Mörön Holding Fortress, March 16, 2023
23:38 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Cold wind cut across the floodlit courtyard as the transport
van rolled through the iron gates of Mörön Holding Fortress.
The gate slammed shut behind it with a mechanical thud that
echoed across the concrete walls.
Inside the van, Vince McGeady sat between two
uniformed officers of the Imperial Banner Guard. His wrists were bound
in steel restraints, the metal biting slightly whenever the vehicle hit a bump.
The ride from Eternal Sky Arena had been quiet.
Uncomfortably quiet.
The van stopped.
A rear door opened. The chill of the night air rushed in.
“Out.”
Vince stepped down, squinting into the harsh white lights
mounted along the perimeter towers.
The fortress looked less like a jail and more like a military
installation.
Concrete walls.
Steel walkways.
Watchtowers manned by guards in dark uniforms trimmed with
blue.
Blue.
That color again.
The Blue Standard.
The officers guided him across the courtyard and through a
reinforced security door into the intake building.
Inside, the air smelled sterile.
Institutional.
The lobby was minimalist: steel desks, glass partitions, and
a large banner hanging behind the central processing station.
A deep cobalt flag.
A stylized horsehair standard emblazoned across it.
The Blue Standard of the Oirat Empire.
A man in a dark robe trimmed with blue silk waited behind
the counter, reviewing a tablet. His badge read:
Custodial Magistrate — Intake Authority
He did not look up immediately.
Vince shifted his weight.
“Look,” Vince said, trying to keep his voice steady,
“there’s clearly been a misunderstanding here.”
The magistrate finally looked up.
Calm.
Professional.
Unimpressed.
“You are Vincent McGeady,” he said.
Not a question.
“Yes. And if this is about the show—”
“You were arrested by officers of the Imperial Banner
Guard at Eternal Sky Arena at twenty-two fifty-nine local time.”
The magistrate tapped the tablet.
“You are currently charged under the Blue Standard Code
with the following offenses.”
He read them clinically.
“Multiple violations of Imperial safety regulations during a
public spectacle.”
Images flashed through Vince’s mind.
Cory Reed backstage.
The doctor protesting.
The syringe.
Vince pushing past him.
The magistrate continued.
“Obscenity and cultural defamation during a state-licensed
public performance.”
Vince blinked.
“What?”
The magistrate scrolled.
“Specifically: the use of historically inaccurate and
derogatory stereotypes concerning the peoples and history of the Oirat Empire.”
Another scroll.
“The glorification of Temujin and the Great Wall of China in
a manner deemed hostile to Oirat historical identity.”
Vince let out a small incredulous laugh.
“You’re kidding me.”
The magistrate looked at him for a long moment.
Then continued.
“These charges are compounded by the statutory aggravator of
Dishonouring the Blue Standard.”
Silence hung in the intake room.
The magistrate placed the tablet down.
“You will remain in custody pending arraignment before the Imperial
Court of Mörön.”
Vince blinked again.
“Okay,” he said quickly. “Alright. Look. I’m sure we can
clear this up. I’ve dealt with regulators before. We’ll pay the fine.”
No one in the room reacted.
The magistrate simply studied him.
Then said:
“You appear to misunderstand the gravity of your situation.”
Vince felt a flicker of irritation.
“No, I don’t think I do. Shows get fined all the time.”
The magistrate spoke calmly.
“Under the Blue Standard Code, criminal negligence during an
Imperial-licensed public event may carry penalties up to life imprisonment.”
The words landed like a hammer.
Vince stared.
“…Life?”
“Yes.”
“For safety violations?”
“For reckless endangerment of performers, violation of
Imperial cultural statutes, and conduct bringing dishonor to the Blue Standard
before the citizens of the Empire.”
The magistrate tapped the screen again.
“Additionally, the court may impose permanent prohibition
from organizing public events within Imperial territory.”
Vince’s mouth opened slightly.
Closed.
The reality finally began to sink in.
This wasn’t a fine.
This wasn’t a regulatory slap on the wrist.
This was a criminal prosecution.
A Custodial Warden stepped forward.
“Cell assignment ready.”
The magistrate nodded.
Vince was guided toward a steel door leading deeper into the
facility.
The warden stopped him for a moment while unlocking the
restraints.
“First night is intake block,” the warden said.
Vince tried again.
“Look- someone from the embassy will sort this out.”
The warden didn’t respond.
The steel door opened with a mechanical buzz.
Beyond it stretched a corridor of narrow cells under cold
fluorescent lights.
Vince stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
With a heavy, final clang.
Altai Crown Hotel, March 17, 2023
00:25 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The Altai Crown Hotel overlooked the frozen surface
of Lake Uvs, its glass walls reflecting pale moonlight across the ice.
Inside Suite 1904, the lights were on.
No one was sleeping.
Three men sat around a low table littered with phones and
half-empty glasses.
The silence had lasted nearly a minute.
Finally Joey Ace spoke.
“They actually took him to jail.”
Across from him, Triple X stared at the floor.
“I saw it.”
His voice was flat.
“I was still in the corridor when the Imperial Banner
Guard walked him out.”
Joey shook his head.
“I thought they'd question him or something. Not-”
“Arrest him?” Triple X said.
Joey nodded.
Triple X leaned back, rubbing his eyes.
“They didn’t even hesitate.”
He looked up.
“Four officers. Straight through the arena. Cameras
everywhere.”
The third man in the room hadn’t spoken yet.
Aiden McGeady.
Vince’s adopted son.
The man Vince had quietly positioned as the future of the
company.
Aiden stood near the window, looking out over the frozen
lake.
He turned slowly.
“They’ve booked him into Mörön Holding Fortress.”
Joey blinked.
“Already?”
“Imperial Custodial Service confirmed it.”
Aiden walked back toward the table, holding his phone.
“They’re charging him under the Blue Standard Code.”
Triple X exhaled sharply.
“Yeah. I figured.”
Joey frowned.
“You figured?”
Triple X looked at him.
“You didn’t see what happened tonight?”
Joey hesitated.
“I saw the broadcast.”
“That wasn’t the half of it.”
Triple X leaned forward, elbows on the table.
“Reed should never have been in that ring.”
Aiden nodded slightly.
“The doctor tried to pull him.”
Triple X pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
Joey looked between them.
“Wait- what?”
Triple X said it plainly.
“Reed’s ribs were wrecked. The doctor said he was done for
the night.”
Joey blinked.
“…and Vince…?”
Triple X gave a humorless laugh.
“You know Vince.”
He mimed a syringe with his fingers.
“Painkillers.”
Joey stared.
“Jesus.”
Triple X shook his head.
“…and that’s just the safety stuff.”
Aiden quietly added:
“The cultural charges.”
Triple X groaned immediately.
“Yeah.”
Joey looked confused.
“What cultural charges?”
Triple X leaned back again.
“All that Temujin nonsense.”
Joey blinked.
“What’s wrong with that?”
Aiden answered calmly.
“We’re in the Oirat Empire.”
Triple X finished the thought.
“They don’t exactly celebrate Temujin here.”
Joey frowned.
“…and the Great Wall thing?”
Triple X shook his head.
“That was even worse.”
Aiden set his phone down.
“The Oirat authorities are calling it cultural defamation.”
Joey looked stunned.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Aiden tapped the screen.
“…and because the show was state-licensed…”
He paused.
“…they’ve added the aggravator.”
Triple X said it before he could.
“Dishonouring the Blue Standard.”
The room went quiet again.
Joey swallowed.
“So what does that mean?”
Aiden answered evenly.
“It raises the sentencing range.”
“To what?” Joey asked.
Aiden hesitated.
Triple X already knew.
“Life.”
Joey stared.
“…Life imprisonment?”
Aiden nodded once.
Silence.
Outside the window, wind moved snow across the frozen lake.
Then Aiden picked up his phone again.
“There’s another problem.”
Triple X already looked like he expected it.
“The Rouran Khaganate canceled the Combat Arts tour.”
Joey sat up.
“What?”
“They saw the broadcast.”
Aiden turned the phone around.
ROURAN CULTURAL MINISTRY CANCELS WFE HOUSE SHOW CIRCUIT
FOLLOWING MORÖN INCIDENT
Triple X cursed quietly.
“That’s half the spring schedule.”
Joey leaned back slowly.
“This thing’s spreading.”
No one spoke for several seconds.
Finally Triple X looked at Aiden.
“Your dad always said you’d run the company someday.”
Aiden didn’t react.
“He meant it,” Triple X continued. “You’re the guy now.”
Joey nodded.
“Yeah.”
Both men looked at him.
Waiting.
Aiden stared down at the table.
He could see the whole board.
The legal disaster.
The cultural fallout.
The lost tour revenue.
The political damage across half of Central Asia.
He understood the problem perfectly.
What he didn’t have…
…was the instinct Vince had.
The instinct to act immediately, even if the decision
was wrong.
Finally Aiden spoke.
“We need to stabilize things.”
Triple X waited.
“How?”
Aiden opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
The silence stretched again.
Joey glanced at Triple X.
There it was.
The thing Vince always complained about.
Aiden saw things Vince never saw.
…but when it came time to move…
He hesitated.
Aiden finally said quietly:
“I need more information.”
Triple X leaned back in his chair.
Joey exhaled slowly.
Outside the glass walls of the Altai Crown Hotel, the
frozen waters of Lake Uvs reflected the cold moonlight.
Inside the suite, the future of the WFE sat at the
table.
…and no one had made the first move yet.
Goldstein’s Villa, Malibu Beach, March 17, 2023
09:32 local time,
Malibu, Southern California, Republican Union of Western States
The Pacific rolled quietly against the sand outside the
glass wall of the Malibu villa.
Inside, the living room was silent except for the soft hum
of the ocean.
William Goldstein sat heavily on the couch, elbows on
his knees, hands clasped together.
Across from him sat Zeke Coleman, one of Peace’s
senior investigators.
Goldstein looked exhausted.
Not the fatigue of a bad night’s sleep.
The deeper kind.
The kind that comes from reliving the same moment over
and over again.
He rubbed his face.
“I’ve talked to lawyers all week,” Goldstein muttered.
“Investigators too.”
Coleman nodded calmly.
“I know.”
Goldstein sighed.
“…but if this helps resolve things… I’ll talk.”
Coleman opened his notebook.
“Let’s start with your schedule.”
He looked up.
“You’ve been with the WFE since 2015, but you wrestle only
occasionally on television. What is your schedule like? And what was it like
leading up to the Horton show?”
Goldstein leaned back slowly.
“Vince wanted to use me right out of the gate,” he said. “I
had to learn the business on the job, and honestly… that learning was
incomplete.”
He exhaled.
“Whenever I had appearances it was non-stop. TV, house
shows, travel. Vince loved my explosiveness, so he always wanted more of it.”
Goldstein shook his head.
“I never really had time to rehearse anything properly.”
A faint, tired smile crossed his face.
“…and I never learned how to tone it down.”
Coleman watched him quietly.
“I knew I was doing too much,” Goldstein continued, “but I
didn’t push back. I don’t like letting people down.”
Coleman nodded slightly and moved on.
“The jackhammer became your signature move. How often were
you expected to use it?”
Goldstein gave a small, humorless laugh.
“All the time.”
He gestured vaguely.
“The crowd loved it. Vince loved it.”
Then his tone changed.
“Me? I retired from the WFL and people thought it was
because I won a championship.”
He shook his head.
“No. I retired because my body told me I couldn’t play
football anymore.”
Goldstein stared out toward the ocean. His dog, Toto, was
calmly asleep on the balcony, more at ease than Goldstein was.
“In my first couple years in WFE I thought I could keep that
explosive style going.”
He paused.
“…but my body caught up with me.”
He looked back at Coleman.
“For the last few years I actually wanted to switch to the
spear as my finisher. I think it’s safer.”
A beat.
“…but Vince always wanted the jackhammer.”
Goldstein shrugged weakly.
“…and what Vince wants…”
Coleman finished the thought silently.
“Did you ever worry about the risk?” he asked. “Did you ever
worry the jackhammer could seriously hurt someone?”
Goldstein didn’t hesitate.
“All the time.”
His voice was quiet.
“Especially the last few years when I could feel my body
didn’t want to do it anymore.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I told multiple doctors that. They told Vince.”
Goldstein looked down.
“Vince never listened.”
Coleman flipped the page.
“How much control did Vince have over what happened in the
ring?”
Goldstein almost smiled.
“Total.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“If Vince wanted something, it happened.”
He shrugged.
“If you were a big moneymaker like Roman or Cory, maybe
Vince would listen to you sometimes.”
A pause.
“…but most of the time?”
He shook his head.
“No one changed Vince’s mind.”
Coleman nodded.
“Did you rehearse the spot with Genevieve Horton before it
went live?”
Goldstein took a deep breath.
“We did a version of it at a house show in Churchill,” he
said, “but it was with a spear.”
Coleman wrote that down.
“We were supposed to run the spot again in Rankin Inlet,”
Goldstein continued, “but the weather canceled the show.”
Another pause.
“Then we flew to Borealis Bay for Thursday Night War.”
Goldstein looked tired again.
“The weather delays meant we arrived just before the show
started. There was no rehearsal time.”
Coleman looked up.
“What happened then?”
Goldstein gave a faint laugh.
“Vince texted me while we were still on the plane.”
Coleman waited.
“He said he wanted the jackhammer.”
The room went quiet.
“I wanted to say no,” Goldstein admitted.
He sighed.
“…but I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
Goldstein answered honestly.
“My personality, I guess.”
He shrugged.
“I’m deferential…and my pride told me I could do it.”
Coleman let the silence sit for a moment before asking the
next question.
“What do you remember about the moment the move started to
go wrong?”
Goldstein stared at the floor.
“I was in a fog.”
His voice dropped.
“I was exhausted. The only sleep I’d had for days was on
airplanes.”
He shook his head slowly.
“Everything felt hazy. I was just moving on muscle memory.”
A long pause.
“I didn’t even realize something was wrong at first.”
Coleman said nothing.
Goldstein finally finished.
“I knew when Genevieve didn’t respond.”
Coleman wrote quietly.
“What happened backstage after the segment ended?”
Goldstein shook his head.
“I wasn’t backstage.”
“I heard everyone walked out.”
He looked up.
“I don’t blame them.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I just sat on the ramp.”
He swallowed.
“I prayed for Genevieve Horton and Cesar Luis.”
A long silence.
“I tried really hard not to break down.”
Goldstein rubbed his eyes.
“That was the worst moment of my life.”
Coleman let the silence stretch before asking the final
question.
“If you could go back and change something about that night…
what would it be?”
Goldstein answered immediately.
“I would’ve done the spear.”
He shook his head.
“That’s what we rehearsed.”
Another pause.
“People told me I could stand up to Vince. They said, ‘Bill,
you’re a moneymaker.’”
He sighed.
“I should have listened.”
Goldstein leaned forward again.
“My body was already deteriorating.”
He hesitated before continuing.
“…and I had never done the jackhammer on a woman before.”
Coleman looked up.
Goldstein continued carefully.
“Genevieve had a different build than the guys I’d worked
with before. With the jackhammer, grip placement and balance are everything.”
He shook his head.
“I worried about it. Genevieve had big boobs…I don’t know if
that affected balance or anything…but I was definitely worried about where I
was placing my hands. I didn’t want to do anything inappropriate on live TV.
Looking back, that probably affected how I executed the move.”
A long pause.
“I should’ve told Vince no.”
Goldstein stared at the floor.
“I should’ve said we’d do the jackhammer later. Not on a
Thursday Night War show.”
Another silence filled the room.
Finally Goldstein said quietly:
“I never wanted to hurt anyone.”
Coleman studied him for a moment.
Then he closed his notebook.
“I believe you.”
Goldstein looked up.
Coleman stood.
“…but you may be a key witness.”
A beat.
“In the case against Vince McGeady.”
Goldstein nodded slowly.
Coleman added quietly:
“…and for what it’s worth…”
His voice hardened slightly.
“…I think I know who really created the conditions that
killed Genevieve Horton.”
Goldstein didn’t ask.
He already knew.
Altai Crown Hotel, March 17, 2023
08:25 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Triple X’s Room
Morning light spread across the frozen surface of Lake
Uvs, reflecting pale gold through the towering glass windows of the Altai
Crown Hotel.
Inside a quiet conference suite, Norah sat at the
head of a small table, a recorder between her hands.
Beside her sat Pascal Yves, flipping open a thin
legal notebook.
Across from them, Triple X leaned back in his chair,
arms folded.
He looked tired.
Not the physical fatigue of travel.
The kind that comes after a long night of thinking about
things you wish hadn’t happened.
Norah switched on the recorder.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us.”
Triple X shrugged.
“If it helps figure out what went wrong, I’ll talk.”
Pascal began.
“We’d like to understand the training environment at the WFE
Academy.”
Triple X nodded slightly.
“Fair enough.”
Pascal continued.
“Specifically, we want to understand Genevieve Horton’s
preparation before she was called up.”
Triple X shifted in his chair.
“She had solid basics.”
Norah asked quietly:
“Did she train for high-impact lifts?”
