The Virus: Existential Crisis, Part 4

Pictured: The Kharina Sisters, Tonya (L) and Roza (R)

The Mat and the Monitor, March 23, 2023 Edition

Online

The show opened without the usual upbeat intro.

Instead, the camera cut directly to Darian Fell and Marilyn Morrow seated behind the desk. The monitor behind them displayed a simple headline:

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE

Darian looked into the camera.

“This is not a normal episode of The Mat and the Monitor.”

Marilyn nodded.

“The World Fighting Empire is currently being run by a legal trust after Vince McGeady was sentenced to life imprisonment in Oirat custody earlier this week.”

She paused.

“…and the wrestling world is now trying to figure out what happens next.”

Darian gestured to the third chair.

“To help us unpack that, we’re joined by wrestling historian Michael Foley.”

Foley nodded politely.

“Thanks for having me.”

Marilyn smiled slightly.

“For people who may not know, Michael is the historian who first coined the nickname ‘McGreedy’ for Vince McGeady- a name that stuck for obvious reasons.”

Foley shrugged.

“I wish it hadn’t proven so accurate.”

Darian leaned forward.

“Let’s start with the biggest immediate question.”

He tapped the desk.

“After the Borealis Bay disaster and before the investigation closed in, Vince panic-fired a huge number of wrestlers.”

The monitor behind them changed.

**MAGNOLIA WINE
ROMAN CESAR
THE UNIT
THE CARTEL

• MULTIPLE ROSTER CUTS**

Marilyn continued.

“These weren’t quiet releases. They were sudden, public firings.”

“Many happened within days of the Borealis Bay incident.”

“…and now that Vince is gone…”

She spread her hands.

“The obvious question is whether the WFE tries to bring those people back.”

Foley leaned back slightly.

“Well, historically speaking, wrestling companies do this all the time.”

Darian raised an eyebrow.

“Fire people and then rehire them?”

Foley nodded.

“Absolutely.”

“Promoters make emotional decisions under pressure.”

“When the pressure goes away, they quietly reverse them.”

Marilyn nodded.

“…but this situation isn’t normal.”

“No,” Foley agreed.

“Not even close.”

He pointed toward the screen.

“Those firings weren’t just emotional.”

“They were defensive.”

Darian frowned.

“Defensive?”

Foley nodded.

“Vince was trying to protect the company.”

“Or more accurately- protect himself.”

He folded his hands.

“When promoters feel the walls closing in, they start cutting loose anyone they think might become a liability.”

Marilyn looked thoughtful.

“So bringing those wrestlers back could be… complicated.”

“Very,” Foley said.

Darian added another problem.

“Especially financially.”

He tapped a note on the desk.

“Several analysts believe the WFE’s finances are much worse than people realize.”

Marilyn nodded.

“The company has lost major sponsors.”

“Multiple shows were canceled.”

“…and the Borealis Bay lawsuits are only beginning.”

Foley nodded slowly.

“That’s the key issue.”

He gestured to the screen again.

“People assume you can just rehire everyone.”

“…but wrestling contracts aren’t cheap.”

“Magnolia Wine alone was one of the company’s top draws.”

Darian added:

“Roman Cesar was a main-event talent.”

“…and The Unit and The Cartel were major faction programs.”

Marilyn leaned forward.

“So even if the WFE wants to bring them back…”

Foley finished the thought.

“They might not be able to afford it.”

Darian nodded.

“…and that’s before we talk about trust.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Marilyn spoke carefully.

“If you were one of those wrestlers… would you come back?”

Foley didn’t answer immediately.

Then he smiled faintly.

“Wrestlers are practical people.”

“If the money is right, most of them would at least listen.”

He paused.

“…but there’s another factor.”

Darian tilted his head.

“What’s that?”

Foley replied:

“The person running the company.”

The monitor behind them shifted again.

WFE SEEKING NEW OWNER
WFE SEEKING NEW BOOKER

Marilyn nodded.

“The WFE says it plans to separate ownership from creative control going forward.”

Darian looked at Foley.

“So let’s talk about that.”

“What kind of booker does the WFE need now?”

Foley smiled slightly.

“Well…”

He tapped the desk.

“There are a lot of ways to book wrestling.”

He leaned toward the microphone.

“…but the one thing history teaches us…”

“…is that no single person should ever control everything.”

The screen faded.

The program returned after a brief intermission graphic.

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE — PART II
HOW WRESTLING IS BOOKED

Darian Fell leaned slightly toward the desk.

“Welcome back.”

“In Part One we talked about the immediate fallout inside the World Fighting Empire- the panic firings, the financial uncertainty, and the question of whether some of those wrestlers might return.”

Marilyn Morrow nodded.

“…but the larger question remains unresolved.”

She gestured toward the monitor behind them.

“If the WFE is truly separating ownership from creative control…”

“…what kind of booker are they even looking for?”

Darian turned toward their guest.

“Michael, earlier you said there are many different ways to book wrestling.”

Foley smiled faintly.

“There are.”

He folded his hands on the desk.

“…and most of them were invented long before the modern wrestling industry existed.”

The monitor shifted to a simple title card.

HISTORICAL BOOKING MODELS

Foley continued.

“For most of wrestling’s early history, the structure was very simple.”

He raised one finger.

“The Autocrat.”

Marilyn raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds ominous.”

Foley chuckled softly.

“It’s not necessarily a bad system.”

“In fact, it produced many of wrestling’s most successful eras.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“The Autocrat model means one person controls everything.”

“Ownership.”

“Creative direction.”

“Talent decisions.”

“Business strategy.”

Darian nodded.

“A single vision.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“…and when that person is talented… it can work beautifully.”

He paused.

“…but when that person becomes insulated from criticism…”

“…the system stops correcting itself.”

Marilyn glanced briefly toward the camera.

“…and that’s the danger.”

Foley nodded.

“The danger is that nobody can say no.”

The monitor changed again.

MODEL TWO- THE MATCHMAKER

Foley lifted another finger.

“The second model is older than television wrestling.”

He smiled.

“The Matchmaker.”

Darian leaned back slightly.

“That sounds more like boxing.”

“Very similar,” Foley replied.

“In the early days of wrestling, the promoter often wasn’t the creative mind.”

“That job belonged to a respected wrestler or veteran who understood psychology and crowd reactions.”

Marilyn nodded.

“So the promoter handled business…”

“…and the matchmaker built the card.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“This system relied heavily on locker-room authority.”

“Respect mattered more than corporate structure.”

Darian asked:

“Was that stable?”

Foley shrugged.

“It depended entirely on personalities.”

“When it worked, the locker room trusted the booker.”

“When it didn’t… chaos.”

The monitor shifted again.

MODEL THREE- THE WRESTLER-BOOKER

Marilyn smiled slightly.

“I’ve heard about this one.”

Foley laughed.

“Everyone has.”

He gestured with one hand.

“In this model, the top star of the company is also responsible for booking the show.”

Darian smirked.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be,” Foley admitted.

“But historically it was common.”

“The logic was simple.”

He spread his hands.

“Who understands wrestling better than the people actually performing it?”

Marilyn nodded.

“…but that must create conflicts of interest.”

“Constantly,” Foley said.

“Some wrestler-bookers were famously generous.”

“Others… less so.”

Darian chuckled.

“I can imagine.”

The screen changed again.

MODEL FOUR- THE CREATIVE COMMITTEE

Foley leaned back slightly.

“This is a more modern development.”

“Once wrestling companies became large corporations, one person simply couldn’t manage everything.”

Marilyn nodded.

“So the solution was… committees.”

“Yes,” Foley said.

“Teams of writers.”

“Producers.”

“Talent advisors.”

“Corporate executives.”

Darian grimaced.

“That sounds bureaucratic.”

Foley smiled.

“It often was.”

“…but it also prevented the kind of unchecked authority that defined earlier eras.”

Marilyn added:

“So more stability… but sometimes less creativity.”

“Precisely.”

The monitor changed once more.

MODEL FIVE- THE PROMOTER-STRATEGIST

Foley continued.

“This model treats wrestling less like theater…”

“…and more like a sports league.”

Darian nodded.

“Long-term planning.”

“Brand development.”

“Financial sustainability.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“In this system, storytelling still exists…”

“…but the primary focus is building a stable company.”

Marilyn folded her hands.

“So that’s five major models already.”

Foley nodded.

“…and every successful wrestling promotion in history has used some combination of them.”

Darian leaned forward again.

“Which brings us back to the WFE.”

The monitor behind them switched back to the company logo.

Marilyn spoke quietly.

“For decades, the WFE effectively operated under one system.”

Foley finished the thought.

“The Autocrat.”

Darian nodded.

“One person at the top.”

“Complete authority.”

Foley looked directly into the camera.

“…and historically speaking…”

“…that system always ends the same way.”

Marilyn raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

Foley answered calmly.

“Eventually the company becomes too large for one person to control.”

Darian tapped the desk.

“…and when that happens?”

Foley shrugged.

“The industry evolves.”

He smiled slightly.

“The real question now is what the WFE evolves into.”

The screen faded slowly.

The program returned once more.

The monitor behind Darian Fell and Marilyn Morrow now displayed a new title card:

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE — PART III
MODERN BOOKERS

Darian leaned toward the desk.

“In Part Two we talked about the historical ways wrestling has been booked.”

“The autocrats, the matchmakers, the wrestler-bookers, the committees.”

Marilyn nodded.

“But wrestling today is a much larger ecosystem.”

She gestured toward their guest.

“So Michael… who are the people actually booking wrestling right now?”

Foley smiled faintly.

“Well, there’s no shortage of them.”

The monitor behind them changed again.

MODERN BOOKERS — INDUSTRY LANDSCAPE

Foley leaned forward slightly.

“Let’s start with the ones closest to the WFE.”

---

Adrian Vale

The screen showed a photo.

ADRIAN VALE
Head Booker- IWC Gotham Grappling

Foley nodded.

“Vale is probably the most respected long-term storyteller working today.”

“He’s very patient.”

“Very structured.”

“His programs often run six months or even a year.”

Darian nodded.

“The downside?”

Foley shrugged.

“Sometimes the audience gets bored waiting for the payoff.”

Marilyn added:

“…and Vale’s style is very… traditional.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“He books wrestling like a prestige drama.”

---

Diego Barragan

The screen shifted again.

DIEGO BARRAGAN
Creative Director- Lucha Estrella

Foley smiled.

“Barragan is almost the opposite of Vale.”

“Fast.”

“Chaotic.”

“High energy.”

Darian grinned.

“So every show feels unpredictable.”

“Yes,” Foley said.

“…but that unpredictability can also burn out audiences.”

Marilyn nodded.

“And talent.”

Foley laughed.

“Especially talent.”

---

Petra Kovač

Another graphic appeared.

PETRA KOVAČ
Executive Booker — Danube Wrestling Federation

Foley folded his hands.

“Kovač is one of the most disciplined creative minds in wrestling.”

“She treats booking almost like chess.”

Marilyn looked impressed.

“Strategic?”

“Very,” Foley said.

“…but sometimes… too controlled.”

Darian nodded.

“I’ve heard criticism that her shows feel overly calculated.”

“That’s the tradeoff,” Foley said.

---

Lucas Armitage

The screen changed again.

LUCAS ARMITAGE
Creative Lead- Atlantic Championship Wrestling

Foley continued.

“Armitage represents a newer philosophy.”

“He’s obsessed with statistics.”

“Fan engagement.”

“Streaming metrics.”

Darian smirked.

“So wrestling as data.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“He’s extremely good at building momentum for rising talent.”

Marilyn added:

“…but critics say his shows sometimes lack emotional weight.”

Foley nodded.

“Numbers can’t always replace instinct.”

---

The monitor changed again.

KOFI BADU
Head Booker- Gold Coast Wrestling Federation

Foley nodded slightly.

“Another name worth mentioning is Kofi Badu.”

Marilyn tilted her head.

“I’ve heard that name recently.”

“You probably have,” Foley said. “Badu runs the Gold Coast Wrestling Federation out of Accra. It’s one of the fastest-growing promotions in West Africa.”

Darian leaned forward.

“What’s his style?”

Foley smiled faintly.

“Spectacle.”

“Big arenas. Huge crowds. Very loud shows.”

He gestured lightly with one hand.

“Badu understands atmosphere better than almost anyone right now. His events feel less like wrestling cards and more like city festivals.”

Marilyn nodded.

“So crowd energy drives the storytelling.”

“Exactly,” Foley said. “He builds rivalries around factions, regional pride, that kind of thing.”

Darian added:

“That sounds very old-school.”

“It is,” Foley replied, “and that’s both the strength and the weakness.”

Marilyn raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“Badu is excellent at creating heroes,” Foley said. “He knows how to make a crowd believe in a star.”

He paused.

“…but critics say his stories sometimes struggle once the hero actually wins.”

Darian chuckled.

“So he’s great at the chase.”

“Very good at the chase,” Foley agreed.

Marilyn glanced at the monitor again.

“Would someone like Badu ever be considered for the WFE?”

Foley shrugged.

“Probably not immediately.”

“The WFE’s scale is very different from what he’s running right now.”

He smiled slightly.

“…but if his promotion keeps growing…”

“…that conversation might happen sooner than people think.”

---

Darian leaned back.

“So those are some of the established creative leaders.”

“…but none of them seem like obvious WFE candidates.”

Marilyn nodded.

“The WFE is a very different kind of company.”

Foley smiled.

“Which brings us to the more unusual possibilities.”

The monitor shifted again.

The headline appeared slowly.

ROZA KHARINA
TONYA KHARINA

Marilyn tilted her head.

“Those names might surprise some viewers.”

Darian nodded.

“Most people outside Eastern Europe probably haven’t heard of them.”

Foley chuckled.

“Oh, people inside the industry definitely have.”

The screen displayed a photo of a wrestling arena.

ST. PETERSBURG WRESTLING UNION
Capital of Estonia

Foley continued.

“The Kharina sisters run the largest independent wrestling promotion in St. Petersburg.”

“…and over the last few years… they’ve built it into one of the most successful independent promotions in Europe.”

Marilyn leaned forward slightly.

“…but they’re also known for having very different philosophies.”

“Very different,” Foley agreed.

He raised a finger.

“Roza Kharina.”

---

Roza Kharina

The monitor displayed her profile.

ROZA KHARINA
Creative Director

Foley continued.

“Roza is a pure chaos booker.”

“Wild twists.”

“Constant story developments.”

“Shocking moments.”

Darian smiled.

“So every show feels explosive.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“…but critics say her storytelling can become unpredictable to the point of confusion.”

Marilyn nodded.

“A creative gambler.”

“Very much so.”

---

Tonya Kharina

The monitor shifted again.

TONYA KHARINA
Managing Promoter

Foley lifted a second finger.

“Tonya is the opposite.”

“She’s methodical.”

“Data-driven.”

“Extremely focused on long-term brand growth.”

Darian laughed.

“So they’re completely different.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“…but somehow…”

He spread his hands.

“…it works.”

Marilyn smiled slightly.

“The classic creative tension.”

“Right,” Foley said.

“Roza creates chaos.”

“Tonya creates structure.”

Darian nodded.

“…and together they built the biggest independent promotion in the Estonian capital.”

Marilyn leaned forward.

“So the obvious question.”

She glanced at Darian.

“Would the Kharina sisters even consider running the WFE?”

Foley shrugged.

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

Darian tapped the desk.

“Because if the WFE really intends to separate ownership from booking…”

“…they might be looking for something unconventional.”

Foley nodded slowly.

“…and sometimes…”

He looked toward the camera.

“…the most interesting ideas come from places nobody expected.”

The monitor faded to black.

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE CONTINUES

The monitor faded back to the WFE logo.

Darian leaned back in his chair.

“Well… I’m going to throw a name into this discussion.”

Marilyn smiled.

“I was wondering when you’d do that.”

Darian gestured toward the monitor.

“If we’re talking about modern creative minds…”

“…my personal favorite is Wei-Lung Lau.”

The screen changed.

WEI-LUNG LAU
Creative Director- Canton Elite Wrestling

Marilyn nodded slowly.

“Lau’s reputation has grown a lot over the last few years.”

Foley raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak yet.

Darian continued.

“Lau runs Canton Elite Wrestling, which has quietly become one of the most respected promotions in East Asia.”

“He’s obsessed with match quality.”

“Long, technical bouts.”

“Very careful character development.”

Marilyn added:

“…and almost no overbooking.”

Darian nodded.

“Exactly.”

“His philosophy is that the wrestling itself should carry the story.”

Foley folded his hands.

“…and sometimes it does.”

Darian smiled.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Foley shrugged.

“Lau is brilliant at producing great matches.”

“…but great matches and great television aren’t always the same thing.”

Marilyn nodded thoughtfully.

“Fair point.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“…but if we’re naming favorites… I have one too.”

Darian gestured toward the monitor again.

“Go ahead.”

The screen changed once more.

JULIETTE MERCIER
Executive Booker- Nouvelle Lutte Internationale

Foley nodded faintly.

“Ah.”

Marilyn continued.

“Mercier runs NLI out of Marseille.”

“…and she’s built one of the most emotionally compelling wrestling products anywhere right now.”

Darian smiled.

“She’s very character-driven.”

“Exactly,” Marilyn said.

“Her shows feel almost like theater.”

“Every feud has personal stakes.”

“Every rivalry builds to a clear emotional climax.”

Foley tilted his head slightly.

“…and when it works… it works beautifully.”

Darian looked at him.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Foley smiled.

“There’s always a ‘but.’”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Mercier’s storytelling is powerful.”

“…but it also relies heavily on a small number of top performers.”

Marilyn nodded.

“That’s true.”

Foley continued.

“If one of those performers leaves…”

“…the structure can collapse very quickly.”

Darian chuckled.

“So you’re unimpressed with both of our choices.”

“Not unimpressed,” Foley said calmly.

“Just cautious.”

He gestured lightly toward the monitor behind them.

“The WFE isn’t a niche promotion.”

“It’s the largest wrestling company in the world.”

He paused.

“Running a company that size requires something different.”

Marilyn folded her hands.

“…and what would that be?”

Foley smiled faintly.

“Balance.”

Darian tilted his head.

“Balance?”

Foley nodded.

“Creative vision.”

“Business discipline.”

“Locker-room leadership.”

“…and the ability to survive constant public scrutiny.”

He leaned back slightly.

“Very few people have all of those qualities.”

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Darian finally nodded.

“…and somewhere out there…”

“…one of them might be the next booker of the WFE.”

The screen faded slowly.

The program returned once more.

The monitor behind Darian Fell and Marilyn Morrow now displayed a new title card.

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE- PART IV
WHO COULD BUY THE COMPANY?

Darian leaned forward.

“So far we’ve talked about the wrestling side of the equation.”

“Bookers, creative philosophy, the roster situation.”

He gestured toward the monitor.

“…but ultimately… none of that matters until one question is answered.”

Marilyn finished the thought.

“Who owns the World Fighting Empire?”

Michael Foley nodded slowly.

“That’s the real issue.”

The screen shifted.

POSSIBLE BUYERS

Darian continued.

“If the WFE is sold outright, the buyer would likely need billions in capital.”

“Which immediately narrows the field.”

Marilyn glanced at her notes.

“One obvious candidate would be Electronic Poetry.”

Foley nodded.

“That would make sense.”

Darian added:

“They already hold the WFE’s primary broadcast rights.”

“…and they’ve been expanding aggressively into sports entertainment.”

Marilyn shrugged.

“Vertical integration.”

“Own the programming you’re already broadcasting.”

Foley tilted his head slightly.

“The downside is that media companies tend to treat wrestling like content.”

“Which can mean heavy corporate oversight.”

Darian nodded.

“Creative freedom might shrink considerably.”

---

The monitor changed again.

THOMAS McCRAIN

Marilyn looked up.

“Another possibility people inside the industry keep mentioning is Thomas McCrain.”

Darian nodded slowly.

“That name has come up a lot.”

Foley leaned back.

“McCrain certainly has the financial resources.”

“…and he has a history of investing in sports and entertainment ventures.”

Marilyn added:

“…but he’s also known for operating very strategically.”

“Extremely,” Foley agreed.

“If McCrain bought the WFE, it would almost certainly become a far more controlled organization.”

Darian smirked slightly.

“Some people might welcome that after the McGeady era.”

---

The screen shifted again.

ERNESTO “ERNEST” ESPARZA

Marilyn smiled faintly.

“This one would definitely be more colorful.”

Darian laughed.

“Esparza has never been accused of lacking personality.”

Foley nodded.

“Esparza built his fortune through event promotion across Latin America.”

“He understands spectacle.”

“He understands live audiences.”

Darian added:

“…but critics say he sometimes prioritizes spectacle over stability.”

Foley shrugged.

“That’s a fair criticism.”

“…but wrestling has always thrived on spectacle.”

---

The monitor changed again.

RONALD RUST

Darian leaned back slightly.

“Another name circulating quietly is Ronald Rust.”

Marilyn nodded.

“Rust has been investing in combat sports properties for years.”

Foley considered the idea.

“Rust is interesting.”

“He’s not a wrestling traditionalist.”

“…but he’s a very disciplined businessman.”

Darian added:

“…and he tends to hire specialists rather than trying to run things himself.”

Marilyn looked thoughtful.

“That approach might actually suit the WFE right now.”

---

The monitor shifted again.

MARCUS DALCA
Founder- Iron Meridian Capital

Darian continued.

“Another possibility would be a private equity buyer.”

“Someone like Marcus Dalca.”

Marilyn nodded.

“Dalca has been acquiring sports media assets across Europe.”

Foley frowned slightly.

“Private equity is always a double-edged sword.”

Darian smiled.

“Because they’re focused on profitability.”

“Exactly,” Foley said.

“Which can mean cost cutting.”

“Roster reductions.”

“Short-term financial decisions.”

Marilyn added quietly:

“…but it can also mean stability.”

---

The monitor changed once more.

BOARD CONSORTIUM

Darian leaned forward again.

“Of course… there’s another possibility.”

“The company might not be sold to a single buyer at all.”

Marilyn nodded.

“Some analysts believe the WFE board could attempt a consortium buyout.”

Foley raised an eyebrow.

“That would mean the board members purchasing most of Vince McGeady’s shares themselves.”

Darian continued.

“…and then leaving a minority stake available for outside investors.”

Marilyn glanced at her notes.

“In deals like that, the outside stake is often around twenty to thirty percent.”

Foley nodded.

“That range would make sense.”

“Large enough to attract investors…”

“…but not large enough to give them full control.”

Darian added:

“So the board maintains stability.”

“…and an outside partner brings capital.”

Marilyn folded her hands.

“Which might be exactly what the WFE needs right now.”

Foley looked toward the monitor again.

“The truth is…”

“…anyone who buys this company is taking a massive gamble.”

Darian nodded slowly.

“The WFE is still the biggest wrestling brand in the world.”

“…but it’s also facing lawsuits, sponsor withdrawals, and a deeply shaken roster.”

Marilyn finished the thought.

“Whoever buys it won’t just be buying a wrestling company.”

“They’ll be buying a crisis.”

Foley smiled faintly.

“…and crises can create opportunities.”

Darian leaned back in his chair.

“The question now is whether anyone is willing to take that risk.”

The monitor faded to black.

THE FUTURE OF THE WFE CONTINUES

Bow Wow Castle Complex, Bard’s Diner, March 23, 2023

11:25 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

Late morning traffic moved lazily outside the diner windows. Office workers, students, a few Peace personnel drifting through the complex on early lunch breaks.

Inside Bard’s Diner, the air smelled of coffee, fried potatoes, and syrup.

Evie Sicario sat in a booth by the window, stirring her coffee slowly. She wasn’t really drinking it- just watching the swirl.

Across from her, Rayna Embers leaned back comfortably in the booth seat, a half-eaten stack of pancakes in front of her.

Rayna pointed her fork at Evie.

“You’ve stirred that thing for five minutes.”

Evie blinked and looked down at the cup.

“Oh.”

She finally took a sip.

Rayna grinned.

“You always do that when you’re thinking too hard.”

Evie smiled sheepishly.

“I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”

“It is,” Rayna said.

She cut another piece of pancake.

“So.”

She gestured at Evie.

“You’ve been off work all week.”

Evie nodded.

“Pretty much.”

Rayna raised an eyebrow.

“I thought the Peace internship was intense.”

“It was,” Evie said.

She shrugged slightly.

“…but the investigation stopped.”

Rayna tilted her head.

“Because of Vince.”

Evie nodded again.

“Yeah.”

“Once he was convicted and transferred to the Oirat system, most of the investigative work ended.”

Rayna leaned back.

“So they just… stopped everything?”

“Not everything,” Evie said quickly.

“Just the parts I was helping with.”

She took another sip of coffee.

“They told me to resume my normal schedule next week.”

“Back to the three-hour afternoon shifts.”

Rayna nodded.

“So you’ve had a week of unexpected vacation.”

Evie laughed softly.

“Something like that.”

Rayna pointed at her.

“…and you’ve spent the whole time reading case files, haven’t you?”

Evie hesitated.

“…maybe.”

Rayna shook her head.

“You’re such a nerd.”

Evie laughed.

“I know.”

For a moment they just sat there.

The quiet between them wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

That was new.

Rayna broke the quiet first.

“So.”

She took a sip of orange juice.

“How’s the west tower treating you?”

Evie shrugged.

“Same as always.”

“Hot water works when it feels like it.”

Rayna laughed.

“Fourth floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, that pipe’s been weird since we were kids,” Rayna said.

Evie smiled.

“I swear the building decides when it wants to be modern.”

Rayna gestured around the diner.

“At least Bard’s fixed their heating.”

Evie nodded.

“Thank God.”

“Remember when this place still had that giant draft by the kitchen?”

Rayna grinned.

“Yeah.”

“Because the wall used to be a gate.”

Evie laughed.

“…and management tried to pretend that was ‘rustic ambiance.’”

Rayna lifted her glass.

“To rustic ambiance.”

Evie raised her coffee.

“To buildings older than the country.”

They clinked lightly.

Rayna leaned back.

“Still beats the south bastion apartments.”

Evie nodded immediately.

