, but the entire world from the Rose Garden at the White House.
A graphic beside him changed to a rotating image of the Blovid-13 pathogen, rendered like a red spiked moon suspended in darkness.
Parker Karlsson: For almost a year now, Blovid-13 has ravaged nations, shattered economies, overwhelmed hospital systems, and left governments scrambling for answers. Entire administrations across Europe and Asia have looked weak, indecisive, and utterly incapable of protecting their own people. Here in the United States, however, the White House has promised that Operation Super Mega Speed would deliver what every so-called expert claimed could not be done this fast.
Pauline turned toward him, then snapped her stare straight into the hard camera like she wanted to prosecute the entire planet.
Judge Pauline Firro: And now, Parker, it looks like President McStrump is about to prove them all wrong.
She let that sit for a beat.
Judge Pauline Firro: Let’s be very clear tonight. The media elite laughed. The global health bureaucrats laughed. Foreign leaders laughed. They mocked the president. They mocked the timetable. They mocked the science coming out of this country because they cannot stand the idea that when the pressure was highest and the stakes were life and death, it was the United States of America that rose above the panic and delivered results.
The screen behind them shifted again, now showing side-by-side footage of overwhelmed international cities and American flags outside biotech laboratories.
Judge Pauline Firro: They told you America was in decline. They told you nationalism was dangerous. They told you putting America first was cruel. Well, now all of those same countries are sitting by their phones, waiting to hear whether the president of the United States is willing to save them too.
Parker gave the faintest nod, his voice smooth, measured, and sharpened like a blade wrapped in velvet.
Parker Karlsson: Sources inside the administration are indicating that tonight’s announcement concerns a fully developed therapeutic breakthrough, a cure produced under the president’s Operation Super Mega Speed initiative. If that is true, then this moment changes everything. It changes the geopolitical balance of power. It changes global markets. It changes how history remembers this presidency.
He paused as if weighing the words, though his eyes gleamed with barely concealed satisfaction.
Parker Karlsson: Because while other governments held meetings, held summits, and held hands, Ronald McStrump moved.
Pauline smirked.
Judge Pauline Firro: That’s the difference between leadership and weakness, Parker. That’s the difference between a commander and a committee.
She adjusted the papers in front of her, though it was pure theater. She clearly didn’t need them.
Judge Pauline Firro: Let me say something else that some people out there are not going to like. Good. They don’t have to like it. They just have to live in reality. If this administration has produced the first viable cure for Blovid-13, then America has every moral right, every strategic right, and every sovereign right to decide exactly who gets it, when they get it, and what price they pay for it.
Parker turned slightly toward her.
Parker Karlsson: There are already critics, of course, saying such a move would be too aggressive. Too transactional. Too nationalistic.
Judge Pauline Firro: Of course they are. These people would auction off the country one apology at a time if you let them. The American taxpayer funded this miracle. American scientists achieved it. American leadership made it happen. So yes, Americans should get it first. That is not cruelty. That is common sense.
Parker let out the smallest breath through his nose, almost amused.
Parker Karlsson: And yet across the globe tonight, there are leaders who will be forced to stand before their own people and explain why it was Ronald McStrump, of all men, who delivered what they could not.
A live shot from outside the White House filled one of the screens behind them. Reporters packed together behind barricades. Camera lights burned against the deepening evening sky. Secret Service agents moved into final positions near the podium.
The control room tension bled right through the broadcast now. Even Pauline seemed to feel it.
Judge Pauline Firro: We are looking live at the Rose Garden. You can see the press assembled. You can see movement from the west colonnade. I am telling you right now, Parker, if the president says what we believe he is about to say, this becomes the defining moment of his presidency. Not the impeachment hoaxes. Not the riots. Not the foreign sabotage. Not any of it. This.
Parker leaned forward slightly.
Parker Karlsson: Because if Ronald McStrump stands at that podium and announces that America holds the cure to Blovid-13, then every critic who called him reckless is going to have to grapple with the most painful possibility of all.
His voice dropped just enough to feel dangerous.
Parker Karlsson: That he was right.