Triple X shook his head immediately.
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“Not from the guys.”
Norah glanced at Pascal.
Triple X continued.
“The Academy trains women mostly with other women. Standard
bumps, ring awareness, timing, that kind of stuff.”
Pascal asked:
“Intergender training was limited?”
“Very.”
Triple X nodded.
“Because Vince rarely did intergender stuff on TV.”
He spread his hands.
“So the Academy never saw much reason to train for it.”
Norah leaned forward slightly.
“To be clear- Genevieve Horton had never trained to take
a jackhammer?”
Triple X gave a firm shake of the head.
“No.”
“Or any comparable lift?”
“No.”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Pascal wrote something down.
Norah spoke again.
“In your opinion… was Genevieve ready for a main roster
callup?”
Triple X hesitated.
He didn’t want to answer that.
…but he did anyway.
“She had potential.”
He nodded slowly.
“A lot of it.”
A pause.
“…but…”
He sighed.
“I didn’t think she was ready yet.”
Norah asked gently:
“What made you feel that way?”
Triple X looked out toward the frozen lake for a moment
before answering.
“She needed more time.”
He tapped the table lightly.
“More reps. More ring time.”
Pascal asked:
“Then why was she called up?”
Triple X gave a tired half-smile.
“You’ve met Vince.”
Neither Norah nor Pascal replied.
Triple X continued.
“Genevieve was young.”
Another pause.
“She was charismatic.”
He shrugged slightly.
“…and she was a very marketable performer.”
Pascal’s pen paused.
Triple X finished the thought bluntly.
“She was a shapely blonde.”
A beat.
“Vince has always had a weakness for that look.”
The words hung in the room.
Norah finally asked:
“Do you believe that influenced the decision to bring her up
early?”
Triple X didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
Another long silence settled across the table.
Triple X leaned back in his chair, thinking for a moment
before he spoke.
“Vince always believed people could learn on the job,”
he said. “He thought spectacle and marketing could make up for any deficiencies
in the performance.”
He shook his head slowly.
“He never understood that if you stunt someone’s
development, you might derail their career forever.”
Triple X tapped the table lightly.
“You can see it all over the roster. Vince’s brought up too
many people early because they were ‘marketable.’”
Norah didn’t interrupt.
Triple X continued.
“That’s why I push so hard to keep certain workers around.”
He began counting on his fingers.
“Kiril Voronin. Stoic Russian technician- the kind of guy
who can steady a match if things start going sideways.”
“Micki Hart- tough as nails, knows the ring inside
and out.”
“Leo Kingston- pure energy, but also a total pro.”
He looked at Norah and Pascal.
“Those three are the glue.”
A pause.
“Because the truth is, we’ve got too many people on that
roster who can’t get through a match without someone like them holding it
together.”
The room fell quiet again.
Triple X added quietly:
“…and Genevieve deserved the chance to become one of those
workers.”
Norah continued.
“Did anyone ever raise those concerns with Vince before the
Horton incident?”
Triple X didn’t hesitate.
“Yes. I did. Many times.”
He exhales through his nose.
“Do you know how many Academy callups I fought against?”
Norah doesn’t answer.
Triple X shakes his head.
“Guess how many times Vince listened.”
Outside, the cold waters of Lake Uvs remained frozen
and still.
Inside the conference suite, the investigation into Genevieve
Horton’s death was beginning to reveal something far more troubling than a
single accident.
Aiden McGeady’s Room
Aiden McGeady entered the conference suite looking composed.
Too composed.
The kind of calm that comes from someone who has spent the
last few hours rehearsing what he intends to say.
Norah noticed immediately.
Pascal did too.
Aiden sat down across from them.
“I understand you want to talk about the Horton incident.”
Norah nodded.
“Yes.”
Aiden clasped his hands.
“I’d like to start by saying that what happened was a
tragedy…but professional wrestling is an inherently dangerous business.”
Norah didn’t interrupt.
Aiden continued.
“The performers understand the risks. They’re trained
professionals making their own decisions inside the ring.”
Pascal wrote something down.
Norah asked calmly:
“Who decides what happens in the ring?”
Aiden didn’t hesitate.
“The performers collaborate with production staff.”
Pascal looked up.
“Collaborate?”
“Yes.”
Norah tilted her head slightly.
“Did Genevieve Horton collaborate on the decision to take a
jackhammer?”
Aiden paused.
“Segments are structured by producers.”
Pascal asked quietly:
“…and who ultimately approves those structures?”
Aiden answered carefully.
“Creative leadership.”
Norah leaned forward slightly.
“Would that include Vince McGeady?”
Aiden gave a small smile.
“My father has always been deeply involved in the creative
direction of the company.”
Pascal wrote that down.
Aiden noticed.
The conversation moved on.
Norah asked:
“Were you aware Genevieve Horton had not trained to take
high-impact lifts from male wrestlers?”
Aiden shifted slightly.
“The Academy provides extensive training.”
Pascal asked:
“That wasn’t the question.”
Aiden’s smile tightened.
Norah repeated calmly:
“Were you aware she had not trained for that move?”
A pause.
“No.”
Pascal wrote again.
Norah continued.
“Were you aware that the jackhammer was not the originally
planned move for that segment?”
Aiden blinked.
“Production decisions evolve.”
Pascal asked:
“Did they evolve during the flight to Borealis Bay?”
Aiden’s eyes flickered briefly.
Norah watched him carefully.
Pascal continued.
“Mr. Goldstein has stated he received a text message from
Vince McGeady during that flight instructing him to change the move.”
Aiden said nothing.
Norah asked softly:
“Were you aware of that instruction?”
Another pause.
“I was not personally involved in that conversation.”
Pascal nodded slightly.
“…but you don’t dispute that it happened.”
Aiden hesitated.
“No.”
Pascal wrote again.
The room grew quiet.
Aiden realized something.
This wasn’t an interview.
It was a reconstruction.
Norah asked the next question gently.
“Mr. McGeady… did anyone inside the company ever raise
concerns about performers being called up too early?”
Aiden sighed.
“That’s a subjective assessment.”
Pascal glanced up.
“Triple X says he warned Vince multiple times.”
Aiden leaned back slightly.
“Triple X has strong opinions.”
Norah nodded.
“He said he fought Academy callups repeatedly.”
Aiden shrugged.
“That’s the nature of creative disagreement.”
Pascal asked quietly:
“Did Vince ever change his decisions after those
disagreements?”
Aiden didn’t answer immediately.
Finally he said:
“My father believed people could learn on the job.”
Norah and Pascal exchanged a quick glance.
Norah spoke carefully.
“…and if they couldn’t?”
Aiden didn’t answer.
Norah pressed on.
“Mr. McGeady, in February Genevieve Horton was asked to take
a jackhammer she had never trained for and had not rehearsed.
Last night, Cory Reed was injected with painkillers so he
could continue performing despite a medical recommendation that he stop.
Can you explain why performer safety appears to have been
overridden in both situations?”
Aiden fires back.
“Those are very different circumstances.”
Pascal calmly replies:
“In both cases medical or training concerns were raised and
the performance proceeded anyway.”
Aiden exhaled.
“Professional wrestlers accept risk.”
Norah responds:
“Professional wrestlers are also entitled to safe working
conditions.”
Aiden scratched the back of his neck.
“Those were decisions made by the performers.”
Pascal was quick to respond.
“Multiple witnesses state those decisions were directed by
Vince McGeady.”
For the first time since entering the room, his confidence
faltered slightly.
Pascal closed his notebook.
The silence stretched.
Aiden looked down at the table.
For the first time that morning, he realized something
important.
He hadn’t controlled the narrative.
He had confirmed it.
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 17, 2023
09:56 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Vince McGeady had expected to be celebrating St.
Patrick’s Day.
Instead, he sat in a cold courtroom overlooking the frozen
waters of Lake Uvs, still wearing the same suit from the previous night.
His collar was wrinkled.
His hair was stiff.
His entire body felt grimy from a night spent inside the Mörön
Holding Fortress without a shower.
The room itself looked nothing like an American courtroom.
Dark carved wood panels lined the walls. Above the
magistrate’s seat hung the Blue Standard of the Oirat Empire, its
horsehair tassels hanging motionless in the still air.
The atmosphere felt ceremonial.
Almost sacred.
And deeply hostile to the man sitting at the defense table.
Presiding over the hearing was Magistrate-Judge Altan
Senge, a tall, silver-haired man whose expression carried the kind of
patience that comes from decades of judicial service.
He spoke with calm authority.
“Proceed.”
At the opposing table stood two Imperial Advocates,
the prosecutors of the Oirat legal system.
They wasted no time.
The senior advocate bowed slightly.
“Your Honor, the Imperial side opposes bail.”
Vince blinked.
The advocate continued.
“The accused faces multiple violations of Imperial labor
safety law and cultural dignity statutes. These include conduct deemed to have dishonoured
the Blue Standard.”
The words carried weight in the room.
Even the clerks paused slightly as they wrote.
The advocate continued.
“The accused is also a foreign national with vast financial
resources and international corporate connections.”
He looked directly at Vince.
“This presents an obvious flight risk.”
Judge Senge nodded slightly.
At the defense table, Farley Dickens rubbed his
temples.
He had arrived from Gotham only hours earlier, flying
overnight on almost no notice.
He looked exhausted.
Still, he stood.
“Your Honor,” Dickens said, “Mr. McGeady is a well-known
international businessman. He has no reason to flee.”
He gestured toward Vince.
“He is prepared to surrender his passport immediately.”
One of the Imperial Advocates responded almost instantly.
“That is insufficient.”
Dickens frowned.
The advocate continued calmly.
“A man with Mr. McGeady’s resources could obtain
transportation out of the empire within hours.”
The second advocate added:
“His corporation operates across multiple jurisdictions.”
Dickens tried again.
“My client would also be willing to remain within the city
limits of Imperial Mörön pending trial.”
The first advocate shook his head.
“The empire cannot rely on promises.”
He gestured toward the banner above the judge.
“The charges include dishonouring the Blue Standard
before a public audience.”
The room grew noticeably quieter.
The advocate finished:
“That offense carries grave cultural significance.”
Judge Senge folded his hands together.
“And you believe the accused may attempt to flee?”
The advocate answered simply.
“Yes.”
Dickens sighed.
“Your Honor, with respect, this is a workplace dispute that
has been blown far out of proportion.”
That line did not land well.
Several clerks visibly stiffened.
Judge Senge’s expression hardened slightly.
“Counselor Dickens,” the magistrate said calmly, “in the
Oirat Empire, reckless conduct that endangers lives is not considered a trivial
matter.”
He glanced down at the case file.
“Nor is public dishonour of the imperial standard.”
Vince shifted in his seat.
For the first time since the arrest, it began to dawn on him
that this was not going to be handled like a corporate lawsuit.
Judge Senge looked toward the advocates.
“The court will deliberate on the matter of bail.”
He paused.
Then added quietly:
“Until then, the accused will remain in Imperial
Custodial Service detention.”
A guard stepped forward beside Vince.
The message was clear.
St. Patrick’s Day would not be spent celebrating.
It would be spent in a fortress cell overlooking the
steppe.
The courtroom emptied except for the essential parties.
Vince McGeady sat rigidly between two Imperial Custodial
Service guards, watching the three magistrates confer quietly on the raised
bench.
At the center sat Presiding Magistrate Altan Senge.
To his right, Associate Magistrate Baatar Erdene- the
court’s voice of Law.
To his left, Associate Magistrate Temür Ochir- the
voice of Order.
The bail question now belonged to them.
No jury.
No dramatic speeches.
Just judgment.
Law
Baatar Erdene opened the discussion first.
His tone was precise.
“The defense proposes surrender of the passport and
residency restrictions within Imperial Mörön.”
He flipped through the statute book before him.
“The Imperial Code does not forbid bail in cases involving
foreign corporate negligence.”
He glanced toward Vince briefly.
“In principle, the accused could be released under strict
supervisory conditions.”
Order
Temür Ochir spoke immediately.
“No.”
His voice carried a quiet iron.
“This case is not merely corporate negligence.”
He gestured toward the Blue Standard hanging above the
court.
“The accused staged a spectacle that mocked imperial
symbolism before a public audience.”
His eyes hardened.
“Such conduct dishonours the Blue Standard.”
Temür folded his hands.
“If the empire appears lenient in such a matter, we invite
contempt.”
He looked directly at Vince.
“The accused has wealth, influence, and international
reach.”
A pause.
“Flight risk is obvious.”
Law
Baatar considered this.
“The court must still apply statute, not emotion.”
He tapped the page.
“The defense has offered passport surrender.”
Temür responded evenly.
“A passport is paper.”
“Money buys airplanes.”
Silence followed.
Balance
At last Altan Senge spoke.
His voice was calm.
Measured.
“The court must weigh two obligations.”
He looked at Baatar.
“One is the principle of law.”
Then he looked at Temür.
“The other is the preservation of imperial dignity and
order.”
Senge folded his hands.
“This accused is a foreign national with global resources.”
He paused.
“The alleged conduct caused injury within our jurisdiction.”
Another pause.
“…and it occurred beneath the Blue Standard.”
The words hung in the air.
Senge continued.
“The empire must demonstrate that such conduct carries
consequence.”
He turned slightly toward the other magistrates.
“The defense proposal does not adequately address the risk
of flight.”
Temür gave a faint nod.
Baatar sighed quietly but did not disagree.
The Decision
Senge looked back down toward the courtroom.
“Mr. McGeady.”
Vince stiffened.
“The Banner Court has considered the matter of bail.”
The magistrate’s tone remained perfectly calm.
“The court finds that the accused presents a substantial
flight risk and that the gravity of the alleged offenses warrants continued
detention.”
A pause.
“Bail is denied.”
The words landed with quiet finality.
Senge finished:
“The accused will remain in the custody of the Imperial
Custodial Service pending further proceedings.”
A guard stepped forward.
Vince’s jaw tightened.
Across the room, Farley Dickens slowly lowered his head.
Above them all, the horsehair tassels of the Blue
Standard remained perfectly still.
Mörön Holding Fortress, March 17, 2023
11:08 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The heavy steel doors of Mörön Holding Fortress
groaned open as the Custodial Service transport rolled into the inner
courtyard.
Two guards escorted Vince McGeady inside.
The holding corridor was long, stone-walled, and brightly
lit with harsh overhead lamps.
Cells lined both sides of the passage.
Some of the prisoners were already awake.
…and they recognized him.
A man near the bars grinned when Vince walked past.
“Well look at that.”
Another prisoner laughed.
“Hey! That’s the showman from the arena!”
A third voice shouted down the corridor.
“Where’s your fireworks now, foreigner?”
A ripple of laughter echoed through the block.
Vince tried to ignore them, but the noise followed him.
“Careful!” one man called. “He might drop you on your head!”
More laughter.
The guards didn’t react.
They simply continued walking.
At the end of the corridor, one of them stopped at a narrow
steel door.
The lock clanked open.
The guard gestured inside.
Vince stepped into the cell.
It was small.
Bare stone walls.
A thin cot bolted to the floor.
A narrow wash basin mounted beside the wall.
A metal shelf holding a folded set of prison garments.
On the floor sat a small tray.
A bowl of food.
A rough piece of bread.
A metal cup of water.
The door slammed shut behind him.
The guard slid a small panel open.
“You will change into the provided garments.”
Vince stared at the tray.
“You expect me to eat this?”
The guard didn’t react.
“This is garbage,” Vince snapped. “I want proper food.”
The second guard spoke calmly.
“You are free not to eat it.”
A pause.
“…but there are no alternatives.”
Vince looked around the cell in disbelief.
“This is ridiculous.”
The guard met his eyes through the bars.
“You are in the custody of the Imperial Custodial Service.”
His voice remained perfectly flat.
“You will remain here until the tribunal convenes.”
Vince scoffed.
“You think you can keep me in here?”
The guard slid the panel shut.
Without another word, both men walked down the corridor.
Their boots echoed against the stone floor.
The prisoners’ voices slowly faded.
Vince looked down at the tray again.
Then at the prison clothes.
Then at the small stone room that now surrounded him.
For the first time since the arrest, the reality began to
settle in.
Yesterday he had controlled an arena filled with thousands
of people.
Today he was alone in a fortress cell on the steppe.
…and the system holding him there showed no interest in his
complaints.
The steel door clanged open.
Two guards stood aside as Farley Dickens stepped into
the narrow cell corridor.
Vince was already on his feet when he saw him.
“Finally.”
Farley looked exhausted.
His tie was loose, his eyes red from lack of sleep.
Vince immediately launched into a tirade.
“Farley, this place is a joke. They’ve got me in a damn
cage.”
He gestured around the cell.
“This-”
He pointed at the wall.
“-this is supposed to be a wash basin.”
Then the metal cup.
“A tin cup.”
Then the folded prison garments.
“They expect me to wear that.”
He kicked lightly at the tray on the floor.
“Bread. Slop.”
Finally he jabbed a finger toward the stainless steel toilet
bolted beneath the sink.
“…and that thing?”
Vince scoffed.