“Those floors slope.”

“Exactly,” Rayna said.

“You can literally watch your coffee slide across the table.”

Evie laughed.

“Castle engineering.”

Rayna shrugged.

“Six hundred years later and we’re still working around it.”

Rayna then smiled.

“To the castle.”

Evie lifted her coffee in response.

They clinked again lightly.

Rayna leaned back again.

“Meanwhile I’m still doing my glamorous life.”

Evie smiled.

“King’s Harem?”

Rayna nodded.

“Still King’s Harem.”

She shrugged.

“It pays the bills.”

Evie tilted her head.

“How’s it been lately?”

Rayna smirked.

“Same as always.”

“Sports on the TVs.”

“Men pretending they’re not staring.”

“Tips depending entirely on how drunk everyone is.”

Evie laughed.

“That sounds… exhausting.”

“It is,” Rayna said.

“…but it works.”

She picked up her phone briefly, checking a notification.

“Daycare’s the real expense.”

Evie nodded sympathetically.

“How’s the baby doing?”

Rayna’s expression softened instantly.

“She’s great.”

“She started grabbing everything now.”

Evie smiled.

“That’s a good sign.”

Rayna nodded.

“Yeah.”

She set her phone down.

“You should come by sometime.”

Evie blinked.

“The Harem?”

Rayna grinned.

“Why not?”

“You’d probably analyze the entire room like a crime scene.”

Evie laughed.

“I would not.”

“You absolutely would,” Rayna said.

They both laughed.

Then the conversation drifted.

Eventually Rayna tapped the table.

“So.”

“Speaking of analyzing things.”

Evie sighed.

“Vince.”

Rayna nodded.

“Vince.”

For a moment neither spoke.

Evie looked down at her coffee.

“It’s still weird.”

Rayna raised an eyebrow.

“Weird?”

Evie nodded slowly.

“He ran the biggest wrestling company in the world.”

“…and now he’s in an Oirat prison.”

Rayna shrugged.

“Sounds like consequences to me.”

Evie gave a small smile.

“I figured you’d say that.”

Rayna leaned forward.

“Evie, the guy ran his company like a dictatorship.”

“People got hurt.”

“People got exploited.”

“People got thrown away.”

Evie nodded gently.

“I know.”

Rayna studied her.

“…but?”

Evie hesitated.

“…but I still think the system can work.”

Rayna sighed.

“There it is.”

Evie raised a hand quickly.

“Not the way Vince ran it.”

“I’m not defending that.”

Rayna leaned back.

“Then what are you defending?”

Evie thought for a moment.

“The idea that institutions can change.”

Rayna gave a skeptical smile.

“That’s optimistic.”

Evie nodded.

“I know.”

Rayna folded her arms.

“My view’s simpler.”

Evie looked up.

“What’s that?”

Rayna shrugged.

“The system protects itself.”

Evie smiled slightly.

“You’ve said that before.”

Rayna smirked.

“Maybe because it’s true.”

Evie didn’t argue.

Instead she took another sip of coffee.

Rayna studied her.

“You’re not mad at me for thinking that.”

Evie shook her head.

“No.”

Rayna tilted her head.

“Why not?”

Evie smiled softly.

“Because I understand why you think it.”

Rayna stared at her for a moment.

Then she sighed.

“Well.”

She picked up her fork again.

“Look at us.”

Evie laughed.

“What?”

Rayna pointed between them.

“We’re actually having a civil conversation about this.”

Evie grinned.

“Progress.”

Rayna nodded.

“Progress.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

Outside, the castle complex buzzed with lunchtime traffic.

Rayna took another bite of pancakes.

“So.”

Evie looked up.

“What?”

Rayna smirked.

“You still stir your coffee when you’re thinking.”

Evie laughed again.

“Oops.”

Rayna pointed her fork at her.

“See?”

Evie shook her head.

“I hate that you’re right.”

Rayna grinned.

“I’m right about a lot of things.”

Evie smiled.

“That’s debatable.”

Rayna laughed.

…and for the first time in a long while, the conversation between them felt almost normal.

Libanona Beach Estates, March 24, 2023

10:42 local time,
Taolagnaro, Mahafaly, Southern Gate of the Dinosanct Confederation

The morning air coming off the ocean was warm and heavy with salt.

Sunlight poured through the open windows of Marcy Carter’s new house, where the sound of unpacking boxes mixed with the distant crash of waves.

Cardboard crates were stacked everywhere.

Clothes. Books. Kitchenware. Wrestling memorabilia.

A framed poster of Magnolia Wine leaned awkwardly against a wall that hadn’t decided yet whether it wanted to be decorated.

Casper, Marcy’s small white fluffball of a dog, sprinted through the house like a living comet of fur.

He skidded across the tile floor, bounced off a stack of unpacked blankets, and disappeared down the hallway.

“Casper!”

Marcy laughed as she lifted another box onto the kitchen counter.

“You are not helping.”

A moment later Casper reappeared with one of Marcy’s socks triumphantly dangling from his mouth.

“Of course.”

Marcy shook her head.

Across the room, Boro carefully unfolded a large woven cloth and draped it over the back of a chair.

The Lizardfolk wrestler moved with deliberate precision. His movements were quiet and measured, each motion thoughtful.

His long tail adjusted slightly for balance as he stepped back and examined the cloth.

Marcy glanced over.

“That looks good there.”

Boro nodded once.

“Yes.”

His voice was careful, each word placed slowly.

Lizardfolk could learn human speech, but it required effort.

Their natural communication relied on senses humans barely noticed- touch, subtle body pressure, scent.

English, for Boro, was something closer to translation than instinct.

He looked toward Marcy.

“House… good place.”

Marcy smiled.

“I think so too.”

She leaned against the counter, taking a breath.

“Still feels a little unreal.”

Boro tilted his head.

“Unreal.”

“Yeah.”

She gestured vaguely around the room.

“New country. New house.”

She smiled faintly.

“New life, I guess.”

Casper darted past again.

Marcy pointed.

“…and a tiny white hurricane.”

Boro watched the dog streak across the floor.

“Casper… energetic.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Casper jumped onto the couch and immediately began attacking a pillow.

Marcy rubbed her forehead.

“I swear he gets more energy every time the sun rises.”

Boro’s attention shifted back to Marcy.

His eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity.

“Cesar… arrive soon.”

Marcy nodded.

“Hopefully.”

She pulled her phone from the counter.

“Doctor says he’s recovering well.”

“Travel might be possible soon.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“I miss him.”

Boro nodded slowly.

“Yes. Me too.”

He stood quietly for a moment.

Then he asked, carefully forming the words.

“Marcy… question.”

“Sure.”

Boro looked toward the wrestling posters still leaning against the wall.

“Future… wrestling.”

He paused.

“What you… hope?”

Marcy blinked.

“That’s a big question.”

Boro waited patiently.

She crossed her arms and thought for a moment.

“I hope it survives.”

Boro tilted his head.

“Survives.”

“Yeah.”

She sighed lightly.

“Right now everything feels… broken.”

“Companies falling apart.”

“People getting hurt.”

“Promoters going to prison.”

She shook her head.

“Not exactly a golden age.”

Boro considered this.

“Yes.”

Marcy smiled slightly.

“…but wrestling’s always survived worse.”

She looked toward the ocean outside.

“It’s too weird to die.”

Boro nodded once.

“Weird… good.”

Marcy laughed.

“Exactly.”

Casper ran through again, barking excitedly at absolutely nothing.

Boro watched him for a moment.

Then suddenly his posture changed.

His body stiffened.

His hand moved to his abdomen.

Marcy noticed immediately.

“Boro?”

Boro inhaled sharply.

His claws gripped the edge of the table.

Marcy’s heart jumped.

“Boro- what’s wrong?”

The Lizardfolk bent forward slightly.

A low, strained sound escaped his throat.

Marcy rushed toward him.

“Oh my God- are you hurt?”

Boro shook his head sharply.

“No… no…”

He breathed heavily.

Then his eyes widened.

Recognition.

“Oh.”

Marcy froze.

“What?”

Boro clutched his stomach again.

His tail twitched violently.

“Egg.”

Marcy blinked.

“…what?”

“Egg,” Boro repeated, breathing through the pain.

His voice trembled slightly.

“Coming.”

Marcy stared at him.

“You’re laying an egg right now?!”

Boro nodded quickly.

“Yes.”

Another wave of pain hit him.

He leaned heavily against the table.

Marcy panicked.

“Is that bad?!”

“No.”

He shook his head again.

“Pain… normal.”

Marcy hovered helplessly beside him.

“I thought you were dying!”

Boro let out a strained breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“No dying.”

“Egg.”

Marcy ran a hand through her hair.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She pointed at him.

“What do we do?”

Boro inhaled slowly.

His voice steadied.

“Call… elder.”

“Community elder.”

Marcy nodded quickly.

“Why?”

Boro straightened slightly, still holding his stomach.

“If egg… viable…”

He gestured gently with one claw.

“Elder raise hatchling.”

Marcy blinked again.

“Wait.”

“You mean… if that egg works…”

“…there’s going to be a baby dinosaur?”

Boro tilted his head.

“Lizardfolk.”

Marcy nodded rapidly.

“Right.”

“Right.”

She grabbed her phone.

“Elder.”

“Calling elder.”

Casper ran in again and skidded to a stop beside them, barking happily.

Boro winced as another wave of pain hit.

Marcy looked between the dog and the Lizardfolk.

“This is the weirdest morning of my life.”

Boro nodded weakly.

“Yes.”

The house had gone from calm to chaos in less than twenty minutes.

Marcy Carter paced the living room with her phone still in her hand.

“Yes, he said egg. I know that sounds obvious but- yes, I mean right now. Yes. Yes, please come quickly.”

She hung up and turned.

Boro was braced against the edge of the kitchen counter, breathing slowly through his teeth.

His tail twitched with every wave of pain.

Marcy hovered nearby, unsure whether to help or stay back.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Boro nodded stiffly.

“Yes.”

Another contraction tightened across his abdomen.

His claws dug briefly into the countertop.

“Pain… strong.”

“…but normal.”

Marcy rubbed her temples.

“I still don’t like it.”

Casper ran past them again, barking excitedly at the general state of emergency.

“Casper!”

The dog skidded to a stop and wagged furiously.

“Not helping.”

Boro exhaled slowly.

“Elder… coming?”

“Yes,” Marcy said.

“Soon.”

As if summoned by the words, there was a knock at the door.

Marcy rushed to open it.

Standing outside was a tall Lizardfolk elder whose presence filled the doorway.

His scales were darker than Boro’s, mottled with pale gray along the neck and jaw. His posture was upright but relaxed, and his movements carried the quiet authority of someone deeply accustomed to being listened to.

He wore a simple woven sash across his torso and carried a small satchel.

His eyes moved immediately past Marcy.

“Boro.”

Boro nodded, clearly relieved.

“Elder Campfer.”

The elder stepped inside without hesitation.

His gaze moved over Boro’s posture, the tension in his body, the position of his tail.

He approached slowly and placed one clawed hand gently against Boro’s abdomen.

Marcy froze.

The two Lizardfolk stood there silently.

To Marcy, it looked like nothing was happening.

…but the room had become intensely still.

Campfer closed his eyes.

The contact lasted only a few seconds.

Then he nodded.

“Good.”

Marcy blinked.

“What do you mean good?”

Campfer looked at her calmly.

“Egg forming properly.”

Marcy exhaled.

“Oh thank God.”

Campfer turned back to Boro.

“Sit.”

Boro obeyed immediately, lowering himself carefully to the floor.

Campfer opened his satchel and removed a folded woven mat.

He placed it gently beneath Boro.

Marcy watched, fascinated and slightly horrified.

“I’ve seen babies delivered before,” she muttered.

“…but never like this.”

Campfer looked at her briefly.

“Different species.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Marcy said.

Boro clenched his jaw as another contraction hit.

His breathing grew heavier.

Campfer crouched beside him and placed a steady hand on Boro’s shoulder.

“Breathe.”

Boro obeyed.

Marcy hovered again.

“Is there anything I should do?”

Campfer considered her.

“Yes.”

Marcy straightened immediately.

“What?”

“Remain calm.”

Marcy stared at him.

“I am calm.”

At that exact moment Boro groaned loudly as another wave of pain struck.

Marcy flinched.

“…mostly calm.”

Campfer’s tail flicked with what might have been amusement.

Boro leaned forward slightly.

His claws pressed into the mat.

“Soon,” Campfer said.

“Egg ready.”

Marcy crouched nearby despite herself.

“I cannot believe I’m watching this.”

Campfer glanced at her.

“You are welcome to witness.”

“Thanks,” Marcy said weakly.

“I think.”

Another contraction rippled through Boro’s body.

His breathing became sharp.

Campfer placed one hand gently against Boro’s back.

“Push.”

Marcy’s eyes widened.

“Oh my God.”

Boro strained.

The moment stretched.

Then suddenly-

A heavy, dull thud sounded against the mat.

For a second no one moved.

Marcy blinked.

“…did that just-”

Campfer carefully lifted the object.

It was an egg.

Large. Pale. Slightly speckled with faint green markings.

Marcy stared in stunned silence.

“That…”

She pointed.

“…is enormous.”

Campfer held it carefully between his hands.

He tilted his head slightly, feeling the shell with gentle pressure.

Another long moment passed.

Then he nodded.

“Viable.”

Boro collapsed backward in exhaustion.

Relief washed over his face.

“Good.”

Marcy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“So that’s… that’s going to become a Lizardfolk?”

Campfer looked at the egg with quiet reverence.

“If the hatchling chooses life.”

Marcy blinked.

“That’s… comforting and mysterious at the same time.”

Campfer placed the egg carefully into a padded container from his satchel.

He stood.

“I will take the egg to the clutch.”

Marcy nodded slowly.

“The clutch.”

“Yes.”

Boro looked up weakly.

“You will raise?”

Campfer inclined his head.

“As is tradition.”

Boro nodded with satisfaction.

“Good.”

Marcy looked between them.

“So somewhere out there… someone is about to become a parent.”

Campfer turned toward the door.

“Community becomes parent.”

He paused briefly.

Then added:

“This is how our people survive.”

Casper barked excitedly at the egg container.

Campfer looked down at the tiny dog.

“…small mammal is enthusiastic.”

Marcy laughed for the first time since the ordeal began.

“Casper likes babies.”

Campfer nodded once.

“A good instinct.”

Then he stepped out into the warm coastal sunlight, carrying the egg with quiet care.

Inside the house, Boro lay back on the floor, exhausted.

Marcy sat down beside him.

“That,” she said slowly, “was the strangest thing I have ever seen.”

Boro closed his eyes and smiled faintly.

“Yes.”

The Awesome Towers, March 24, 2023

12:17 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The boardroom of the Awesome Towers was quiet in a way it had never been before.

For decades, every meeting in this room had revolved around one presence.

Vince McGeady.

His chair at the head of the long polished table was now empty.

Twelve people sat around the table, their expressions serious, papers and tablets spread before them. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Gotham Hill stretched toward the harbor, bright in the early afternoon sun.

At the head of the table now sat Sarah Chaisson, Chairwoman of the Board of Directors of the World Fighting Empire.

She rested her hands calmly on the table.

“Thank you all for coming on short notice.”

Her voice was composed but firm.

“This is the first full board meeting since Mr. McGeady’s sentencing yesterday.”

No one corrected the formality.

They all knew why.

Chaisson continued.

“As you’re aware, the trust established by the courts now holds ninety-two percent of the WFE’s voting shares.”

She tapped a document.

“Eighty-two percent formerly held by Vince McGeady. Ten percent held by his adopted son, Aiden McGeady, who has also been barred from company operations.”

Several board members nodded grimly.

Chaisson looked around the table.

“The immediate question is ownership.”

One of the directors spoke first.

“We cannot allow another controlling shareholder situation.”

Several others murmured agreement.

Another director added bluntly:

“We just spent thirty years living with the consequences of that.”

A faint ripple of grim humor moved around the table.

Chaisson nodded.

“I believe we are all in agreement on that point.”

She slid a document forward so everyone could see it.

“The proposal before us is the formation of a holding company consisting of the twelve members of this board.”

She paused.

“Each member would hold an equal share.”

“Through that entity, the board would purchase eighty-two percent of the WFE’s voting shares from the trust.”

Another director leaned forward.

“…and the remaining ten percent?”

“Sold,” Chaisson replied.

“Most likely to outside investors.”

She folded her hands.

“In essence, the board would replace Vince McGeady as the controlling ownership body.”

Silence followed.

Then one of the directors said quietly:

“That may be the only way to stabilize the company quickly.”

Another nodded.

“…and it prevents any single buyer from acquiring the empire Vince built.”

A third director looked toward the windows.

“Banks will still need to finance most of the purchase.”

Chaisson nodded.

“Correct.”

“The expectation would be that each board member contributes personal capital as part of the equity structure.”

She glanced around the room.

“Those contributions demonstrate confidence in the company and help secure the financing necessary to complete the transaction.”

A director near the end of the table spoke.

“Assuming the banks believe the WFE remains viable.”

Chaisson’s reply came calmly.

“It does.”

She tapped another report.

“Despite the current crisis, the company retains profitable television contracts, intellectual property, merchandising rights, and touring infrastructure.”

She paused.

“The WFE is still the largest wrestling brand in the world.”

That seemed to settle the room slightly.

Another director spoke up.

“There is another question.”

Everyone looked toward him.

“How we raise the additional capital required.”

Chaisson nodded.

“Yes.”

“The financing package will require liquidity.”

He glanced down at his notes.

“One option is divesting the Mixed Martial Arts division.”

Several board members exchanged looks.

Another director leaned back.

“That would simplify the company.”

A third nodded slowly.

“The WFE brand is far more associated with wrestling.”

“…and the Combat Arts division,” another added.

“Exactly.”

Someone else spoke.

“Vince barely paid attention to the MMA side anyway.”

A few quiet chuckles followed.

…but another director shook his head.

“The MMA division still generates revenue.”

“…and it has stars.”

He tapped the table.

“The Gant Twins.”

“…and Brock Beasley.”

Several others nodded.

“They’ve appeared in wrestling shows multiple times,” one director said.

“They’re crossover draws.”

Another added:

“The Gants and Beasley are still active wrestlers.”

Chaisson listened to the discussion without interrupting.

Finally she spoke again.

“Divesting the MMA division would generate immediate cash.”

She paused.

“…but it would also remove a profitable branch of the company.”

The room went quiet again.

Another director spoke carefully.

“It might send the wrong message.”

Chaisson looked toward him.

“How so?”

He gestured lightly.

“That we’re dismantling the company to survive.”

Several heads nodded.

Another director countered.

“Or it could show that we’re focusing on our strongest identity.”

“Professional wrestling.”

“…and Combat Arts.”

The debate hung in the air.

Chaisson finally leaned forward slightly.

“Both arguments have merit.”

She folded her hands again.

“…but we do not need to decide that question today.”

Several board members relaxed slightly.

“Our immediate objective,” she continued, “is stabilizing ownership and restoring operational confidence.”

She looked down the table at each director in turn.

“Is there any objection to forming the holding company and pursuing the purchase of the eighty-two percent voting stake?”

No one spoke.

Several heads shook.

One director finally said:

“It’s the cleanest solution.”

Another nodded.

“…and the fastest.”

Chaisson inclined her head once.

“Very well.”

She tapped the table lightly.

“The board will proceed with the formation of the holding company and begin discussions with lenders immediately.”

She paused.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

Her voice softened slightly, though it remained firm.

“We are about to inherit the largest wrestling company in the world.”

The directors looked around the room.

The empty chair at the end of the table remained untouched.

Chaisson followed their gaze briefly.

Then she looked back to the board.

“Our task now is ensuring that the World Fighting Empire survives what its founder could not.”

No one disagreed.

The boardroom had grown quieter after the ownership vote.

Not relaxed.

…but steadier.

The future of the company was still uncertain, but at least the immediate crisis of control had been addressed.

Sarah Chaisson looked down at the next page of the agenda in front of her.

“Now,” she said calmly, “we move to the second matter before the board.”

She lifted her eyes.

“Corporate reform.”

Several of the directors straightened slightly.

No one needed an explanation for why this topic was necessary.

Chaisson continued.

“For decades the World Fighting Empire operated under a management culture that… prioritized spectacle over structure.”

The phrasing was diplomatic.

Everyone in the room understood what she meant.

Vince McGeady had run the company almost entirely through instinct and personal authority.

Policies, when they existed at all, had often been informal.

Or ignored.

Chaisson folded her hands.

“If this company is going to survive the next decade, that culture must change.”

She tapped the tablet in front of her, bringing up the first proposal.

---

Performer Safety and Medical Oversight

“The first reform concerns safety.”

Several board members leaned forward slightly.

“The WFE currently has no comprehensive safety protocol governing match construction, stunt approval, or emergency response procedures.”

A few directors grimaced.

They all knew that.

Chaisson continued.

“I am proposing the creation of a dedicated Safety Director position.”

Her tone was precise.

“This individual would not report to creative leadership.”

“Nor to event production.”

“They would report directly to the executive leadership of the company.”

She paused.

“Their sole responsibility would be the safety of performers and crew.”

The proposal continued.

Under the plan:

• Clear guidelines would be established for approved match techniques and high-risk maneuvers
• Medical staff would be present at all events and rehearsals
• Emergency stoppage authority would be granted to medical and safety officials

Chaisson spoke evenly.

“No performer should feel obligated to perform a maneuver that medical staff considers unsafe.”

She looked around the table.

“That includes main events.”

---

Per Diem and Travel Standards

The next proposal appeared.

“For years,” Chaisson continued, “the company has relied on performers and road crew to cover large portions of their own travel and living expenses while touring.”

Another uncomfortable truth.

She continued.

“This practice is no longer acceptable.”

Her proposal outlined a standardized system:

• Daily per diem allowances for food and incidental expenses
• Company-covered hotel accommodations for touring performers and essential crew
• Reimbursement standards for approved travel expenses
• Minimum travel comfort standards for long-distance tours

Chaisson added quietly:

“The people who create this product should not have to worry about whether they can afford dinner after performing.”

---

Medical Coverage and Long-Term Health Support

The next proposal drew immediate attention.

“Many performers in this industry leave their careers with significant long-term health concerns.”

She did not need to elaborate.

The room understood what that meant.

Her proposal included:

• Comprehensive health coverage for contracted performers
• Full medical support for injury rehabilitation
• Long-term medical assistance programs for retired performers suffering from career-related conditions

She spoke carefully.

“The WFE built its reputation on the sacrifices of its performers.”

“We have an obligation to support them after those sacrifices are made.”

---

Anti-Harassment and Workplace Conduct Policies

Another document appeared on the screens.

“Historically,” Chaisson continued, “the professional wrestling industry has tolerated behaviors that would not be acceptable in other workplaces.”

No one challenged that statement.

Her proposal created:

• Zero-tolerance policies for harassment and discrimination
• Explicit bans on hazing and bullying practices
• Confidential reporting systems for performers and staff
• Independent review procedures for workplace complaints

Chaisson’s tone sharpened slightly.

“The culture of intimidation that once defined parts of this industry cannot continue.”

---

Touring Schedule Reform

Another slide appeared.

“The WFE touring model has historically demanded extreme travel schedules.”

She looked at the directors.

“Performers sometimes work hundreds of dates per year.”

Several heads nodded.

Her proposal included:

• Reduced annual event commitments
• Guaranteed vacation periods for performers and crew
• Limits on consecutive travel days
• Mandatory rest periods following high-risk matches

She added quietly:

“A rested performer is a safer performer.”

---

Creative and Production Guidelines

The next section addressed a different problem.

“For decades,” Chaisson said, “creative direction in this company has operated with little formal structure.”

Her proposal outlined the creation of:

• Clear guidelines for match planning and rehearsal expectations
• Standards for what types of promos, production elements, and storylines are appropriate
• Defined authority structures between creative leadership and production teams
• Formal channels for performers to raise concerns about creative direction

She spoke calmly.

“No performer should feel that refusing a storyline will end their career.”

---

Performer and Crew Advocacy Channels

Another proposal followed immediately.

“To support these reforms,” Chaisson continued, “I propose the creation of a Performer Relations Office.”

The office would:

• Act as a liaison between performers and management
• Provide confidential channels for concerns
• Ensure that grievances are addressed in a timely and transparent manner

The goal, she explained, was simple.

“Communication.”

---

Education and Career Transition Support

The final proposal appeared.

“Many wrestlers enter this industry at a young age,” Chaisson said.

“…and many leave it before forty.”

Her proposal included:

• Voluntary education programs for performers
• Financial planning resources
• Career transition assistance for retiring wrestlers

“This company should not discard people when their bodies can no longer perform.”

---

The boardroom remained silent as the final slide faded.

Chaisson looked around the table.

“These reforms will require investment.”

She paused.

“…but they are necessary if the World Fighting Empire intends to become a modern organization.”

She folded her hands once more.

“Before we proceed to discussion…”

She glanced down at the agenda.

“There are also several additional proposals under consideration.”

A few of the directors leaned forward again. The earlier reforms had already represented a sweeping change in how the company operated.

Chaisson continued.

---

Contract Transparency and Performer Representation

“One of the most common criticisms of the WFE over the past two decades,” Chaisson said, “has been the opacity of performer contracts.”

Several board members nodded. Under Vince’s management, contracts had often been complicated, heavily one-sided, and subject to sudden reinterpretation.

“I propose the creation of standardized contract language,” she continued, “including clearly defined terms for compensation, injury protections, outside appearances, and termination conditions.”

The reform would also include:

• clear explanation of rights and obligations before signing
• access to independent legal consultation for performers
• written policies governing contract renegotiation and release

“No one working for this company should need a law degree to understand their own contract.”

---

Mental Health Support

Chaisson moved to the next proposal.

“The professional wrestling industry places extraordinary emotional pressure on performers,” she said.

Travel, public scrutiny, injuries, and irregular schedules had taken a visible toll on many careers.

Her proposal included:

• confidential access to mental health counseling services
• stress management resources during extended tours
• voluntary support programs for performers dealing with addiction or burnout

She spoke plainly.