The red BREAKING NEWS banner pulsed again across the bottom of the screen.
A producer’s voice was faintly audible off-camera. Pauline touched her earpiece.
Judge Pauline Firro: We are being told the president is moments away.
The camera pushed closer.
Parker Karlsson: Wherever you are tonight, stay with us. History is about to speak.
The feed cut live to the White House.
The Rose Garden was draped in the kind of ceremonial grandeur that only Washington could manufacture when it wanted to turn policy into theater. Rows of American flags stood behind the podium in perfect symmetry. The White House columns glowed in the evening light. Reporters shouted over one another from behind the ropes, camera flashes erupting in restless bursts.
Then movement.
President Ronald McStrump emerged from the colonnade, walking with that familiar lumbering confidence, chin high, face set in a self-satisfied scowl that suggested he had already decided how history would remember this moment. His red tie hung like a banner of defiance against his dark suit. Secret Service agents fanned out at a respectful distance as he approached the podium.
The press noise swelled instantly.
Questions flew at him from every direction.
Reporter: Mr. President! Is it true?
Reporter: Are you announcing a vaccine tonight?
Reporter: How soon will distribution begin?
Reporter: Will foreign allies receive access?
McStrump ignored all of it.
He reached the podium, adjusted the microphone, glanced out across the press corps, and then gave the smallest crooked nod to himself, as though even he found the image irresistible.
President Ronald McStrump: Thank you very much. Thank you. Great to be here. This is a very big day. Maybe the biggest. A lot of people are saying that. Very smart people.
He placed both hands on the podium.
President Ronald McStrump: Today, I am proud to announce that the United States of America, through the incredible success of Operation Super Mega Speed, has developed a cure for the Blovid-13 virus.
The reporters erupted all at once. Shouts collided into a wall of noise.
McStrump raised one hand, demanding silence.
President McStrump: It’s true. We did it. American doctors, American companies, American workers. The best in the world. Nobody else could do it. They tried. They failed. We did it. And we did it fast.
He smiled then, smug and thick with self-congratulation.
President McStrump: The fake news said it couldn’t be done. The globalists said it couldn’t be done. The weak leaders in Europe said it couldn’t be done. But we got it done. Because when America wants something badly enough, nobody can compete with us. Nobody.
Another barrage of questions thundered toward him, but he plowed forward.
President McStrump: Now, I know the whole world is watching tonight. I know every foreign government is watching. Some very nasty countries. Some friendly countries too, I guess. And they all want the same thing. They want access to the cure. They want it immediately.
He leaned in closer to the microphones.
President Ronald McStrump: But let me make this very clear. American citizens will have first access. America first. That’s the way it should be. That’s the way it’s going to be.
There it was. The line landed like a hammer.
President Ronald McStrump: After that, other nations can apply through the proper channels, and they will pay a very high cost. A fair cost. Maybe a beautiful cost. Because this did not come cheap, and the American people are not going to subsidize the failures of incompetent foreign governments.
The press corps exploded.
Reporter: Are you putting a price on human lives?
Reporter: Mr. President, what about allied nations?
Reporter: How many doses are available?
Reporter: Can you guarantee its safety?
McStrump’s lip curled.
President McStrump: I can guarantee one thing. Without us, they have nothing. That’s the truth. They can complain all they want. They can hold their little emergency meetings. They can cry on television. But when they want the cure, they come through us.
He straightened his jacket.
President McStrump: Operation Super Mega Speed has been one of the most successful government programs ever created. Maybe the most successful. We moved with strength, with speed, with genius. A lot of people should be thanking me tonight. A lot of countries should be thanking me tonight.
He stepped back from the podium just enough to signal he was done.
President McStrump: God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.
He turned away from the podium to another tidal wave of shouted questions, the flags standing tall behind him as the cameras chased his exit like scavengers trying to pull one more bite from a carcass. The feed snapped back to the M.O.X studio. Pauline was already smiling. Not warmly. Triumphantly.
Judge Pauline Firro: There it is. Decisive. Unapologetic. Historic.