“The guards flush it. I can’t even flush my own toilet.”
He spread his arms dramatically.
“This is a gulag.”
Farley stared at him for a moment.
Then he sighed.
“Vince.”
He stepped further into the cell.
“That’s not a gulag.”
Vince glared at him.
“It’s a prison cell.”
Farley gestured calmly around the room.
“You have food.”
He pointed at the tray.
“You have water.”
The cup.
“You have sanitation.”
The steel toilet.
“…and you have a bed.”
The cot.
He folded his arms.
“That meets international detention standards.”
Vince scoffed loudly.
“This is a human rights violation.”
Farley shook his head.
“No, it isn’t.”
He leaned slightly closer.
“It’s unpleasant.”
A pause.
“…but unpleasant is not illegal.”
Vince stared at him.
Farley continued quietly.
“You’re being held as a pre-trial detainee under
Oirat law.”
He gestured toward the door.
“They’ve given you everything the law requires.”
Another pause.
“Nothing more.”
Vince paced the small cell.
“This is insane. I’m a businessman, not a criminal.”
Farley rubbed his forehead.
“Right now, Vince, the Oirat Empire believes you’re both.”
Silence filled the cell.
Farley finally added:
“…and you should stop calling this a gulag.”
Vince frowned.
“Why?”
Farley answered flatly.
“Because the people who built this system take their history
very seriously.”
He looked Vince directly in the eye.
“…and insulting their prison system while you’re sitting
inside it…”
A beat.
“…is not going to help your case.”
The guards shifted slightly in the corridor.
Farley straightened his jacket.
“We need to talk about your trial.”
Vince’s anger faded slightly.
“Trial?”
Farley nodded.
“They’re moving fast.”
A pause.
“Much faster than you’re used to.”
Vince stared at him.
“How fast?”
Farley’s voice dropped.
“The tribunal convenes in four days.”
The reality finally began to settle in.
Bow Wow Way Collegiate Institute, March 17, 2023
08:11 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
The hallway outside the administrative offices buzzed with
the usual morning noise of lockers slamming and students talking before first
period.
Elian Reyes moved quickly through the corridor.
Too quickly for casual conversation.
…but someone stepped into his path.
“Officer Reyes?”
Elian stopped.
Evie Sicario stood there, holding a stack of books
against her chest.
She smiled nervously.
“I just wanted to say hello.”
Elian glanced at his watch.
“Morning, Evie.”
She tilted her head.
“You’re here early. Is everything okay?”
Elian hesitated.
“I’m in a bit of a rush.”
Evie’s expression faltered.
“Oh.”
She shifted awkwardly.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Elian shook his head immediately.
“No. Not at all.”
He softened slightly.
“You didn’t do anything.”
Evie relaxed a little.
“So what’s going on?”
Elian lowered his voice.
“You’ve probably seen the news.”
Evie nodded.
“The wrestling guy?”
“Vince McGeady.”
She nodded again.
“The Oirat Empire arrested him.”
Elian gave a short nod.
“That’s right.”
Evie frowned.
“So why are you here?”
Elian sighed.
“Because the Oirat legal system moves… very fast.”
Evie blinked.
“How fast?”
“Faster than what we’re used to.”
He glanced down the hallway.
“Which means our side has to move just as fast.”
Evie looked worried.
“Does that mean more work?”
Elian shook his head.
“Not yet.”
He gave her a reassuring look.
“I’ll sort everything out before I give you anything new.”
Evie nodded slowly.
“…but I still want you involved,” Elian added.
Her shoulders straightened slightly.
“Okay.”
Elian gave her a small smile.
“Good.”
He started walking again.
“I’ll explain more later.”
Evie watched him disappear down the hallway.
A few minutes later, Elian stood inside the office of Dean
Richard Head.
Head sat behind his desk, glasses low on his nose.
Elian closed the door behind him.
“That sounded serious,” Head said.
“It is.”
Elian took a seat.
“Vince McGeady has been arrested in the Oirat Empire.”
Head nodded slowly.
“I saw the news.”
Elian leaned forward.
“Their legal system moves extremely quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Elian answered plainly.
“Days.”
Head raised his eyebrows.
“That fast?”
“Yes.”
Elian continued.
“…and Peace is now involved.”
Head folded his hands.
“Where does Evie come into this?”
Elian answered directly.
“I want her full-time on the investigation.”
Head leaned back in his chair.
“No.”
Elian expected that.
Head continued.
“I’ve already made a lot of concessions regarding her
schoolwork because of Peace.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not prepared to make any more.”
Elian nodded calmly.
“I understand.”
Head looked surprised by the immediate agreement.
“…but the Oirat system moves very fast,” Elian continued.
“…and I can’t afford mistakes.”
He paused.
“I also can’t afford to overwork her.”
Head studied him.
“So what are you asking?”
“Two weeks.”
Head raised an eyebrow.
“Two weeks?”
“Maximum.”
Elian added:
“It may be less.”
Head crossed his arms.
“You’re confident of that?”
Elian nodded.
“Yes.”
“The tribunal will move quickly.”
Silence hung in the room for a moment.
Finally Head sighed.
“You always do this.”
Elian tilted his head.
“Do what?”
Head gestured toward him.
“You show up with something impossible… and make it sound
reasonable.”
Elian smiled faintly.
“I learned from good administrators.”
Head rolled his eyes.
After a moment, he said:
“Two weeks.”
Elian nodded.
“That’s all I need.”
Head pointed a finger at him.
“No extensions.”
“Understood.”
Head leaned back again.
“…and Reyes?”
“Yes?”
Head shook his head slightly.
“That girl better come back with her grades intact.”
Elian stood.
“She will.”
He opened the door.
“Thanks, Richard.”
Head muttered as Elian left:
“You Peace people never make life simple.”
Mörön Holding Fortress, March 17, 2023
20:48 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
A guard opened the heavy cell door.
“Counsel.”
Farley Dickens stepped inside.
Vince sat on the edge of his cot, pushing aside the empty
tray from dinner.
He looked up immediately.
“You see what they fed me?”
Farley glanced at the tray.
A grayish slab of processed meat sat beside a piece of
bread.
Vince jabbed a finger at it.
“That’s basically SPAM.”
Farley shrugged slightly.
“It’s protein.”
Vince threw up his hands.
“This place is deplorable.”
His voice rose.
“I’m being treated like I’m in some medieval dungeon.”
He gestured toward the walls.
“This whole thing is like the Inquisition.”
The guards outside the cell remained silent.
Listening.
Vince kept going.
“I know how this ends. They’re going to drag out some
torture device.”
He mimed pulling something apart with his hands.
“The rack.”
Farley rubbed his forehead.
“Vince…”
“They’re backward people,” Vince continued. “That’s what
this is.”
Farley spoke quietly.
“No.”
Vince scoffed.
“You’re telling me this isn’t some kind of show trial?”
Farley shook his head.
“It isn’t.”
Outside the cell, one of the guards quietly noted something
on a tablet.
Farley noticed.
He suspected the magistrates would hear every word Vince
said.
…but Vince either didn’t know or didn’t care.
Vince leaned forward.
“Look, I’m not worried about losing the Oirat market.”
He waved dismissively.
“It’s decent, sure, but it’s not Japan.”
He started counting on his fingers.
“Japan, the Ottomans, Britain, Rome, UCSS, RUWS, Sǫ̀mbak’è.”
He shrugged.
“We’ll survive without Oirat.”
Farley stared at him.
“That’s the least of your concerns.”
Vince frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Farley answered plainly.
“The possibility of life imprisonment.”
Vince laughed loudly.
“Oh please.”
He raised his voice.
“Haven’t these people heard of free speech?”
Farley sighed.
“Vince.”
He leaned closer.
“You’re not in the UCSS.”
Vince opened his mouth to argue.
Farley continued.
“…and for the record, the Oirat Empire has a fairly robust
human rights framework.”
Vince rolled his eyes.
“Sure they do.”
Farley ignored the sarcasm.
“They’re charging you under labor safety law and cultural
dignity statutes.”
Vince scoffed.
“This whole thing will blow over.”
He leaned back against the wall.
“I’ll be on a beach somewhere next week.”
Farley looked at him.
“No.”
Vince frowned.
“If you’re lucky,” Farley continued, “you’ll be sitting
through an appeal next week.”
Vince shrugged.
“Fine.”
He smirked.
“I’ll be on a beach in two weeks.”
Farley closed his eyes briefly.
Then sighed.
Outside the cell, the guards quietly finished their notes.
Every word Vince had spoken would be delivered to the Banner
Court in the morning.
…and Vince had just made a very poor impression on three
magistrates who valued order, dignity, and restraint.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 17, 2023
21:56 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The courtroom was dark.
Only the lamps above the magistrates’ bench remained lit.
Outside the tall windows, the night wind moved quietly
across the frozen shoreline of Lake Uvs.
The three magistrates remained seated behind the bench.
No lawyers.
No spectators.
Only the judges and the record.
A clerk finished transmitting the latest report from Mörön
Holding Fortress.
The transcript of Vince McGeady’s complaints in custody
appeared on the magistrates’ tablets.
The clerk bowed slightly and withdrew.
Silence filled the chamber.
Order
Temür Ochir broke it first.
His voice was cold.
“So.”
He tapped the screen.
“He insults the empire while under imperial custody.”
He glanced toward the Blue Standard hanging behind them.
“He mocks the court. He mocks our institutions.”
Ochir leaned back slightly.
“In my view, we already have enough to justify the maximum
sentence.”
Law
Baatar Erdene frowned slightly.
“That is not the question before us.”
Ochir looked at him.
Baatar continued.
“The question is whether the evidence presented thus far
satisfies the statutory elements of the charges.”
He tapped his own tablet.
“The prisoner’s arrogance is not evidence of the alleged
safety violations.”
Ochir scoffed quietly.
“It demonstrates his character.”
Baatar shook his head.
“Character is not proof.”
Order
Ochir gestured toward the tablet.
“He calls this court an inquisition.”
“He calls our system backward.”
“He compares imperial custody to a gulag.”
His voice hardened.
“He dishonours the Blue Standard even now.”
Baatar replied calmly.
“The dishonour statute concerns public conduct.”
“Not private complaints made in detention.”
Ochir narrowed his eyes.
“Complaints delivered loudly enough for half the fortress to
hear.”
Balance
At last Altan Senge spoke.
His voice was calm and measured.
“Both of you raise valid concerns.”
He looked at Ochir.
“The accused’s conduct demonstrates profound disrespect for
this court.”
Then he turned to Baatar.
“…but Magistrate Baatar is correct.”
“The court must judge actions, not temperament.”
Senge folded his hands.
“Justice must be durable.”
The other two magistrates listened.
Senge continued.
“This case involves a foreign national of considerable
wealth.”
He paused.
“…and a corporation operating across multiple
jurisdictions.”
Another pause.
“An appeal is inevitable.”
Law
Baatar nodded.
“Yes.”
“Almost certainly to the Ulus Court.”
Balance
Senge inclined his head slightly.
“…and possibly beyond.”
He looked again at the tablet containing Vince’s statements.
“These remarks do not strengthen his position.”
A faint pause.
“But neither do they eliminate our responsibility to follow
proper procedure.”
Ochir exhaled slowly.
“You are concerned about the appellate record.”
Senge nodded.
“Yes.”
He looked at both of them.
“If we convict, the conviction must survive scrutiny.”
“From the Ulus Court.”
“…and perhaps from the Golden Ordo itself.”
The room fell quiet.
Order
Ochir finally nodded once.
“Very well.”
“…but I remain convinced the evidence will lead us there.”
Balance
Senge closed the transcript.
“We will proceed carefully.”
He rose from his seat.
“The tribunal convenes in four days.”
His voice carried quiet authority.
“Let us ensure that when judgment comes…”
He glanced once more toward the Blue Standard.
“…it cannot be undone.”
The other magistrates stood as well.
Outside, the winds of the steppe continued moving across the
frozen lake.
Inside the Banner Court, the machinery of imperial
justice moved steadily forward.
Mörön Holding Fortress, March 18, 2023
06:00 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The lights snapped on.
Vince groaned and rolled over on the thin cot.
Metal doors clanged open along the corridor.
Boots echoed through the stone hall.
“Roll call.”
Vince sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
Two Imperial Custodial Service guards stopped in
front of his cell.
One of them held a tablet.
Before beginning the count, both guards turned toward the
far end of the corridor.
Mounted above the main gate of the cell block hung a small Blue
Standard, its horsehair tassels hanging from a polished pole.
The guards straightened their posture.
Each placed a closed fist over the center of the chest.
In unison they said quietly:
“For the Order of the Ordo.”
The ritual lasted only a second.
Then they turned back to the cells.
The senior guard read from the tablet.
“Prisoner McGeady, Vincent.”
Vince raised a hand irritably.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
The guard tapped the screen.
Satisfied, he slid open the tray slot.
Breakfast arrived in a metal tray.
A piece of bread.
A boiled egg.
Tea in a steel cup.
Vince stared at it.
“You people really know how to start a morning.”
The guard ignored him.
Instead he slid a folded envelope through the slot.
“Official correspondence.”
Vince frowned and picked it up.
The envelope bore the seal of the Imperial Mörön Banner
Court.
Inside was a single typed letter.
In English.
Vince read aloud sarcastically.
Mr. Vincent McGeady,
The Banner Court has been informed of several statements
you made while in Imperial Custodial Service detention.
You are reminded that all detainees within the Oirat
Empire are expected to conduct themselves with dignity, restraint, and respect
toward the institutions of the empire.
Vince rolled his eyes.
He kept reading.
Your detention conditions have been reviewed and
confirmed to comply fully with the standards established under the United
Nations Charter of Rights, as well as additional protections provided under
Oirat law.
Should you wish to raise concerns regarding your
treatment, you may submit those concerns through the appropriate custodial
channels.
The final paragraph was short.
You are advised to refrain from making degrading or
insulting remarks regarding the Oirat people, their culture, or their legal
institutions while proceedings are ongoing.
Respectful conduct will ensure these proceedings move
forward efficiently.
Vince lowered the letter slowly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The guards had already moved down the corridor.
A short while later, Farley Dickens stood outside the
cell again.
Vince held up the letter angrily.
“Did you see this?”
Farley read it silently.
Then handed it back.
“What about it?”
“What about it?” Vince snapped. “They’re lecturing me.”
Farley shrugged.
“They’re warning you.”
“This is unbelievable.”
Vince shook the letter.
“They’re acting like I insulted their entire civilization.”
Farley met his eyes.
“You did.”
Vince scoffed.
“I called the place a gulag.”
Farley folded his arms.
“…and compared their court system to the Inquisition.”
Vince waved that away.
“So what?”
Farley sighed.
“Vince.”
He tapped the letter.
“This is a second chance.”
Vince frowned.
“For what?”
Farley answered calmly.
“The magistrates understand you’re a foreigner.”
“They’re giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
A pause.
“They’re assuming you don’t understand how their system
works.”
Vince leaned back against the wall.
“Well, I don’t.”
Farley nodded.
“Then I suggest you stop insulting it.”
He gestured toward the corridor.
“Because if they decide you do understand it…”
Farley paused.
“…and you’re insulting them anyway…”
The implication hung in the air.
For the first time that morning, Vince didn’t have a
comeback.
Farley nodded toward the tray.
“You should eat.”
He started walking away.
“You’re going to need the energy.”
Altai Crown Hotel, March 18, 2023
08:24 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The meeting room overlooked the cold grey waters of Lake
Uvs.
Inside, the atmosphere was far less calm.
Aiden McGeady sat at the table with his arms folded,
attempting to project confidence.
Across from him sat Norah Anam and Pascal Yves,
investigators of Peace.
Two uniformed officers of the Imperial Banner Guard
stood quietly near the door.
They had not spoken since the meeting began.
Pascal opened a folder.
“Mr. McGeady,” he said evenly, “we are requesting access to
materials relating to the Thursday Night War broadcast of March 16, 2023 at
the Eternal Sky Arena.”
He read from the list.
“Production notes. Run sheets. Internal recordings. Medical
reports. Arena communications. Video recordings. Photographs. Any internal
documentation related to the broadcast.”
Norah added calmly:
“These materials are relevant to the ongoing investigation.”
Aiden leaned back in his chair.
“That might be a problem.”
Pascal looked up.
“What kind of problem?”
Aiden shrugged.
“The materials have already been deleted.”
Norah did not react.
Pascal asked the next question carefully.
“You are stating that production records from an
international broadcast two days ago were destroyed?”
Aiden nodded.
“It’s standard practice. We purge internal show materials
after the event.”
Silence followed.
The two Banner Guard officers exchanged a brief
glance.
Then the senior officer stepped forward.
His voice was calm but carried authority.
“Mr. McGeady.”
Aiden turned.
“In the Oirat Empire,” the officer said, “it is customary to
request cooperation before invoking the authority of the court.”
His gaze did not leave Aiden.
“This custom exists because honour and trust are expected
between professionals acting in good faith.”
Aiden said nothing.
The officer continued.