“The mental health of our talent and crew is just as important as their physical health.”

---

Imperial Academy Integration and Development Reform

Chaisson moved to the next item.

“The World Fighting Empire already possesses a developmental training institution.”

Several directors nodded.

“The Imperial Academy, currently directed by Triple X.”

She tapped the screen.

“The Academy has produced many of the performers who now define the modern roster.”

Another pause.

“…but its role inside the company has historically been… informal.”

Under Vince McGeady, the Academy had often operated at the margins of the company’s official structure. It served as a training ground and talent pipeline, but its authority, funding, and curriculum had largely depended on Vince’s personal interest.

Chaisson continued.

“I propose that the Imperial Academy be formally recognized as the WFE’s official developmental and training division.”

Under the reform plan:

• The Academy would receive dedicated funding and corporate support
• Training standards would include safety education and medical awareness
• Mentorship programs would pair experienced performers with trainees
• The Academy would provide career transition opportunities for aging performers who wished to move into coaching or production

She paused.

“In addition, the Academy would serve as the primary training environment for new performers entering the company.”

Her tone remained calm.

“The goal is not to replace the Academy.”

She nodded slightly.

“It is to ensure that the work already being done there receives the institutional support it deserves.”

---

Creative Oversight and Risk Review

The next proposal addressed one of the most controversial aspects of the company’s past.

“Major stunt elements or unusually dangerous match concepts would be subject to formal risk review,” Chaisson explained.

This process would require:

• approval from the Safety Director
• consultation with medical staff
• agreement from the performers involved

“Creative ambition will remain central to this company,” she said, “but reckless improvisation cannot continue.”

---

Roster Size and Utilization Standards

Another reform appeared.

“For years the WFE roster has fluctuated wildly in size,” Chaisson said.

Her proposal called for:

• maintaining a manageable roster size
• ensuring contracted performers receive reasonable opportunities to appear and develop storylines
• avoiding long-term “inactive” contracts where talent are paid but never utilized

“This benefits both the performers and the company,” she added.

---

Archival and Legacy Preservation

The final proposal drew a few curious looks.

“The WFE possesses one of the largest archives of professional wrestling footage in the world,” Chaisson said.

Under Vince, much of the company’s historical material had been poorly organized or rarely used.

Her proposal included:

• creating a dedicated archival department
• preserving historical footage and records
• developing documentary and educational programming around the company’s history

“This company’s past should not be lost simply because its founder neglected to document it properly.”

---

Independent Medical Authority

Chaisson continued.

“Medical personnel must have final authority in determining whether a performer is cleared to compete.”

Under the proposal:

• Ringside physicians would have unquestioned authority to stop a match
• Medical staff would control return-to-ring clearance after injury
• Concussion protocols would be standardized and mandatory
• No executive, producer, or creative official could override medical decisions

Chaisson spoke evenly.

“No performer should ever feel pressure to compete while injured.”

---

Drug and Substance Policy

Another reform followed.

“The WFE currently lacks a modern, consistently enforced substance policy.”

The proposal called for:

• a formal wellness program
• regular health screenings and substance testing
• confidential treatment support for performers struggling with addiction
• disciplinary procedures focused first on treatment and recovery

“The goal is prevention and support,” Chaisson said. “Not punishment.”

---

Production Safety and Technical Standards

Chaisson moved to another area Vince had largely ignored.

“Live television production now involves increasingly complex staging and stunt coordination.”

The reform proposed:

• professional stunt coordination for high-risk segments
• standardized safety inspections for stage structures and equipment
• rehearsals for dangerous production elements
• emergency response plans for live broadcasts

“The entire production environment must be treated as a professional stage,” she said.

---

Crew Working Standards

The reforms also addressed the often overlooked road crew.

The proposal included:

• regulated working hours for production staff
• scheduled rest periods during long tours
• standardized contracts and benefits for technical crew

“The people who build the show deserve the same respect as the people performing in it.”

---

Transparent Discipline Policy

Finally, Chaisson addressed an issue that had long caused resentment inside the company.

Under Vince, discipline had often been inconsistent and personal.

The reform would establish:

• a clear disciplinary code
• defined penalties for violations of company policy
• a review process involving multiple executives

“No performer or employee should be punished—or protected—based on personal favoritism.”

---

When the final proposal faded from the boardroom screen, Chaisson closed the presentation.

Taken together, the reforms represented the most comprehensive restructuring of the World Fighting Empire’s internal culture since the company had been founded.

She folded her hands calmly on the table.

“For decades,” she said, “the WFE has relied on the will of a single man.”

Her voice remained steady.

“That era is now over.”

With that, the agenda’s reform section was complete.

Chaisson closed the agenda folder.

“Taken together,” she said calmly, “these reforms represent a fundamental shift in how the World Fighting Empire treats its performers, its employees, and its responsibilities as a global entertainment company.”

She looked slowly around the table at the other eleven directors.

“If we adopt them, the WFE will no longer operate as it has for the last thirty years.”

The room remained still.

…and the board had yet to respond.

The final slide faded from the screen.

For several seconds the boardroom remained quiet.

Sarah Chaisson sat calmly at the head of the table, her hands folded, allowing the room time to absorb the scale of what she had just proposed.

Twelve directors studied the documents in front of them.

Finally one of them cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said carefully, “no one here is going to argue that most of these reforms aren’t necessary.”

Several heads nodded.

Another director leaned forward slightly.

“The safety issues alone probably should have been addressed years ago.”

A third added quietly:

“Decades ago.”

That much, at least, was clear.

…but the mood in the room had shifted.

The same director who had spoken first flipped through the proposal packet again.

“My concern,” he said slowly, “is the size of this program.”

He tapped several sections.

“Medical coverage.”

“Travel allowances.”

“Vacation guarantees.”

“Health programs.”

He looked up at Chaisson.

“This is… a very expensive list.”

Several others murmured agreement.

Another board member leaned back in his chair.

“We are already attempting to finance a multi-billion-dollar share acquisition.”

He gestured toward the documents.

“…and now we are proposing to dramatically increase operating costs.”

A different director spoke more bluntly.

“Let’s be honest about one thing.”

He folded his hands.

“Forcing talent to cover their own travel and living expenses saved the company a tremendous amount of money.”

The statement hung in the room.

No one disputed it.

Another director added:

“…and the touring schedule has always been aggressive because it’s profitable.”

He glanced around the table.

“These reforms could significantly change the financial model of the company.”

Chaisson listened without interrupting.

Then another voice entered the discussion.

A broad-shouldered man sitting halfway down the table leaned forward.

He had been quiet for most of the meeting.

Unlike the others, he carried himself with the posture of someone who had spent years inside a ring.

The former wrestler on the board.

“I have a different question,” he said.

Several directors turned toward him.

“If we’re going to implement policies like these…”

He gestured toward the anti-harassment and disciplinary proposals.

“…have we considered asking the talent what they actually want?”

The room grew thoughtful.

He continued.

“You’re talking about a disciplinary code.”

“Harassment policies.”

“Creative guidelines.”

He paused.

“If those rules are going to govern the locker room, the locker room is going to want a voice in shaping them.”

Another director nodded slowly.

“That’s a fair point.”

The former wrestler continued.

“If we impose these rules from the top down, it could create resistance.”

He looked around the table.

“…but if the talent help design them…”

“…then they become the talent’s rules too.”

A few directors considered that.

Another board member raised a different concern.

“What about enforcement?”

He tapped the document.

“Zero tolerance policies sound admirable.”

“…but who determines when a violation has occurred?”

“Management?”

“Independent review?”

He shook his head slightly.

“Those mechanisms must be defined carefully.”

Another director spoke.

“…and the creative guidelines.”

He looked toward Chaisson.

“How far do those go?”

“Wrestling thrives on controversy.”

“If we regulate promos and storylines too heavily…”

“…we risk sterilizing the product.”

A woman seated near the end of the table raised another issue.

“The touring reforms.”

She flipped through her copy of the proposal.

“Reducing event commitments and guaranteeing vacation periods may improve performer health.”

She nodded.

“…but it will also reduce the number of shows we can sell.”

Another director added:

“…and fewer shows means less revenue.”

A different voice entered the discussion.

“What about the Imperial Academy?”

The speaker gestured toward the section Chaisson had revised earlier.

“Formalizing it as a corporate division will require funding.”

“Facilities.”

“Training staff.”

“Administration.”

Another director leaned forward.

“…and the mental health program.”

“That requires outside professionals.”

“Insurance coverage.”

“Privacy protections.”

The concerns were beginning to accumulate.

None of them were hostile.

…but they were practical.

Finally the former wrestler spoke again.

“There’s something else we should consider.”

He looked around the table.

“These reforms are going to change the culture of the company.”

Several directors nodded.

He continued.

“…and that culture doesn’t just exist in the locker room.”

He glanced toward the production reports.

“It exists among producers.”

“Agents.”

“Road crew.”

“Writers.”

He paused.

“If we’re going to change the culture, the entire organization will feel it.”

The boardroom settled into another moment of quiet reflection.

The directors were not rejecting Chaisson’s proposals.

…but the scale of what she had outlined was now clear.

Implementing these reforms would require more than policy changes.

It would require transforming how the World Fighting Empire operated from top to bottom.

…and that transformation would come with a cost.

All eyes slowly turned back toward the chairwoman at the head of the table.

The room gradually fell quiet again.

Twelve sets of eyes turned toward Sarah Chaisson.

She had listened without interruption to every concern raised around the table.

Cost.

Authority.

Creative limits.

Locker room reaction.

Operational disruption.

They were all valid questions.

Chaisson folded her hands calmly before speaking.

“I appreciate the concerns that have been raised.”

Her tone was steady, neither defensive nor dismissive.

“Most of them are entirely appropriate.”

She looked toward the director who had raised the issue of cost.

“You are correct that these reforms represent a significant expansion of the company’s obligations.”

She gestured lightly toward the financial summaries.

“…and you are also correct that the current financial moment requires caution.”

She paused briefly.

“That is why I am not proposing that we implement these reforms overnight.”

A few directors shifted slightly in their chairs.

“This is not a single policy change,” Chaisson continued.

“It is a structural transition.”

Her voice remained calm.

“If we attempt to impose it immediately, we risk destabilizing the company even further.”

She tapped the agenda.

“My intention is to implement these reforms gradually, in phases.”

“Beginning with those that address the most urgent concerns.”

Several board members nodded slightly.

“The safety director position, for example,” she continued.

“That reform should occur as quickly as possible.”

“Safety oversight requires relatively little disruption to existing operations.”

She turned to another concern.

“The medical authority reforms would follow a similar timeline.”

Her eyes moved around the room.

“Both of these measures directly reduce the risk of future catastrophes.”

No one objected to that.

She shifted to the financial concerns.

“As for travel allowances and per diem structures…”

She acknowledged the earlier comment.

“Yes, requiring performers to cover their own travel expenses did reduce company costs.”

She did not pretend otherwise.

“…but it also created financial pressure that many performers simply absorbed because they had no alternative.”

She paused.

“My proposal does not require that we immediately adopt the most expansive version of these benefits.”

She gestured toward the financial projections.

“We can begin with a baseline standard.”

“A reasonable per diem.”

“Shared accommodations for touring events.”

“Gradual expansion as revenue stabilizes.”

The tone in the room softened slightly.

She turned to the former wrestler who had spoken earlier.

“You raised an important point about consulting the talent.”

He nodded.

“I agree with you.”

Her voice was firm.

“Policies that govern the locker room should not be written without input from the locker room.”

Several directors nodded.

“My intention would be to create a performer consultation committee.”

She continued.

“Experienced performers, newer talent, and representatives from the road crew would be invited to provide feedback during the drafting process.”

She looked around the table.

“That input would shape the final policies.”

“Not merely review them.”

The former wrestler nodded approvingly.

Chaisson moved to the enforcement question.

“As for enforcement mechanisms…”

She tapped the disciplinary policy document.

“Those must be carefully defined.”

“I do not intend to create a system where a single executive determines outcomes.”

Her tone remained precise.

“A review panel structure would be more appropriate.”

“Multiple perspectives.”

“Documented decisions.”

“Clear appeal procedures.”

That seemed to satisfy several of the directors who had raised concerns about fairness.

She turned to the creative guidelines question.

“I also want to address the concern that these reforms might sterilize the product.”

A faint smile appeared.

“The WFE is an entertainment company.”

“Controversy and dramatic storytelling are part of that tradition.”

She leaned back slightly.

“My intention is not to regulate creativity.”

“It is to prevent situations where performers are pressured into participating in content they believe is unsafe or degrading.”

The distinction was subtle but important.

Several directors nodded.

Next she addressed the touring schedule.

“Yes,” she said plainly, “reducing touring intensity will reduce the number of events.”

“That is unavoidable.”

She looked around the table.

“…but it will also reduce performer fatigue, injuries, and burnout.”

Her voice remained measured.

“In the long term, that stability may prove more profitable than the current system.”

Another pause.

Then she addressed the Imperial Academy.

“Formalizing the Academy does require funding.”

She inclined her head slightly.

“…but that funding is an investment in the company’s future talent.”

“Triple X has already built a successful developmental system.”

“Our responsibility is to support it properly.”

Finally she returned to the broader cultural concern.

“You are correct that these reforms will affect the entire organization.”

She looked at the production reports on the table.

“Producers.”

“Agents.”

“Writers.”

“Road crew.”

“All of them.”

She paused.

“That is precisely why this transition must be handled carefully.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“If these reforms are rushed, they will fail.”

She looked slowly around the table.

“If they are implemented thoughtfully, with consultation and proper planning…”

“…they will endure.”

The room remained quiet.

Chaisson folded her hands again.

“My goal is not disruption.”

“It is stability.”

Another pause.

“…and stability requires trust.”

She let the statement settle over the table.

“That trust will not appear overnight.”

“…but if we build these reforms carefully…”

“…we can begin earning it.”

The discussion had begun to slow.

The board had covered costs, policy structure, touring, safety, and the delicate balance between reform and stability. Several directors were already glancing at their agendas, expecting the conversation to move on.

…but Sarah Chaisson did not close the topic just yet.

“There is one additional proposal I would like the board to consider.”

A few directors looked back up.

“It relates to the Imperial Academy,” she continued, “and to our broader development strategy.”

She folded her hands.

“The Academy should remain the center of the WFE’s internal training system. However, I believe the company should also pursue partnerships with prestigious independent wrestling schools around the world.”

Several board members exchanged curious looks.

Chaisson continued.

“There are training institutions outside our company that have developed extraordinary reputations for producing disciplined performers.”

She paused briefly.

“One of them is Warrior Wrestling, operated by Zasaramel.”

That name immediately produced a reaction.

A director near the middle of the table raised an eyebrow.

“Zasaramel is under contract with the IWC.”

Another added:

“…and Warrior Wrestling is strongly affiliated with them.”

The implication hung in the air.

For decades the WFE had treated competing promotions less as colleagues and more as adversaries.

Another board member spoke cautiously.

“Are you suggesting we attempt to recruit him?”

Chaisson shook her head immediately.

“No.”

Her answer was firm.

“I have no interest in poaching Zasaramel.”

She leaned slightly forward.

“My proposal is far simpler.”

“To work with him, not against him.”

The room remained quiet.

Several directors were clearly skeptical.

One of them spoke bluntly.

“The WFE has not exactly been known for cooperating with other promotions.”

“That is correct,” Chaisson said calmly.

“…and that policy has produced decades of unnecessary hostility within the industry.”

She looked around the table.

“The professional wrestling world is not large.”

“Promotions compete with one another, certainly.”

“…but the idea that cooperation is impossible has harmed the industry more than it has helped it.”

Another director frowned slightly.

“…and you believe Zasaramel would be willing to cooperate with us?”

Chaisson shrugged lightly.

“I do not know.”

“…but I believe the conversation is worth having.”

She continued.

“Warrior Wrestling has produced technically skilled performers with strong fundamentals and excellent safety discipline.”

“That is precisely the type of training environment we want to encourage.”

Another director tapped a pen against the table.

“Even if the school remains affiliated with the IWC?”

“Yes.”

Her answer was immediate.

“This would not be an exclusive arrangement.”

She gestured toward the earlier developmental proposals.

“Our objective is to identify strong training environments and build relationships with them.”

“Guest seminars.”

“Talent observation.”

“Occasional development placements.”

She paused.

“It would benefit both organizations.”

The former wrestler on the board nodded thoughtfully.

“You’re talking about opening channels.”

“Exactly.”

Another director still looked skeptical.

“For decades the WFE’s business model was based on dominating the industry.”

“That era is ending,” Chaisson said quietly.

She let the statement sit for a moment.

“Ending the company’s antagonistic posture toward other promotions is part of modernizing this organization.”

She glanced briefly at the Imperial Academy proposal.

“The Academy will remain our primary developmental system.”

“…but it should not exist in isolation.”

She looked back at the board.

“If we want the WFE to regain the trust of the wrestling world…”

“…then building bridges is a good place to start.”

The room fell silent again as the directors considered the implications of what she had just suggested.

The conversation had begun to wind down.

Ownership stabilization.
Corporate reform.
Development partnerships.

The board had covered more ground in a single afternoon than the company had addressed in years.

Sarah Chaisson gathered the papers in front of her.

Then she looked up again.

“There is one more idea I would like to place on the table.”

Several directors glanced back toward her.

Chaisson’s voice remained calm.

“This is not a proposal for immediate action.”

She paused slightly.

“Think of it as a long-term possibility.”

A few members leaned forward with renewed curiosity.

Chaisson continued.

“If the World Fighting Empire is serious about ending its antagonistic posture toward other promotions…”

“…then we should consider opportunities to demonstrate that publicly.”

She allowed the thought to settle before continuing.

“One possibility would be a global wrestling supershow.”

The room reacted immediately.

Several directors exchanged surprised looks.

Chaisson clarified.

“A single event.”

“Featuring performers from every major wrestling promotion in the world.”

She gestured lightly.

“The WFE.”

“The IWC.”

“And other international organizations.”

She continued.

“The strongest possible card. The most compelling matches we can assemble.”

“An event designed not to dominate the industry…”

“…but to celebrate it.”

One of the directors leaned back slowly.

“That would certainly attract attention.”

Another nodded.

“It would probably be the most watched wrestling event in history.”

But before the conversation could drift toward excitement, another voice entered the room.

Kassian Oddo.

The former wrestler who had spoken earlier.

Oddo sat forward, resting his forearms on the table.

Unlike many of the directors, his tone carried the pragmatic instincts of someone who had spent years inside locker rooms.

“That sounds fantastic,” he said evenly.

A faint smile crossed his face.

“…but let me ask the obvious question.”

The room turned toward him.

“How exactly do you expect the various promotions to agree to something like that?”

Chaisson listened.

Oddo continued.

“Promotions protect their brands.”

He tapped the table lightly.

“If a wrestler from another promotion appears on a WFE supershow…”

“…are we prepared to let that wrestler win?”

Several directors shifted slightly.

Oddo raised another issue.

“…and if the IWC participates…”

“…are they going to demand equal representation on the card?”

“Equal victories?”

He gestured toward the imaginary match card.

“What happens when that demand conflicts with what the crowd actually expects?”

The question lingered.

Oddo wasn’t finished.

“There’s also the matter of money.”

Another director nodded slightly.

“The gate.”

Oddo continued.

“A show like that would generate enormous revenue.”

“But who gets what share?”

“The hosting company?”

“All participating promotions?”

“Based on roster size? Star power? Ticket sales?”

He leaned back slightly.

“And then there’s television.”

“Broadcast rights.”

“Merchandise.”

“Brand exposure.”

The boardroom had grown very quiet again.

Oddo folded his hands.

“I’m not saying it can’t be done.”

He shook his head slightly.

“…but organizing something like that would require an extraordinary amount of cooperation.”

He looked directly at Chaisson.

“Historically speaking…”

“…the wrestling industry hasn’t been very good at cooperation.”

The room remained silent as the implications of his questions settled over the table.

The room had grown even quieter after Kassian Oddo spoke.

The idea of a global wrestling supershow had sounded thrilling when Sarah Chaisson first introduced it.

Now the practical realities were beginning to surface.

Oddo leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table.

“…and there are other questions we’d have to answer before something like that could even begin to happen.”

He raised a finger.

“First one’s obvious.”

“Who books the show?”

A few directors nodded.

“If this event involves multiple promotions, someone has to determine the match card, the finishes, the rivalries.”

He glanced around the room.

“Is the WFE booking it?”

“Is there a neutral booking committee?”

“Do participating promotions get veto power over finishes involving their talent?”

He shrugged.

“That question alone could take months to resolve.”

He lifted a second finger.

“Next issue.”

“How do we avoid petty booking?”

Several directors exchanged knowing looks.

Oddo continued.

“Promotions have long memories.”

“Let’s say a wrestler is about to leave one company and sign with another.”

He gestured slightly.

“What stops the departing promotion from insisting that wrestler lose in humiliating fashion?”

“Or refusing to allow them to look strong on the card?”

He tapped the table again.

“That kind of politics happens all the time.”

He raised another finger.

“Third problem.”

“Contracts.”

“Free agents.”

“Expiring deals.”

He looked directly at Chaisson.

“What happens if a wrestler signs for the supershow while still under contract with one promotion…”

“…but their contract expires before the event takes place?”

“Or expires immediately after?”

Another director nodded slowly.

“That could become a negotiation nightmare.”

Oddo continued.

“Some promotions might refuse to allow talent to appear if there’s even a hint of contract instability.”

He raised another point.

“Rule sets.”

He gestured broadly.

“Professional wrestling isn’t standardized worldwide.”

“Some promotions emphasize strict technical rules.”

“Others allow far more creative freedom.”

“Some use time limits.”

“Some barely enforce them.”

He looked around the table.

“If this is supposed to be a global event…”

“…whose rules are we using?”

A director near the end of the table added another complication.

“Broadcast rights.”

He tapped his notes.

“Each promotion likely has existing television contracts.”

“Those networks may demand exclusivity.”

“Or approval.”

“Or a share of the broadcast revenue.”

Another director spoke up.

“…and sponsorship conflicts.”

“Different promotions have different corporate partners.”

“If two competing brands are both involved…”

“…who gets the advertising space?”

Another voice added:

“Venue control.”

“If the WFE hosts the event in one of its arenas…”

“…will other promotions believe they’re competing on our turf?”

Someone else raised yet another concern.

“Talent insurance.”

“If a performer from another company is injured during the event…”

“…who is responsible?”

“Us?”

“Their promotion?”

“Joint liability?”

The questions continued to accumulate.

Another director spoke thoughtfully.

“Creative continuity.”

“Do the results of the supershow affect storylines in each promotion afterward?”

“Or does the event exist outside normal continuity?”

Oddo nodded slowly.

“That’s another important question.”

He leaned back again.

“…and then there’s the biggest one.”

The room watched him.

“Trust.”

He spread his hands slightly.

“Promotions have spent decades protecting their territory.”

“Even when they cooperate, they do so carefully.”

He looked toward Chaisson again.

“A supershow like the one you’re describing would require a level of trust this industry has almost never demonstrated.”

The boardroom fell silent again.

The idea still sounded extraordinary.

…but the obstacles were now plainly visible.

Sarah Chaisson did not answer immediately.

She let the questions remain where Kassian Oddo had placed them, heavy and unresolved in the center of the room.

Who books the show.
How to avoid petty politics.
Contracts.
Rules.
Insurance.
Revenue.
Trust.

They were all serious concerns. Serious enough that, under Vince McGeady, the idea would likely have been laughed out of the room or weaponized into a bluff.

When Chaisson finally spoke, her voice was even.

“Kassian, those are all fair questions.”

She looked around the table.

“In fact, they are precisely the questions that would need to be answered before any such event could move beyond the idea stage.”

A few directors relaxed slightly at that.

Chaisson folded her hands again.

“I want to be very clear.”

“This is not a proposal for immediate execution.”

She paused.

“It is an idea.”

“An ambition.”

“A direction.”

Her tone remained careful, almost deliberate in its restraint.

“I have no interest in announcing a grand industry event before the underlying conditions for it exist.”

She glanced briefly toward Oddo.

“That would be irresponsible.”

The former wrestler gave a small nod. He still looked skeptical, but he was listening.

Chaisson continued.

“If the World Fighting Empire were ever to pursue something like this, it would need to be pursued properly.”

She began answering the concerns one by one.

“On the question of booking- no, I would not assume that the WFE should simply book the show unilaterally.”

Her eyes moved across the table.

“If the event is truly collaborative, then the creative structure would have to reflect that.”

She did not pretend to have the exact mechanism prepared.

“Whether that means a neutral committee, shared approval authority, or another structure entirely is a matter for future negotiation.”

She moved on.

“As for political manipulation- petty booking, protecting departures, humiliating talent before contract transitions- those risks are real.”

She acknowledged them without hesitation.

“…but they are not unique to this idea. They are existing problems within the industry.”

She leaned back slightly.

“If anything, a properly negotiated supershow would force those issues into the open and require formal guardrails.”

Another pause.

“Match approval standards.”

“Finish protections.”

“Contract-status disclosures.”

“Conflict procedures.”

She gave a faint, measured smile.

“I am not saying those conversations would be easy.”

“I am saying they would be necessary.”

She turned to the contract question.

“Free agents and expiring contracts would obviously complicate participation.”

“Yes.”

“…but that does not make participation impossible.”

She spoke in the same patient tone she had used all afternoon.

“It simply means the event would need a clear eligibility window.”

“Defined dates.”

“Defined obligations.”

“If a performer is under contract through the event, then the participating promotions know where they stand.”

“If they are not, then that also becomes clear.”

She did not overstate the matter.

“These are logistical questions. Difficult ones, certainly. But still logistical.”

She moved next to rules.

“The matter of rules is more complicated, because it is philosophical as much as practical.”

That drew a few interested looks.

“Different promotions present wrestling differently. They train differently. They officiate differently. In some cases, they define the form itself differently.”

She acknowledged that with a small nod.

“If a supershow ever happened, the rule set would need to be negotiated with care.”

She did not force an answer.

“Perhaps a shared rules package.”