Parker sat with the expression of a man trying not to look too pleased while clearly enjoying every second of it.
Parker Karlsson: You just witnessed the president of the United States announce that America has achieved what the rest of the world could not. A cure for Blovid-13, produced through Operation Super Mega Speed, with distribution beginning here at home before extending abroad on American terms.
Judge Pauline Firro: As it should.
Parker Karlsson: As it should, Pauline.
The screen behind them now displayed AMERICA DELIVERS THE CURE in towering gold letters over an image of McStrump at the podium.
Judge Pauline Firro: The media is going to scream. Foreign governments are going to whine. Weak politicians are going to pearl-clutch and pretend this is somehow unfair. Unfair? No. What’s unfair is expecting the United States to save the world and then apologize for leading it.
Parker turned toward the camera for the close.
Parker Karlsson: Tonight, while lesser nations waited, America acted. While bureaucrats delayed, Ronald McStrump pushed forward. And while his enemies mocked, he delivered the single most important breakthrough in the fight against Blovid-13.
He let the words breathe.
Parker Karlsson: Love him or hate him, history does not belong to the timid. It belongs to the men willing to seize it.
Pauline nodded sharply.
Judge Pauline Firro: This is President McStrump’s achievement. His vision. His pressure. His refusal to bow to panic, delay, or foreign dependence. The entire world now stands in line behind the United States of America.
Parker folded his hands again as the music began to rise.
Parker Karlsson: Stay with us. After the break, market analysts, military strategists, and medical insiders join us to discuss what this announcement means for the future of the world.
Judge Pauline Firro: And for the first time in a long time, that future belongs to America.
The M.O.X graphics surged across the screen once more as dramatic music thundered beneath the final image of Ronald McStrump standing at the Rose Garden podium like a man who believed he had personally reached down into history and bent it to his will.
High above the city, where the wind dragged itself in hard bitter currents between the towers and the skyline burned beneath a haze of electric gold, the summit of the skyscraper appeared empty.
That was the camouflage.
To satellites, helicopters, police drones, and every wandering eye below, the roof registered as dead space. Utility structures. Concrete. Antennas. Nothing worth remembering. Just another anonymous crown atop another anonymous giant.
But the illusion was only skin.
Beneath the veil of enhanced alien concealment, hidden inside bent light and rejected perception, Aketan’s crucible chamber stood complete.
It occupied nearly the entire upper crown of the tower, a circular sanctum of black alloy, luminous gold circuitry, and impossible geometry housed beneath a domed shell of cloaked energy. Arcing pylons rose around the perimeter like the ribs of some titanic mechanical god. Between them, translucent conduits carried molten bands of amber light toward the center in slow measured pulses. Every surface vibrated with a deep resonant hum, the sound of something no longer theoretical. No longer under construction. No longer content to remain asleep.
At the center of the chamber stood the portal engine.
It rose from the main dais like a wound in the world forced to hold its shape through sheer will. A massive vertical ring of obsidian metal and engraved gold dominated the platform, large enough to swallow armored vehicles whole. Within it, smaller segmented bands turned against one another in perfect opposition, their movements so exact they felt ritualistic rather than mechanical. Strange symbols pulsed along the interior channels. Ancient pattern and alien code had been fused so completely they no longer felt separate. Light raced through the frame, vanished, then returned from another angle, like the machine was thinking its way toward a door it remembered but had never seen.
Directly beneath the engine stood the containment cradle.
That was where the chamber stopped pretending to be beautiful.
A reinforced vertical restraint system had been built into the foundation of the dais, aligned precisely beneath the ring’s center so that any living thing locked into it would stand directly under the engine’s hungry heart. Black metallic braces curved inward around an empty humanoid silhouette. Gold restraint bands waited open. Veins of power climbed from the cradle into the machine above. It was not a seat. It was not a harness.
It was a conduit.
It had been built to take something living and make it useful.
Above the cradle, suspended within the machine’s upper core, turned a gyroscopic lattice of gold prongs and magnetic fields.
Empty.
That emptiness drew the eye more than anything else in the room.