“When material relevant to an investigation is destroyed,
the Banner Court may view this as interference with imperial justice.”
He nodded once to the second guard.
Two guards stepped forward.
“Mr. McGeady, you are being detained under Oirat law on
suspicion of obstruction of justice and destruction of evidence.”
Aiden’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood.
“You can’t arrest me for that.”
The senior officer answered evenly.
“We can.”
The guards took hold of Aiden’s arms.
Aiden looked toward Norah and Pascal.
“You set me up.”
Norah’s expression remained neutral.
“No,” she said.
Pascal closed his folder.
“You answered.”
The senior Banner Guard officer spoke again.
“At this time, the aggravating charge of Dishonour toward
the Blue Standard is not being applied.”
He gestured toward the door.
“That determination belongs to the Banner Court
magistrates.”
Aiden stared in disbelief as the guards escorted him out of
the room.
The door closed behind them.
For a moment the room was silent.
Pascal exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said.
“That simplifies things.”
Norah walked to the window and looked out over the lake.
“Yes,” she replied.
“It does.”
Peace Field Coordination Office- Cleveland, March 19, 2023
10:34 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Spring had arrived early along the southern shore of Lake
Erie.
Elian Reyes had noticed it the moment he stepped outside
that morning.
Sun.
Warm air.
Clear sky.
He had a long list of ways he would have preferred to spend
the day.
None of them involved going into the office.
…but the Oirat Empire had thrown a wrench into those
plans.
…and now Aiden McGeady had thrown another.
So Elian unlocked the door to the Peace Field
Coordination Office, expecting an empty building.
Instead he found two people already working.
At one desk sat Evie Sicario, headphones around her
neck, scrolling through a wall of text on her screen while sipping from a large
latte.
Across the room sat Leonard “Len” Horowitz, hunched
over a terminal.
Len glanced sideways at Evie’s drink with visible
disapproval.
Len managed Peace’s AI systems and served as the
office’s primary technical specialist.
He treated computer hardware with the same reverence some
people reserved for religious artifacts.
Coffee near electronics offended him on a spiritual level.
Elian smiled.
For once, luck was on his side.
“Well,” he said, dropping his jacket over a chair.
“Since you’re both here, we might as well get something
useful done.”
Evie swiveled her chair.
“You want the good news or the bad news?”
Elian raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve been here long enough to produce both?”
“The Mazila file dump is huge,” she said, gesturing
to her monitor, “but the AI already sorted most of it.”
Len muttered from across the room.
“Sorted is a generous term.”
Elian stepped between their desks.
“Good. Then we’re going to divide the work.”
He pointed toward Evie’s screen.
“The Eternal Sky Arena audio recordings came in from
the Oirat investigators this morning.”
Evie straightened slightly.
“That’s the full in-stadium capture?”
“Everything,” Elian said. “Broadcast feed, backstage
microphones, production intercom, the whole thing.”
Evie whistled softly.
“That’s going to be… a lot of talking.”
“The AI already transcribed it,” Elian said.
He tapped the desk lightly.
“I want you to start parsing the transcript.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Anything related to the March 16 show production,”
Elian said.
“References to Reed’s injury. Vince giving instructions.
Production staff arguing. Doctors objecting. Anything that sounds like someone
knew something was wrong.”
Evie nodded and turned back to her screen.
“Got it.”
Elian then walked over to Len.
“Your turn.”
Len looked up over his glasses.
“We received cloned images of Aiden and Vince McGeady’s
devices from the Oirat authorities.”
Len’s eyes lit up immediately.
Now this was his territory.
Phones.
Laptops.
Cloud backups.
“Full forensic images?” Len asked.
“Everything they confiscated during the arrests,” Elian
said.
Len cracked his knuckles.
“Beautiful.”
Elian continued.
“I want you digging for anything connected to the Eternal
Sky Arena show.”
“Messages. Deleted files. Production documents.
Instructions. Voice notes. Drafts.”
Len nodded.
“Especially anything around March 15 and March 16.”
“Exactly.”
Len turned back to his workstation.
“Already on it.”
Elian stepped back and looked at both of them.
“Do what you can today.”
Evie glanced over her shoulder.
“…and tomorrow?”
Elian folded his arms.
“Tomorrow I bring in the rest of the office.”
He looked at the growing transcripts on Evie’s screen and
the data streams loading on Len’s monitor.
“We’ll finish what you two started.”
Outside the windows, the warm March sun continued shining
over Lake Erie.
Inside the office, the investigation had officially begun.
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 20, 2023
09:06 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Vince McGeady stood before the bench in Imperial
Custodial Service prison clothing.
The rough grey fabric hung awkwardly on him.
He had not slept well.
Across the courtroom sat the three magistrates of the Banner
Court:
Baatar Erdene — Law
Temür Ochir — Order
Altan Senge — Balance
Senge presided from the center.
At a side table stood Norah Anam, representing Peace.
Next to her stood two Imperial Advocates, who had
formally introduced the evidence into the court record.
Norah spoke calmly.
“The material being submitted comes from an ongoing
investigation by Peace into the death of Genevieve Horton in Borealis Bay.”
A screen behind the Advocates lit up.
Documents appeared.
Match footage.
Production notes.
Medical observations.
Norah continued.
“These materials are being presented to demonstrate a
recurring pattern of unsafe professional practices connected to the
defendant.”
One of the Advocates advanced the display.
A spreadsheet appeared.
At the top of the page was a column heading:
Jackhammer Execution Review
Another column contained a label.
Oopsie Scale
A murmur ran through the courtroom.
One of the Advocates read aloud.
“The analysis was compiled by a Peace intern who reviewed
past broadcasts and graded execution quality and risk.”
The word “oopsie” appeared several times down the
column.
Soft chuckles spread through the gallery.
Even Magistrate Ochir allowed the corner of his mouth
to twitch.
Senge lightly tapped the desk.
Order returned quickly.
Vince, however, was not amused.
His jaw tightened.
He leaned toward Farley Dickens, whispering sharply.
“This is ridiculous.”
His voice dropped further.
“Tell them to suppress it.”
Farley did not even look up.
“That’s not how this court works,” he murmured back. In the
Oirat Empire, the Magistrates had full control over the evidence and full
oversight on how it is gathered.
Farley rose slowly.
“Your Honours.”
Senge nodded.
“Proceed.”
Farley spoke carefully.
“The defense objects to the relevance of this material.”
He gestured toward the screen.
“These incidents occurred in Borealis Bay, which is a
separate sovereign jurisdiction.”
He paused.
“My client is currently charged regarding events that
occurred within the Oirat Empire.”
One of the Imperial Advocates responded immediately.
“The defense is correct that the Borealis Bay incident is
not the matter presently before this court.”
He stepped toward the screen.
“However, the Banner Court has long permitted evidence
demonstrating patterns of conduct when evaluating professional
negligence and public safety risks.”
The Advocate bowed slightly toward the bench.
“This material is not submitted as a charge.”
“It is submitted to assist the magistrates in evaluating the
credibility and safety practices of the defendant as they review the
events at Eternal Sky Arena.”
The courtroom fell silent.
Senge folded his hands.
“The court understands the purpose of the submission.”
He looked toward Farley.
“The defense objection is noted.”
A pause.
“The material will remain in the record.”
The screen advanced again.
More entries from the jackhammer review list
appeared.
Vince leaned back in his chair.
His hands tightened into fists.
The chuckles had stopped.
…but the damage had already been done.
Magistrate Altan Senge folded his hands on the bench.
“The court will adjourn for the midday interval.”
A clerk stood and announced it formally.
“The Banner Court withdraws under the Standard.”
Chairs shifted. Papers rustled. The gallery began to empty.
Senge added one final note before rising.
“Pending availability, the court expects to hear witness
testimony after the recess.”
Then the three magistrates stood and exited.
Vince leaned toward Farley Dickens, frowning.
“Witness testimony?”
Farley gathered his papers.
“Yes.”
“…but we didn’t call anybody,” Vince said.
Farley looked at him.
“That’s not how this court works.”
They waited while guards escorted Vince back toward the
holding area.
Vince lowered his voice.
“So what, they just pick someone?”
“More or less,” Farley said.
“The Advocates and the defense both submit ranked witness
lists.”
Vince blinked.
“Ranked?”
“Priority order,” Farley said. “The people we think matter
most.”
“…and the judges choose?”
Farley nodded.
“They control the witnesses.”
Vince frowned harder.
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense in their system,” Farley replied.
“They can call anyone from either list.”
“…and they’ll try to contact witnesses before the afternoon
session. If someone is available, testimony happens that day.”
“…and if they aren’t?”
“They move down the list,” Farley said.
Vince stopped walking.
“Wait. They can just skip people?”
“Yes.”
Farley kept moving.
“If the magistrates believe testimony isn’t necessary, they
simply won’t call the witness.”
Vince stared at him.
“So what’s the point of the lists?”
“The lists help them understand what evidence both sides
consider important,” Farley said.
“…but the court decides whether testimony is actually
needed.”
They reached the hallway outside the courtroom.
Vince shook his head.
“This is insane.”
Farley ignored the comment.
“If the magistrates decide a witness is essential, they can compel
testimony.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the witness must appear within three days.”
“In person or by video.”
“…and if they don’t?”
“They can be charged with contempt of the court.”
Vince raised an eyebrow.
“What if they’re in another country?”
“The Oirat won’t arrest a foreign national abroad,” Farley
said.
“…but if that person ever enters the Empire again, the
charge will still be waiting.”
They stopped near the stairwell.
Vince crossed his arms.
“So if someone gets called… what happens?”
Farley answered immediately.
“Each side gets one round of questioning.”
“Only one?”
“Yes.”
“…and the side that didn’t list the witness questions
first.”
Vince frowned again.
“That’s backwards.”
“It’s deliberate,” Farley said.
“The court wants the toughest questions first.”
Vince rubbed his face.
“What about the judges?”
“They can question the witness whenever they want.”
“…and they usually do.”
“…and when the testimony is finished?”
“All three magistrates must agree before the witness is
dismissed.”
Vince exhaled slowly.
“…and objections?”
“You can raise them,” Farley said.
“…but the court has little patience for constant
interruptions.”
They began walking again.
Vince glanced sideways.
“What about me?”
Farley stopped.
“You have a choice.”
Vince waited.
“You may give voluntary testimony.”
“…and if I do?”
“You can be questioned by both the defense and the
Advocates.”
Vince nodded.
“…and if I don’t?”
Farley held his gaze.
“Then only the magistrates may question you.”
A guard opened the holding door.
Farley stepped aside as Vince was escorted inside.
Farley lowered his voice.
“The magistrates are supposed to remain neutral…and they usually do.”
He paused, making sure Vince was listening.
“…but you haven’t exactly helped yourself so far.”
Vince frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if they question you directly, you need to
behave,” Farley said. “Answer carefully. Show respect.”
Vince scoffed, “and if I don’t answer?”
Farley met his eyes.
“You have the right not to answer…but if you stay silent,
the court is free to draw whatever inference it believes is reasonable.”
He added quietly:
“…and after the way you’ve behaved in custody… you shouldn’t
assume those inferences will favor you.”
“So what do I do? Which option is better?” Vince asked.
Farley adjusted his glasses.
“In this court?”
He paused.
“That depends entirely on how well you control your temper.”
The door shut.
Altai Crown Hotel, March 20, 2023
11:23 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Cory Reed was lying back on the hotel bed with an ice pack
across his shoulder when his phone rang.
He glanced at the caller ID.
Unknown number.
Reed answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
A calm voice responded.
“Mr. Reed, this is the Clerk of the Imperial Mörön Banner
Court.”
Reed sat up.
“Yes?”
“The court is attempting to contact witnesses who may be
available to testify today regarding the events at the Eternal Sky Arena
broadcast of March 16.”
Reed frowned.
“Testify?”
“Yes.”
The clerk continued in the same steady tone.
“The Banner Court has issued a compulsory request for
your testimony.”
Reed blinked.
“Compulsory?”
“You are required to appear before the court,” the clerk
explained. “However, the court understands that witnesses may have scheduling
or travel limitations.”
Reed rubbed the back of his neck.
“I mean… I could do it today.”
The clerk paused.
“That would be acceptable.”
Reed looked down at himself.
“…I’m not exactly dressed for court.”
The clerk didn’t miss a beat.
“That is not a concern.”
Reed laughed nervously.
“Really?”
“The Banner Court does not require formal dress from
witnesses.”
The clerk continued calmly.
“You are free to wear whatever clothing you find
comfortable, provided it is not offensive to the court.”
Reed hesitated.
“…Define offensive.”
There was a brief pause on the line.
“That determination rests with the magistrates.”
Then the clerk added, reassuringly:
“However, I believe sweatpants would be acceptable.”
Reed glanced down at his outfit.
“…That’s good news.”
“If you wish, you may shower and change clothes before
appearing,” the clerk said. “You have sufficient time.”
Reed nodded slowly.
“Alright.”
“The court will provide instructions for connecting to the
hearing shortly.”
The clerk paused.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Reed.”
The line clicked off.
Reed stared at the phone for a moment.
Then he muttered to himself:
“Well… guess I’m going to court.”
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 20, 2023
12:36 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The courtroom was still empty.
Behind the bench, in a smaller consultation chamber, the
three magistrates sat together.
Baatar Erdene- Law.
Temür Ochir- Order.
Altan Senge- Balance.
A tablet on the table displayed the current witness lists
submitted by both parties.
One name appeared at the top of both columns.
Cory Reed.
Ochir spoke first.
“The same witness appears as priority one for both sides.”
Erdene nodded.
“That is expected.”
Reed had been the injured performer at the Eternal Sky
Arena broadcast.
His testimony would clarify the central question of the
trial: whether Vince knowingly endangered him.
Ochir continued.
“The procedure states that the side which did not list the
witness questions first.”
Senge leaned back slightly.
“That rule assumes only one side listed the witness.”
Erdene folded his hands.
“In this instance, both sides did.”
A brief silence followed.
Ochir broke it.
“Then we determine who leads.”
Senge considered the tablet for a moment.
“The Advocates rely on Reed to establish the defendant’s
conduct.”
Erdene added:
“The defense relies on Reed to explain the injury and the
medical treatment.”
Ochir nodded.
“In other words, both consider him essential.”
Senge tapped the table once.
“Then the court will follow the spirit of the rule.”
The other two magistrates looked toward him.
“The party bearing the burden of the claim should proceed
second.”
Erdene understood immediately.
“The defense will question first.”
Ochir nodded once.
“That allows the Advocates to respond to the defense
narrative.”
Senge confirmed the decision.
“So ordered.”
He closed the tablet.
“Prepare the court.”
Outside, the courtroom doors began to open again as staff
returned from the recess.
Within minutes, the Banner Court would resume- and
Cory Reed would become the first witness.
The courtroom doors opened.
A tall man in sweatpants and a black tank top stepped
inside.
Cory Reed.
He paused briefly, clearly uncomfortable.
Courtrooms were not his usual stage.
He still wore a baseball cap turned sideways.
One of the court clerks rose.
“Mr. Reed.”
Reed stopped.
“Yes?”
The clerk gestured politely.
“The Banner Court asks that you remove your hat.”
Reed nodded quickly.
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”
He pulled the cap off and tucked it into his pocket.
No one commented on the sweatpants.
No one commented on the tank top.
The magistrates simply watched.
Reed took the witness seat.
The clerk spoke.
“You will speak truthfully before the Banner Court and the
Blue Standard.”
Reed nodded.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Magistrate Senge turned toward the defense table.
“Counsel.”
Farley Dickens stood.
“Mr. Reed, how long have you known Vince McGeady?”
Reed leaned back slightly.
“About 16 years.”
“…and during that time you have worked under him in the
WFE?”
“Yeah. Pretty much my whole career there.”
Farley nodded.
“How would you describe your professional relationship with
him?”
Reed didn’t hesitate.
“Honestly? Vince has always been more than accommodating
with me.”
Farley tilted his head slightly.
“In what sense?”
“If I needed time off, I got it,” Reed said. “Vacations,
injuries, whatever.”
“He’s always listened if I didn’t want to do a certain spot
or storyline.”
Reed shrugged.
“He’d push sometimes. That’s Vince…but we could usually talk
things out.”
Farley paced slowly.
“So you felt you had influence over what happened in your
matches?”
“Yeah,” Reed said. “Absolutely.”
Farley nodded.
“Would it be fair to say the two of you often reached
compromises?”
Reed smiled faintly.
“Yeah.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Vince can be stubborn. Everybody knows that.”
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the gallery.
“…but he’ll usually meet you halfway.”
Farley glanced briefly toward the bench.
“Let’s talk about the night of the Thursday Night War
broadcast.”
Reed’s expression tightened slightly.
“You had suffered an injury earlier in the show?”
“Yeah.”
“…and you received painkillers backstage.”
Reed nodded.
“That’s right.”
Farley asked calmly:
“Did you object to returning to the ring?”
Reed shook his head.
“No.”
“In fact,” Reed said, “that was kind of another one of those
halfway situations.”
Farley raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?”
Reed spread his hands.