“Perhaps match-specific rules.”

“Perhaps a standard officiating framework agreed to in advance.”

She spread her hands slightly.

“The point is not that I already have the answer.”

“The point is that an answer can be built, if the event is worth building.”

She then addressed the financial concerns.

“On gate sharing, broadcast rights, sponsorship conflicts, and insurance…”

Her eyes moved across the room.

“Yes. Those matters would have to be hammered out contractually.”

Her tone sharpened just a touch- not in aggression, but in clarity.

“…and if they cannot be hammered out fairly, then the event should not happen.”

That landed well.

She was not selling fantasy. She was describing a process.

Then she came to the larger issue.

“Trust.”

The word sat in the room for a moment.

“Kassian is right,” she said. “This industry has not historically been very good at trust.”

A few rueful smiles appeared around the table.

“For too long, the World Fighting Empire itself contributed to that culture.”

No one disputed that either.

“It treated cooperation as weakness.”

“Other promotions as enemies.”

“Shared opportunity as surrender.”

She paused.

“I do not believe that mentality is sustainable for the next era of this company.”

The room quieted further.

“This is why I believe the idea is worth considering, even if only as an idea today.”

She looked around the table, making sure she held all of them.

“Because a supershow- if done properly- would represent more than a profitable event.”

“It would represent a change in mentality.”

“A change in posture.”

“A change in culture.”

Her voice remained composed, but there was more conviction in it now.

“It would signal, publicly and unmistakably, that the WFE no longer sees itself as a fortress surrounded by enemies.”

“That it is willing to engage the wider wrestling world without trying to consume it.”

She let that settle before continuing.

“…and yes, I believe such an event could have significant practical value.”

She began listing them, not dramatically, but matter-of-factly.

“It would help restore public relations.”

“It would create new revenue opportunities.”

“It would open doors to future partnerships.”

“It would reintroduce this company to the industry as something other than the personal empire of Vince McGeady.”

She paused one last time.

“…but I am not proposing that we chase any of that recklessly.”

Her voice softened again into the same measured cadence she had maintained throughout the meeting.

“I have said all day that I want to proceed slowly.”

“I mean that.”

“If this company is to change, it must change properly.”

“If this idea is to move forward, it must move forward properly.”

She folded her hands.

“…and if the day comes when the details need to be hammered out, then we will hammer them out.”

Silence followed.

Not because the board had been fully convinced.

…but because Chaisson had answered exactly as she had led all day: not with grand promises, not with haste, but with a careful insistence that the future, however ambitious, had to be built deliberately or not at all.

Sarah Chaisson allowed the discussion about the supershow to settle before she spoke again.

“We have one final matter for today.”

That statement immediately refocused the room.

“Creative leadership.”

Several directors nodded.

“With Vince McGeady imprisoned,” she continued, “the World Fighting Empire currently has no booker.”

She spoke the word plainly.

“No creative director.”

“No central authority guiding programming.”

She let that reality sit in the room.

“The WFE can stabilize its finances.”

“It can reform its policies.”

“It can restructure its ownership.”

“But without creative leadership, this company cannot produce the one thing it ultimately exists to produce.”

She paused.

“Shows.”

The point was obvious to everyone in the room.

Television contracts.
Arena bookings.
Roster morale.

All of it depended on someone shaping the stories and matches.

Chaisson continued.

“We must eventually appoint a new booker.”

She held up a hand slightly.

“Not today.”

A few directors looked relieved.

“…but the board should begin discussing what that leadership should look like.”

Her eyes moved across the table.

“Whether that authority rests in one person.”

“Or a structure.”

“Or something new entirely.”

That was the signal.

Immediately the table came alive.

One director spoke first.

“Why not simply keep the responsibility here?”

Several heads turned.

“The board?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged.

“Creative oversight could remain under board supervision. A committee could approve match programs, storylines, pay-per-view cards.”

Another director frowned.

“That sounds like a recipe for paralysis.”

A few quiet chuckles followed.

Oddo leaned back slightly.

“Twelve people booking a wrestling show?”

He shook his head.

“That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

Another voice spoke.

“What about Triple X?”

That suggestion drew a more thoughtful reaction.

“Triple X already runs the Imperial Academy.”

“He’s respected in the locker room.”

“He understands the company culture.”

Someone else added:

“He’s also never booked a national promotion before.”

The discussion shifted again.

Another director flipped through some notes.

“That podcast everyone’s been talking about- The Mat and the Monitor.”

Several people nodded.

“They mentioned several possible candidates in their recent discussion.”

One director recalled a name.

“What about Lars Rask?”

“A Scandinavian promoter.”

“Known for disciplined match structures and long-term storytelling.”

Another voice countered.

“Rask runs a much smaller promotion.”

“That’s not the same thing as managing a global television product.”

Someone else chimed in.

“There was also Eduardo Serrano.”

“The man who rebuilt Federación Libre down in South America.”

“He’s known for revitalizing struggling companies.”

Oddo nodded slightly.

“Very good with crowd psychology.”

“…but he’s also known for burning out his locker rooms.”

A director near the far end of the table spoke next.

“What about someone from broadcast?”

The suggestion puzzled a few people.

“Someone like Malcolm Keene.”

“A producer who understands television pacing.”

“That might help modernize the show.”

Oddo raised an eyebrow.

“Television producers understand cameras.”

“They don’t necessarily understand wrestling crowds.”

Another name entered the discussion.

“Ibrahim Adebayo.”

Several heads turned.

“He’s been booking Lagos Combat Theatre for years.”

“Highly theatrical.”

“Very audience-driven.”

Another director looked intrigued.

“I’ve heard of him.”

“His events sell out consistently.”

A different voice added another possibility.

“What about Elena Petrovic?”

“She’s been quietly shaping programming for Adriatic Pro.”

“She’s known for balancing spectacle with technical wrestling.”

Another board member flipped through a tablet.

“And then there’s Haruto Sakamoto.”

“Booked Tokyo Vanguard for almost a decade.”

“Extremely methodical.”

“Strong respect for tradition.”

Oddo smiled faintly.

“Also famously stubborn.”

The room continued to stir with suggestions.

One director leaned forward again.

“Perhaps the answer is not one booker.”

That caught attention.

“A creative team.”

“A small group.”

“Three or four people balancing each other.”

Another director shook his head.

“That risks constant internal conflict.”

Oddo nodded.

“You’d spend more time arguing about decisions than making them.”

Someone else suggested another name.

“What about Victor Halberg?”

“He revived Northern Crown Wrestling a few years ago.”

“His shows are known for strong storytelling.”

Another director countered.

“Halberg is notorious for controlling every detail personally.”

“That sounds uncomfortably close to the system we’re trying to move away from.”

The discussion was gaining energy now.

Names moved around the table.

Different philosophies.

Different styles.

Some directors preferred experienced veterans.

Others argued for innovators.

Some wanted someone inside the wrestling world.

Others preferred an outsider who could modernize the company.

…but the more the board spoke, the more obvious the problem became.

Every name came with strengths.

Every name came with weaknesses.

…and every director seemed to have a different idea of what the WFE needed most.

Eventually the conversation slowed slightly.

Not because a solution had emerged.

…but because the room had begun to recognize the same truth.

There was no consensus.

Sarah Chaisson watched the debate unfold without interrupting.

For now, the discussion itself was the point.

The discussion about potential bookers continued to circle the table.

Names were proposed.

Names were dismissed.

Every candidate seemed to solve one problem while creating another.

It was Kassian Oddo who finally raised his hand slightly.

“Before we go any further down this road…”

His voice was calm, but firm enough to interrupt the flow of the conversation.

“There’s something we’ve overlooked.”

Several directors turned toward him.

Oddo rested his forearms on the table.

“The roster.”

A few puzzled looks appeared.

He clarified.

“More specifically- the roster Vince dismantled on his way out the door.”

Now the room understood immediately.

Oddo continued.

“Roman Cesar.”

“Magnolia Wine.”

“The Unit.”

“The Cartel.”

Each name landed with weight.

They were not midcard acts.

They were major draws.

Wrestlers who had carried the company’s programming for years.

Oddo continued.

“Those people weren’t released for business reasons.”

“They were panic-fired.”

“Out of spite.”

A few directors nodded uneasily.

That had become painfully clear in the weeks since Vince’s collapse.

Oddo leaned forward slightly.

“If we’re serious about rebuilding this company, we need to correct that mistake.”

Another pause.

“…and we need to correct it quickly.”

One director frowned slightly.

“Why quickly?”

Oddo looked at him.

“Because they’re not going to sit around waiting forever.”

He spoke plainly.

“The IWC would sign any one of them tomorrow.”

Several directors exchanged glances.

The point was obvious.

The IWC had both money and a reputation for treating performers well.

Oddo continued.

“If those four decide the WFE burned them permanently…”

“…we might lose them.”

“…and if that happens, we won’t just lose talent.”

“We’ll lose credibility.”

The boardroom sat with that for a moment.

Another director spoke cautiously.

“I don’t disagree that they’re important performers.”

“No one here disputes their value.”

He glanced around the table.

“…but we also spent the last hour discussing the company’s finances.”

Several others nodded.

“Bringing back multiple top-level performers simultaneously is expensive.”

Another director added:

“Especially if they have leverage.”

Oddo did not dispute that.

“They do.”

The director continued.

“…and right now we don’t even know what the company’s long-term revenue picture looks like.”

Another voice entered the discussion.

“There’s also the question of whether they would even want to return.”

Several heads turned.

“That relationship may be more damaged than we realize.”

The director spoke carefully.

“Roman Cesar was publicly humiliated.”

“Magnolia Wine fought a legal battle just to regain control of her own name.”

“The Unit and the Cartel were dismissed without warning.”

He shrugged slightly.

“Vince may be gone, but that doesn’t mean those wounds disappear overnight.”

Another director nodded.

“They may simply decide they’re better off elsewhere.”

Oddo leaned back in his chair.

“That’s possible.”

He didn’t sugarcoat it.

“…but that’s exactly why we need to act.”

He looked around the table.

“If the company wants any chance of repairing those relationships…”

“…we can’t sit on our hands.”

Another board member spoke thoughtfully.

“I think the question is whether this is truly urgent.”

Oddo answered without hesitation.

“It is.”

He tapped the table once.

“Because if the IWC makes the first call…”

“…we may never get the chance to make one at all.”

The room went quiet again.

No one disagreed that the wrestlers he had named were major stars.

…but the tension between urgency and financial caution hung heavily over the table.

For the moment, the board had no clear answer.

The discussion had begun to circle again.

Finances.
Roster risks.
Creative leadership.

Nothing had been fully resolved, and Sarah Chaisson knew the meeting could easily stretch another two hours without producing anything more useful than fatigue.

She closed the folder in front of her.

“That’s enough for today.”

The room quieted.

Chaisson looked first toward Kassian Oddo.

“On the matter of the wrestlers who were dismissed.”

She spoke clearly.

“We will reach out to them.”

Not consider.
Not study.

Reach out.

“Roman Cesar. Magnolia Wine. The Unit. The Cartel.”

She nodded slightly.

“They were not released for legitimate business reasons.”

“…and whether they ultimately return or not, the WFE owes them the courtesy of a serious conversation.”

She looked around the table.

“Stalling or worrying about it is not an option.”

“If we want the opportunity to repair those relationships, we need to make the first call.”

Several directors nodded slowly.

Chaisson continued.

“Now, regarding creative leadership.”

She tapped the closed folder lightly.

“I would like a creative director in place by April 7.”

A few heads lifted at the specificity of the date.

“That individual would begin work on April 10.”

She allowed the implication to settle.

“That timeline gives them a brief window to assess the roster, evaluate programming needs, and begin assembling direction.”

She raised a hand slightly.

“If we cannot reach agreement on a permanent booker before that date…”

“…we will appoint an interim creative director until the board finds the right long-term candidate.”

The room seemed comfortable with that compromise.

Chaisson then moved to the next issue.

“Programming.”

She glanced down briefly at her notes before continuing.

“The World Fighting Empire will resume programming on April 13, 2023.”

That statement landed with a certain gravity.

For weeks the company had effectively been frozen.

“From that point forward, the company’s pay-per-view schedule will resume in May, beginning with Fallout.”

She looked around the table.

“Our broadcast agreements and venue contracts require us to maintain as much continuity as possible.”

She did not pretend otherwise.

“We have obligations.”

“…but we will also begin refining the schedule moving forward.”

Her tone sharpened slightly.

“The touring structure will be reviewed.”

“Rest periods will be incorporated.”

“…and before the touring schedule resumes in full, two reforms must already be in place.”

She raised two fingers.

“First, performer and crew per diem policies.”

“Second, the appointment of a dedicated safety coordinator.”

Those two points had been among the most widely supported reforms discussed earlier.

“They will not be delayed.”

She lowered her hand.

“The WFE cannot claim to be changing if the first thing we do is revert to old habits.”

A quiet murmur of agreement passed around the table.

Chaisson then addressed the final point.

“Creative authority.”

She looked at the board members carefully.

“We have not reached consensus on a specific individual today.”

“That is acceptable.”

“…but we have reached consensus on something else.”

She paused.

“What we do not want.”

Several directors smiled faintly.

“No one in this room wants to recreate the system we just spent this entire meeting dismantling.”

She said the name without hesitation.

“No one wants another Vince McGeady.”

A few nods were sharper this time.

“The next booker will answer to the board.”

“They will work with the board.”

“They will operate within the governance structure of this company.”

She spoke the last line plainly.

“The World Fighting Empire will never again be the personal kingdom of a single man.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Not tense.

Just reflective.

Sarah Chaisson gathered her papers.

“We have a great deal of work ahead of us.”

She looked around the table one final time.

“…but for the first time in a long time…”

“…this company has the opportunity to build something better.”

She closed the meeting.

“Thank you all.”

The directors began to rise from their seats, the future of the WFE still uncertain- but no longer directionless.

Andasibe-Mantadia National Park, March 25, 2023

13:49 local time,
Andasibe, Betsimisaraka, Dinosanct Confederation

The rainforest was alive with sound.

A warm breeze moved through the enormous trees overhead, and shafts of sunlight pierced the thick canopy in scattered beams that reached the forest floor. Vines hung between branches like ropes, and somewhere in the distance the long, haunting call of an Indri lemur echoed through the jungle.

The film crew had gone quiet.

Lucia Cesar stood beside the camera monitor, her arms folded, watching the scene carefully.

“Rolling,” someone whispered.

Marcy Carter stepped carefully along a narrow forest path.

Her character- an office worker who had unexpectedly discovered a fierce, adventurous side of herself- moved through the jungle barefoot, her hair loose from the previous night’s campfire and storm of passion. Her expression carried a soft, lingering smile, the kind that suggested a night that had changed something inside her.

Behind her, back near the campsite, Roman Cesar’s character lay sleeping beside a massive tree root, his long hair spread across the ground, the “mountain man” of the story at rest after a wild night.

Marcy’s character walked slowly through the forest, looking around with open amazement.

Everything was new to her.

The towering trees.

The enormous ferns.

The strange calls of animals she had never heard before.

Another Indri call echoed through the forest canopy.

Marcy paused, listening.

Then she heard the flutter of wings.

She looked up.

A large bird- its wings wide and gliding effortlessly through the sunlight- swept across the opening in the canopy above.

Marcy stopped completely.

The moment wasn’t in the script.

…but Lucia didn’t say a word.

Behind the monitor she simply watched, recognizing the magic of the unplanned moment.

Marcy’s character followed the bird’s flight with her eyes, her expression soft with wonder.

Then-

A scream shattered the jungle.

Roman.

Marcy’s head snapped toward the campsite.

Another scream followed- louder, raw with panic.

She ran.

Branches snapped underfoot as she sprinted back through the forest.

The crew stayed silent.

The camera operator moved quickly to keep pace as the scene exploded into motion.

Marcy burst into the clearing.

Roman’s character was on the ground, scrambling backward as several “velociraptors” lunged around him.

The creatures- lean, fast, and snarling- circled the campsite.

They were played by trained Lizardfolk performers, their movements eerily lifelike as they snapped and darted around their prey.

Roman grabbed a branch and swung wildly, driving one of them back.

Another leapt forward.

Marcy rushed in without hesitation.

She tackled the nearest creature from the side, knocking it away from Roman.

The fight erupted in chaos.

Leaves flew.

Bodies crashed into the dirt.

Roman grappled with one attacker while Marcy fought another, the scene blurring into a rough, desperate struggle.

The “raptors” moved with frightening speed, darting in and out, testing their opponents.

One by one, the creatures were driven off.

Until only one remained.

Boro.

The Lizardfolk wrestler lunged forward again, colliding with Roman in a rough grapple. They tumbled across the ground, rolling through the dirt as Roman struggled to keep the creature’s claws away from his throat.

Marcy grabbed a rock from the ground.

“Rowan!” she shouted.

Roman twisted his body, forcing Boro’s character sideways just long enough.

Marcy swung.

The rock struck the side of Boro’s head.

The Lizardfolk performer jerked dramatically, then collapsed to the ground with theatrical finality.

Roman scrambled to his feet.

Marcy pulled him up.

Both characters looked around the forest warily, breathing hard.

“They’ll come back,” Roman said, staying in character.

Marcy nodded.

“Then we move.”

They began gathering their things quickly.

…and then-

“Cut!”

Lucia’s voice rang across the clearing.

The tension vanished instantly.

Roman exhaled and pushed his hair out of his face.

Marcy dropped the rock and rushed toward Boro.

“Boro- are you okay?”

The Lizardfolk performer sat up immediately, brushing leaves off his shoulder.

“Yes, yes,” he said in his careful, slightly stilted English.

“You did not strike hard.”

He tapped the side of his head proudly.

“I sold it.”

Marcy still looked worried.

“I might’ve hit you too fast.”

Boro shook his head firmly.

“No.”

Then he glanced toward Lucia and the camera crew with hopeful excitement.

“Did I do a great job?”

Lucia smiled broadly from behind the monitor.

“You did an excellent job.”

Boro’s chest puffed up slightly with pride.

Nearby, Jon Huxley- watching from just off set- laughed quietly.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head, “that looked brutal.”

Roman stretched his shoulders and grinned.

“Wait until we see it on film.”

Around them, the rainforest returned to its natural rhythm.

Somewhere above the trees, another Indri lemur called across the jungle.

The jungle heat had softened slightly beneath the shade of the trees, but the humidity still hung thick in the air.

A large canvas tent had been erected nearby for the crew’s lunch break. Fine netting draped along the sides to keep the worst of the mosquitoes and other insects out. Even so, the faint buzz of wings could still be heard outside the mesh.

Inside, folding tables had been set up with simple trays of food, water bottles, and a few small fans powered by portable batteries.

Marcy Carter sat across from Roman Cesar and Jon Huxley.

Roman leaned back in his chair, staring out through the netting at the jungle beyond.

“I get it now,” he said quietly.

Marcy looked up from her plate.

“Get what?”

Roman gestured toward the trees.

“This.”

The enormous forest stretched endlessly in every direction- towering trunks, vines, shafts of light cutting through the canopy.

“I understand why you moved here.”

Marcy smiled faintly.

“It grows on you.”

Roman shook his head.

“No. It doesn’t grow on you.”

He pointed toward the jungle again.

“It swallows you.”

Jon chuckled.

“That sounds healthy.”

Roman ignored him, still watching the forest.

“It’s beautiful.”

He paused.

“…and terrifying.”

“That’s also accurate,” Marcy said.

Roman rubbed the back of his neck.

“…but seriously- how do you deal with the bugs?”

He swatted lightly at the air.

“These things are insane.”

Marcy laughed.

“You get used to them.”

Roman looked skeptical.

“No you don’t.”

Jon leaned forward.

“Hold on.”

He raised a finger.

“I’m from Ohio.”

He looked at Roman.

“You’re from Monterrey.”

Then he gestured vaguely toward the jungle.

“…and this place is… whatever this is.”

Roman nodded.

“Correct.”

Jon shrugged.

“I’ve never seen bugs like this in my life.”

Marcy grinned.

“You should see the ones that come out at night.”

Jon froze mid-bite.

“…that’s not comforting.”

Roman laughed.

“In Monterrey we get big insects too.”

“Cockroaches the size of your hand.”

Jon blinked.

“I regret asking.”

Marcy shrugged casually.

“Madagascar has some pretty creative ones.”

Roman looked toward the netting again as something buzzed loudly outside it.

“That thing sounded like it had an engine.”

“Probably a beetle,” Marcy said.

Jon stared at her.

“You say that like it’s normal.”

Marcy took a sip of water.

“It is normal.”

Roman shook his head again, still half-laughing.

“I’m going to need stronger bug spray.”

“Everyone does,” Marcy said.

The conversation drifted for a moment as they ate.

Somewhere outside the tent, an Indri called again from the forest canopy.

Jon looked up toward the sound.

“That still freaks me out.”

“You get used to that too,” Marcy said.

Roman nodded slowly.

“It sounds like the jungle singing.”

The moment lingered.

Then Roman leaned forward slightly.

“So.”

His tone shifted.

“Have you two seen the statement?”

Jon nodded immediately.

“Yeah.”

“The board.”

“Promises of reform.”

“Programming coming back.”

Marcy wiped her hands with a napkin.

“I saw it.”

Roman nodded.

“That’s it though.”

“Just a statement.”

Jon leaned back in his chair.

“Which is more than we had last week.”

“That’s true,” Marcy admitted.

Roman drummed his fingers lightly on the table.

“The IWC already made their offer.”

Jon nodded.

“Still standing.”

Roman looked at him.

“You were about to sign, right?”

Jon shrugged.

“I was.”

Then he gestured toward the jungle around them.

“Until the phone rang.”

Marcy raised an eyebrow.

“The WFE?”

Jon nodded.

“Yeah.”

“They wanted to know if I’d talk.”

Roman considered that.

“I hadn’t really thought about the IWC before.”

He glanced at Marcy.

“…but I’m leaning toward it.”

“They’re stable.”

“They know what they’re doing.”

“Right now that matters.”

Marcy didn’t answer immediately.

Jon looked at her.

“What about you?”

She leaned back in her chair slightly.

“I don’t know yet.”

Roman watched her carefully.

“You’re the one who has the most reason to walk away.”

Marcy shook her head.

“I’m not making that decision emotionally.”

Jon nodded slowly.

“That’s probably wise.”

Marcy continued.

“The new leadership deserves a chance.”

Roman frowned slightly.

“You trust them already?”

“No.”

She shook her head again.

“…but I’m willing to see what they actually do.”

Roman looked thoughtful.

“That’s fair.”

Jon leaned forward.

“…and Colby?”

Marcy shrugged.

“He’s thinking about it.”

Roman nodded.

“That makes sense.”

“The Unit going to the IWC together would be a big move.”

Jon smirked slightly.

“Yeah.”

He glanced between them.

“Imagine the look on Vince’s face.”

Marcy gave a dry laugh.

“Vince isn’t exactly watching television right now.”

Roman chuckled.

“True.”

The jungle hummed quietly outside the tent as the three wrestlers sat together, the future of their careers hanging somewhere between the distant calls of lemurs and the uncertain promises of a company trying to reinvent itself.

Social Media Page of Frank Boland, March 26, 2023

Online.

The video began abruptly, the camera slightly too close to Frank Boland’s face as he adjusted his phone.

Behind him stood the recognizable stone façade of a Gotham civic building, banners of the Sovereign Council hanging from its columns.

Boland stepped back slightly, centering himself in the frame.

“Good afternoon,” he began, speaking in the deliberate cadence of someone who knew exactly how social media worked.

“I want to address the deeply troubling situation involving World Fighting Empire founder Vince McGeady.”

He clasped his hands together.

“As many of you know, Mr. McGeady has now been sentenced to life imprisonment by the courts of the Oirat Confederation.”

Boland shook his head slowly.

“I find that outcome profoundly disturbing.”

He leaned forward slightly toward the camera.

“Not because Mr. McGeady should not face justice.”

He raised a finger.

“…but because justice must be administered under the laws and legal protections that govern the citizens of our republic.”

Boland gestured outward, toward the unseen city around him.

“Vince McGeady is a citizen of the Union of Commonwealth of Sovereign States.”

“More specifically, he is a citizen of Gotham.”

His voice hardened slightly.

“…and that means he is entitled to the protections of our legal system.”

He paused.

“Not the legal customs of foreign jurisdictions whose standards for speech and personal conduct differ dramatically from our own.”

Boland continued carefully.

“The charge of ‘Dishonouring the Blue Standard’ is one that should concern anyone who values freedom.”

He shook his head again.

“From what has been publicly reported, this law appears less concerned with protecting individuals and more concerned with protecting the reputation of powerful institutions.”

His tone carried a faint edge now.

“…and that is not how a free society should operate.”

Boland leaned closer to the camera.

“Words- no matter how offensive- should not become the basis for life imprisonment.”

He paused long enough to let the sentence land.

“I therefore believe the Universal Commonwealth of Sovereign States should formally request the extradition of Mr. McGeady so that he may face a trial under Gotham’s legal code.”

He spread his hands slightly.

“A system built on centuries of legal precedent.”

“A system grounded in civil liberties.”

“A system that recognizes the importance of free speech- even when that speech is uncomfortable.”

Boland’s expression hardened again.

“Justice should never be outsourced to legal systems that operate under fundamentally different cultural assumptions.”

He chose his words carefully, but the implication hung unmistakably in the air.

“Civilized societies hold themselves to higher standards.”

Another pause.

“…and those standards require transparency, due process, and a legal framework that protects the rights of the accused as vigorously as it protects the dignity of the accuser.”

Boland nodded firmly.

“Mr. McGeady deserves to answer for his actions.”

“…but he deserves to do so in a court that reflects the values of the nation to which he belongs.”

He stepped back slightly.

“I will be raising this matter with my colleagues on the Sovereign Council and urging our federal authorities to pursue appropriate diplomatic channels.”

The video ended with Boland looking directly into the camera.

The tone was measured.

…but the message was unmistakable.

To Boland, Vince McGeady was not simply a disgraced executive imprisoned abroad.