A circular housing sat at its center, a perfect receptacle designed to receive something ancient, powerful, and terribly specific. Energy rippled around the vacant chamber in restless intervals, as if the machine itself could feel what was missing. Even unfinished, even unfed, the lattice glowed with restrained hunger.
The place where the Orb of Ra would one day sit.
The place where the world would change.
Aketan stood alone on the elevated observation platform overlooking it all, his hands folded behind his back, posture straight, face unreadable. The gold trim of his robes caught the amber machine-light in cold flashes. For a long moment, he said nothing. He only watched.
He watched the rings turn.
He watched the empty receptacle rotate above the cradle.
He watched the chamber breathe around its own incompleteness.
This was not triumph in the way lesser men understood triumph. No cheering crowds. No applause. No ceremony fit for human egos. This was something older. Something cleaner. The long convergence of will, knowledge, theft, prophecy, and patience into one undeniable fact.
The machine existed.
After all the buried ruins, sealed vaults, broken guardians, and oceans crossed in pursuit of fragments others had forgotten how to fear, the machine existed.
At last, Aketan stepped forward and rested one hand against the rail.
Aketan: At last.
The words were quiet, but the chamber answered. A low pulse rolled through the pylons. The gold circuitry brightened, then settled.
That was when the attendants stirred.
Three AI constructs standing motionless in shadowed alcoves along the circular wall turned in perfect unison and advanced into the light. Their forms were tall and severe, forged from polished black composite veined with dim blue-white energy. Their faces were expressionless, smooth and inhuman, with no attempt made to imitate warmth, only function. When they reached the foot of the observation platform, they stopped together and inclined their heads.
Unit Iota: Construction phase concluded.
Unit Sigma: Portal engine architecture stable.
Unit Khepri: Containment vessel prepared.
Their voices were precise and toneless, yet something in their cadence made the report sound ceremonial, as though even machines understood they were standing in the presence of culmination.
Aketan did not look at them.
Aketan: Confirm chamber integrity.
Unit Khepri: Camouflage matrix remains stable. Human detection probability remains negligible.
Unit Iota: Exterior signal bleed remains within acceptable threshold.
Unit Sigma: Internal resonance has achieved sustained continuity for the first time.
For the first time.
That mattered.
Not simulated. Not theoretical. Not briefly aligned before collapse. Sustained.
Real.
Aketan’s gaze remained on the empty lattice at the heart of the machine.
Aketan: Activation.
The constructs paused for the briefest measurable instant.
Unit Iota: Partial activation achieved.
Unit Sigma: Aperture formation is viable.
Unit Khepri: Sustained breach remains impossible.
Aketan’s expression did not shift.
Aketan: Because.
Unit Sigma: The solar catalyst remains absent.
His eyes narrowed slightly at that phrasing.
Below, the gyroscopic lattice emitted a low gold tremor, as though it had responded to being named.
Unit Iota: Orb receptacle remains unfulfilled.
Unit Khepri: Living power source remains unbound.
Unit Sigma: The engine may awaken in part. It will not open in full.
There it was. The truth, stripped clean.
The machine had been assembled.
The door had been found.
But the key and the sacrifice were still separate.
Aketan descended one slow step from the platform, eyes settling on the empty containment cradle below.
Aketan: Of course.
The word was almost gentle.
Aketan: A threshold such as this was never meant to yield to architecture alone. The vessel may be built. The path may be prepared. But passage still demands convergence.
Unit Khepri: Clarify convergence.
Aketan looked first to the empty housing where the Orb of Ra would one day sit.
Then to the cradle.
Then to the ring itself.
Aketan: The Orb.
His gaze shifted to the cradle.
Aketan: The Sphinx.
Then to the outer ring, where gold symbols pulsed like a sleeping language.
Aketan: And the crown.
Silence followed. Not confusion. Processing.
Unit Iota: Current world champion remains external to chamber control.
Aketan: Yes.
He took another step down, voice calm, measured, certain.
Aketan: The orb remains imprisoned in that foolish excuse for a championship trophy. The championship remains in the possession of the Scorpion King Sasori. And Sasori, for all his violence, all his pride, all his borrowed dominion, does not understand what he carries around his waist.