“I wanted to finish what we started.”
“…and Vince wanted the show to keep moving.”
Reed shrugged.
“So we found common ground.”
Farley nodded slowly.
“…and you were comfortable with that decision?”
Reed answered immediately.
“Yes.”
At the defense table, Vince McGeady finally allowed
himself a small smile.
The testimony was going exactly the way he had hoped.
Across the courtroom, the Imperial Advocates waited
patiently for their turn to question the witness.
Imperial Advocate Arslan Khasar rose from his seat.
He approached the witness stand slowly.
“Mr. Reed.”
Reed nodded.
“Sir.”
Khasar clasped his hands behind his back.
“You have described Vince McGeady as accommodating to
your needs.”
“Yes.”
“…and you say he would listen if you objected to something.”
“That’s right.”
Khasar tilted his head slightly.
“Mr. Reed… would it be fair to say you are one of the most
profitable performers in the WFE?”
Reed hesitated.
“I mean… yeah, I guess so.”
“You sell merchandise.”
“Yeah.”
“You headline shows.”
“Sometimes.”
“You are a featured attraction in the company.”
Reed nodded reluctantly.
“Yeah.”
Khasar turned slightly toward the bench.
“So Mr. McGeady had a financial incentive to keep you
satisfied.”
Reed frowned.
“I mean… maybe.”
Khasar looked back at him.
“Is it possible, Mr. Reed, that the accommodation you
received was not typical for other performers?”
Reed shifted in his chair.
“I can’t speak for everybody.”
“…but you know the locker room.”
Reed shrugged.
“Yeah.”
“Did every wrestler enjoy the same level of influence with
Vince McGeady that you did?”
Reed paused.
“…No.”
The courtroom was quiet.
Khasar continued.
“Some wrestlers were afraid of him.”
Reed didn’t answer immediately.
Khasar spoke again.
“Mr. Reed… were you ever afraid of Vince McGeady?”
Reed exhaled slowly.
“Well… early in my career, sure.”
Khasar waited.
“…and later?”
Reed rubbed his jaw.
“…Sometimes.”
The Advocate nodded once.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
He walked a few steps before turning back.
“Let us discuss the painkiller injection at the
Eternal Sky Arena.”
Reed stiffened slightly.
“You described that moment as ‘meeting halfway’ with Vince
McGeady.”
“Yeah.”
“You wished to continue performing.”
“Yes.”
“…and Vince wished the show to continue.”
“Yes.”
Khasar leaned forward slightly.
“Did a doctor recommend that you return to the ring?”
Reed hesitated.
“…No.”
“Did any medical professional say you were fit to
continue performing?”
Reed looked down.
“No.”
“So the decision was made between you and Vince McGeady.”
Reed nodded reluctantly.
“Yeah.”
Khasar’s voice remained calm.
“Was it common practice for injured performers to receive
injections so they could continue working?”
Reed shrugged.
“It happens.”
“Was it safe?”
Reed hesitated again.
“…Not always.”
A murmur ran through the gallery.
Khasar moved on.
“I would like to discuss another performer.”
Reed frowned slightly.
“Who?”
“Ricky Regina.”
Reed’s expression tightened.
“You once told Mr. Regina to ‘be a better company man.’”
Reed sighed.
“Yeah.”
“What did you mean by that?”
Reed leaned back.
“It’s wrestling. You’re supposed to support the company.”
Khasar nodded slowly.
“Even when you disagree with management?”
Reed shrugged.
“Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”
Khasar studied him.
“So your advice to Mr. Regina was to accept Vince
McGeady’s decisions, even if he believed those decisions were wrong.”
Reed looked uncomfortable.
“…Yeah.”
Khasar spoke quietly.
“Was that because you believed Vince was always correct?”
“No.”
“Or because you believed defying Vince had consequences?”
Reed said nothing.
Khasar waited.
Finally Reed spoke.
“…Yeah.”
The Advocate nodded.
“No further questions at this time.”
Across the courtroom, Vince McGeady’s smile had
completely disappeared.
The testimony that began as loyalty had slowly become
something much more complicated.
…and the magistrates had heard every word.
Imperial Advocate Khasar returned to his seat.
The courtroom settled into silence.
Magistrate Altan Senge looked toward the witness
stand.
“Mr. Reed.”
Reed straightened.
“Yes, Your Honour.”
Senge spoke calmly.
“The Banner Court has several questions.”
Reed nodded.
“Okay.”
Senge turned slightly to his left.
“Magistrate Erdene.”
Law- Erdene
Magistrate Baatar Erdene leaned forward slightly.
“Mr. Reed, I wish to understand the medical decision
made that night.”
Reed nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“You said no doctor cleared you to continue performing.”
“That’s right.”
Erdene folded his hands.
“Yet you received painkillers and returned to the ring.”
“Yes.”
“Who administered the injection?”
Reed hesitated.
“…One of the trainers.”
“Was that trainer acting under medical supervision?”
“I don’t think so.”
Erdene nodded slowly.
“Did Vince McGeady approve that injection?”
Reed answered immediately.
“Yeah.”
“Was that approval required?”
Reed paused.
“In practice… yeah.”
Erdene made a small note.
“Thank you.”
Order- Ochir
Magistrate Temür Ochir spoke next.
His voice was firm.
“Mr. Reed.”
Reed nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“You said performers sometimes took one for the team.”
Reed shifted in his chair.
“Yeah.”
Ochir leaned forward slightly.
“What happens to a performer who refuses Vince McGeady?”
Reed hesitated.
“Well… it depends.”
“Explain.”
Reed sighed.
“They might lose their push.”
“Meaning?”
“They stop getting big matches.”
“Anything else?”
Reed looked down briefly.
“Sometimes they disappear from TV.”
Ochir nodded once.
“So refusing the promoter could harm a wrestler’s career.”
“…Yeah.”
Ochir’s next question came quickly.
“If you had refused to continue performing that night…”
“…yeah?”
“…would the show have stopped?”
Reed shook his head.
“No.”
“What would have happened?”
Reed gave a small shrug.
“Someone else would’ve gone out there.”
Ochir sat back.
“Thank you.”
Balance- Senge
Finally Senge spoke again.
His tone was quieter.
“Mr. Reed.”
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“You said you wanted to finish what you started that night.”
“Yeah.”
“You are a professional performer.”
“Yes.”
Senge tilted his head slightly.
“Would a younger wrestler have felt the same freedom to
refuse Vince McGeady?”
Reed paused.
“…Probably not.”
“Why?”
Reed exhaled slowly.
“They’re trying to prove themselves.”
“So they would accept more risk.”
“…Yeah.”
Senge nodded once.
“Last question.”
Reed looked up.
“Yes?”
“You and Vince McGeady reached what you called common
ground.”
“That’s right.”
Senge’s gaze remained steady.
“Mr. Reed… do you believe a performer with less power
than you would have been able to reach that same common ground?”
Reed sat quietly for several seconds.
The courtroom waited.
Finally he answered.
“…No.”
Senge nodded once.
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
He glanced toward the other magistrates.
Both gave a slight nod.
Senge spoke.
“The witness may step down.”
Reed stood slowly.
As he walked back through the courtroom, he realized
something.
He had come to help Vince.
…but the magistrates had just turned his testimony into
something much larger.
…and much more dangerous for the man sitting at the defense
table.
Peace Field Coordination Office- Cleveland, March 21, 2023
07:34 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
Evie Sicario stood in front of Elian Reyes’ desk,
clutching a coffee cup that was noticeably larger than the ones she usually
brought to the office.
The days at Peace were long.
Much longer than school days.
…but she wasn’t complaining.
Across the desk, Elian flipped through a stack of printouts.
He gave a small nod.
“You’ve done excellent work, Evie.”
Evie smiled faintly.
Even half-asleep, that felt good to hear.
Elian held up one page.
“…and for the record… the ‘oopsie chart’?”
Evie winced slightly.
“Yeah?”
“It was a big hit in court.”
Evie blinked.
“…It was?”
Elian nodded.
“Even the magistrates laughed.”
Evie covered her face for a second.
“Oh my gosh.”
Elian allowed himself a small grin before setting the papers
down.
“…but you said you found something confusing.”
Evie nodded and pulled a tablet from her bag.
“Yeah.”
She tapped the screen.
“This part.”
The transcript scrolled to a highlighted section.
BACKSTAGE- MEDICAL AREA- ETERNAL SKY ARENA
The lines were messy.
Overlapping voices.
Shouting.
Movement.
Evie pointed to one specific line.
“Right here.”
The transcript read:
Give him the shot. We’re not stopping the show.
Evie frowned.
“I’m not sure who said it.”
Elian leaned forward.
“Explain.”
Evie sighed.
“I’ve only really ever seen Vince’s face.”
She gestured at the transcript.
“I tried identifying where he talks in the rest of the
recording, but it’s mostly inference.”
Elian nodded.
“That’s reasonable.”
“…but this one’s different,” Evie said.
“There are too many people around.”
She pointed again.
“It could be Vince.”
“Or a trainer.”
“Or someone on the medical staff.”
She looked up.
“I don’t know.”
Elian considered the transcript for a moment.
Then he pressed the intercom.
“Len.”
A voice answered from the hallway.
“Yeah?”
“Can you come in here for a minute?”
Moments later, Len Horowitz stepped into the office.
He glanced at Evie’s coffee cup.
“That thing bigger than your head yet?”
Evie gave him a tired look.
“Don’t start.”
Elian gestured toward the tablet.
“Len, can you isolate this portion of the audio?”
Len leaned over the screen.
“Sure.”
He connected the tablet to his laptop and pulled up the raw
stadium audio file.
Thousands of sound channels.
Crowd noise.
Backstage microphones.
Production feeds.
Len narrowed the timeline.
“Okay… this is the spot.”
He clicked play.
The room filled with chaotic backstage noise.
Voices shouting.
Metal equipment clattering.
Someone groaning.
Then a voice cut through the noise.
“Give him the shot. We’re not stopping the show.”
Len replayed it once more.
Then again.
Elian didn’t need a fourth time.
He leaned back in his chair.
“That’s Vince.”
Evie looked at him.
“You’re sure?”
Elian nodded.
“I’ve heard him shout orders for years.”
He pointed at the waveform.
“That’s him.”
Evie looked back at the transcript.
Her confusion slowly turning into realization.
“…So he gave the order.”
Elian nodded again.
“Yes.”
Len sat back in his chair.
“Well.”
He glanced at Evie.
“Good catch.”
Evie looked down at the line on the screen.
One short sentence.
…but suddenly it felt much heavier than the rest of
the transcript.
Because now they knew exactly who had said it.
Altai Crown Hotel, March 20, 2023
20:23 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Cory Reed stepped out of the shower, steam still drifting
from the bathroom.
He rubbed a towel through his hair and glanced at his phone
on the bedside table.
Three missed calls.
All from the same number.
Imperial Mörön Banner Court.
Cory frowned.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
He called the number back.
The line clicked after two rings.
“Imperial Mörön Banner Court, clerk speaking.”
“Uh… yeah,” Cory said. “This is Cory Reed. I think you tried
calling me.”
“Yes, Mr. Reed. Thank you for returning the call.”
The clerk’s voice was calm, almost mechanical.
“New evidence has come to the court’s attention this
evening. The magistrates would like to ask you additional questions.”
Cory blinked.
“…Wait.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I already testified today.”
“Yes.”
“So… I’m done, right?”
There was a short pause.
“Not necessarily.”
Cory frowned.
“In the system I’m used to, witnesses only testify once.”
The clerk replied politely.
“You are not currently in that system, Mr. Reed.”
Cory exhaled slowly.
“Right.”
“The Banner Court sometimes recalls witnesses when new
information appears that may affect their testimony.”
“So… you want me back in court?”
“That would be the preferred option.”
Cory rubbed his forehead.
“…Tonight?”
“Yes.”
The clerk continued calmly.
“The defense, the Advocates, and the magistrates may all
have additional questions.”
Cory glanced at the clock.
“Is Vince gonna be there?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“The defendant has already returned to custodial housing for
the evening.”
Cory leaned back slightly.
“Okay…”
The clerk continued.
“If you are unable to appear tonight, the magistrates have
prepared an alternative.”
“What’s that?”
“You will receive a secured document containing
written questions.”
“You may answer them and return the document
electronically.”
Cory nodded slowly.
“Alright.”
“However,” the clerk added, “if the magistrates believe your
written responses are insufficient, they may require further testimony.”
Cory sighed.
“So basically I might still have to come back.”
“That is correct.”
Cory thought for a moment.
Then he stood up.
“…Alright.”
“I’ll come in.”
“Very good, Mr. Reed.”
“You may wear whatever clothing you find comfortable.”
Cory laughed quietly.
“Yeah… I remember.”
The clerk paused.
“The court appreciates your cooperation.”
The line clicked off.
Cory stared at the phone for a moment.
Then he muttered to himself.
“Man…”
He grabbed his clothes from the chair.
“…these people really don’t mess around.”
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 20, 2023
21:39 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The courtroom was mostly empty.
Only a skeleton staff remained.
At the bench sat the three magistrates:
Baatar Erdene- Law
Temür Ochir- Order
Altan Senge- Balance
At the counsel tables were Imperial Advocate Arslan
Khasar and Farley Dickens.
The defendant’s chair was empty.
Vince McGeady had already been returned to custody.
The doors opened.
Cory Reed entered.
This time he wore a simple jacket and dark pants.
No hat.
He remembered the rule.
Around his neck hung several necklaces. One of them carried
a small silver wolf pendant.
As Reed took the witness seat, Magistrate Erdene
studied the necklace.
Reed noticed the look immediately.
“…Sorry,” Reed said. “Is that not allowed?”
Erdene shook his head.
“No.”
A faint smile crossed the magistrate’s face.
“It is a fine wolf.”
Reed relaxed slightly.
“Thank you.”
Magistrate Senge leaned forward.
“Mr. Reed, thank you for returning to the court on such
short notice.”
“No problem.”
Senge gestured toward the clerk.
“New evidence has been submitted to the Banner Court.”
The lights dimmed slightly.
A recording began playing.
Backstage noise.
Equipment moving.
Voices overlapping.
Then a voice cut clearly through the audio.
VINCE:
“Give him the shot. We’re not stopping the show.”
Another voice- Reed’s- strained and breathless.
REED:
“Vince, I’m too hurt, man.”
VINCE:
“You’re fine. Take the shot. We need you out there.”
The recording stopped.
The courtroom was silent.
Magistrate Senge looked toward Reed.
“Mr. Reed.”
Reed swallowed.
“Yes, Your Honour.”
“You previously testified that you and Mr. McGeady met
halfway regarding the decision for you to continue performing.”
“Yeah.”
Senge gestured lightly toward the recording.
“Does that recording reflect such an agreement?”
Reed hesitated.
“…Not exactly.”
Imperial Advocate Khasar stood.
“Mr. Reed, did you clearly tell Vince McGeady that you were
too injured to continue?”
Reed nodded.
“Yeah.”
“…and he dismissed those concerns?”
Reed rubbed his jaw.
“…Yeah.”
Khasar nodded slowly.
“So the decision to continue performing was not mutual.”
Reed shifted in his chair.
“I mean… eventually I went along with it.”
“…but the initial decision came from Vince McGeady.”
Reed paused.
“…Yeah.”
Khasar returned to his seat.
Magistrate Ochir leaned forward next.
“Mr. Reed, explain how you received the injury.”
Reed nodded.
“I was wrestling Marcus Holloway.”
“You attempted a manoeuvre?”
“Yeah.”
“My finisher.”
“Describe it.”
“I lift the guy up and drop him.”
“…and when you attempted this manoeuvre?”
Reed grimaced slightly.
“My body just… gave out.”
“You were unable to lift him.”
“Yeah.”
Ochir nodded.
“What happened next?”
Reed continued.
“Marcus tried to powerbomb me through the announcer’s
table.”
“…and?”
“He missed.”
“Missed?”
Reed gestured with his hands.
“The centre of the table.”
“So the table did not break properly.”
“Right.”
Ochir studied him.
“Was this match rehearsed?”
Reed answered immediately.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Roster changes.”
Reed shrugged.
“Marcus was a last-minute callup.”
“Was Mr. Holloway experienced?”
Reed shook his head.
“No.”
“He’s green.”
“How green?”
Reed exhaled.
“Well… missing the table like that? Pretty green.”
A few quiet glances passed between the magistrates.
Magistrate Senge spoke again.
“Mr. Reed.”
“Yes?”
“So to summarize.”
He raised one finger.
“You were injured attempting a manoeuvre.”
Another finger.
“You were then struck through a table improperly by an
inexperienced opponent.”
Another.
“You told Mr. McGeady you were too injured to continue.”
Reed nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
Senge finished calmly.
“…and Mr. McGeady ordered you to receive painkillers and
return to the ring.”
Reed looked down.
“…Yes.”
Senge nodded once.
“Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
The late-night courtroom fell silent again.
This time the silence carried a different weight.
Because the Banner Court now had something it had not
possessed earlier that day.
Proof.