He was a citizen whose conviction- however justified it might appear to others- had been rendered by a legal system Boland clearly considered beneath Gotham’s own.

Reactions

The reaction from the Golden Ordo arrives within hours of Frank Boland’s video spreading across social media and international news channels.

Unlike Boland’s carefully coded tone, the Ordo’s response is direct and institutional, issued through an official diplomatic communiqué.

The statement begins by rejecting the premise of Boland’s argument.

“The Sovereign Council member’s remarks rest upon a deeply flawed assumption: that cultural difference implies civilizational deficiency. The Oirat Confederation rejects this framework entirely.”

The communiqué continues.

“Legal traditions across the world vary widely. Diversity of legal philosophy is not evidence of backwardness. It is evidence of history.”

The Golden Ordo emphasizes that Oirat institutions are not improvised tribal courts, but formal legal systems with centuries of precedent and internal checks.

They specifically address the law Boland criticized.

“The statute commonly translated as Dishonouring the Blue Standard has been mischaracterized in foreign commentary. The law exists not to suppress speech but to preserve the integrity of sworn obligation and public trust within Oirat civic life.”

According to the Ordo’s explanation, the law is rooted in a cultural principle that public honor and institutional trust are inseparable.

Under Oirat jurisprudence:

• criticism of institutions is permitted
• satire and dissent are protected
• accusations that deliberately undermine sworn institutions without basis can constitute dishonour

The statement stresses that the law is rarely invoked and requires a high evidentiary threshold.

The communiqué then addresses Boland’s implication that the conviction reflects intolerance of expression.

“The Oirat Imperial Confederation more than satisfies the global expectations for the protection of speech, belief, and personal expression. Our legal traditions balance freedom with responsibility- a balance recognized by our citizens and respected by our courts.”

The Ordo closes with a subtle but unmistakable rebuke.

“Civilization is not measured by the uniformity of legal codes, nor by the presumption that one society’s norms must govern another’s.”

“It is measured by whether justice is administered openly, consistently, and without fear.”

The message does not address extradition directly.

…but the implication is clear.

To the Golden Ordo, Vince’s conviction was:

• lawful
• legitimate
• and not subject to political reinterpretation by Gotham officials.

Frank Boland’s comments trigger a wave of statements from world leaders. The reactions come quickly- and the message from nearly every major government is strikingly consistent.

While the tone varies by country, the underlying position is the same:

Vince McGeady committed a crime within a sovereign jurisdiction.
He is therefore subject to that jurisdiction’s laws.

---

The Roman Empire

The Roman Emperor issues a short but pointed statement through the Imperial Chancellery.

“The Roman Empire recognizes the sovereignty of the Oirat Empire and the legitimacy of its judicial institutions.

A citizen traveling abroad is bound by the laws of the land in which he stands. This principle is ancient and universal.”

The Emperor adds that Rome has no basis to question the proceedings and does not support political pressure against the Oirat government.

---

United Kingdom

The British Prime Minister echoes a similar position in remarks to Parliament.

“The United Kingdom recognizes the Oirat Empire as a sovereign state with a functioning legal system.

We have no reason to believe that the trial in question violated international legal standards.”

The Prime Minister emphasizes that disagreement with another country’s laws does not invalidate them.

“Citizens who travel abroad accept that they may be judged under laws different from their own.”

---

Universal Commonwealth of Sovereign States

Within Vince’s own political sphere, the message becomes even more decisive.

Grand Sovereign Roderick MacMillan addresses the issue during a press briefing in Columbia.

The veteran statesman- known for his calm demeanor and measured moral clarity- does not indulge Boland’s framing.

“The Universal Commonwealth of Sovereign States respects the sovereignty of the Oirat Empire.”

MacMillan continues:

“Mr. McGeady traveled to Oirat territory.
He was investigated under Oirat law.
He was tried in an Oirat court.”

He pauses before finishing.

“That is how the rule of law works between nations.”

MacMillan does not mention Boland by name, but the rebuke is unmistakable.

---

Ethiopian Empire

The Emperor of Ethiopia issues a statement through the Imperial Court in Addis Ababa.

“The Ethiopian Empire recognizes the sovereignty of the Oirat Empire and the legitimacy of its courts.”

The statement continues:

“A nation’s right to govern its own people and enforce its own laws is the foundation of international order.”

The Emperor’s message closes with a clear endorsement of the broader principle being echoed worldwide.

“Justice administered within a sovereign state must be respected by the community of nations.”

---

United Nations

The strongest institutional response comes from the United Nations.

UN President Alina MacMillan- Roderick’s daughter- delivers a formal briefing following internal review by UN legal observers.

“The United Nations has reviewed the procedural record of the case and has found no evidence of systemic failure within the Oirat legal process.”

She continues:

“While legal traditions vary widely across the world, the Oirat Confederation’s judiciary meets the standards expected of sovereign states participating in the international system.”

The UN therefore takes no position supporting extradition.

Alina closes with a broader principle.

“The international order depends upon mutual recognition of sovereignty and the right of peoples to govern themselves.”

“The Oirat Confederation exercised that right.”

---

Global Consensus

Across Rome, London, Africa, North America, and the United Nations, the message converges on a single point:

Sovereignty matters.

Nations may disagree about laws.

They may debate culture, philosophy, and speech.

…but one rule underpins the international system:

A sovereign state has the right to enforce its laws within its territory.

…and in the case of Vince McGeady, the world’s leaders- almost unanimously- conclude that the Oirat Empire did exactly that.

The True Virus podcast, March 26, 2023

Online.

Rayna Embers’ response arrives later that evening.

Unlike the statements from governments and institutions, her platform does not issue a formal communiqué. Instead, the newest episode of The True Virus appears online with a simple title:

“Justice, Systems, and the Myth of Clean Hands.”

The tone is calmer than many expected.

Rayna opens by addressing the argument that has dominated the news cycle.

“Let’s start with the obvious thing everyone seems determined to ignore.”

“Vince deserved justice.”

She pauses.

“That part isn’t controversial.”

Rayna makes it clear she does not share the rhetoric circulating in some corners of Gotham media.

“I’m not going to stand here and pretend the Oirat are barbarous, uncivilized, or somehow lesser because their laws look different.”

“That argument is lazy, and frankly it’s arrogant.”

…but she also refuses to join the wave of official praise for the Oirat legal system.

“That doesn’t mean their system is perfect either.”

Rayna leans forward toward the microphone.

“The Oirat legal framework has its own problems. Its own pressures. Its own political incentives.

“It prioritizes expediency over proper evaluation. It does not allow for proper discovery and the challenging of evidence. Status and value to society can often matter just as much, if not more, to the court than the weight of the evidence.

“Since the judges control every aspect of the investigative procedure- from questioning to evidence collection to its ultimate evaluation, a trial comes down to the subjective whims of those presiding over it.

“Say what you will about the flaws of the adversarial system, but it at least keeps judges honest.”

She then references the law at the center of the controversy.

“Dishonouring the Blue Standard is an extraordinary statute. It’s rooted in a very specific cultural understanding of honor and institutional trust.”

“That makes it powerful.”

“…and power in law is always dangerous.”

“Because power in law doesn’t just punish guilt.”
“It decides what guilt even means.”

Rayna explains that she is skeptical of any system that claims moral purity, whether it exists in the Oirat Confederation or in North America.

“Every legal system has blind spots.”

“The Oirat system is flawed in its own way.”

“North American systems are flawed in theirs.”

“Different structures. Same human problems.”

Then Rayna pivots to the argument she clearly finds more important.

“Here’s the part nobody in North America wants to talk about.”

Her voice hardens.

“Vince McGeady operated for years inside jurisdictions that had every legal tool necessary to hold him accountable.”

She lists them one by one.

“Regulators.”

“Labor law.”

“Civil courts.”

“Criminal statutes.”

“Broadcast oversight.”

“Corporate governance.”

Rayna spreads her hands.

“…and yet somehow none of those systems managed to stop him.”

She lets the silence linger for a moment.

“So the real question isn’t why the Oirat punished him.”

“The real question is why everyone else didn’t.”

Rayna concludes with a statement that echoes the central thesis of her show.

“People are arguing about whether the Oirat system is fair.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.”

“…but what we know is that the systems Vince spent most of his life inside failed to act.”

She looks directly into the camera.

“…and that’s the real virus.”

“Not one country’s laws.”

“The way institutions protect themselves until someone else finally forces the outcome.”

The episode ends without a clear endorsement of the Oirat courts.

…but Rayna leaves her audience with a sharp implication:

Vince did not fall because one legal system was uniquely righteous.

He fell because every other system allowed him to keep standing for too long.

Legal Community Response, March 27, 2023

Various Outlets.

Rayna’s rant struck a nerve and it exploded far beyond what she had thought.

Within a day of the True Virus episode, law professors, international law experts, and comparative legal scholars begin discussing Rayna’s comments across legal blogs, academic networks, and televised panels.

Unlike the political reaction to Frank Boland’s statement, the response to Rayna is measured but critical.

Most scholars agree with one of her premises:

Legal systems should always be open to scrutiny.

…but several experts argue that her characterization of the Oirat system may oversimplify how inquisitorial systems actually function.

One comparative law professor explains during a televised interview:

“The Oirat model is not unusual globally. Much of continental Europe uses investigative magistrates who gather evidence and question witnesses.”

He continues:

“Those systems do not rely on adversarial courtroom battles because the investigative phase is supposed to uncover the truth before trial.”

Another scholar pushes back on Rayna’s claim that adversarial systems “keep judges honest.”

“Adversarial systems divide power between prosecution and defense, yes…but they also create incentives for lawyers to win rather than discover the truth.”

He lists several well-known weaknesses of adversarial justice:

• evidence withheld through legal maneuvering
• wealthier defendants securing stronger representation
• juries influenced by courtroom performance rather than evidence
• plea bargains replacing full trials

He concludes:

“Every legal structure trades one type of risk for another.”

---

Debate Over “Dishonouring the Blue Standard”

The most intense debate centers on the statute Rayna criticized.

Some legal scholars agree with her concern about extraordinary laws tied to institutional honor.

Others argue that the law has been misunderstood internationally.

One historian of steppe legal traditions writes:

“The Blue Standard doctrine emerged from a political culture where public authority depended on trust between leaders and communities.”

According to him, the law was historically used rarely and symbolically, often after public acts that threatened institutional legitimacy rather than ordinary dissent.

He notes that many countries maintain similar concepts under different names, such as:

• contempt of court
• obstruction of justice
• defamation against public institutions

---

A More Nuanced View Emerges

By the end of the debate, the emerging consensus among legal analysts is more complex than either Boland’s outrage or Rayna’s skepticism.

One international law scholar summarizes it succinctly:

“The Oirat courts appear to have followed their own legal procedures correctly.”

He pauses before adding:

“Whether those procedures represent the best possible model of justice is a different question entirely.”

---

Public Perception

Among Rayna’s listeners, the reaction is mixed.

Some appreciate that she challenged both the Oirat system and North American institutions.

Others accuse her of creating false equivalence between systems.

…but one thing becomes clear:

Rayna’s argument has shifted the conversation.

Instead of debating whether the Oirat are civilized, people are now debating a harder question:

What does justice actually look like in a world where every legal system has flaws?

The True Virus podcast, March 28, 2023

Online.

Rayna opens the next episode looking noticeably unsettled.

The usual casual confidence in her voice is gone for a moment.

She glances off-camera, clearly still processing what happened.

“So… apparently I’m not talking into the void anymore.”

She exhales softly.

“That’s new.”

Clips from international news panels, legal blogs, and academic debates have been circulating for two days—many of them referencing her comments about the Oirat system.

Rayna shakes her head slightly.

“Look, I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours listening to lawyers explain the adversarial system to me like I’ve never heard of it.”

She leans forward toward the microphone.

“Yes. I know.”

She begins ticking off points on her fingers.

“Wealth affects representation.”

“Prosecutors negotiate plea deals.”

“Jurors can be swayed by performance instead of evidence.”

“And sometimes the side with the better lawyer wins.”

She shrugs.

“None of that is news to me.”

Her voice sharpens slightly.

“But that wasn’t my point.”

Rayna pauses.

“My point wasn’t that the adversarial system is perfect.”

“My point was that no system is perfect.”

She gestures toward the camera.

“People heard me criticize the Oirat courts and immediately rushed to defend them.”

“But that’s the exact reflex I’m talking about.”

She leans closer.

“Every system does this.”

“Every institution does this.”

Her tone becomes quieter, but more deliberate.

“You point out a structural flaw, and suddenly the conversation becomes about defending the system instead of examining the flaw.”

Rayna sits back.

“I’m not arguing the Oirat system is uniquely bad.”

“I’m arguing that every justice system is built on power.”

Another pause.

“Power to decide what evidence matters.”

“Power to decide which voices are credible.”

“Power to decide what counts as justice.”

She folds her hands together.

“…and when people start treating those systems like sacred objects instead of human constructions…”

Rayna looks straight into the camera.

“…that’s when the real problems start.”

The episode ends with a short statement that clearly reflects her surprise at the sudden attention.

“Apparently a lot more people are listening now.”

“So let me say this as clearly as possible.”

“Questioning systems isn’t disrespect.”

“It’s how you keep them from becoming untouchable.”

The Awesome Towers, March 28, 2023

10:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The boardroom had been loud before.

Now it was silent.

The number still hung on the screen at the end of the table.

$10,000,000,000

Ten billion dollars.

More than double the valuation analysts had placed on the World Fighting Empire only days earlier.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Then someone exhaled slowly.

“By Jove.”

A few members leaned back in their chairs. Others leaned forward, studying the details again as if the number might somehow change.

It didn’t.

Sarah Chaisson folded her hands on the table.

“Read the conditions,” she said.

The general counsel cleared his throat and began listing them.

Rust’s offer would require:

• Total ownership of the company.
• Immediate dissolution of the current board of directors.
• Authority to appoint a new executive leadership team.
• Complete control over creative direction and company programming.
• Full discretion to restructure operations, including the ability to terminate contracts with performers, staff, and management without restriction.
• Authority to sell or spin off divisions of the company if he deemed it necessary.

There were other provisions as well. Some were financial. Others were operational.

Every one of them pointed toward the same conclusion.

Ronald Rust didn’t want to invest in the WFE.

He wanted to own it completely.

A murmur rippled around the table.

One board member leaned forward.

“Ten billion solves everything,” he said. “Debt. Contracts. Production costs. Everything.”

Another nodded.

“Not just solves it. It gives the company a future.”

Across the table someone else shook their head.

“A future under Rust.”

“That’s still a future.”

“That’s not what we agreed this company should be.”

The room began to fill with overlapping voices.

One member suggested the board could increase its own financing commitments to remain competitive.

Another immediately pointed out the problem.

“If we do that, we’re not equal partners anymore.”

That was the implication hanging in the air.

More money meant more shares.

More shares meant new power dynamics inside the board itself.

Someone said quietly:

“We could match eight billion.”

Another voice:

“I could increase my stake if necessary.”

A third member frowned.

“So now we’re negotiating with each other instead of Rust?”

The argument began spiraling.

One faction saw Rust’s bid as an opportunity.

Another saw it as the very scenario they had just vowed to prevent- the return of absolute control under a single owner.

Sarah had listened without speaking.

Finally she raised her hand.

The room gradually quieted.

“This conversation is premature,” she said evenly.

All eyes turned toward her.

“The shares are not ours to sell.”

She tapped the printed document in front of her.

“They are currently held in trust.”

A pause.

“So before we decide anything… we need to know how the trustee intends to treat this offer.”

Several members exchanged glances.

The number still loomed in the center of the table.

Ten billion dollars.

Sarah stood.

“I’ll contact the trustee this afternoon.”

She looked around the room.

“Until then, we don’t panic. We don’t start rewriting our financing plan. And we certainly don’t start negotiating among ourselves.”

No one argued.

Because despite the tension, everyone understood the same thing.

The board had hoped to rebuild the WFE.

Ronald Rust had just offered enough money to make that dream very difficult to defend.

…and the final decision might not belong to them at all.

Golden Lights Hotel, March 28, 2023

12:21 local time,
Borealis Bay, Republic of Sǫ̀mbak’è

The ballroom was packed with reporters, cameras, and WFL officials.

Behind the podium hung a massive banner:

WASHINGTON FOOTBALL CLUB- FUTURE HOME OF BOREALIS BAY

Ronald Rust stepped up to the microphone with the easy confidence of someone who had spent decades speaking in rooms exactly like this.

He spread his arms wide.

“Beautiful place,” he said. “Tremendous place. I mean, look at this. Who would’ve thought we’d be bringing professional football to the top of the world?”

A few reporters exchanged glances.

Rust continued.

“I flew in yesterday and the sun was doing something very strange. Very strange. Just hanging there. Didn’t want to go down. I asked someone about it and they said, ‘Ronald, that’s what happens up here.’”

A few chuckles rippled through the room.

Rust leaned toward the microphone.

“This city- Borealis Bay- is above the Arctic Circle, believe it or not.”

Several local journalists visibly winced.

Everyone in the room knew Borealis Bay sat on the northern shore of Great Slave Lake- far north, yes, but not above the Arctic Circle.

Rust pressed on anyway.

“…but that’s fine. That’s what makes it exciting.”

He gestured toward a rendering displayed on the screen behind him.

RONALD HYPERGRID STADIUM

Glass, steel, and glowing blue light.

A domed structure rising above the lakefront.

“This stadium will be incredible,” Rust declared. “The best football facility anywhere in the world. Retractable everything. Climate-controlled. Perfect turf. People will come from everywhere to see it.”

He tapped the podium.

“…and the Washington Football Club is coming with it.”

The WFL commissioner Leo Corbin, standing nearby, gave a polite nod as the cameras flashed.

Rust smiled broadly.

“Football belongs everywhere. Even up here where it’s… very cold.”

A reporter raised a hand.

“Mr. Rust, can you comment on your offer to purchase the World Fighting Empire?”

The room stirred immediately.

Rust’s smile widened.

“Well, I hear people are talking about that.”

He leaned back slightly.

“I made an offer. A very strong offer.”

“How strong?” another reporter asked.

Rust shrugged.

“Strong enough.”

Several reporters began speaking at once.

“Is it true the offer is ten billion dollars?”

Rust paused just long enough to make the moment theatrical.

“Something like that.”

A wave of murmurs swept through the room.

One journalist pressed further.

“How do you intend to finance a deal of that size?”

Rust waved a dismissive hand.

“Very easily.”

“…but reports suggest that figure may exceed your net worth.”

Rust laughed loudly.

“Oh, please.”

He pointed toward the back of the room.

“Who told you that? Terrible sources. Terrible.”

Another reporter called out:

“Are you doing this to help Vince McGeady?”

Rust shook his head.

“No, no. Vince is a friend, sure, but this is business. Pure business.”

He spread his hands again.

“The WFE is a great brand. Tremendous brand. Poorly run for a long time, but tremendous potential.”

Rachel Rust stood quietly near the side of the stage.

Her expression remained composed, but she had heard this speech pattern many times before.

Grand plans.

Grand numbers.

Very few specifics.

Rust continued speaking enthusiastically about stadium construction timelines, television partnerships, and the economic future of Borealis Bay.

Rachel glanced down briefly at the tablet in her hands.

Her father’s comments about the WFE were already spreading online.

Speculation was exploding.

Ten billion dollars.

Some analysts were calling it reckless.

Others were calling it impossible.

…but Rachel knew one thing better than anyone in the room.

When Ronald Rust made a spectacle of something this large, it was rarely just about the deal itself.

It was about the leverage the spectacle created.

…and right now, somewhere in Gotham Hill, the WFE board was almost certainly staring at the same number everyone else was.

Ten.

Billion.

Dollars.

A reporter calls out:

“Mr. Rust, ten billion dollars is far above the current valuation of the World Fighting Empire. Why offer so much?”

Rust grins.

He leans closer to the microphone.

“Because it’s a great company.”

A pause.

“A tremendous company.”

He shrugs theatrically.

“…but it’s been run terribly. Absolutely terribly.”

Some laughter ripples through the room.

Rust continues.

“I looked at it and I said, ‘How is something this big being run this badly?’ And the answer is simple.”

He taps the podium.

“Bad leadership.”

Another pause.

“So I made an offer.”

He spreads his hands.

“A very big offer.”

“Ten billion dollars.”

More murmurs from the reporters.

Rust nods slowly.

“Maybe it’s too much.”

He smiles.

“Or maybe it’s exactly what it takes to save it.”

Then he adds the line that will make every headline:

“If the board doesn’t want the ten billion, that’s fine. I’ll keep the money.”

A beat.

“…but in six months they’ll wish they had taken it.”

The hallway outside the ballroom was quiet compared to the chaos of the press conference.

Rachel Rust stood near a window overlooking the frozen shoreline of Great Slave Lake, her phone pressed against her ear.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “We understand the trustee’s fiduciary obligations.”

A pause.

“I know.”

Another pause.

“No, the financing structure isn’t finalized yet.”

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment.

“Yes. I understand that’s a concern.”

On the other end of the call, the trustee’s representative was listing issues that had already been circulating among financial analysts:

• uncertainty around the financing package
• Rust’s demand for total control
• the potential destabilization of WFE operations
• whether the offer was truly capable of closing

Rachel listened patiently.

“I’ll relay that,” she said finally.

A final pause.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She ended the call and lowered the phone slowly.

A moment later the ballroom doors opened behind her.

Ronald Rust stepped out, still energized from the press conference. He spotted Rachel immediately.

“There she is!”

He walked over and slung an arm around her shoulders before she could say anything.

He kissed the top of her head and gave her a quick noogie, just like he had done when she was a kid.

Rachel endured it with a tight smile.

She had loved the gesture when she was six.

At twenty-five, she tolerated it.

“Great press conference,” Rust said cheerfully.

Rachel exhaled.

“The trustee has concerns.”

Rust waved a hand.

“They always do.”

She looked at him.

“They’re worried about the financing. They want to know how the deal actually closes.”

Rust shrugged.

“It’ll close.”

“They want specifics.”

“They’ll get them.”

Rachel studied her father for a moment.

“You announced a ten-billion-dollar offer before we even had a financing package finalized.”

Rust smiled confidently.

“That’s how negotiations work.”

Rachel sighed.

“They’re also concerned about your conditions. Dissolving the board. Total operational control. The ability to void contracts.”

Rust leaned casually against the wall.

“If you’re buying something, you should be able to run it.”

“That’s not how trustees evaluate bids.”

Rust gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry.”

Rachel had heard that phrase her entire life.

“It’ll all work out.”

She looked back toward the ballroom where reporters were still gathering their equipment.

Then she glanced down at her phone again.

Because at that moment, Rachel knew something her father didn’t seem to care about yet.

The hardest part of a ten-billion-dollar deal wasn’t announcing it.

It was proving you could actually pay for it.

The Awesome Towers, March 29, 2023

10:03 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The Board of Directors had not scheduled a meeting that morning.

…but when the message came from reception — “Ms. Armitage is here” — the board assembled anyway.

Talia “Taz” Armitage did not arrive quietly.

Owner of the Perth Wizards, one of the most innovative franchises in the World Football League, Armitage had built a reputation as a sharp strategist who preferred long horizons and minimal theatrics. Through Westlink Hospitality Group, she controlled hotels, event venues, and entertainment properties across three continents.

She was not known for impulse decisions.

Which made her presence in the WFE boardroom that morning…interesting.

Armitage entered without entourage. No lawyers. No assistants. Just a slim tablet under her arm and a calm, curious expression.

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” she said.

The chair of the board nodded.

“I assume this concerns Mr. Rust.”

Armitage smiled faintly.

“Indirectly.”

She took a seat and folded her hands.

“I’m not here to dismantle the company. I’m not interested in replacing management. I don’t want to blow up the board, rewrite contracts, or turn the place upside down.”

Several directors visibly relaxed.

“I own a football team,” she continued. “Entertainment is an ecosystem. Sports, live events, hospitality, media rights- they feed each other.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“I want a piece of the WFE. I believe it will recover.”

A quiet pause followed.

“What kind of investment are you proposing?” a director asked.

Armitage answered without hesitation.

“Two billion dollars.”

That got the room’s full attention.

“For a minority stake,” she continued. “I have no interest in day-to-day management. You run the company. I remain largely hands-off.”

The chair exchanged a glance with two other directors.

On paper, it sounded like the exact kind of partner they had hoped to find- stable, wealthy, and uninterested in tearing down the existing structure.

…but Armitage had not finished.

“I would require voting rights,” she said.

“That’s reasonable,” another director replied cautiously.

Armitage nodded.

“Twenty-five percent.”

The room went quiet.

That number was larger than the board’s original stabilization plan had anticipated.

The proposal they had been discussing internally allowed for an outside partner- but only for a much smaller slice of influence.

Twenty-five percent meant something different.

It meant a real voice in the future of the company.

The chair leaned back slightly.

“That is more than we initially envisioned offering an outside investor.”

Armitage did not appear surprised.

“I assumed as much.”

She tapped her tablet lightly.

“…but I’m not Ronald Rust.”

Another pause.

“I’m offering capital without disruption,” she continued calmly. “You retain control. You stabilize the company. I receive meaningful participation in the upside.”

She glanced around the table.

“…and together we prevent Mr. Rust from burning the house down.”

No one spoke for several seconds.

Because the board now faced a simple but uncomfortable question:

Was giving one investor twenty-five percent of the vote a price worth paying to stop Ronald Rust?

The questions came quickly once Talia Armitage finished outlining her proposal.

One director leaned forward.

“Twenty-five percent is not a passive stake.”

Another nodded.

“With that much voting power you could block major corporate actions.”

Armitage didn’t object to the framing.

“That’s correct.”

The chair folded his hands.

“So the obvious question is…what do you want?”

A few members of the board exchanged glances.

“Strategic influence? Media rights? Creative direction?” one asked.

“Board seats?” another added.

Armitage shook her head lightly.

“I’m not here to run the WFE.”

A skeptical eyebrow rose across the table.

“You’re offering two billion dollars,” a director replied. “Investors usually expect something for that.”

Armitage allowed herself a small smile.

“I do expect something.”

She paused.

“A voice.”