His eyes lifted toward the vacant lattice again.
Aketan: The only thing understands is it is dangerous.
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
Aketan: He possesses a lock to the door we need to open.
The machine answered with a deeper hum.
Unit Sigma: And the living source.
Aketan’s eyes dropped to the empty cradle beneath the engine.
Aketan: The Sphinx.
The chamber seemed to receive the name.
A wave of amber light rippled outward from the cradle, ran up the pylons, and vanished into the ring. The AI constructs stilled.
Unit Khepri: Designated vessel remains uncrowned.
Aketan: For now.
He descended to the main floor at last, robes shifting softly in the machine-light. When he reached the edge of the containment cradle, he looked down into the empty shape where the Sphinx would one day stand.
Aketan: He still believes he is marching toward glory. He still imagines this ends with victory, recognition, ascension. He sees the match. He sees the belt. He sees the moment the world crowns him.
He placed one hand lightly against the edge of the cradle.
Aketan: He does not see beyond it.
Unit Iota: Clarify beyond.
Aketan did not answer immediately. He let the chamber breathe. Let the machine hum. Let the city glitter unseen beyond the cloaking veil.
Aketan: He does not need to.
That line settled into the room like a stone dropped into dark water.
Aketan: The Sphinx was never chosen to understand. He was chosen to arrive.
Unit Sigma: Probability of resistance remains present.
Aketan: Resistance is part of the shape.
He lifted his eyes to the empty receptacle above.
Aketan: The orb will complete the machine. The Sphinx will complete the passage. The crown will make both possible.
Not a full explanation.
Just enough.
Just enough for the truth to show its teeth.
Below his hand, the gold restraint bands around the cradle clicked inward by a fraction without command. A series of alien glyphs flashed across the side panels and vanished just as quickly.
Unit Iota: Unprompted containment response detected.
Unit Khepri: No direct activation order was issued.
Unit Sigma: Cause unknown.
Aketan did not move.
Aketan: Let it continue.
The outer ring of the portal engine slowed.
Then the inner bands slowed.
Then all motion ceased.
The chamber fell into an abrupt silence so total it seemed to erase the city outside. The hum vanished. The amber conduits dimmed. The pylons stood like black monoliths in a dead world. Only the empty lattice remained faintly illuminated above the cradle, glowing around its own absence like a halo built for a missing god.
Then a sound moved through the chamber.
Not from the speakers. Not from the engine.
From deeper.
A metallic groan rolled up through the structure, low and ancient and wrong, as though the machine had touched some buried law of distance and made it recoil. Gold light burst through the ring’s etched channels. Static raced across the chamber floor. The empty receptacle flashed like a starved thing recognizing the scent of food.
Then the center of the ring split.
Not fully.
Not even close.
Just a jagged fracture of dark gold energy, unstable and violent, no wider than a man’s torso and no longer than a breath.
But it was enough.
Something was there.
Not randomness.
Formation.
A line of shadowed figures stood beyond the rupture in unnatural stillness. Tall silhouettes marked by helms, spears, and long banners that shifted without wind. Behind them, deeper in the fracture, something larger loomed in total composure, a shape too vast to read and too still to mistake for anything passive. The sound that followed came half a second later, layered voices pushed through impossible distance, ancient and patient and disturbingly aware.
The fracture snapped shut.
The chamber lights crashed low, then surged back. Warning glyphs erupted along the pylons and suspended control panes. The portal engine restarted in staggered pulses, like something trying to regain discipline after revealing too much.
The AI spoke immediately.
Unit Iota: Spatial contact exceeded predicted threshold.
Unit Sigma: Reciprocal awareness detected.
Unit Khepri: External intelligence registered the breach impulse.
That was the true shift.
Not malfunction.
Recognition.
Something on the other side had felt the machine reaching.
Aketan stood motionless at the edge of the cradle, staring into the dark center of the ring after the rupture sealed. His face was unreadable for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
Not with shock.
Not with fear.