Mörön Holding Fortress, March 20, 2023
20:38 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The interview room was quiet and bare- stone walls, a metal
table, two chairs, and a guard stationed outside the door.
Aiden McGeady sat at the table, shoulders slumped, staring
at his hands.
Across from him sat Mara Veldt.
Years earlier, when the stress of running the WFE had begun
to consume him, Aiden had hired Mara privately as a cuddle therapist- someone
trained to help high-stress clients decompress through structured physical
comfort and emotional grounding. Over time she had become something more: a
trusted confidant and, eventually, his legal counsel as well.
It was an unconventional arrangement.
Tonight, it was the only reason Aiden felt remotely steady.
The Oirat guards allowed the meeting because Mara was
registered as his attorney. What other role she played in Aiden’s life was
irrelevant to them.
Mara moved her chair closer to his.
“Aiden,” she said gently, “you’re spiraling.”
Aiden exhaled slowly.
“I destroyed evidence.”
“Yes.”
“…and now I’m sitting in an Oirat prison wondering if I
should testify against the man who adopted me.”
Mara didn’t rush her response.
Instead she reached across the table and placed her hand
over his.
It was a grounding gesture they had used many times before.
“You’re not deciding that tonight,” she said softly.
Aiden shook his head.
“I think I am.”
He leaned back, exhausted.
“My real name was George Eaton.”
Mara already knew the story. She had heard it many times…but
she let him say it again.
“My dad disappeared when I was a kid,” Aiden continued.
“Just gone. My mom… she wasn’t exactly stable.”
His voice went distant.
“So I started wrestling. Backyard stuff first. Indie shows
later. Anything to stay out of the house.”
He laughed quietly.
“…and then Vince found me.”
His expression softened despite everything.
“He didn’t just sign me. He adopted me.”
The word hung in the air.
“He gave me a life. A future. A family.”
Mara squeezed his hand slightly but said nothing.
“…and now I’m sitting here wondering if I have to destroy
him.”
The room went silent again.
Finally Mara spoke.
“Aiden… Vince destroyed himself the moment he stopped caring
about the people working for him.”
Aiden’s jaw tightened.
“Genevieve should’ve been the moment he stopped.”
He stared down at the table.
“…but it wasn’t.”
His voice grew hollow.
“…and now my career’s over.”
Mara didn’t argue.
“No company is letting the guy who destroyed evidence run
their promotion,” Aiden said.
He rubbed his temples.
“I panicked. I thought if I protected Vince maybe the
company could survive.”
He shook his head.
“That was stupid.”
Another long silence settled over the room.
Then Aiden said the words he had been avoiding all evening.
“If I testify…”
He stopped.
Mara finished the sentence for him.
“You tell the truth.”
Aiden swallowed.
“…and bury the man who saved my life.”
Mara didn’t contradict him.
Instead she asked quietly:
“Aiden… if Vince had stopped after Genevieve died, would we
be here right now?”
Aiden didn’t answer.
Because he already knew the answer.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table again, staring at the
cold metal surface.
“I thought that incident would scare him,” Aiden said
softly. “I thought he’d finally realize he’d pushed things too far.”
He let out a weak laugh.
“Instead we go to the Eternal Sky Arena and it’s the same
chaos. Same last-minute changes. Same pressure.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“…and when Cory said he was too hurt to continue…”
He shook his head slowly.
“I should’ve stopped it.”
Mara’s voice remained calm.
“…but you didn’t.”
“No.”
Aiden closed his eyes briefly.
“…and now people are hurt. Someone is dead…and the company I
spent my entire life building is collapsing.”
He opened his eyes again.
“I thought destroying those files would save it.”
Another pause.
“I was wrong.”
Mara leaned forward slightly.
“Aiden, the court already suspects why you destroyed the
evidence.”
He looked up.
“They think I was protecting Vince.”
“You were.”
Aiden didn’t deny it.
His shoulders sagged.
“I owe him everything.”
Mara studied him carefully.
“No,” she said gently.
“You owed him loyalty while he acted like a father.”
Aiden frowned slightly.
“…and when he stopped?”
She held his gaze.
“You owed the truth to the people who trusted both of you
with their lives.”
The words landed heavily.
Aiden looked away.
His mind drifted through the past- training rings, locker
rooms, board meetings, endless nights planning the future of the WFE with
Vince.
Everything he had built.
Everything that was now gone.
Finally he spoke again.
“My career’s finished.”
“Yes,” Mara said softly.
“That doesn’t mean your life is.”
Aiden stared at the wall for a long moment.
Then he asked the question that had been haunting him all
night.
“If I testify… what happens to Vince?”
Mara didn’t sugarcoat it.
“He faces the consequences of his decisions.”
Aiden nodded slowly.
Another silence filled the room.
Then, almost to himself, Aiden whispered:
“I never thought I’d be the one who ended him.”
Mara didn’t respond.
Because the truth was already settling into Aiden’s mind.
…and for the first time since his arrest, he was beginning
to understand that protecting Vince might not mean saving him.
Sometimes it meant finally forcing him to face what he had
done.
Imperial Mörön Banner Court, March 21, 2023
07:29 local time,
Lake Uvs Shoreline, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
Morning light filtered through the high windows of the
Banner Court chamber. The room was quieter than it had been during the public
sessions of the trial. Only a handful of court staff were present.
At the raised bench sat the three magistrates:
- Baatar
Erdene, the voice of Law
- Temür
Ochir, the voice of Order
- Altan
Senge, the voice of Balance
Standing before them were Aiden McGeady and Mara
Veldt.
The court clerk finished noting their presence. No audience
filled the gallery. No reporters waited in the corridor. This session was not
meant to be theatrical.
Altan Senge regarded Aiden calmly.
“You requested this meeting,” the magistrate said.
Aiden nodded.
“Yes, Your Honour.”
His voice sounded steadier than he felt.
“I am prepared to testify against Vince McGeady.”
The three magistrates exchanged brief glances. None of them
appeared surprised.
Aiden continued.
“I will do this if the court guarantees a reduced sentence
for my own charges.”
The room grew still.
Temür Ochir leaned slightly forward.
“The Oirat courts do not make American-style bargains,”
he said bluntly.
Aiden shifted uncomfortably.
“We do not trade justice for testimony.”
Altan Senge spoke next, his tone calm but firm.
“However,” he said, “the court does consider cooperation
when determining judgment.”
Baatar Erdene added quietly:
“If your testimony is truthful and materially assists the
court in determining the facts of this case… that cooperation will be
recognized.”
Senge nodded once.
“You will not be promised a specific sentence…but your
assistance will be rewarded if it proves worthy.”
Aiden glanced briefly at Mara.
She gave him the smallest nod.
The Oirat system valued honour. If the magistrates had
spoken those words openly, they would keep them.
Aiden turned back to the bench.
“Then I will testify.”
Senge gestured toward the clerk.
“Proceed.”
Aiden took a slow breath.
“We should start with the Eternal Sky Arena show.”
The clerk began recording.
Aiden spoke carefully.
“Cory Reed was not the only performer Vince ordered injected
with painkillers that night.”
The statement immediately caught the attention of the
magistrates.
Aiden continued.
“It happened multiple times during my time working under
Vince. Wrestlers would be hurt. Sometimes badly hurt. If they said they
couldn’t continue, Vince would push the medical staff to give them injections
so they could finish their segments.”
He hesitated.
“I carried out those orders myself sometimes.”
Temür Ochir’s expression hardened slightly.
“You personally gave those instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Aiden didn’t look away.
“Because that’s what Vince wanted.”
He continued.
“The Eternal Sky show had another problem. The roster.”
He clasped his hands together on the table.
“A lot of the performers on that card were Academy
callups.”
Senge asked calmly:
“Callups made when?”
“Very late.”
“How late?”
“Some of them arrived in Mörön the same day as the show.”
The magistrates exchanged glances again.
Aiden continued speaking.
“Many of those wrestlers were inexperienced. Vince knew they
weren’t ready for a show of that scale.”
He paused.
“…but he called them up anyway.”
Baatar Erdene asked quietly:
“Why?”
Aiden answered without hesitation.
“Because Vince believed spectacle mattered more than
preparation.”
He looked down for a moment before continuing.
“With the roster assembled so late, a lot of the matches
weren’t properly rehearsed.”
He shook his head.
“Some of them weren’t rehearsed at all.”
The magistrates remained silent.
“In Vince’s view,” Aiden said, “that didn’t matter.”
He quoted the phrase exactly as he had heard it hundreds of
times.
“The show must go on.”
The clerk’s pen continued scratching across the page.
For several moments no one spoke.
Finally Altan Senge folded his hands.
“You have described the conditions surrounding the Eternal
Sky Arena broadcast,” he said.
Aiden nodded.
“Yes.”
Senge studied him carefully.
“…and you believe these practices were not isolated
incidents?”
Aiden let out a slow breath.
“No.”
The weight of what he was about to say settled over the
room.
“They weren’t.”
He looked directly at the magistrates.
“These things have been happening for years.”
A brief silence followed.
Then Senge gave a small nod.
“Continue.”
Aiden straightened slightly in his chair.
Because what he had just described was only the beginning.
…and before the morning was over, the Banner Court would
begin hearing testimony about decades of Vince McGeady’s abuses of power
within the WFE.
Mörön Holding Fortress, March 21, 2023
19:32 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The cell block was quieter than usual when Farley Dickens
arrived.
That alone made Vince uneasy.
Farley had been moving quickly through the corridors earlier
in the trial- confident, focused, already planning the next legal move before
the last one finished. Tonight he moved slower.
…and he did not look happy.
The guard unlocked Vince’s cell and stepped aside.
Farley entered.
Vince was already standing.
“Well?” Vince demanded. “What happened in court today?”
Farley didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he placed a single sheet of paper on the small
metal shelf that passed for a desk inside the cell.
Vince frowned.
“What’s that?”
Farley finally spoke.
“A document the magistrates asked me to bring you.”
Vince picked it up and glanced over it.
His expression shifted.
It was a formal statement form. Blank lines waited beneath a
short heading written in English.
A written apology.
An apology for statements and actions that had dishonoured
the Blue Standard.
An apology for the unsafe conditions surrounding the Eternal
Sky Arena broadcast.
Vince lowered the paper slowly.
“What the hell is this?”
Farley spoke carefully.
“The magistrates are giving you an opportunity.”
Vince scoffed.
“An opportunity to grovel?”
“An opportunity,” Farley said firmly, “to remove the
dishonour aggravator.”
That made Vince pause.
Farley continued.
“If the magistrates are satisfied with the apology… and with
your acknowledgment of what happened at Eternal Sky… they may reduce the
sentence significantly.”
“How significantly?”
Farley sighed.
“I don’t know for certain.”
He hesitated.
“…but in previous cases… it’s meant a large fine… a ban from
operating shows in the Empire… possibly a short custodial sentence and
deportation.”
Vince blinked.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Farley said.
Vince stared at the paper again.
For the first time in days, the possibility of a real escape
from the worst outcome flickered across his mind.
Then he looked up again.
“What changed?”
Farley hesitated.
He had hoped Vince wouldn’t ask that question.
…but Vince was staring at him now.
“What happened today?” Vince demanded.
Farley exhaled slowly.
“Aiden testified.”
The air inside the cell seemed to freeze.
Vince’s eyes narrowed.
“…testified?”
Farley nodded.
“Yes.”
He spoke carefully.
“The session went long. Very long. The magistrates actually
had lunch brought into the courtroom so the testimony could continue.”
Vince stared at him.
“…and?”
Farley held his gaze.
“…and it was extremely detailed.”
Silence.
Then Vince asked quietly:
“What did he say?”
Farley didn’t soften it.
“He described years of unsafe practices.”
Vince’s jaw tightened.
“He described performers being forced to work through
injuries.”
Vince said nothing.
“He described the Academy callups for the Eternal Sky show.”
Still nothing.
“He described the painkiller injections.”
Farley paused.
“…and he admitted that he sometimes carried out those orders
himself because you wanted it done.”
Vince’s breathing grew heavier.
Farley continued.
“The magistrates were… very interested.”
Another pause.
“They were also satisfied with his cooperation.”
Vince’s eyes hardened.
“What do you mean satisfied?”
Farley answered bluntly.
“They released him.”
The words landed like a hammer.
“He still faces a fine,” Farley continued. “A suspended
sentence. Deportation. A permanent ban from operating shows in the Empire.”
He swallowed.
“…but he walked out of the courthouse today.”
Vince stared at him.
Free.
Aiden was free.
The paper in Vince’s hand crumpled slightly.
“He betrayed me.”
Farley said nothing.
“He betrayed me!”
The restraint Vince had forced himself to maintain for days
shattered in an instant.
“You ungrateful little-”
His voice exploded through the cell block.
“I gave that kid everything!”
The guards outside the cell glanced toward the outburst.
Vince barely noticed them.
“I took him off the street! I made him a star! I handed him
the keys to the company!”
His face flushed with rage.
“…and he runs to these-”
He spat out a vicious anti-Mongol slur.
Farley’s stomach dropped.
“Vince-”
…but Vince was just getting started.
He launched into a furious rant about the Oirat Empire, its
people, its courts. He invoked atrocities from another war in another century
and wished them upon the Empire itself.
The other prisoners in the block began shouting.
Angry voices rose immediately.
Some of them surged toward the bars of their cells.
The guards barked sharp commands and moved quickly down the
corridor to restore order.
Farley stood frozen inside Vince’s cell.
Vince was still shouting.
Still raging.
Still tearing into the Oirat, their culture, their court.
Finally Vince grabbed the apology form, crumpled it into a
ball, and hurled it against the wall.
“Tell those magistrates,” he roared, “they can shove their
apology up their barbarian a--!”
The guards slammed their batons against the bars.
“Enough!”
Gradually the shouting in the cell block subsided.
Farley stared at the crumpled paper on the floor.
The guards had heard everything.
The prisoners had heard everything.
…and somewhere across the lake, in the quiet halls of the Imperial
Mörön Banner Court, the magistrates would soon hear about it too.
Farley closed his eyes briefly.
Because he understood something Vince clearly did not.
The apology had been Vince’s last chance.
…and he had just destroyed it.
Golden Ordo News Release and Aftermath, March 22, 2023
Released at 14:00 local time
Worldwide.
The news struck the wrestling world like a freight train.
Vince McGeady had been sentenced to life imprisonment in
the Oirat Empire.
The ruling came from the Imperial Mörön Banner Court,
which found McGeady guilty of the crimes committed during the Eternal Sky
Arena broadcast, with the sentence aggravated by the charge of Dishonouring
the Blue Standard.
The magistrates wasted little time delivering the verdict.
Following days of testimony—culminating in Aiden McGeady’s
sweeping statements about the internal practices of the WFE—and after reviewing
additional custodial reports concerning Vince McGeady’s conduct while detained,
the court concluded its deliberations quickly.
The sentence was severe.
Life imprisonment.
Even more shocking was what happened next.
Within hours of the ruling, the Golden Ordo issued an
imperial confirmation.
The Emperor formally upheld the Banner Court’s judgment and
declared the sentence binding under Imperial authority, closing any
avenue of appeal within the Empire.
For Vince McGeady, the legal battle was over.
The news release itself did not describe the precise actions
that had constituted the dishonouring of the Blue Standard. The court’s
language remained characteristically restrained.
…but rumours spread instantly across the world.
Some were true.
Many were half-true.
Many more were wildly exaggerated.
What mattered was the outcome.
Vince McGeady was now a prisoner of the Oirat Empire.
He would never run a wrestling promotion inside its borders
again and likely outside of them too.
…and with the founder of the WFE imprisoned for life, the
professional wrestling industry-already shaken by the death of Genevieve Horton
and the cascading investigations that followed- had just been changed forever.
Civic Network - Global Affairs Desk, March 22, 2023
07:25 local time,
Buffalo, Niagara, Sovereignty of Buffalo, UCSS
“THIS JUST IN!”
The red BREAKING banner flashes beneath Wolf Kohlmann as the
Civic Network theme cuts out mid-bar.
Wolf is already leaning forward at the desk, papers in hand,
earpiece buzzing.
“Good morning. We are interrupting our scheduled programming
for major breaking news out of the Oirat Empire.
Vince McGeady has been sentenced to life imprisonment by
the Oirat courts.
The ruling follows his conviction in the Eternal Sky Arena
case, but the decisive factor in the sentence appears to be the court’s finding
that McGeady dishonoured the Blue Standard— a grave cultural and legal
aggravator under Oirat law.
We are also learning that the Emperor has personally upheld
the sentence as binding, effectively ending McGeady’s route of appeal inside
the Empire.”
He turns slightly.
“To help us unpack this, we are joined by:
Avery St. Clair, an international law barrister not
involved in the case;
Michael Foley, combat-sports historian and commentator;
Aurora Kincaid, former WFE performer and longtime critic of McGeady’s
culture;
and Carly Sweeting, known to fans around the world as Cotton Candy.”
The split-screen fills.
Avery St. Clair is elegant, composed, mid-40s, with the
polished severity of someone used to television and tribunals alike.
Wolf goes right to him.