The room stayed quiet.

“I have no policy agenda,” she continued. “No plan to rewrite contracts. No interest in replacing management or restructuring creative.”

She gestured lightly toward the skyline outside the window.

“I already run a football franchise and a hospitality network. I don’t need another job.”

Another director asked the question everyone was thinking.

“Then why twenty-five percent?”

Armitage answered without hesitation.

“Because partnerships work best when everyone at the table is heard.”

Her tone remained calm.

“If I’m investing two billion dollars, I want to know my voice carries weight. That’s all.”

The chair studied her carefully.

“No hidden conditions?”

“No.”

“No governance overhaul?”

“No.”

“No attempt to steer the company in a particular direction?”

Armitage shook her head again.

“You built this company. You know it better than I do.”

She leaned back slightly.

“I’m offering capital and patience.”

Another pause settled over the room.

“…and,” she added, almost casually,

“a way to stop Ronald Rust from setting the whole place on fire.”

---

Board Deliberation

After Armitage stepped out, the room changed instantly.

Directors who had sat politely during the presentation now spoke freely.

“Twenty-five percent is enormous.”

“…but it solves the financing problem.”

“It gives us stability.”

“It gives her leverage.”

A director near the end of the table tapped a pen against a legal pad.

“Let’s be clear about the alternative.”

Everyone knew what he meant.

Ronald Rust.

Ten billion dollars.

Total control.

Board dissolution.

Contract rewrites.

Corporate upheaval.

“We either share power,” the director continued,

“or we lose it entirely.”

Another voice spoke up.

“She says she’s hands-off.”

“That’s what every investor says.”

The chair remained silent for a long moment.

Finally he said quietly,

“She’s not asking to run the company.”

A different director replied just as quietly.

“She’s asking to make sure we can’t ignore her.”

The room fell silent again.

Because the board now faced a choice that had nothing to do with spreadsheets.

It was a question of governance.

Was it better to share the future of the company…

or risk losing it altogether?

Sarah Chaisson’s Office

Sarah Chaisson closed the door to her office before placing the call.

The board had debated for nearly two hours.

Some directors hated giving up twenty-five percent of the vote. Others thought it was the only realistic way to keep the company out of Ronald Rust’s hands.

In the end, the decision had been unanimous.

Not enthusiastic.

…but unanimous.

The phone rang twice before the trustee answered.

“Ms. Chaisson.”

“Thank you for taking the call.”

“I assume the board has reached a decision.”

Sarah glanced briefly at the folder on her desk- financial summaries, draft commitments, and a short memorandum outlining Talia Armitage’s investment.

“We have.”

A brief pause.

“We’ve secured financing.”

The trustee did not respond immediately.

“How much?”

“Five billion.”

That got a reaction.

“Explain.”

Sarah spoke carefully.

“The board has formed a holding company to acquire the trust’s voting shares. Directors are committing three billion collectively.”

“…and the remaining two?”

“A strategic investor.”

Another pause.

“Talia Armitage.”

The trustee exhaled quietly.

“The Perth Wizards owner.”

“That’s correct.”

“…and the terms?”

“She will receive twenty-five percent of the voting power within the holding structure.”

The trustee let the silence stretch for a moment.

“That is a meaningful concession.”

“It is,” Sarah admitted.

“…but it stabilizes the company.”

“…and Mr. Rust?”

Sarah leaned back in her chair.

“His proposal remains what it was yesterday.”

“A ten-billion-dollar offer.”

“Yes.”

“Conditional upon dissolving the board.”

“Yes.”

“…and assuming full operational control.”

“Yes.”

The trustee spoke calmly.

“You understand that the Rust proposal is financially larger.”

“We do.”

“…but your fiduciary obligation is not simply to choose the largest number,” Sarah replied.

“It is to select the transaction most likely to close without destabilizing the company.”

Another long pause followed.

Sarah waited.

Finally the trustee spoke.

“Is Armitage’s financing committed?”

“Yes.”

“Are the directors’ funds secured?”

“Yes.”

“…and the governance structure remains intact?”

“Yes.”

More silence.

Then the trustee said:

“Subject to final documentation… the trust is prepared to proceed with your transaction.”

The trustee spoke again before ending the call.

“For the record, Ms. Chaisson- Mr. Rust’s proposal remains conditional. We have not received proof of fully committed financing, and the governance demands attached to his offer would materially alter the company’s structure.”

Sarah nodded, even though the trustee could not see her.

“Our responsibility is not simply to select the largest number on paper,” the trustee continued. “It is to select the transaction most likely to close while preserving the value of the trust’s assets.”

A short pause followed.

“Your consortium has provided committed funding and a stable governance structure. Mr. Rust has not.”

The trustee’s voice remained calm.

“Under those circumstances, the trust has little reason to continue negotiations with him.”

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment.

“Thank you.”

“The Rust group will not be pleased.”

“No,” Sarah said quietly.

“I imagine they won’t…

…but I believe when this is all said and done, the wrestling world will be pleased.”

Peace Field Coordination Office- Cleveland, March 29, 2023

14:29 local time,
City of Cuyahoga Castles, Sovereignty of Ohio, UCSS

The office was quieter now.

A week earlier the place had been a circus while Vince’s trial dominated every screen and every conversation. Reporters outside, investigators inside, phones ringing constantly.

Now things had settled.

Evie Sicario sat at her desk with a coffee cup that was so large it barely qualified as a cup anymore. Glittery stickers decorated the side of her workstation — little stars, cartoon cats, pastel hearts.

Len Horowitz passed by once, gave the display his usual skeptical look, and kept walking.

He had stopped complaining about it.

The radio played softly beside Evie’s keyboard.

“…and in music news today,” the DJ said, “Gotye is reworking his 2012 hit Somebody That I Used to Know into a major charity single for Ireland. The new version will be called Somebody That We Used to Know.”

Evie paused her typing.

The DJ sounded almost breathless.

“The collaboration is expected to include Michelle Branch, Brent Smith of Shinedown, Tarja Turunen, Jelly Roll, Snoop Dogg, Ozzy Osbourne, Lindsey Stirling… and even Freddie Mercury, who has reportedly agreed to come out of retirement for the recording.”

Evie blinked.

“That’s right,” the DJ continued. “Freddie Mercury returning to the studio. More details as they come in.”

Evie shook her head slightly and went back to her work.

Still, the news lingered in her thoughts.

Ireland had been everywhere in the headlines lately.

A brutal famine after a failed harvest. Fishing stocks collapsing. Charity drives running nonstop on television.

Images of emaciated children.

Long food lines.

Desperate appeals.

The pictures were supposed to shock people.

At first they had.

…but lately Evie noticed something uncomfortable about herself.

They didn’t anymore.

There were always pictures like that somewhere.

Every year there was another place.

Another crisis.

Another wave of ads telling everyone the world was on the brink of collapse unless donations arrived immediately.

…and somehow the crisis never seemed to end.

What bothered Evie even more was the part no one talked about.

The stronger states squeezing weaker ones.

Foreign fleets fishing waters that didn’t belong to them.

The Kingdom of Tyrconnell escorting its trawlers halfway across the sea to harvest Galway’s fisheries while Irish boats returned to empty nets.

Everyone knew it.

No one fixed it.

Evie stared at her computer screen.

For a moment a thought crept in that she didn’t like very much.

Maybe what I’m doing here doesn’t matter.

Investigations.

Reports.

Endless paperwork.

All of it inside a system that moved slowly and changed even slower.

Evie took a long sip from her massive coffee and forced herself back to typing.

The thought faded.

Or at least she tried to make it fade.

Because if she let herself believe that nothing mattered…

…then there wasn’t much reason to be here at all.

Elian Reyes’ office door was open.

Evie knocked lightly anyway.

“Got a minute?”

Elian looked up from a stack of reports.

“For you? Always.”

Evie stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She didn’t sit immediately.

“I heard something on the radio,” she said.

Elian raised an eyebrow.

“That usually means trouble.”

Evie gave a small smile.

“It’s about Ireland.”

Elian leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Ireland?”

“There’s a charity single coming out. A bunch of big musicians are doing it because of the famine there.”

Elian nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I’ve seen the coverage.”

Evie hesitated for a moment.

“You ever been there?”

Elian gave a quiet chuckle.

“Once.”

Evie finally sat down.

“Vacation?”

“Peace tour,” Elian said.

Evie tilted her head.

“You volunteered?”

Elian nodded.

“I was younger. Thought I wanted action.”

He looked down at the desk for a second.

“I got plenty of it.”

Evie waited.

“It wasn’t the Hollywood kind,” Elian added.

He didn’t elaborate, and Evie didn’t push.

After a moment she spoke again.

“Can I ask you something?”

Elian gestured toward the chair.

“You just did.”

Evie folded her hands.

“Why do you still do this?”

Elian blinked.

“This job.”

Evie searched for the words.

“Everything feels broken.”

She looked down briefly.

“The system moves slow. Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t move at all.”

She shrugged slightly.

“There’s a podcast I’ve been listening to. The host keeps saying the system protects itself more than it protects people.”

Elian frowned slightly.

“Who’s the host?”

“Rayna Embers.”

Elian shook his head.

“Don’t know her.”

“She’s been going viral.”

Elian leaned back in his chair again.

“People like viral.”

Evie didn’t smile this time.

“She says the system is the problem.”

Silence hung in the room for a moment.

Evie finally asked the question that had been sitting in her chest all afternoon.

“How do you keep doing this?”

Elian looked at her carefully.

“How long have you been here now?”

“Two months.”

“Feels longer, doesn’t it?”

Evie nodded.

Elian rubbed his chin.

“I’ll tell you something most people in this job won’t say out loud.”

Evie leaned forward slightly.

“Some days…she’s right.”

Evie blinked.

Elian continued.

“The system fails people. It’s slow. It’s bureaucratic. Sometimes it protects the wrong things.”

He spread his hands slightly.

“I’ve seen it happen.”

Evie watched him closely.

“There are days,” Elian said quietly, “where it’s harder to justify than others.”

He paused.

“…and there are days where I think about walking away.”

Evie frowned.

“You?”

Elian smiled faintly.

“Especially me.”

Another quiet moment passed.

Then Elian leaned forward.

“…but here’s the thing.”

Evie waited.

“If everyone who sees the flaws walks away…who’s left?”

Evie didn’t answer.

“People who don’t care,” Elian continued.

“Or people who think the system works perfectly already.”

He shrugged.

“I don’t believe either of those groups should be running things.”

Evie let out a slow breath.

“So you stay?”

Elian nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Elian thought for a moment.

“Because sometimes,” he said, “the system actually works.”

Evie tilted her head.

“Sometimes is enough?”

Elian smiled.

“Sometimes is the only place change ever starts.”

He gestured toward the hallway outside his office.

“One case solved. One person helped. One bad situation stopped before it gets worse.”

He shrugged again.

“It’s not glamorous.”

Evie stared at the floor for a second.

“…but it matters.”

Elian nodded.

“More than people think.”

Evie finally smiled a little.

“Okay.”

Elian leaned back in his chair.

“You know what my first real case was?”

Evie shook her head.

“Domestic call,” he said. “Warren, Michigan. Nothing unusual. Just another line on the dispatch board.”

He paused.

“Little kid answered the door when we knocked. Maybe seven.”

Evie listened quietly.

“Elian continued.”

“Kid looked at me like I was the cavalry or something. Like I was going to fix everything just by showing up.”

He gave a small shrug.

“I didn’t fix everything. Not even close.”

Another pause.

“…but we got the kid and his sister somewhere safe that night.”

He glanced at Evie.

“That’s the thing about this job. You almost never save the world.”

Evie waited.

“…but sometimes you get to save someone’s Tuesday.”

Elian picked up the report he’d been reading earlier.

“You going back to work?”

Evie stood.

“Yeah.”

She paused at the door.

“Thanks.”

Elian gave a small salute with his pen.

“Anytime.”

Evie stepped back into the quiet office, her giant coffee waiting for her.

The system might not work the way it was supposed to.

…but at least for now…she wasn’t ready to walk away from it.

Tactical Ops Training Centre

Mike Burrow sat on a bench near the edge of the training floor, helmet resting beside him.

His break was supposed to be five minutes.

Three had already disappeared.

His phone screen glowed in his hands.

Every wrestling site he followed was buzzing about the same story- the WFE takeover fight. Rust. The board. New investors. Rumors flying everywhere.

Burrow scrolled quickly through the updates.

“Still following that circus?”

Burrow looked up.

Commander Cornelius Hale stood a few feet away, arms folded.

Burrow quickly locked his phone.

“Just checking the news, sir.”

Hale smirked slightly.

“You mean wrestling.”

Burrow shrugged.

“Little bit of both.”

Hale stepped closer.

“Got a minute?”

Burrow straightened instinctively.

“Yes, sir.”

Hale sat on the edge of the bench across from him.

“There’s a posting coming up.”

Burrow’s interest immediately sharpened.

“Where?”

“Roscommon.”

Burrow blinked.

“Ireland?”

Hale nodded.

“Heart of Connacht.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Historically the political centre of the province. These days it changes hands every few years depending on which regional authority is holding the seat.”

Burrow nodded slowly.

“I’ve heard of it.”

“Peace is building a new regiment there,” Hale continued. “Important post. The region’s unstable. Tensions with Sligo keep flaring up.”

Burrow’s pulse quickened.

“Frontline assignment?”

“Close enough.”

Three months ago, Burrow would have answered instantly.

It had everything he’d ever wanted.

Conflict zone.

International deployment.

Real operations.

Exactly the kind of assignment young tactical officers dreamed about.

Hale watched him carefully.

“I think you’d be perfect for it.”

Burrow stared at the floor for a moment.

Three months ago he would have been grinning right now.

Three months ago Cleveland had felt…quiet.

Safe.

Almost boring.

…but three months ago he hadn’t met Evie Sicario.

Now the idea of leaving the city suddenly felt different.

Different in a way he hadn’t expected.

Hale noticed the hesitation.

“That doesn’t sound like the reaction I expected.”

Burrow rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s a big move.”

“That’s the point.”

Burrow glanced toward the hallway leading back to the offices.

Evie was probably somewhere down there right now.

Typing reports.

Drinking that ridiculous bucket of coffee.

He looked back at Hale.

“When would the deployment start?”

“Six weeks.”

Burrow exhaled slowly.

Ireland meant action.

Cleveland meant…

…something else.

Hale stood up.

“Think about it,” he said.

Then he added quietly:

“Opportunities like that don’t stay open long.”

Burrow nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Hale walked away toward the training floor.

Burrow sat there for another moment, staring at his phone.

The wrestling headlines had already been replaced by something else.

News footage from Ireland.

Food lines.

Peace patrols.

Smoke rising somewhere in the distance.

Burrow locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Because for the first time since joining Peace…

…he wasn’t sure what the right choice was anymore.

WFE Combat Arts Imperial Academy, March 30, 2023

13:14 local time,
Panama, Sovereignty of Panama, UCSS

The Imperial Academy training ring was busy that afternoon.

Recruits ran drills across the mats. Others practiced promos in front of cameras mounted on tripods. Every few minutes someone took a bump hard enough to make the observers wince.

Triple X leaned against the railing overlooking the main ring.

Daniel Rayburn stood beside him with a clipboard.

“You see anything yet?” Rayburn asked.

“Couple possibilities,” X replied.

Rayburn nodded toward one of the rings.

“Bratz is getting better.”

“Bratley Darkheart was always going to be fine,” X said. “Confidence isn’t her problem.”

“…and Danwolfen?”

X smirked.

“Danwolfen’s weird enough to get over.”

Rayburn chuckled.

“So the plan stays the same?”

“Bratz and Danwolfen get the first real push when the Thursday Night War starts again.”

Rayburn nodded.

With the IWC already back on the air, the timeline for WFE’s relaunch suddenly mattered a lot more.

Both men watched the ring below.

Then Rayburn tilted his head slightly.

“Who’s that?”

In the far ring a tall recruit was sparring with two opponents at once.

He moved smoothly, almost casually. Not flashy. Not sloppy.

Just…natural.

The recruit bounced off the ropes, ducked a clothesline, rolled through a pin attempt, and popped up with a grin like he was having the time of his life.

Then he looked straight at the training camera and improvised something ridiculous that made half the room laugh.

Rayburn lowered his clipboard.

“Okay.”

X folded his arms.

“Yeah.”

They watched for another minute.

The recruit clearly understood the mechanics- footwork, pacing, timing.

…but the real surprise was the personality.

Everything he did looked spontaneous.

…and it worked.

Finally the bell rang for a break.

The recruit hopped out of the ring and grabbed a towel.

Rayburn nodded toward him.

“Let’s talk to him.”

They approached.

“Name?” X asked.

“Kyle Edwards.”

Rayburn blinked.

“The soccer player?”

Edwards shrugged modestly.

“Used to be.”

X pointed back toward the ring.

“You know what you’re doing in there?”

Edwards laughed.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I’m just winging it.”

Rayburn looked at X.

X looked back at Rayburn.

That answer somehow made them even more interested.

“You’re winging it?” Rayburn asked.

“Yeah,” Edwards said. “I mean… I know the basics…but the rest of it?”

He shrugged again.

“I’m just messing around.”

X smiled.

“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

Rayburn added:

“You’re ready for television.”

Edwards blinked.

“I am?”

“You are.”

Edwards rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well… if that’s true, I guess I should come up with a name.”

Rayburn raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have one?”

Edwards shook his head.

“I want something that stands out. Soccer already has my real name.”

Behind them another recruit groaned after missing a spot.

“Stop the tomfoolery and reset!” a trainer shouted.

Edwards froze.

X saw the moment happen.

Rayburn saw it too.

Edwards slowly looked up.

“Tomfoolery,” he said quietly.

X grinned.

Rayburn nodded.

Edwards’ smile spread wider.

“Well,” he said,

“I guess that settles it.”

He extended a hand.

“Tom Foolery.”

X shook it.

Rayburn followed.

…and just like that…

Kyle Edwards disappeared.

Tom Foolery had arrived.

The Awesome Towers, March 31, 2023

10:01 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The boardroom doors closed softly behind the last director as the meeting began.

Sarah Chaisson stood at the head of the table.

“We have one primary objective today,” she said calmly.

“Creative leadership.”

Several directors nodded.

“With Vince McGeady imprisoned, the World Fighting Empire currently has no booker.”

She let the reality sit in the room.

“No creative director. No central authority guiding programming.”

One of the directors spoke.

“Are we certain we should be making that decision yet?”

A few heads turned.

“We still do not know who the new owner will be.”

The concern was not unreasonable.

A company’s owner usually chose the person responsible for its creative direction.

Sarah shook her head slightly.

“The IWC has already resumed programming.”

That statement ended the hesitation almost immediately.

“If the WFE waits until ownership is finalized,” she continued, “we risk losing valuable time.”

She folded her hands in front of her.

“Whomever the eventual owner is can deal with what the board has done.”

A few directors chuckled quietly.

Kassian Oddo leaned back in his chair.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Sarah allowed herself the faintest smile.

“The question before us today is where to begin.”

She glanced around the table.

“…and the most obvious place to begin is Triple X.”

The reaction was immediate.

Several directors nodded.

One spoke first.

“He already runs the Imperial Academy.”

Another added,

“He understands the company culture.”

“He’s also respected by the locker room,” a third director said.

“That matters right now.”

Oddo nodded slowly.

“Very true.”

Another voice spoke from the far side of the table.

“He’s also never booked a national promotion before.”

That cooled the momentum slightly.

Running the Academy was not the same as producing weekly television.

Oddo tapped a finger lightly on the table.

“Training wrestlers and booking a global television product are two very different jobs.”

Another director leaned forward.

“…but Triple X does understand the talent better than anyone.”

“That’s a fair point,” Oddo admitted.

A director near the middle of the table cleared his throat.

“There is another concern.”

Heads turned.

“If we interview Triple X…”

He paused.

“…and then hire someone else…”

The sentence didn’t need finishing.

The implication hung in the air.

Another director completed the thought.

“He might take that personally.”

Someone else nodded.

“The Academy is the most important development pipeline in the company.”

“If we lose Triple X there…”

The room fell quiet.

Oddo folded his arms.

“You don’t want your best trainer feeling disrespected.”

Another director raised a different possibility.

“Then perhaps we simply promote him.”

Several directors considered that.

One shook his head slowly.

“That would also be a gamble.”

“Why?”

“Because the WFE is not the Academy.”

He gestured toward the table.

“It’s the largest wrestling promotion in the world.”

Sarah spoke again.

“Triple X has been invaluable to the WFE.”

Her tone was careful.

“The Academy has produced extraordinary talent under his leadership.”

She paused.

“…but we should also recognize that running a training system and booking weekly television for a global company are not the same responsibility.”

Several directors nodded quietly.

Oddo leaned forward slightly.

“You also have to ask another question.”

“What question?” someone asked.

“Is the company better served by moving Triple X…”

“…or by leaving him exactly where he already excels?”

The room grew thoughtful.

Another director spoke carefully.

“If we do not even consider him, however…”

“That could also send the wrong message,” someone finished.

Sarah nodded.

“That is precisely the dilemma.”

She folded her hands again.

“Interviewing him risks alienating him if he is passed over.”

“Not interviewing him risks appearing to overlook him entirely.”

The directors exchanged glances.

Finally Oddo spoke again.

“There might be a simple solution.”

Sarah looked at him.

“Speak with him first.”

Oddo shrugged.

“Before any formal interview process begins.”

“Explain the situation.”

“Explain that the board intends to consider several candidates.”

“…and ask him whether he even wants the job.”

Several directors nodded.

“That would avoid unnecessary misunderstandings,” one said.

Another added,

“…and it protects the Academy.”

Sarah considered the idea for a moment.

Then she nodded.

“That seems like the most reasonable course of action.”

She looked around the table.

“Before we proceed with any interviews…”

“…I will speak with Triple X directly.”

The decision settled quietly across the room.

…but everyone understood something important.

Triple X might be the most obvious candidate.

That did not necessarily make him the right one.

…and the board still had many other names to consider.

WFE Combat Arts Imperial Academy, March 31, 2023

13:14 local time,
Panama, Sovereignty of Panama, UCSS

The afternoon heat hung heavy over the open training complex.

Inside the main ring, recruits rotated through drills while coaches barked corrections from the ropes. Bodies hit the mat with steady rhythm- thuds that echoed through the cavernous gym.

Triple X leaned against the railing overlooking the floor.

His eyes followed one recruit in particular.

Kyle Edwards.

Or rather, the man who had very quickly begun calling himself Tom Foolery.

Edwards bounced lightly on his feet as he worked with another trainee, moving through a sequence of counters. The technique was clean. The pacing natural. Every now and then he added something small- a shrug, a grin to the camera, a ridiculous flourish- that somehow made the room react.

Triple X smirked faintly.

The kid didn’t even know what he was doing half the time.

…and somehow that made it work even better.

Edwards slipped behind his opponent, rolled him into a cradle, and popped back to his feet with theatrical surprise as if even he hadn’t expected the move to succeed.

A few trainees at ringside laughed.

Triple X folded his arms.

Yeah, he thought.

That one might be special.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

He pulled it out.

The screen read:

Sarah Chaisson

Triple X raised an eyebrow before answering.

“Sarah.”

“Triple X,” Sarah said calmly. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

He glanced back at the ring.

“Just watching training. What’s up?”

“The board is meeting tomorrow to discuss the WFE’s creative leadership.”

Triple X leaned slightly against the railing.

“That makes sense.”

“With Vince gone,” Sarah continued, “the company currently has no booker.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it.

“Right.”

There was a brief pause.

“We wanted to speak with you before the meeting.”

Triple X tilted his head slightly.

“Oh?”

Sarah’s tone remained conversational.

“I’ll be direct.”

“The board intends to interview candidates for the position.”

Triple X didn’t react immediately.

“…and?” he said.

“…and we wanted to know whether you would be interested in being considered.”

For a moment, the sounds of the training floor filled the silence between them.

Triple X watched as Edwards bounced off the ropes again, improvising some ridiculous bit of theatrics that made the nearby trainees laugh.

Finally he spoke.

“I’ve thought about it.”

Sarah waited.

“…but I’ve never seriously considered it.”

“That’s understandable.”

Triple X exhaled slightly.

“Running the Academy is already a full-time job.”

“Yes,” Sarah said.

“…and the WFE booker is a very different responsibility.”

Triple X nodded to himself.

“Exactly.”

He paused again.

“I’m not sure I want that job.”

Sarah didn’t sound surprised.

“That’s fair.”

Triple X watched the ring again for a moment before continuing.

“…but I will say this.”

“I want to be involved in the process.”

Sarah’s tone shifted slightly.

“In what way?”

Triple X answered plainly.

“If the board is going to bring in a new booker…”

“…I want to make sure it’s someone I can work with.”

He glanced across the training floor.

“The Academy feeds talent into the main roster.”

“If creative and development aren’t aligned…”

“…that’s a problem.”

Sarah nodded on the other end of the line.

“That’s a very reasonable concern.”

Triple X shrugged slightly.

“So I don’t know if I want the job.”

“…but I do want a seat at the table while you’re figuring out who gets it.”

There was a brief pause.

“That can be arranged,” Sarah said.

Triple X smirked faintly.

“Good.”

Across the room, Tom Foolery finished another sequence and leaned against the ropes, breathing hard but grinning like he’d just discovered the best job in the world.

Triple X watched him for another moment.

Then he spoke into the phone again.

“Because whoever gets that job…”

“…is going to have a lot of interesting talent coming their way.”

Libanona Beach Estates, April 1, 2023

11:12 local time,
Taolagnaro, Mahafaly, Southern Gate of the Dinosanct Confederation

The ocean wind rolled gently through the open windows of Marcy Carter’s new home.

Outside, the water of Libanona Bay shimmered under the bright midday sun. Palm trees swayed slowly along the hillside, and somewhere in the distance a flock of birds wheeled over the coast.

Inside the house, the final pieces of furniture were being moved into place.

Roman Cesar pushed a heavy wooden table across the floor while Jon Huxley guided it toward the center of the room.

“Little more,” Huxley said.

Roman nudged it forward.