With vindication.
Aketan: Good.
The constructs reoriented toward him.
Aketan lifted his gaze toward the empty receptacle where the Orb would soon sit.
Aketan: Even incomplete, it is heard.
Unit Sigma: Confirmation.
Aketan: Even starving, it is seen.
Unit Khepri: Confirmation.
His voice softened, and somehow became colder.
Aketan: Let them wait.
He turned slightly, enough for the AI to catch the edge of his profile.
catch the edge of his profile.
Aketan: Let them stand at the threshold and feel it tremble. Let them understand that the silence they have hidden behind is ending.
The chamber hummed again, deeper now, like a living thing settling after a dream.
Behind him, the constructs inclined their heads once more.
Unit Iota: Portal engine complete.
Unit Sigma: Containment vessel ready.
Unit Khepri: Convergence incomplete.
Aketan: State the final variables.
This time the answer came in sequence.
Unit Iota: The Orb of Ra.
Unit Sigma: The Sphinx.
Unit Khepri: Fulfillment of the crown.
Aketan looked from the vacant receptacle above to the empty cradle below, then out beyond the distorted veil of the chamber where the city glittered in total ignorance.
Aketan: Everything has been prepared.
The pylons pulsed.
Aketan: Everything has been built.
The ring turned once, slowly.
Aketan: Now the world need only deliver them to me.
He stood there in silence as the engine resumed its slow patient rotation over the empty cradle, the machine complete in body if not yet in appetite, while somewhere beyond the unopened door, an army waited for the moment a champion would unknowingly place the sun into the lock and offer his life to turn it.
The Tokyo Dome pulsed with noise, light, and anticipation. Red and gold pyro thundered as banners rippled high above the crowd—Ultimate Wrestling on one side, All Asia Pro Wrestling on the other. The hard cam swept across a sea of signs, flags, and clenched fists.
The four-person commentary desk came into frame.
Scott Slade: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Tokyo Dome! Welcome to Empire’s End! I’m Scott Slade, and tonight the road we’ve been on all season ends right here—Ultimate Wrestling versus AAPW, every ounce of championship gold from both companies is on the line, careers are on the line, and there is no place left to hide.
Chris Rodgers: I’ll tell you what’s really on the line, Scotty—our patience. Ultimate Wrestling didn’t need this circus. We opened the door, and now AAPW thinks they own the building.
Takeshi Suzuki: Opened the door? HAH! We kicked it in and marched inside! The building does not matter; what happens tonight in the ring does. And tonight, Ultimate Wrestling must prove it deserves to stand inside it with the greatest Japanese wrestling promotion all-time!
Yashiro Fujimoto: Tonight, there are no committees, no politics—only fighters! This is judgment day!
The crowd roared as the match card graphic filled the screen.
Scott Slade: We kick things off with the future of Ultimate Wrestling. Oswald Knight, the Young Blood Champion, is defending against the relentless Lightning Man.
Chris Rodgers: Lightning Man doesn’t play mind games, Scott. He doesn’t whisper riddles or play chess. He hits people until they stop moving. That’s the mark of a true fighter.
Yashiro Fujimoto: Oswald Knight is not as fragile as he looks. He is deliberate and cerebral. Precision defeats power more often than brute force admits.
Takeshi Suzuki: I hope they beat each other bloody! I love watching Gaijin massacre one another! Hahahaha!
Scott Slade:After that the AAPW Tag Titles are on the line—Tides of Chaos defending against the Ultimate Wrestling’s Royal Alliance.
Chris Rodgers: Two mountains versus two hired guns. I don’t trust either team, but I respect size. This one could be tough for us, Scotty.
Yashiro Fujimoto: Tides of Chaos are destruction given discipline. They do not rush. They drown. The Royal Alliance doesn’t stand a chance.
Takeshi Suzuki: The Royal Alliance fights like mercenaries—and mercenaries are dangerous when paid in gold and blood! Lucky for us, Rupert Mudcock pays them like the miserable plebeians they are! HAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!