Wolf Kohlmann
“Mr. St. Clair, let me begin with the obvious question.
How does a wrestling promoter wind up with life
imprisonment in a foreign court?”
Avery St. Clair
“By misunderstanding where he is.
That is the shortest answer.”
A beat.
“The Eternal Sky Arena conduct was serious. Very serious…but
based on what has emerged, Mr. McGeady’s legal death sentence, if you will,
came from something more specific: he was given opportunities by the Oirat
court to show contrition, restore honour, and acknowledge the dignity of the
institution judging him.
Instead, he appears to have done the opposite.”
Wolf
“So for viewers hearing this and thinking, ‘life
imprisonment for a promoter sounds extreme,’ your answer is that they are
applying the wrong framework.”
St. Clair
“Exactly. A Western viewer may hear ‘unsafe working
conditions’ and imagine fines, bans, perhaps a prison term measured in years.
…but in the Oirat framework, once the court decided Mr.
McGeady had dishonoured the Blue Standard, the matter ceased to be
merely corporate or occupational. It became civilizational. It became moral. …and
once he reportedly repeated that dishonour after being offered leniency, he
made the harshest sentence dramatically more likely.”
Wolf nods grimly.
Wolf
“Michael Foley, let me bring you in here.
From a wrestling standpoint, what does this mean?”
Michael Foley
Foley folds his hands, voice gentle and heavy.
“It means wrestling just lost the man who spent decades
acting like the business was his private kingdom.
…and it lost him in the most public, humiliating way
imaginable.”
He exhales.
“Let’s be honest about Vince McGeady. He was a visionary. He
was also a man who trained himself to believe that if he wanted something badly
enough, every person in the room was supposed to bend around that desire.
That works for a long time in wrestling.
It does not work in a court that expects humility.”
Wolf
“You’ve covered Vince for years. Were you surprised it ended
like this?”
Foley
“I’m surprised by the speed.
I’m not surprised by the self-destruction.”
He glances down briefly.
“The reports coming out of Mörön make this sound almost
Shakespearean. He was handed chances to behave, chances to apologize, chances
to reduce the damage.
…and he apparently kept choosing pride.”
Wolf turns.
Wolf
“Aurora Kincaid, you’ve been watching this not just as an
observer but as someone who lived inside the industry McGeady built.
What was your reaction?”
Aurora Kincaid
Aurora is still, composed, but there is anger under the
surface.
“My first reaction?”
She pauses.
“That he finally met a system he could not bully.”
Silence on the panel.
Aurora continues.
“For years people in wrestling were expected to adapt
ourselves to Vince. His moods. His demands. His version of urgency. His
definition of what counted as sacrifice.
…and the whole business kept telling itself that was normal
because he was powerful and because he made money.”
She leans slightly forward.
“The Oirat court did not care that he was Vince McGeady.
That’s the part a lot of people in wrestling are going to struggle with. They
did not care about the myth.”
Wolf
“Do you think the sentence was really about the Blue
Standard more than the wrestling conduct itself?”
Aurora
“I think it became about both.
The Eternal Sky Arena gave them the case.
Vince’s own mouth gave them the sentence.”
Wolf lets that sit, then turns to Carly.
Wolf
“Carly Sweeting, you are still an active performer. You’re
still in the business. How is this landing with wrestlers?”
Carly Sweeting
Carly looks a little stunned to even be there.
“I think a lot of people are in shock.
Because even when you hate Vince, or fear Vince, or blame
Vince for things, part of you still kind of assumes he’s too big to really
fall.”
She looks down, then back up.
“…and now he hasn’t just fallen. He’s gone. Gone gone.”
Wolf
“What are performers saying privately?”
Carly
“That it’s terrifying. That it changes everything. That
everybody’s contracts, storylines, pay, future bookings, all of it is suddenly
unstable.
…but also…”
She hesitates.
“…also, some people are probably breathing easier today than
they have in years.”
Wolf nods once. Then back to St. Clair.
Wolf
“Mr. St. Clair, explain something for people at home.
The release says the Emperor personally upheld the ruling as
binding. What does that actually mean?”
Avery St. Clair
“It means the matter is over in practical terms.
In some systems, appellate rights are technical and
automatic. In the Oirat tradition, once the sentence has been judicially
imposed and then personally confirmed at the imperial level, that confirmation
carries extraordinary finality.
Especially in a case tied to the Blue Standard.”
Wolf
“So this is not window dressing.”
St. Clair
“No. It is the door closing.”
Wolf turns back to Foley.
Wolf
“Michael, give me the big-picture answer.
What does Vince’s removal mean for wrestling itself?”
Foley
“It means the postwar wrestling order may be ending.
Vince didn’t just run a company. He shaped incentives. He
shaped how promoters thought, how broadcasters thought, how talent was treated,
how risk was justified, how excess was disguised as genius.”
He gives a sad little smile.
“…and now ‘McGreedy’, the man who acted like he was bigger
than wrestling, has been reduced to a cautionary tale about what happens when
ego meets a court that still believes in shame.”
Wolf
“Aurora, does this create justice?”
Aurora
“No.
It creates consequences.”
A beat.
“Justice would require a lot more than one man going to
prison…but consequences matter. Especially in an industry that spent too long
pretending consequences were for smaller people.”
Wolf lets that land.
Wolf
“Carly, last word from the locker room perspective. What
happens next?”
Carly
“Chaos first.
Then everybody starts figuring out who they really are
without him.
Some people are going to scramble to save the machine.
Some people are going to try to finally change it.”
She looks toward Aurora on the panel.
“…and some people are going to say they warned us.”
Wolf straightens his papers.
Wolf Kohlmann
“To summarize this unprecedented morning:
Vince McGeady has been sentenced to life imprisonment
in the Oirat Empire. While the Eternal Sky Arena case brought him before the
court, the decisive aggravating factor was the finding that he dishonoured
the Blue Standard- and then failed, repeatedly, to restore that honour when
given the chance.
The Emperor has upheld the sentence as binding.
Vince McGeady is not coming back.
For wrestling, for sports law, and for the global
entertainment business, this is a historic rupture.”
He looks directly into the camera.
“We’ll continue following developments all morning.
For Avery St. Clair, Michael Foley, Aurora Kincaid, and
Carly Sweeting, I’m Wolf Kohlmann.
Stay with Civic.”
Peace Field Coordination Office- Cleveland, March 22, 2023
06:34 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
The office is quiet in the early morning.
The fluorescent lights hum softly above rows of desks.
Outside the tall castle windows, the gray Cleveland dawn is just beginning to
push through the clouds over the lake.
Evie Sicario slips through the glass doors with a soft beep
from the security panel.
She looks like someone preparing for battle.
Her hair is tied back. Her backpack hangs low on one
shoulder. And in her hand is an absurdly large coffee.
She takes a long sip as she walks to her workstation,
blinking at the brightness of the monitors.
“Okay,” she mutters to herself. “You got this.”
Across the bullpen, Len Horowitz is already there.
Len sits hunched over his terminal with the posture of
someone who has been coding since before sunrise. The glow from his monitors
reflects off his glasses.
He glances up.
Then down.
Then back up again.
Evie drops into her chair and sets the giant coffee beside
the keyboard.
Len watches her like a nervous museum guard watching someone
approach a priceless artifact.
Evie opens her backpack.
…and pulls out…
…stickers.
Len freezes.
Evie hums softly to herself.
She begins carefully decorating the plastic frame around
her monitor.
A tiny smiling sun.
A little rainbow.
A cartoon cat.
Then a big yellow smiley face sticker goes right on
the corner of the monitor.
Len’s eye twitches.
Evie pulls out a tiny tube of glitter glue.
Len leans slightly out of his chair.
“Evie…” he says cautiously.
Evie is focused.
She carefully squeezes a little glitter along the outer
edge of the monitor casing.
“Evie,” Len says again, louder.
Evie pauses.
“Yes, Lenny?”
“You’re… you’re not putting that on the screen, right?”
Evie looks confused.
“No. That would be silly.”
She leans back.
Then pulls out a small spray bottle.
Len sits up straight.
Evie sprays the desk.
Spritz.
Spritz.
The sharp scent of cleaning solution fills the air.
Len stands up.
“Okay. That’s enough.”
Evie jumps slightly.
“What?”
“You can’t- you cannot bring craft supplies and chemicals
into a Peace workstation environment.”
Evie frowns.
“It’s just cleaning spray.”
Len gestures helplessly at the monitor.
“…and the glitter! And the stickers! And- and-”
He points dramatically at the computer.
“These machines run classified evidence databases!”
Evie folds her arms.
“I decorated my computer at home exactly like this.”
“That’s your home computer, Evie!”
“Yes.”
“This one costs more than my car.”
Evie tilts her head.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
Len opens his mouth to respond-
-and stops.
Because Elian Reyes has just walked into the bullpen.
Elian looks between them.
“Morning.”
Evie brightens instantly.
“Morning, Officer Reyes!”
Len gestures wildly toward Evie’s desk.
“She’s vandalizing the equipment.”
Evie gasps.
“I am not.”
Elian walks over slowly and studies the monitor.
The smiley sticker.
The glitter.
The tiny rainbow.
He nods thoughtfully.
“Looks cheerful.”
Len stares at him.
“Cheerful.”
“Yes.”
“This is a forensic workstation.”
“…and now it’s a cheerful forensic workstation.”
Len rubs his face.
“Elian…”
“She’s not touching the internals,” Elian says calmly.
“She’s spraying chemicals!”
“It’s desk cleaner.”
“It’s near the keyboard!”
Elian shrugs.
“If the keyboard survives a week of Officer Hopkins eating
doughnuts over it, it can survive a little disinfectant.”
Len sighs in defeat.
“Fine.”
He sits back down.
“…but if glitter gets inside the cooling fans, I am
documenting it.”
Evie beams.
“Thank you, Lenny.”
“I did not approve this.”
“You emotionally approved it.”
Len puts his headphones on.
“Please stop talking.”
Evie returns happily to arranging her stickers.
Elian watches her for a moment.
Then clears his throat.
“Evie?”
She turns immediately.
“Yes?”
“Come with me a minute.”
Evie freezes.
“Oh no.”
Elian gestures toward his office.
“Relax.”
She slowly stands.
“I’m in trouble, aren’t I.”
“No.”
“That’s exactly what people say when you’re in trouble.”
Elian smiles slightly.
“Just come in.”
Elian’s Office
Evie sits nervously in the chair across from his desk.
Her giant coffee cup sits in both hands like a life
preserver.
Elian closes the door.
Evie blurts out:
“I can take the glitter off.”
“You’re not in trouble.”
“I can take the stickers off too.”
“You’re still not in trouble.”
Evie stops.
“Oh.”
Elian sits down.
“Actually… you’re here because there’s nothing for you to
do today.”
Evie blinks.
“…what?”
Elian folds his hands.
“You haven’t seen the news yet.”
Evie shakes her head.
“I came straight here.”
“Elian says quietly:
“Vince McGeady was sentenced this morning.”
Evie leans forward.
“Oh.”
“He received life imprisonment.”
Evie goes very still.
“Elian continues:
“The sentence was issued by the Oirat court.”
Evie processes it slowly.
“…wow.”
“The key factor was the court’s finding that he dishonoured
the Blue Standard.”
Evie nods faintly.
“I heard something about that during the investigation…”
“Yes.”
Elian leans back.
“Once that ruling came down, the Sǫ̀mbak’è authorities shut
down their investigation.”
“…and since our inquiry was tied to theirs…”
Evie finishes the thought quietly.
“…Peace closed ours.”
Elian nods.
“Effective immediately.”
Evie stares at the desk.
Her brain is clearly trying to catch up.
“So…”
“No case work today.”
Evie laughs weakly.
“I… kind of prepared myself for a very long day.”
“I know.”
“You did excellent work, Evie.”
She looks up.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He gestures slightly toward the bullpen.
“You kept up with trained investigators.”
Evie smiles shyly.
“That’s because everybody kept explaining things to me.”
“That’s called teamwork.”
Evie leans back in the chair.
“…I don’t know what to do now.”
“You rest.”
Evie frowns.
“I’m not supposed to be back on my regular school schedule
until next week.”
“Exactly.”
“So I’m just… floating?”
“Temporary downtime.”
Evie looks unconvinced.
Her stomach suddenly growls loudly.
She freezes.
Elian raises an eyebrow.
Evie covers her face.
“…oh my gosh.”
Elian chuckles.
“Did you eat breakfast?”
“I had coffee.”
“That’s not breakfast.”
“It’s emotional breakfast.”
Elian stands.
“Come on.”
Evie looks up.
“…what?”
“I’m buying you breakfast.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes I do.”
“Why?”
Elian smiles.
“Because you earned it.”
Evie hesitates.
“…okay.”
“Good.”
He grabs his coat.
“After we eat, I’ll drive you home.”
Evie picks up her oversized coffee and stands.
As they head for the door she asks:
“Can I leave the stickers?”
Elian pauses.
“…we’ll negotiate that with Len.”
Evie grins.
…and for the first time in days, she looks relaxed.
The Smoky Den, March 22, 2023 Edition
Online.
The red ON AIR light flicked on.
A microphone creaked as Smoky Bear Bryant leaned forward in
his chair.
A thick cigar smoldered in an ashtray beside a stack of
papers he hadn’t bothered reading.
He didn’t need notes.
He had rage.
Smoky pulled his headphones over his ears and slapped the
desk.
“Alright. Alright, we’re live.”
He leaned toward the microphone.
“I woke up this morning to the dumbest damn news I have
heard in forty years in this business.”
He jabbed a finger at a television screen mounted behind the
desk where the headline looped:
VINCE MCGEADY SENTENCED TO LIFE IN OIRAT EMPIRE
Smoky barked a humorless laugh.
“Life.”
He shook his head slowly.
“LIFE.”
A long pause.
“Now I’m gonna say this right outta the gate before
everybody on the internet starts losin’ their minds.”
He pointed toward the microphone.
“I ain’t here to defend Vince McGeady.”
Another pause.
“Vince has been a reckless son of a bitch for a long time.”
He took a breath.
“…but that ain’t the story here.”
Smoky leaned forward.
“The story is that a promoter just got life in prison
over a wrestling show.”
He slapped the desk again.
“Let that sink in!”
The microphone rattled.
“A wrestling show!”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“…and before somebody sends me a thousand emails about it,
yes, I know what they said.”
He grabbed a sheet of paper.
“‘Dishonouring the Blue Standard.’”
He looked up from the page.
“What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?”
He tossed the paper aside.
“Apparently it means Vince ran his mouth in front of the
wrong judges.”
Smoky jabbed a finger toward the screen.
“You do NOT insult the court in a country like that!”
His voice rose.
“You apologize. You bow. You grovel if you gotta!”
He threw his hands in the air.
“…but, supposedly, Vince McGeady decided to call the judges
barbarians.”
Smoky leaned back in his chair.
“Real smart move there, Vince.”
He exhaled slowly.
“…and now he’s gonna spend the rest of his life in a Mongol
prison.”
Silence hung for a moment.
Then Smoky leaned forward again.
His tone changed.
Lower.
More serious.
“Now here’s the part nobody in this business wants to talk
about.”
He pointed toward the microphone again.
“If they can lock Vince McGeady up for life…”
He paused.
“They can lock ANY promoter up.”
He let that sit.
“For a hundred years this business has operated on trust.”
He tapped the desk.
“Trust in the locker room.”
“Trust between promoters.”
“Trust that the show goes on.”
Another pause.
“That trust just got shattered.”
He leaned closer to the microphone.
“You know what scares me?”
He held up a finger.
“Aiden McGeady testified against Vince.”
Smoky shook his head slowly.
“That right there… that’s a line nobody used to cross.”
His voice dropped to a mutter.
“…and now the damn dam has broken.”
He pointed toward the screen again.
“You think governments aren’t watching this?”
“You think regulators aren’t watching this?”
“You think some lawyer somewhere isn’t already sharpening
his knives?”
He leaned back again.
“This is gonna change the business.”
Another long pause.
Then Smoky sighed heavily.
“…and the worst part?”
He rubbed his temples.
“It didn’t have to happen.”
He looked up again.
“All Vince had to do was shut his mouth, write the apology,
and get on the damn plane.”
Smoky stared straight into the microphone.
“…but Vince McGeady never knew when to stop.”
The cigar burned quietly in the ashtray.
Smoky shook his head one last time.
“…and now the entire wrestling world is gonna pay the
price.”
The ON AIR light continued to glow red.
The rant was only getting started.
The red ON AIR light was still glowing.
Smoky hadn’t calmed down.
If anything, he looked more agitated.
He leaned forward again and jabbed a finger toward the
microphone.
“Now we gotta talk about the part that REALLY has people
whisperin’ in locker rooms this mornin’.”
He picked up another sheet of paper.
“Because according to the reports, Vince didn’t go down
alone.”
Smoky dropped the page.
“Aiden McGeady testified.”
He leaned back slowly in his chair.
For a moment he didn’t say anything.
Then he shook his head.
“I’ve been around this business a long time.”
His voice lowered.