“There?”

“Yeah, that works.”

Across the room, Marcy stepped back from the wall she had been decorating and examined the placement of a framed photograph.

“Not bad,” she said.

Boro stood nearby holding a small box of hardware and looking pleased with himself.

The Lizardfolk had already volunteered for every task that required lifting something heavy.

Roman wiped his hands on his shirt and looked around.

“Hard to believe this place was empty two weeks ago.”

Marcy smiled.

“I told you the view would sell it.”

Huxley walked over to the open window and looked out toward the water.

“I mean…”

He gestured toward the bay.

“…yeah, I can see the appeal.”

He leaned against the frame for a moment.

Then he casually said,

“Well, enjoy it while it lasts.”

Marcy glanced over.

“What?”

Huxley turned around with a completely straight face.

“Just got an alert on my phone.”

Roman frowned.

“What alert?”

Huxley held up the phone.

“Breaking news.”

Marcy folded her arms.

“What breaking news?”

Huxley cleared his throat dramatically.

“Apparently Vince McGeady escaped prison this morning.”

Roman stared at him.

“What?”

Huxley nodded seriously.

“Yeah.”

He paused.

“Says here he’s heading straight back to the WFE.”

Marcy’s eyes narrowed.

“…and then what?”

Huxley shrugged.

“Probably fire everyone again.”

Boro tilted his head curiously.

Roman stared at Huxley for another second.

Then realization dawned.

“…it’s April first.”

Huxley grinned.

Marcy rolled her eyes.

“You’re an idiot.”

Boro looked slightly disappointed.

“So Vince is not escaping prison?”

“No,” Roman said.

Huxley laughed.

“Not today.”

Marcy shook her head and went back to adjusting the photograph on the wall.

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Roman leaned against the table they had just moved.

“Well,” he said, “something is happening at the WFE.”

Huxley nodded.

“Yeah.”

“They’re hiring a new booker.”

The room grew quieter.

That news had been circulating through wrestling circles all week.

Roman crossed his arms.

“That job’s going to decide everything.”

Marcy looked back toward them.

“How so?”

Roman shrugged.

“Whoever runs creative basically decides what the WFE becomes.”

“Whether it actually changes… or just goes back to the same old stuff.”

Huxley nodded.

“Yeah.”

“New leadership means new direction.”

Boro looked curious.

“What is a booker?”

Roman smiled slightly.

“The person who decides the matches.”

“The storylines.”

“Who wins.”

“Who loses.”

Boro blinked.

“So… the person who controls everything.”

“Pretty much,” Huxley said.

Marcy leaned against the wall.

“So what kind of person do you want in that job?”

Roman didn’t answer immediately.

Finally he said,

“Someone who understands the wrestlers.”

Huxley nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Not another guy sitting in an office who thinks he’s smarter than everyone.”

Roman continued.

“Someone who actually listens to the locker room.”

Marcy crossed her arms.

“…and someone who doesn’t treat talent like disposable parts.”

Roman nodded.

“That too.”

Boro considered this.

“Someone who respects the fighters.”

“Exactly,” Roman said.

Huxley smirked slightly.

“Also someone who knows how to run a show.”

Marcy looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

“The WFE is television,” Huxley said.

“It’s arenas.”

“Big crowds.”

“You can’t just book great wrestling.”

“You have to book a spectacle.”

Roman nodded slowly.

“Balance.”

Marcy smiled faintly.

“Sounds like you all want the perfect person.”

Huxley shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Roman looked toward the open window and the bright ocean beyond.

“…and whoever gets that job…”

“…is going to decide whether any of us ever go back there.”

The four of them fell quiet for a moment.

Because none of them knew the answer to that yet.

Libanona Beach Estates, April 2, 2023

14:12 local time,
Taolagnaro, Mahafaly, Southern Gate of the Dinosanct Confederation

The afternoon sun washed the coastline in bright gold.

From the balcony of Marcy Carter’s new home, the view stretched across Libanona Bay — blue water rolling toward the horizon, small fishing boats drifting near the harbor, and the dense green hills rising inland beyond Taolagnaro.

Roman Cesar leaned on the balcony railing, phone pressed to his ear.

A light ocean breeze tugged at his long hair.

On the other end of the line, Paul Carney’s voice came through clearly.

“Roman, I’m not going to dance around this.”

Roman smirked slightly.

“That’s never really been your style, Paul.”

“Fair point,” Carney said.

A brief pause followed before he continued.

“The IWC has restarted programming.”

Roman nodded to himself.

“I saw.”

“We’re rebuilding the roster. We’re expanding the shows again…and right now we have a lot of momentum.”

Roman watched the waves break against the rocky shore below.

“I’ve noticed.”

Carney’s tone became more direct.

“This is probably the best opportunity you’re going to have to jump over.”

Roman chuckled faintly.

“You’re making it sound like free agency.”

“In a way it is.”

Carney continued.

“The WFE is still in chaos.”

“Ownership isn’t settled.”

“They don’t even have a booker yet.”

Roman didn’t argue.

“That’s true.”

“With us,” Carney said, “you get stability.”

Roman raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Stability.”

“Yes.”

“We know what direction we’re going in.”

“We know who’s running the shows.”

“…and you know exactly where you would fit.”

Roman was quiet for a moment.

The ocean wind filled the silence.

“If Vince were coming back,” he finally said, “this would be an easy decision.”

Carney didn’t respond immediately.

Roman continued.

“I’d already be on a plane.”

Carney chuckled quietly.

“That bad, huh?”

“You know how he ran things.”

“Yes,” Carney said.

“…but Vince is gone.”

Roman nodded slowly.

“That changes things.”

“How so?”

Roman shifted his weight against the railing.

“I want to see who they bring in.”

“The new booker.”

Carney sighed slightly.

“So you’re waiting.”

“For now.”

Roman looked out across the bay again.

“If the new leadership actually changes things…”

“…I want to work with them.”

Carney understood the implication.

“…and if it doesn’t?”

Roman smiled faintly.

“Then maybe we’ll talk again.”

There was a brief silence.

Finally Carney said,

“Well.”

“The door is open.”

Roman nodded.

“I know.”

They exchanged a few final words before ending the call.

Roman lowered the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

For a moment he simply stood there, looking out across the water.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

Boro stepped out onto the balcony.

The large Lizardfolk rested his arms on the railing beside Roman.

“Was that the IWC man?”

Roman nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Do they want you?”

Roman laughed softly.

“Pretty much.”

Boro looked out toward the ocean.

For a moment he said nothing.

Then he spoke quietly.

“I remember when Vince wanted to put the collar on me.”

Roman turned his head slightly.

Boro continued.

“He said it would make the audience laugh.”

Roman’s expression hardened.

“I remember.”

Boro tapped the railing lightly with one claw.

“He wanted a leash too.”

Roman exhaled slowly.

“Yeah.”

The memory still left a bitter taste.

Boro’s voice remained calm.

“I do not want to be treated like a dog.”

Roman shook his head.

“You won’t be.”

Boro looked at him.

“No matter who the new booker is?”

Roman met his gaze.

“No matter who it is.”

The two stood quietly for a moment, watching the waves roll into the bay.

Somewhere below, the distant sound of the town carried faintly on the wind.

The wrestling world was changing.

…but for the moment, neither of them knew exactly where they would stand when the dust finally settled.

Canton Elite Wrestling Training Centre, April 2, 2023

14:16 local time,
Guangzhou, Guangdong, Rose Republic of Canton

The training hall of Canton Elite Wrestling was alive with movement.

Inside the large, high-ceilinged facility, several rings were occupied at once. Wrestlers ran drills under the watchful eyes of coaches, bodies hitting the mat with disciplined rhythm. Others practiced sequences slowly, repeating the same movements again and again until their timing aligned perfectly.

Everywhere there was focus.

Precision.

Control.

Triple X stood near the edge of the main ring, watching quietly.

He had not spoken yet.

Inside the ropes, two trainees worked through a grappling exchange- tight holds, smooth counters, nothing flashy, nothing wasted.

It was exactly the kind of wrestling Wei-Lung Lau believed in.

Beside the ring, Lau stood with his arms folded, observing every movement with intense concentration.

He spoke a few quiet instructions to the wrestlers in Cantonese, his tone calm but firm.

The trainees reset and ran the sequence again.

This time it flowed perfectly.

Lau nodded once.

Only then did he turn toward Triple X.

“You’ve been watching for ten minutes,” Lau said with a faint smile.

Triple X smiled back.

“I like to observe first.”

Lau gestured toward the ring.

“What do you think?”

Triple X nodded toward the wrestlers.

“They’re good.”

“They’re learning the right things.”

Lau chuckled softly.

“That is the idea.”

The two men walked slowly along the edge of the ring.

“You didn’t fly all the way to Guangzhou just to compliment my trainees,” Lau said.

“No.”

Triple X leaned lightly against the ropes.

“The WFE board asked me to speak with you.”

Lau’s eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Oh?”

“They’re looking for a new booker.”

Lau was quiet for a moment.

“That does not surprise me.”

“With Vince McGeady gone,” Triple X continued, “they need someone to run creative.”

Lau watched the wrestlers in the ring again.

“…and they sent you.”

“I suggested your name,” Triple X admitted.

That drew a brief look from Lau.

“Did you.”

Triple X nodded.

“You’re one of the best bookers in the world right now.”

Lau said nothing for a moment.

“That is very kind of you.”

“They want to know if you’d be interested in the position.”

The sounds of the training hall continued around them.

Bodies hitting the mat.

Coaches calling instructions.

The steady rhythm of wrestlers learning their craft.

Lau finally spoke.

“The World Fighting Empire is the largest wrestling company in the world.”

“Yes.”

“…and you believe I would be a good fit there.”

“I do.”

Lau nodded thoughtfully.

“It is… an honour to even be considered.”

Triple X watched him carefully.

“…but,” Lau continued quietly, “I do not believe I am the right person for that job.”

Triple X wasn’t surprised.

“Why?”

Lau gestured toward the ring.

“Because this is what I do.”

One of the trainees attempted a complicated counter and stumbled slightly.

Lau immediately stepped forward.

“No,” he said calmly.

He repositioned the wrestler’s arms and shoulders.

“Again.”

The trainees reset.

The sequence flowed correctly this time.

Lau nodded approvingly and stepped back beside Triple X.

“I build wrestlers.”

“I build matches.”

“I build systems.”

He folded his arms again.

“The WFE is something else.”

Triple X tilted his head.

“You think it’s too big?”

“I think it is a different kind of company.”

Lau spoke carefully.

“My philosophy is that the wrestling itself should carry the story.”

“You know that.”

Triple X nodded.

“…but the WFE is television first.”

“Spectacle.”

“Entertainment.”

He looked back toward the ring.

“I would spend most of my time fighting the nature of the company.”

Triple X leaned slightly on the ropes.

“You could change it.”

Lau smiled faintly.

“No.”

“The WFE would change me.”

The two men shared a brief quiet moment.

Finally Lau spoke again.

“You should still tell the board that I am grateful for the offer.”

“I am honoured they considered me.”

Triple X nodded.

“I will.”

Lau glanced back toward the wrestlers once more.

“…but the person they hire…”

“…must understand the WFE for what it is.”

“Not what someone wishes it to be.”

Triple X smiled slightly.

“That’s good advice.”

Lau returned the smile.

“…and you?”

Triple X shrugged.

“I’m just helping them look.”

Lau studied him for a moment.

“Are you certain about that?”

Triple X laughed quietly.

“Pretty certain.”

The sounds of the training centre continued around them as the wrestlers resumed their drills.

…and both men knew the search for the WFE’s next booker was only just beginning.

The Awesome Towers, April 3, 2023

10:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The boardroom doors closed as the meeting began.

Sarah Chaisson sat at the head of the table. Around her, the directors settled into their seats, tablets and folders opening quietly as the morning light filtered through the tall windows overlooking Gotham Hill.

Triple X stood near the center of the room rather than taking a seat.

Beside him stood a tall, scaled figure.

Several directors glanced toward the visitor with curiosity.

Sarah nodded slightly toward Triple X.

“You said you had updates.”

Triple X folded his arms.

“I do.”

He took a breath.

“Good news. Bad news…and a guest.”

A few faint smiles appeared around the table.

“Let’s start with the bad news,” Sarah said.

Triple X nodded.

“I met with Wei-Lung Lau.”

Several directors leaned forward.

“…and?” someone asked.

Triple X shook his head.

“He declined.”

A few disappointed murmurs moved through the room.

“He said he was honored to be considered,” Triple X continued, “but he believes the WFE is a different kind of company than the one he runs.”

Oddo nodded slightly.

“That sounds like Lau.”

“He believes the WFE’s scale and style would force him to fight the nature of the company,” Triple X said. “He thinks someone else would be a better fit.”

Sarah absorbed the news calmly.

“That’s unfortunate,” she said.

“…but understandable.”

Triple X nodded once.

“That’s the bad news.”

He shifted slightly.

“The good news concerns talent.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“I spoke with several of the wrestlers Vince dismissed.”

Sarah immediately understood who he meant.

“Roman Cesar?”

Triple X nodded.

“Roman.”

“The Unit.”

“The Cartel.”

“…and Marcy Carter.”

The room grew noticeably more alert.

“…and?” Sarah asked.

“They’re willing to return.”

A few relieved expressions appeared around the table.

“…but,” Triple X added, “they have one condition.”

Sarah gestured for him to continue.

“They want a voice in the hiring process.”

Several directors exchanged surprised looks.

“Roman and Marcy specifically,” Triple X clarified.

“They want to participate in the interviews.”

One director frowned slightly.

“They want to interview the booker?”

“They want to be present when the board interviews candidates,” Triple X corrected.

“They’ll join by video.”

“They’re still in Madagascar.”

A few quiet chuckles moved through the room.

“They said late-night calls are fine,” Triple X continued, “as long as they’re scheduled.”

Oddo leaned back slightly.

“That sounds reasonable.”

Another director nodded.

“They’re not interested in returning to a company that repeats the mistakes of the past.”

Sarah considered that for a moment.

“Fair.”

Triple X then gestured toward the visitor standing beside him.

“…and that brings me to the guest.”

Several directors looked more closely at the tall Lizardfolk now.

“This is Erdan.”

The visitor inclined his head politely.

“He’s here representing Boro.”

One director blinked.

“Boro?”

Triple X nodded.

“Boro would also like to participate in the interview process.”

That prompted visible confusion.

“How exactly would that work?” someone asked.

Triple X answered calmly.

“The Lizardfolk do not communicate well over long-distance systems.”

“They rely heavily on physical sensory cues. Especially touch.”

Several directors listened with interest.

“So Erdan will represent Boro’s interests during the discussions.”

The Lizardfolk gave a calm nod.

A director near the far end of the table frowned slightly.

“With respect…”

The room turned toward him.

“…why is a recent Academy call-up involved in this process at all?”

The question hung in the air for a moment.

Before Triple X could respond, Oddo spoke.

“Because he’s one of the wrestlers.”

Another director added quietly,

“…and the wrestlers are the ones performing the shows.”

Sarah folded her hands calmly.

“No member of the WFE roster should feel their perspective is unimportant.”

The questioning director sat back.

“Understood.”

Sarah looked around the table again.

“So.”

She spoke with renewed focus.

“We now have participation from the board…”

“…from the Academy…”

“…from the roster…”

“…and from the Lizardfolk community represented through Erdan.”

She paused briefly.

“That seems like an appropriately broad set of perspectives.”

Triple X nodded.

“The next step is simple.”

Sarah turned toward the directors.

“We review the candidates.”

“Then we narrow the list.”

Oddo smiled faintly.

“A shortlist.”

“Yes,” Sarah said.

Her eyes moved around the room.

“Once that list is finalized…”

“…we begin interviews.”

Around the table, the directors began opening files and pulling up candidate profiles.

Across the room, Erdan watched silently.

…and somewhere far away, across oceans and time zones, Roman Cesar and Marcy Carter waited for the same discussion to begin.

Because the decision the board was about to make would determine the future of the World Fighting Empire.

After Lunch

Lunch had come and gone.

Coffee cups replaced plates. The atmosphere in the boardroom had shifted from casual conversation back to business.

Folders and tablets sat open across the long table.

Sarah Chaisson looked around the room.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s do this properly.”

Triple X stood near the screen where the applicants’ names were listed.

Around the table sat the Board, while the video screen showed Roman Cesar and Marcy Carter joining from Madagascar. The connection had been scheduled exactly as promised.

Erdan sat quietly beside the table, observing on behalf of Boro.

Sarah gestured toward the list.

“We have eight applicants.”

Triple X read them aloud.

“Eduardo Serrano.”

“Malcolm Keene.”

“Petra Kovač.”

“Victor Halberg.”

“Haruto Sakamoto.”

“Kofi Badu.”

“Diego Barragán.”

“Juliette Mercier.”

He turned back to the group.

“I’d like four or five for interviews.”

Sarah nodded.

“Let’s start eliminating.”

---

Malcolm Keene

One of the board members spoke first.

“Keene worries me.”

Triple X nodded slightly.

“He’s a television producer.”

“That’s the point,” the director replied. “He’s not a wrestling promoter.”

Another board member added,

“He talks about camera angles more than wrestlers.”

Roman’s voice came through the screen.

“That sounds like another version of Vince.”

A murmur of agreement moved around the table.

Marcy folded her arms.

“I don’t want a director running the locker room.”

Sarah made a note.

“Keene is out.”

No one objected.

---

Victor Halberg

Triple X tapped the screen again.

“Halberg.”

A director sighed.

“I read his proposal.”

“So did I,” Sarah said.

Marcy leaned forward on the video screen.

“He wants total narrative authority.”

Roman nodded.

“That’s Vince with a Scandinavian accent.”

Light laughter broke the tension.

Another director spoke.

“He’s brilliant.”

“…but he wants control over every aspect of the show.”

Triple X added quietly,

“He micromanages everything.”

Erdan tilted his head slightly, listening.

Sarah wrote another note.

“Halberg is out.”

Again, no objections.

---

Diego Barragán

Triple X moved to the next name.

“Barragán.”

Roman spoke first.

“I like Barragán.”

Marcy nodded.

“He’s exciting.”

One director leaned back in his chair.

“He’s chaos.”

Triple X gave a small shrug.

“That’s his brand.”

Another board member said,

“I’m not sure we need chaos right now.”

Sarah nodded slowly.

“We’re rebuilding stability.”

Roman considered that for a moment.

“…fair.”

After a short pause, Sarah spoke.

“Barragán stays on the long list for now, but we move forward with stronger candidates first.”

Triple X updated the board.

---

The Remaining Candidates

The remaining names filled the screen.

• Eduardo Serrano
• Haruto Sakamoto
• Kofi Badu
• Petra Kovač
• Juliette Mercier

Sarah folded her hands.

“These five represent very different visions.”

Triple X nodded.

“Serrano rebuilds companies.”

“Sakamoto restores discipline.”

“Badu creates spectacle.”

“Kovač builds structure.”

“Mercier focuses on character.”

Roman leaned back in his chair on the screen.

“That’s a good mix.”

Marcy agreed.

“Five philosophies.”

Erdan finally spoke, his voice calm and deliberate.

“Different instincts create stronger decisions.”

The board members exchanged thoughtful glances.

Sarah nodded.

“I agree.”

She closed the folder in front of her.

“Then we have our shortlist.”

Triple X updated the board display.

WFE BOOKING CANDIDATE SHORTLIST

• Eduardo Serrano
• Haruto Sakamoto
• Kofi Badu
• Petra Kovač
• Juliette Mercier

Sarah stood.

“Schedule the interviews.”

Triple X smiled faintly.

“I think this is where the real arguments begin.”

Roman chuckled softly over the video feed.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

The boardroom grew quiet again.

Because the next decision wouldn’t just determine who booked the shows.

It would determine what the World Fighting Empire became next.

St. Petersburg-Pulkovo International Airport, April 3, 2023

06:21 local time,
Pulkovo District, Peterburi, Capitol Region, Republic of Estonia

Morning light filtered through the enormous glass façade of the terminal. The airport was already alive with travelers—businesspeople rushing toward security, tourists dragging luggage, announcements echoing overhead in Estonian, Russian, and English.

Near one of the departure gates sat Roza and Tonya Kharina, their carry-on bags at their feet.

Roza leaned back comfortably in her seat, sipping coffee like someone waiting for a routine flight.

Tonya stared at her like she had lost her mind.

“You are insane,” Tonya said flatly.

Roza didn’t even look up.

“That’s not new.”

Tonya gestured around the terminal.

“We are about to board a plane to the other side of the world… to pitch ourselves for a job… to people who didn’t even invite us to interview.”

Roza shrugged.

“Correct.”

Tonya leaned closer.

“They saw our application.”

“Yes.”

“They probably glanced at it.”

“Yes.”

“They probably said, ‘Who are these two?’”

“Also possible.”

“…and then they threw it away.”

Roza finally looked up from her coffee.

“Maybe.”

Tonya threw her hands up.

“Then why are we going to Gotham Hill?”

Roza smiled slightly.

“Because if you don’t take a chance, you don’t have a chance.”

Tonya stared at her.

“That’s not strategy.”

“That’s hope.”

Roza lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s initiative.”

Tonya shook her head.

“You think the board of the largest wrestling company in the world is going to say…”

She waved her hands theatrically.

“Oh look, two women flew twelve hours to knock on our door. Let’s give them the company.”

Roza chuckled.

“I didn’t say it was likely.”

Tonya leaned back in her chair.

“So you admit it.”

“The odds are terrible.”

Roza nodded casually.

“Terrible.”

Tonya sighed.

“Then why are we doing this?”

Roza leaned forward slightly, her tone suddenly more serious.

“Because this is the WFE.”

Tonya didn’t respond.

Roza gestured with her coffee.

“The biggest stage.”

“The biggest audience.”

“The biggest opportunity.”

She set the cup down.

“…and right now they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Tonya smirked faintly.

“That part is definitely true.”

“The board is scared,” Roza continued. “They just survived Vince.”

“They’re going to hire someone safe.”

Tonya nodded.

“Exactly.”

Roza smiled again.

“So we show up.”

Tonya blinked.

“Show up.”

Roza shrugged.

“We make them curious.”

Tonya stared at her.

“That’s your whole plan?”

Roza spread her hands.

“It has worked before.”

Tonya laughed quietly.

“That’s the frightening part.”

An announcement echoed across the terminal.

“Flight 487 to Gotham Hill now boarding.”

Passengers began lining up at the gate.

Tonya looked at the line, then back at her sister.

“You know what happens when we land?”

Roza stood, grabbing her bag.

“We walk into the Awesome Towers.”

“…and say what?” Tonya asked, standing reluctantly.

Roza slung her bag over her shoulder.

“We say hello.”

Tonya groaned.

“That’s not a pitch.”

Roza started walking toward the boarding line.

“No.”

She glanced back with a mischievous smile.

“…but it’s a beginning.”

Tonya shook her head and followed her.

“Roza?”

“Yes?”

“If this doesn’t work…”

Roza stepped into the boarding line.

“…then at least we tried.”

Tonya sighed.

“…and if it does work?”

Roza grinned.

“Then we just hijacked the biggest wrestling company in the world.”

Gotham Beetle Portland Airport Station, April 3, 2023,

11:25 local time,
Portland, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The maglev platform hummed faintly beneath their feet.

Roza and Tonya Kharina stood with their bags near the yellow line as a handful of commuters waited quietly beside them. Most looked tired. None looked impressed with their surroundings.

Roza checked her phone.

“See?” she said. “We saved a lot flying into Portland.”

Tonya looked unimpressed.

“We saved money,” she said. “Yes.”

She glanced around the station.

“…and landed in… wherever this is.”

Roza grinned.

“Portland.”

Tonya crossed her arms.

“Which is not Gotham Hill.”

Roza shrugged.

“That’s what the Beetle is for.”

Tonya sighed.

“Remind me again why we didn’t fly directly into Gotham International.”

Roza began ticking points off her fingers.

“Because Gotham International is expensive.”

“Because hotels in Gotham Hill are expensive.”

“Because the motel in Old Orchard Beach is cheap.”

Tonya stared at her.

“You booked a motel.”

“Yes.”

“On the beach.”

“Yes.”

Tonya raised an eyebrow.

“It’s April.”

Roza smiled.

“I might sunbathe.”

Tonya stared at her for several seconds.

“In the American Northeast?”

Roza shrugged again.

“You never know.”

Tonya shook her head slowly.

“You dragged me across the Atlantic…”

“…to stay in a motel…”

“…in Maine…”

“…in April…”

“…so you could pitch a job to people who didn’t invite you.”

Roza grinned.

“That is a very negative way to describe it.”

Tonya groaned softly.

“This is a terrible idea.”

Roza hoisted her bag higher on her shoulder.

“We go to the motel.”

“Have lunch.”

“Rest.”

“…and tomorrow we figure out how to infiltrate the Awesome Towers.”

Tonya looked at her.

“Infiltrate?”

Roza nodded.

“Metaphorically.”

Tonya squinted.

“You’re just going to wing it.”

Roza smiled brightly.

“That has worked before.”

Tonya shook her head.

“This is going to end badly.”

Roza tilted her head.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Right on cue, a loud mechanical whine echoed down the tunnel.

Both sisters turned.

The Gotham Beetle arrived.

The train slid into the station with an awkward wobble that didn’t inspire confidence. The body was painted a glossy cobalt blue and curved like an enormous beetle shell.

Roza blinked.

“Oh.”

Tonya stared.

“That’s… a choice.”

The train slowed… slowed more… and finally stopped with a slight lurch.

Graffiti covered the lower panels.

Someone had written “FIX THE BEETLE” across one door.

Tonya pointed.

“Is that graffiti?”

Roza leaned slightly.

“Yes.”

“On a maglev train.”

“Yes.”

They waited.

The doors did not open.

The passengers on the platform barely reacted.

After a long pause, a loud mechanical clunk echoed.

The doors slowly creaked open.

Roza looked impressed.

“Well.”

Tonya looked horrified.

“This thing cost how much?”

Roza stepped inside cheerfully.

“It’s iconic.”