Scott Slade: Ultimate Wrestling’s own tag gold is up for grabs— The Tournament that started early last fall comes to an end as the Valor Vanguard takes on the brutal Tsar’s Tormentors in the final.
Chris Rodgers: I’ve never been a huge fan of Sato, especially his communist politics! But! I hope he and Maki show those Russian pricks whose boss!
Yashiro Fujimoto: Tsar’s Tormentors bring cruelty, not cohesion. That difference matters. My money is on the Valor Vangaurd.
Takeshi Suzuki: Hah! Don’t be a fool, Fujimoto! I know you have a soft spot for Maki, but Mordkrov could win this match by himself! I predict that the Ultimate Wrestling Tag Team Titles will be coming home to Mother Russia!
Scott Slade: Next after that the AAPW Stable Championship—four on four. This match has everything: banners, bloodlines, and gold. If Ultimate Wrestling wins this match it will be a huge blow ot All Asia Pro Wrestling.
Chris Rodgers: This is AAPW’s ego project. They want to prove they can outfight UW as a unit. Good luck with that.
Takeshi Suzuki: You are deaming Rodger-san! These belts will stay with our promotion!
Yashiro Fujimoto: The stable championship is one of the oldest and most historic. Our team will be fighting with every ounce of energy and strength they have to defend them successfully.
Scott Slade: The Death Match Championship follows… and this one may change people forever. Kyoki Piero versus Cassie Hurst.
Chris Rodgers: Cassie Hurst walked into hell willingly. That’s either bravery or stupidity. One thing is for sure this won’t be for the weak of heart.
Yashiro Fujimoto: Kyoki Piero does not seek victory. She seeks transformation through violence.
Takeshi Suzuki: BLOOD WILL DECIDE THIS! NOT PINFALLS! NOT EXCUSES! I CAN’T WAIT! HAHAHAHA!
Scott Slade: Then the AAPW Aerial-X championship is defended by our very own Kami Nakada against 3 of the most dangerous athletes in the world.
Chris Rodgers: This match is a car crash waiting to happen, first one to hit 3 high risk manuevers from higher than the top rope wins.
Yashiro Fujimoto: Tatsu Hime will get her revenge here tonight! Mark my words, she will reclaim what’s rightfully hers!
Takeshi Suzuki:Nakada performed a miracle last time against Hime! She won’t get that lucky this time.
Scott Slade: The Submission Championship—Shingo Hara versus Chuluun Bold. A rematch of one of the best matches of the year by far. Chuluun Bold seeks to regain the Championship he made himself famous defending.
Chris Rodgers: Technique versus obsession. Somebody taps, or somebody snaps. The greatest Submission Champion of all time versus the rookie who has shocked the wrestling world this year!
Yashiro Fujimoto: Hara is a worthy champion. Perhaps he will sign a contract with AAPW once we bury you, and your silly American wrestling promotion!
Scott Slade: National pride on the line—Daichi Sasaki defending against Takuma Sato.
Chris Rodgers: Two men who refuse to back down. No shortcuts. No mercy.
Yashiro Fujimoto: This championship represents the soul of Japan. Daichi will not let the nation down, I guarantee it.
Takeshi Suzuki: Sato shouldn’t even be allowed to fight for this Championship. He was born in America! Using his lineage to weasel into a title shot like this shows just how dishonorable and pathetic he is!
Scott Slade: Be that as it may, Sato walks into the match up with a huge disadvantage, having to fight earlier tonight in the Tag Team Championship final.
Scott Slade: And finally… the end of the road. Saikō Sasori versus Drake Nygma for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship. The two top titles in the sport of Professional Wrestling are on the line!
Chris Rodgers: Winner takes all, and with it that individual most likely saves their promotion from assured collapse.
Yashiro Fujimoto: The Scorpion King stands at the summit—Drake Nygma will fall.
Takeshi Suzuki: Sasori will prove to Japan and the entire world why he is the greatest wrestler living on planet earth today!
The camera cut to the ring as the lights dimmed.
Scott Slade: Strap in, folks. The future starts now.
Chris Rodgers: Ring the damn bell.
To be continued in PART -2!