“…and I have seen promoters screw people over. I’ve seen
wrestlers screw each other over. I’ve seen companies go under overnight.”
He pointed at the microphone again.
“…but the one rule everybody understood…”
He tapped the desk.
“You don’t take the business into a courtroom.”
He leaned forward again.
“You handle it inside the business.”
Smoky paused.
Then he sighed.
“Now before the internet starts screamin’, let me say
something real clear.”
He held up a hand.
“I don’t know what Aiden saw.”
“I don’t know what Aiden went through.”
“…and I sure as hell don’t know what his lawyers told him.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe the kid thought he had no choice.”
He leaned forward again.
“…but once that line gets crossed…”
He spread his hands.
“There’s no putting it back.”
Smoky pointed toward the television again.
“You think every promoter on the planet isn’t watching this
right now?”
“You think they aren’t asking themselves which one of their
guys might walk into a courtroom next?”
He leaned back.
“The business just got a lot colder.”
Another pause.
“…and that brings me to the WFE.”
He shook his head again.
“Because right now that company is standing on a cliff.”
He counted on his fingers.
“Vince is gone.”
“Aiden is gone.”
“Half the roster is probably lawyered up.”
“…and the other half is probably wondering if they’re next.”
Smoky leaned toward the microphone again.
“So the question everybody’s asking this morning is simple.”
He tapped the desk.
“Who runs the WFE now?”
Another pause.
“Because if nobody steps in fast…”
He exhaled slowly.
“That company could collapse before summer.”
The cigar crackled in the ashtray.
Smoky stared at the microphone.
“…and if the WFE collapses…”
He shrugged.
“Then Vince McGeady didn’t just destroy himself.”
He looked up at the television again.
“He might have destroyed the biggest wrestling company in
the world.”
The ON AIR light stayed red.
Messages were already flooding the podcast feed.
…and Smoky knew the next hour of the show was going to get
even uglier.
The Hortons’ House, March 22, 2023,
08:55 local time,
Barstow, Southern California, Republican Union of Western States
The television in the living room was still on.
Muted.
The headline banner continued looping across the bottom of
the screen:
VINCE MCGEADY SENTENCED TO LIFE IN OIRAT EMPIRE
Marie Horton stood near the kitchen counter, one hand
gripping her phone.
“Yes,” she said quietly into it. “We saw the news.”
Across the room, Glen Horton sat heavily in an armchair. He
had the television remote in his hand but hadn’t touched it in several minutes.
The lawyer’s voice crackled through the phone.
Marie listened carefully.
“So they’ve already reached out?”
A pause.
“Yes… I understand.”
Another pause.
She glanced at Glen.
“…and you think settlement talks could start soon?”
The lawyer spoke again.
Marie nodded slowly, even though the man on the other end
couldn’t see her.
“That’s fine,” she said. “We just want this handled the
right way.”
Another pause.
“Yes. I’ll tell Glen.”
She hung up.
Glen looked up.
“Well?”
Marie exhaled.
“The WFE’s lawyers already contacted ours.”
Glen frowned.
“That fast?”
Marie nodded.
“They want to start settlement talks.”
Glen leaned back in the chair.
He stared at the television.
“They’re scared,” he said quietly.
Marie didn’t answer.
Before either of them could say more-
Knock.
Both of them froze.
Another knock followed.
Glen stood.
“I’ll get it.”
He walked slowly to the front door and opened it.
William Goldstein stood on the porch.
He looked very different from the larger-than-life figure
people saw on television.
No makeup.
No cameras.
Just a tired man in a simple jacket, holding an envelope.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Goldstein lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” he said quietly.
Glen’s face tightened.
“What do you want?”
Goldstein swallowed.
“I heard about the ruling this morning.”
He held up the envelope.
“I… I needed to come.”
Marie had stepped into the hallway behind Glen now.
Her expression hardened when she saw who it was.
Goldstein noticed.
He didn’t step forward.
“I know the lawsuit’s still going,” he said. “I understand
that.”
He hesitated.
“…but I’ve been carrying this since it happened.”
He slowly extended the envelope.
“There’s a cheque in here.”
Neither Glen nor Marie moved.
Goldstein quickly shook his head.
“I’m not trying to buy you off,” he said immediately.
“That’s not what this is.”
Silence.
“I just… need to take responsibility for my part.”
He glanced down for a moment before continuing.
“I also heard Yves Laroche is in serious debt.”
Marie’s expression flickered slightly.
Goldstein noticed.
“I’ve tried calling him,” Goldstein said quietly. “He won’t
return my calls.”
Another pause.
“I wanted to help him too.”
He looked back at them.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. Not forgiveness. Not even
this conversation.”
His voice lowered.
“I just wanted you to hear me say it again.”
“I’m sorry.”
The words hung in the air.
Goldstein’s hands trembled slightly as he held the envelope.
“I think about that night every day,” he said.
“If I could go back and do it differently… I would.”
A long silence followed.
The desert wind moved lightly through the quiet
neighborhood.
Goldstein slowly lowered the envelope slightly.
“I don’t expect anything,” he said.
“I just needed to try.”
Glen and Marie looked at each other.
Neither of them had yet reached for the cheque.
The decision- whether to take it, refuse it, or simply close
the door- still hung unresolved between them.
Imperial Correction Fortress, March 23, 2023
07:12 local time,
Imperial Custodial Service Complex, Imperial Mörön, Oirat Empire
The cell was not large, but it was clean.
Concrete walls, poured and polished smooth.
A narrow bed fixed to the wall.
A stainless-steel sink and toilet combination.
No bars- only a heavy steel door with a narrow observation
slit and a small reinforced window facing the courtyard.
Outside, somewhere in the fortress complex, a distant siren
sounded the beginning of the morning routine.
Vince McGeady sat on the edge of the bed in the plain grey
uniform he had been issued the night before.
He had slept badly.
Not because of noise.
Because the silence never stopped.
The door lock clicked.
Vince looked up as the door opened and Farley Dickens
stepped inside, escorted briefly by a uniformed custodial officer who closed
the door behind him without a word.
Farley carried a thin folder.
For a moment neither man spoke.
Vince studied him with a tired expression.
“Let me guess,” Vince said hoarsely. “More bad news.”
Farley did not bother sitting.
He placed the folder on the narrow steel table attached to
the wall.
“I’m afraid so.”
Vince rubbed his face with both hands.
“What is it.”
Farley opened the folder and slid several documents across
the table.
“The WFE Board met late last night.”
Vince stared at the papers without touching them.
“…and?”
“They invoked the incapacitation clause.”
Vince’s eyes flicked up.
“They’ve removed you and Aiden from management.”
A long silence followed.
Vince let out a slow breath.
“Of course they did.”
Farley continued calmly.
“They’re proposing to place your voting shares into a
trust.”
Vince finally looked down at the documents.
The language was dense.
Legal.
Cold.
“A trust,” Vince repeated.
“Yes.”
Farley folded his hands.
“The trust would hold your shares temporarily while the
board searches for a buyer.”
Vince’s jaw tightened.
“So that’s it.”
“They believe it’s the only way to stabilize the company.”
Vince laughed once.
It wasn’t amused.
“Aiden?”
“He’s already agreed.”
That landed harder than the rest.
Vince leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
“Ten percent,” he muttered.
“What?”
“He only had ten percent of the vote.”
Vince looked back at the papers.
“…and he folded.”
Farley did not answer.
Vince picked up the first page.
His hands were steady.
“Convenient,” Vince said quietly. “I build the company. I
take the risk. I take the heat…and now that things get difficult…”
He tapped the page with one finger.
“They strip it away.”
Farley’s voice remained measured.
“Vince, your ability to influence the company from here is
extremely limited.”
Vince gestured around the cell.
“You don’t say.”
“This arrangement protects the value of your shares.”
Vince scoffed.
“You mean it protects their value.”
“It protects both.”
Farley leaned forward slightly.
“The board has no interest in selling the company at a
discount. That would damage everyone involved, including you.”
Vince studied him.
“You’re telling me they’re doing me a favor.”
“I’m telling you this is the least damaging path available.”
Another silence.
Outside the window, a line of prisoners was being marched
across the courtyard under guard.
Vince watched them for a moment.
He had his own cell because of who he was.
Too high-profile for general population.
Too notorious to risk the spectacle.
…but it was still prison.
Still concrete.
Still final.
He looked back at the documents.
“So I sign this… and what happens.”
“The trust holds your shares until a buyer is found.”
“…and then?”
“Then the shares are sold and the proceeds transferred to
your estate.”
Vince’s mouth tightened slightly.
“My estate.”
Farley waited.
Vince picked up the pen lying beside the papers.
He turned it slowly between his fingers.
For decades, that hand had signed:
-contracts
-broadcast deals
-talent agreements
-arena leases
-merchandising empires
Now it was signing away the company itself.
He looked down at the first signature line.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“I built that company.”
Farley did not argue.
“I know.”
Vince nodded once.
Slowly.
Then he signed.
The pen scratched across the paper.
One signature.
Then another.
…and another.
When he finished, he placed the pen down carefully.
Farley collected the documents and returned them to the
folder.
Vince sat back on the bed.
For the first time since the trial ended, he looked
genuinely tired.
Not angry.
Not defiant.
Just tired.
“It’s gone,” Vince said softly.
Farley closed the folder.
“Yes.”
Outside, the morning siren sounded again across the fortress
yard.
Inside the cell, Vince McGeady sat quietly on the narrow
bed, staring at the empty steel table where the papers had been. A tear ran
down his cheek. The finality of the moment hit him.
His rule on top of the wrestling world was now officially
over.
Libanona Beach Estates, March 23, 2023
11:24 local time,
Taolagnaro, Mahafaly, Southern Gate of the Dinosanct Confederation
The ocean was louder than Marcy expected.
Not violent- just constant. A rolling, steady breath of surf
that never quite stopped, even when the wind died down.
Through the open windows of the house, the sound filled the
rooms like a background rhythm.
Marcy Carter stood in the middle of the living room
surrounded by half-open crates and shipping cases.
Some were labeled WARDROBE.
Others TRAINING EQUIPMENT.
One very large one read MEDICAL SUPPORT — HANDLE WITH CARE.
She rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the room.
“Well,” she said aloud, “this is a start.”
Behind her, something small and white tore across the floor
at alarming speed.
“Casper-!”
The dog skidded around a stack of boxes, nails clicking
wildly on the polished stone floor, and disappeared down the hallway like a
tiny hurricane.
Marcy groaned.
“Casper! We’re not done unpacking!”
No response.
A moment later the dog reappeared, sprinting back the other
way with what looked suspiciously like a roll of packing tape hanging from his
mouth.
Marcy pointed at him.
“No.”
Casper froze mid-step.
His tail wagged anyway.
“Drop it.”
He did.
…but only after chewing the end into a ragged string.
Marcy sighed and rubbed her forehead.
“You’ve been here five minutes.”
Casper barked happily and bolted outside through the open
terrace doors toward the beach.
Marcy shook her head.
“I swear that dog thinks we moved here just for him.”
Behind her, a deep, amused rumble echoed through the room.
Boro stood near the largest crate, carefully lifting a steel
frame component out of protective foam.
The Lizardfolk moved slowly and deliberately, his long arms
handling the equipment with surprising precision.
Marcy gestured toward the crate.
“That one’s Cesar’s lift rig.”
Boro nodded, running a claw lightly along the metal support.
He seemed to understand.
“Bedroom is down that hall,” Marcy added. “I want the
reinforcement brackets installed before he gets here.”
Boro gave another small nod and began carrying the frame
pieces toward the hallway.
Marcy watched him go for a moment.
The whole situation still felt surreal.
Madagascar.
Taolagnaro.
A house overlooking the Indian Ocean.
A training partner from the Academy helping her assemble a
home that needed to accommodate a man rebuilding his life after a devastating
injury.
Outside, Casper barked again somewhere near the sand.
Marcy stepped onto the terrace.
The view was almost absurd.
Bright blue water stretching to the horizon.
Palm trees swaying gently along the cliffs.
The warm air smelled like salt and sun and something faintly
sweet from nearby vegetation.
Paradise.
She leaned against the railing.
Behind her, boxes still filled the house.
Questions filled her head.
With Vince gone, everything had changed.
Maybe.
Or maybe nothing had.
Would the WFE survive?
Would new owners bring her back?
Would they honor Vince’s firings- or erase them?
When would the shows start again?
Would the company she knew even exist by then?
Too many unknowns.
Marcy exhaled slowly.
On the beach below, Casper sprinted across the sand chasing
something only he could see.
She smiled despite herself.
“Day one,” she said quietly.
The ocean rolled in again, steady and endless.
Whatever came next would come later.
For now, Marcy Carter stood on the terrace of her new home,
sunlight on her face, the sound of the sea in her ears, and the strange,
fragile feeling that- just maybe- life had given her a second beginning.
Bow Wow Castle Complex, Evie’s Apartment, March 22, 2023
11:25 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
Evie stepped out first, still holding the paper cup of
coffee she’d brought with her from breakfast. The hallway of the Bow Wow Castle
Complex was quiet this late in the morning- most residents already out at work
or school.
Elian Reyes followed a step behind her.
Evie turned back toward him as they stopped outside her
apartment door.
“Thanks again,” she said. “That place was amazing.”
Elian shrugged lightly.
“You earned it.”
Evie smiled.
“I’m serious. I didn’t even know that restaurant existed.”
“That’s because it’s hidden,” Elian said. “Best breakfast
places usually are.”
Evie nodded, then grew a little more thoughtful.
“…and… thanks for what you said back there.”
Elian tilted his head slightly.
“Which part?”
“The part where you said I did a good job.”
“You did,” Elian replied simply.
Evie shifted her weight.
“You didn’t have to bring me into that investigation the way
you did.”
“I didn’t bring you into it,” Elian said. “You stepped into
it.”
Evie looked down briefly.
“Still.”
She hesitated, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms
around him in a quick, firm hug.
Elian froze for a second in surprise.
Then he returned it gently.
Evie pulled back, smiling a little awkwardly.
“Sorry,” she said. “That just kind of happened.”
Elian shook his head.
“No apology needed.”
She didn’t say the rest out loud.
Didn’t say that he’d become something close to the father
she’d never really had.
Didn’t say how much it meant that someone believed in her
the way he did.
Instead she just said quietly:
“Thanks for believing in me.”
Elian gave her a warm look.
“You’re doing the work, Evie. I’m just watching it happen.”
“I hope we get to keep working together for many more years,”
she said.
Elian smiled.
“You probably will.”
Evie nodded once, satisfied with that answer, then turned
and unlocked the apartment door.
She stepped inside.
A moment later the door opened again.
Her mother, Stacy, stood in the doorway.
She wore a bathrobe loosely tied at the waist with a light
jacket thrown over it, hair still a little messy from the morning.
“Oh,” Stacy said pleasantly. “You must be Officer Reyes.”
Elian straightened slightly.
“Elian is fine.”
Stacy extended a hand.
“Stacy Sicario.”
Elian shook it.
“Nice to formally meet you.”
Evie slipped past them into the apartment.
“I’m going to put my stuff down,” she called back toward the
hallway.
The door remained open.
Stacy leaned casually against the frame, looking Elian up
and down with a thoughtful expression.
“So,” she said lightly, “you’re the one mentoring my
daughter.”
“I try,” Elian said.
“She talks about you.”
Elian raised an eyebrow.
“Hopefully good things.”
“Oh, very good things.”
There was a small pause.
Elian glanced toward the apartment interior.
When he looked back, Stacy caught the brief glance he’d made
toward her open jacket.
She smiled.
Not offended.
Amused.
“Well now,” she said softly.
Elian blinked.
“Sorry-”
“No, no,” Stacy said with a playful wave of her hand. “I’m
not complaining.”
Elian cleared his throat.
Stacy leaned a little closer to the doorway.
“You know,” she said, “I was just thinking about dinner
tonight.”
Elian waited cautiously.
“I’ve got an evening gown,” Stacy continued, “that I think
you’d really enjoy seeing.”
Elian laughed under his breath.
“That so?”
“Oh yes.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“…and I have a feeling you’d look hotter than John Wick in a
suit.”
Elian chuckled.
“That’s a high bar.”
Stacy shrugged.
“I like ambitious goals.”
She reached over and tapped the doorframe.
“Call me.”
Then she added with a mischievous grin:
“Call me, Neo.”
Elian couldn’t help laughing.
“Alright,” he said.
Then, before leaving, he leaned back slightly and attempted
an exaggerated slow-motion Matrix-style bullet-dodge gesture.
It was… not good.
Stacy burst out laughing.
“That might be the worst bullet time I’ve ever seen.”
Elian pointed at her.
“Hey. I said I’d try.”
“You did.”
He stepped backward toward the elevator.
“I’ll call.”
Stacy folded her arms with a satisfied smile.
“I’ll be waiting.”
The elevator doors slid open.
Elian stepped inside, still chuckling to himself.
Back inside the apartment, Evie called from the kitchen:
“Mom, who were you talking to?”
Stacy shut the door.
“Oh,” she said casually.
“Just making friends.”
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