Tonya followed reluctantly.

Inside, the train hummed as passengers settled into seats.

A man across the aisle unfolded a newspaper as if nothing about the situation was unusual.

The train began moving.

At first, smoothly.

Then it jerked slightly.

Then it hummed louder.

Tonya gripped the overhead rail.

“This thing is supposed to be the pride of the UCSS.”

Roza nodded.

“Yes.”

Tonya looked around the car.

“Why does it feel like it was built in a hurry?”

Roza smiled sympathetically.

“Because it was.”

The train jerked again.

A loud rattling noise echoed through the carriage.

Tonya stared forward.

“This is a disaster.”

Roza leaned back in her seat.

“Adventure.”

Tonya glared at her.

“You’re enjoying this.”

Roza nodded.

“Of course.”

The train rattled again.

Tonya muttered under her breath.

“We flew across the world…”

“…to ride a broken beetle.”

Roza looked out the window at the passing city.

“It’s part of the experience.”

Tonya shook her head.

“I hate the experience.”

Roza smiled.

“Wait until tomorrow.”

Tonya groaned.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The Maine Motel, April 3, 2023

14:14 local time,
Old Orchard Beach, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The sisters dropped their bags the moment the motel room door shut behind them.

For a few seconds neither spoke.

They had survived the Beetle.

Roza stretched her arms dramatically.

“Finally.”

Tonya rubbed her temples.

“That train should be illegal.”

Roza laughed.

“Come on. It had character.”

“It had loose bolts,” Tonya muttered.

The room itself was simple but clean: two beds, a small table, a humming air unit, and sliding doors that led to a small outdoor patio.

Roza noticed the sunlight pouring through the glass immediately.

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh.”

Tonya followed her gaze.

“Oh no.”

Roza walked to the door and slid it open.

Warm sunlight flooded the room.

Roza stepped outside.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sun.

“Oh this is perfect.”

Tonya leaned against the doorframe.

“It is April.”

Roza ignored her.

Within seconds she had stripped down to shorts, stepping fully outside onto the small walkway of the motel courtyard.

The sun felt warm on her skin.

She smiled.

“See? I told you-”

The wind hit.

A brutal, icy Atlantic gust slammed into her like a wall.

Roza’s expression changed instantly.

“Oh-”

Another gust followed.

“-no.”

Roza spun around and sprinted back inside the room.

The sliding door slammed shut behind her.

Tonya burst out laughing.

“I told you!”

Outside, a couple walking past the motel paused briefly.

Both wore coats and scarves.

They watched the scene unfold with quiet amusement.

The man chuckled.

“Tourists.”

The couple continued walking down the street.

Inside the room, Roza stood there shivering slightly.

“The wind is evil.”

Tonya wiped tears from her eyes from laughing.

“You were going to sunbathe.”

“The sun is warm!”

“The Atlantic Ocean disagrees.”

Roza crossed her arms stubbornly.

“I am not giving up.”

Tonya rolled her eyes.

“Oh really.”

Roza turned and examined the patio more closely.

The motel’s outdoor section had wooden lattice walls and mosquito netting surrounding the small patio area. The structure blocked most of the wind while still letting the sunlight pour in.

Roza stepped cautiously back outside.

She waited.

The wind did not reach her this time.

The sunlight warmed the small enclosed space.

Roza slowly smiled again.

“Oh.”

Tonya watched from the doorway.

Roza stretched out on one of the patio lounge chairs.

“Victory.”

Tonya stepped outside cautiously herself.

She waited.

No wind.

The sunlight actually did feel warm.

She looked around the patio, slightly surprised.

“…huh.”

Roza tilted her head back happily.

“I told you.”

Tonya folded her arms.

“I didn’t say you were right.”

She glanced around the enclosed patio again.

“…but you might not be completely insane.”

Roza grinned.

“High praise.”

Tonya shook her head and leaned against the patio wall.

“This is still a terrible idea.”

Roza closed her eyes in the sun.

“Maybe.”

She smiled peacefully.

“…but at least we’re warm.”

The Awesome Towers, April 4, 2023

10:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The boardroom was quieter than usual.

A camera was set up at the far end of the table so Roman Cesar and Marcy Carter could participate from Madagascar. Their faces filled the large display screen on the wall.

Triple X sat to Sarah Chaisson’s right.

Erdan sat quietly near the end of the table, hands folded, watching everything with calm reptilian stillness.

Sarah glanced at the schedule.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s begin.”

Triple X opened the door.

“Mr. Serrano?”

A confident man in his early fifties entered the room.

Eduardo Serrano carried himself like someone accustomed to leadership. His posture was upright, his suit immaculate, his expression friendly but controlled.

He shook Sarah’s hand.

“Chairwoman Chaisson. Thank you for the opportunity.”

He greeted the rest of the room with practiced ease.

Even the video screen.

“Mr. Cesar. Ms. Carter.”

Roman nodded from the screen.

Marcy gave a polite wave.

“Please,” Sarah said. “Have a seat.”

Serrano sat.

Sarah began.

“Mr. Serrano, your cover letter impressed us.”

Serrano smiled.

“I appreciate that.”

“…and your résumé speaks for itself,” she continued. “You’ve rebuilt three promotions that were on the verge of collapse.”

“That’s correct.”

Triple X leaned forward.

“So let’s start with the obvious question.”

“The WFE is rebuilding after a very difficult period.”

“How would you approach that?”

Serrano answered immediately.

“You rebuild trust.”

“With the audience first.”

“With the wrestlers second.”

“…and with the locker room culture always.”

The board listened.

It was exactly the kind of answer they were hoping for.

Another director spoke.

“You’ve worked in high-pressure promotions before. How do you prevent burnout?”

“Clear hierarchy,” Serrano said.

“Defined main-event stars.”

“Fewer meaningless matches.”

“Every segment must move the audience emotionally.”

Triple X nodded slowly.

Roman spoke from the screen.

“What about young talent?”

Serrano turned toward the screen naturally.

“You build new stars while protecting your existing ones.”

“Wrestling is a star economy.”

“You cannot sacrifice tomorrow while chasing today.”

Marcy leaned slightly toward the screen.

“You’re saying long-term planning.”

“Yes.”

“Always.”

The board members exchanged subtle glances.

This was going extremely well.

Sarah continued.

“One final question.”

“Why the WFE?”

Serrano smiled slightly.

“Because the WFE doesn’t need invention.”

“It needs restoration.”

“The company already has the scale, the talent, the global audience.”

“It simply needs discipline.”

He spread his hands slightly.

“…and that is something I know how to provide.”

Silence followed.

Several board members nodded.

Triple X leaned back in his chair.

Impressive.

Very impressive.

Sarah turned toward Erdan.

The Lizardfolk rose slowly.

Serrano looked slightly confused.

Erdan approached calmly.

He placed one hand lightly on Serrano’s shoulder.

The room watched in silence.

Erdan closed his eyes.

For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then Erdan opened his eyes.

He looked at Sarah.

…and slowly shook his head.

No.

The room went still.

Sarah did not react immediately.

…but several board members exchanged uneasy looks.

Roman frowned slightly on the screen.

Marcy tilted her head.

Serrano looked around the room.

“What does that mean?”

Sarah maintained a neutral tone.

“It is simply part of the process.”

Serrano nodded slowly.

…but something in the atmosphere had changed.

The enthusiasm in the room had vanished.

He could feel it.

He straightened slightly.

“Well,” he said carefully, “if there are further questions-”

“There are not,” Sarah said politely.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Serrano.”

Serrano stood.

He shook Sarah’s hand again, though his smile had faded.

He looked briefly toward Erdan.

Then toward the rest of the board.

“I appreciate the opportunity.”

…but as he walked toward the door, something in his expression hardened.

Just slightly.

A flash of irritation.

A flash of pride.

The door closed behind him.

Inside the boardroom, the silence lingered.

Roman spoke first.

“Okay.”

“What was that?”

Erdan answered calmly.

“He wants power.”

The board listened.

“He does not want to build the WFE.”

“He wants to control it.”

Triple X nodded slowly.

“…that tracks.”

Marcy folded her arms.

“…and the moment he realized the room had turned on him…”

She glanced toward the door.

“…he got angry.”

Sarah closed the candidate file.

“Then we move on.”

Triple X checked the schedule.

“Next interview.”

Triple X opened the door again.

“Ms. Mercier?”

A woman in her early forties stepped into the room.

Juliette Mercier carried none of Eduardo Serrano’s polished executive aura. Her posture was modest, her suit simple, her smile warm and slightly nervous.

She looked around the room with visible amazement.

“Bonjour,” she said softly.

Sarah stood and shook her hand.

“Welcome, Ms. Mercier.”

Juliette glanced briefly toward the large screen.

“Oh- hello.”

Roman gave a small nod from Madagascar.

Marcy smiled.

“Hi.”

Juliette looked almost embarrassed by the attention.

“Thank you for inviting me,” she said. “I did not expect it.”

Sarah gestured toward the chair.

“Please.”

Juliette sat carefully.

Triple X began.

“You mentioned in your application that you were surprised to receive an interview.”

Juliette laughed quietly.

“Yes.”

“I run a very small promotion.”

She folded her hands politely.

“Nouvelle Lutte Internationale is… modest.”

Marcy leaned forward slightly on the screen.

“…but successful.”

Juliette smiled faintly.

“We try.”

Sarah spoke next.

“Your name came to our attention through Marilyn Morrow’s comments on The Mat & The Monitor.”

Juliette’s eyes widened slightly.

“That was… unexpected.”

Roman chuckled softly.

“Welcome to wrestling media.”

Juliette nodded.

“I was very grateful.”

Triple X leaned forward.

“So let’s talk about your philosophy.”

“How do you approach booking?”

Juliette spoke gently.

“For me, wrestling is about people.”

She gestured lightly.

“Characters. Relationships. Emotions.”

“A feud should feel personal.”

“A match should feel meaningful.”

Several board members nodded politely.

It was a thoughtful answer.

Sarah continued.

“How large is your current roster?”

Juliette thought briefly.

“About twenty regular wrestlers.”

“…and your weekly audience?”

“Three hundred… sometimes four hundred.”

Triple X nodded slowly.

“That’s a very intimate promotion.”

Juliette smiled.

“Yes.”

“We know our audience very well.”

Marcy asked the next question.

“How would your approach translate to a global company like the WFE?”

Juliette hesitated slightly.

“Well…”

She chose her words carefully.

“I would focus on a core group of performers.”

“Build deep rivalries.”

“Develop long emotional arcs.”

Sarah tilted her head slightly.

“…and the rest of the roster?”

Juliette paused.

“Well… they would support the main stories.”

A few board members exchanged subtle glances.

Triple X continued gently.

“The WFE roster is significantly larger.”

Juliette nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

Roman spoke from the screen.

“How many television hours have you produced?”

Juliette blinked.

“Television?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head slightly.

“We stream online.”

“Our shows are… smaller.”

Sarah asked another question.

“What would be your first major decision as WFE booker?”

Juliette smiled softly.

“I would listen.”

“To the wrestlers.”

“To the audience.”

“To the company.”

It was a kind answer.

A sincere answer.

…but the room was beginning to feel something else.

The board members weren’t frowning.

They weren’t unhappy.

They simply knew.

Juliette continued speaking, describing how she built emotional rivalries in Marseille, how wrestlers trusted her storytelling, how fans followed the characters like theater.

It all sounded lovely.

Personal.

Passionate.

…but also… small.

When the conversation finally paused, Sarah spoke kindly.

“Ms. Mercier.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for sharing your perspective.”

Juliette smiled warmly.

“It has been an honor just to be here.”

Sarah nodded.

“That means a great deal.”

Juliette stood.

She shook hands politely around the table.

When she reached Erdan, she paused slightly.

The Lizardfolk inclined his head.

He did not reach out to touch her but still accepted a handshake from her.

Juliette left the room with the same humble smile she had entered with.

The door closed quietly behind her.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Marcy said what everyone was thinking.

“…she’s lovely.”

Roman nodded.

“I’d absolutely work for her.”

Triple X smiled slightly.

“…but not here.”

Sarah closed Juliette’s file gently.

“She runs a beautiful small promotion.”

Another board member nodded.

“…but the WFE is not a small promotion.”

Erdan spoke calmly.

“She is honest.”

Sarah nodded.

“Yes.”

Triple X checked the schedule.

“Next candidate.”

Triple X opened the door once more.

“Mr. Sakamoto.”

A man in his late fifties entered with quiet precision.

Haruto Sakamoto moved like a disciplined athlete even in a suit. His posture was straight, his expression calm, and his presence carried a seriousness that immediately changed the atmosphere of the room.

He bowed slightly.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

Sarah nodded respectfully.

“Welcome, Mr. Sakamoto.”

He took his seat.

There was no nervousness. No small talk.

Only focus.

Sarah began.

“You run Tokyo Vanguard.”

“Yes.”

“Your promotion has an extremely strong reputation for in-ring wrestling.”

“That is correct.”

Triple X leaned forward.

“What is your philosophy?”

Sakamoto folded his hands neatly on the table.

“Professional wrestling is a craft.”

“Craft requires discipline.”

“Discipline requires structure.”

The room listened carefully.

Sakamoto continued.

“Every wrestler must understand their role.”

“They must train continuously.”

“They must respect hierarchy.”

One of the non-wrestling board members nodded approvingly.

“That sounds very organized.”

Sakamoto inclined his head slightly.

“A company without discipline will eventually collapse.”

Another board member asked,

“What is the key to maintaining a strong roster?”

“Work.”

“Training.”

“Repetition.”

Sakamoto spoke the words like simple facts.

“Great wrestlers are not born.”

“They are forged.”

Several of the directors seemed impressed.

Roman, however, leaned forward slightly on the screen.

“How many matches does your top talent work per month?”

Sakamoto answered without hesitation.

“Twenty.”

Roman blinked.

“…twenty?”

“Yes.”

Roman glanced sideways toward Marcy.

Marcy raised an eyebrow.

Triple X spoke next.

“…and how many training hours?”

Sakamoto answered just as quickly.

“Four hours daily minimum.”

One of the board members nodded again.

“Very professional.”

Triple X did not nod.

He leaned forward slightly.

“…and injuries?”

Sakamoto paused briefly.

“Injuries occur.”

“They are part of the profession.”

Roman leaned back in his chair.

“That’s one way to look at it.”

Sakamoto continued calmly.

“The audience deserves excellence.”

“Excellence requires sacrifice.”

Marcy crossed her arms.

“How long do your wrestlers’ careers typically last?”

Sakamoto thought for a moment.

“Seven to ten years.”

Triple X frowned slightly.

“That’s… short.”

Sakamoto met his eyes.

“The peak of athletic performance is limited.”

“It must be used.”

One of the board members spoke.

“…but the result is very high-quality wrestling.”

“Yes.”

The boardroom divided quietly.

The corporate directors nodded.

Discipline.

Structure.

Professionalism.

All the words they liked hearing.

…but the wrestlers in the room were less comfortable.

Roman spoke again.

“You ever tell a wrestler to take time off?”

Sakamoto looked puzzled.

“If they are injured.”

Roman leaned back.

“Only then.”

“Yes.”

Marcy muttered under her breath.

“That’s not great.”

Erdan finally stood.

Sakamoto watched him calmly.

Erdan approached and placed a hand lightly on Sakamoto’s arm.

The Lizardfolk closed his eyes.

For a few seconds the room waited.

Erdan opened them again.

He looked toward Sarah.

His head tilted slightly.

Not no.

…but not quite yes either.

Somewhere in between.

Sakamoto rose politely.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

Sarah nodded.

“Thank you for coming.”

He bowed slightly again before leaving the room.

The door closed behind him.

Immediately Roman spoke.

“That guy would grind people into dust.”

Marcy nodded.

“He’d make incredible wrestling.”

Triple X leaned back in his chair.

“…and a destroyed locker room.”

One of the board members frowned slightly.

“He sounded extremely professional.”

Roman shrugged.

“So does a drill sergeant.”

Sarah looked toward Erdan.

“What did you feel?”

Erdan answered calmly.

“He respects the craft.”

A pause.

“…but not the people.”

The boardroom grew quiet.

Triple X glanced at the schedule.

“Two more interviews.”

Triple X opened the door again.

“Kofi Badu.”

A tall man with an easy smile stepped into the room.

Kofi Badu carried none of Sakamoto’s rigid formality and none of Serrano’s executive polish. Instead he brought something else entirely- energy.

He shook hands warmly with Sarah.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

When he saw the screen with Roman and Marcy, his smile widened.

“Well now this is intimidating.”

Roman laughed.

“You’ll survive.”

Badu took his seat comfortably.

Sarah began.

“Mr. Badu, your promotion has built some of the most passionate crowds in the sport.”

Badu nodded modestly.

“We try to give people something to believe in.”

Triple X leaned forward.

“What does that mean to you?”

Badu answered immediately.

“Wrestling is about heroes.”

“People come to see someone fight through impossible odds.”

“To watch someone stand up again when they’re knocked down.”

Several board members nodded.

It was a compelling answer.

Marcy asked the next question.

“How do you build those moments?”

Badu leaned forward slightly.

“You make the audience wait.”

“You give them obstacles.”

“You give them villains they want to see beaten.”

“You make the victory matter.”

Roman nodded slowly.

“That part works.”

Triple X spoke again.

“…and after the hero wins?”

Badu paused.

Only briefly.

“Well…”

He smiled slightly.

“That’s when the audience celebrates.”

One of the directors asked,

“…and then?”

Badu thought for a moment.

“Then you find the next mountain.”

Triple X tilted his head slightly.

“Does the hero stay champion?”

Badu hesitated again.

“It depends.”

Sarah followed up.

“Your current promotion tends to have shorter title reigns.”

Badu nodded.

“Yes.”

“Because the chase is what people love.”

Roman leaned forward.

“You’re very good at the chase.”

Badu smiled.

“That’s the heart of wrestling.”

“…but the WFE champion can’t always be chasing.”

The room grew quiet for a moment.

Badu nodded thoughtfully.

“That’s fair.”

Marcy spoke.

“What happens when the hero finally reaches the summit?”

Badu answered honestly.

“That is the hardest part.”

The board appreciated the honesty.

“Because the story changes,” he continued.

“The climb ends.”

“Then you must decide what the victory means.”

Triple X folded his arms.

“…and that’s where your promotions sometimes lose momentum.”

Badu nodded again.

“Yes.”

He didn’t argue the point.

“In a smaller promotion,” he explained, “being the hero is enough.”

“The audience already loves them.”

“…but a company like the WFE…”

He glanced around the room.

“…demands more.”

Sarah studied him carefully.

“You’re aware of the challenge.”

“Yes.”

“…and you believe you can adapt?”

Badu smiled thoughtfully.

“I believe I can learn.”

Erdan stood.

The room quieted again.

He approached Badu.

Placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

Closed his eyes.

A moment passed.

Then Erdan opened them.

This time he did not shake his head.

…but he did not nod either.

He simply stepped back.

Badu stood politely.

“Thank you for the conversation.”

He shook hands around the table and left the room.

When the door closed, Roman spoke first.

“I like him.”

Marcy nodded.

“He understands people.”

Triple X leaned back.

“…but he builds mountains.”

One of the board members asked,

“…and the summit?”

Triple X shrugged slightly.

“That’s where things get quiet.”

Sarah closed Badu’s file.

“He thrives when he has a clear path.”

Roman nodded.

“…but improvisation isn’t his strength.”

Erdan spoke calmly.

“He builds hope.”

A pause.

“…but hope needs a future.”

Triple X glanced at the schedule again.

“One candidate left.”

Triple X opened the door for what the board believed would be the final interview of the day.

“Ms. Kovač.”

A woman in her late forties entered with composed confidence.

Petra Kovač carried herself like a professional executive. Her demeanor was calm, her posture steady, and her eyes attentive without being nervous.

She shook Sarah Chaisson’s hand.

“Chairwoman. Thank you for the opportunity.”

She greeted the others with quiet professionalism.

When she noticed the screen with Roman and Marcy, she nodded respectfully.

“Mr. Cesar. Ms. Carter.”

Roman returned the nod.

Marcy gave a small smile.

Petra sat.

Sarah began.

“Ms. Kovač, your promotion has a reputation for extremely disciplined storytelling.”

Petra folded her hands neatly.

“I try to run a structured operation.”

Triple X leaned forward slightly.

“How would you describe your booking philosophy?”

Petra answered without hesitation.

“Professional wrestling is chaos.”

“The booker’s job is to give that chaos structure.”

Several of the board members immediately nodded.

That answer landed well.

Petra continued.

“You must understand where the stories are going before they begin.”

“You must understand the roles of every performer.”

“…and you must make sure nothing on the show exists without purpose.”

Sarah asked,

“How far ahead do you plan?”

“Six months minimum.”

“If possible, twelve.”

Another director leaned forward.

“…and when things change?”

Petra smiled slightly.

“Everything changes.”

“…but the structure remains.”

Roman spoke from the screen.

“You adjust the path.”

“Yes.”

“…but the destination is rarely a surprise.”

Triple X nodded slowly.

“That’s a very organized system.”

Petra inclined her head slightly.

“Organizations succeed through clarity.”

Marcy asked the next question.

“The WFE roster is enormous.”

“How do you manage that many personalities?”

Petra answered calmly.

“You create tiers.”

“Main event.”

“Upper card.”

“Midcard.”

“Development.”

“Everyone understands where they stand.”

“…and how they can move.”

Another board member spoke.

“…and conflict?”

Petra gave a small shrug.

“Conflict is inevitable.”

“…but clarity reduces it.”

The board listened carefully.

Her answers were calm, thoughtful, measured.

There was nothing reckless.

Nothing alarming.

Nothing chaotic.

Sarah asked one more question.

“What would your first goal be as WFE booker?”

Petra answered simply.

“Stability.”

Several board members visibly liked that answer.

Roman nodded slightly.

“Hard to argue with that.”

Petra finished.

“You cannot build great moments without a stable foundation.”

Sarah leaned back slightly.

The room felt comfortable.

This was not a risky candidate.

Not a revolutionary candidate.

…but a competent one.

Sarah turned toward Erdan.

The Lizardfolk stood.

Petra watched with curiosity but no concern.

Erdan approached and placed a hand lightly on Petra’s arm.

He closed his eyes.

The room waited.

Several seconds passed.

Then Erdan opened them.

He did not shake his head.

…but he did not nod either.

Instead, he stepped back slowly.

Petra remained calm.

She stood.

“Thank you for the conversation.”

Sarah shook her hand.

“Thank you for coming.”

Petra nodded politely to the room and exited.

The door closed behind her.

Silence lingered.

Roman spoke first.

“She’s good.”

Marcy nodded.

“She’d run a tight ship.”

Triple X leaned back.

“Very tight.”

Sarah looked toward Erdan.

“Well?”

Erdan answered carefully.

“She is disciplined.”

A pause.

“…but…”

The board waited.

“She sees the board.”

Another pause.

“…but not the players.”

Roman frowned slightly.

“What does that mean?”

Erdan chose his words slowly.

“She understands systems.”

“…but not people.”

Sarah looked down at Petra’s file.

The safe candidate.

The stable candidate.

The logical candidate.

…and now…

Not quite as certain.

Triple X exhaled quietly.

“So.”

He looked around the room.

“That’s the interviews.”

The Tapioca Tavern, April 4, 2023

17:03 local time,
Old Orchard Beach, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The Tapioca Tavern was exactly the kind of place tourists found by accident.

Wood-paneled walls. Neon beer signs. A television quietly showing baseball above the bar. The smell of fried food and salt air drifting in every time the door opened.

Roza and Tonya sat at a small table near the window.

In front of them were two drinks.

Roza lifted hers and squinted into the glass.

She took a sip.

She paused.

Then she looked at Tonya.

“…Is this water?”

Tonya took a sip of her own drink.

She frowned.

“It might be.”

Roza tilted the glass slightly.

“Maybe flavored water.”

Tonya stared into her drink suspiciously.

“I asked for vodka.”

Roza raised an eyebrow.

“I think the vodka is hiding.”

Tonya took another sip.

Then she set the glass down firmly.

“This is ridiculous.”

Roza laughed quietly.

“So this is ‘Happy Hour.’”

Tonya looked around the bar.

A group of locals sat near the television laughing over pitchers of beer. Someone was playing darts near the back wall.

“This is what people come here for?”

Roza shrugged.

“Cheap drinks.”

Tonya gestured to the glass.

“This is barely a drink.”

Roza lifted hers again.

“Maybe if I search the bottom.”

She took another sip.

Nothing changed.

Tonya sighed.

“In St. Petersburg this would not even qualify as a cocktail.”

Roza nodded.

“It would qualify as hydration.”

Tonya leaned back in her chair.

“No wonder people order three of these.”

“They need three just to find the alcohol.”

Roza chuckled.

A moment later she leaned toward Tonya.

“Let’s just buy a bottle.”

Tonya nodded immediately.

“Yes.”

Roza waved the bartender over.

A few minutes later, a bottle appeared on the table along with two small glasses.

Roza poured a small glass, drank it, then looked at the bottle again.

“This is easier.”

She took a swig directly from the bottle and passed it across the table.

Tonya shrugged and did the same.

“At least this way we know the alcohol exists.”

Then the sisters switched to pouring into the glasses.

Tonya raised her glass. Roza clinked it lightly.

“To cultural exchange.”

They both took a drink.

Much better.

At the bar, a man glanced over at them.

He noticed them pouring from the same bottle.

He smirked slightly and nudged his friend.

“Hey,” he said loudly enough for them to hear. “You ladies gonna do the whole lesbian kiss thing too?”

The room didn’t go silent, but a few heads turned.

Roza and Tonya both groaned at the same time.

Roza rolled her eyes.
“Original.”

Tonya didn’t even look in the man’s direction.
“Very.”

Roza poured another drink.
“We’re sisters,” she said calmly. “Sharing a bottle is not exactly scandalous.”

Tonya nodded.
“Also not an invitation.”

They clinked glasses again.

Across the room, the man lost interest quickly and turned back to his beer.

Roza took another sip and leaned back comfortably.

“Well,” she said.

“At least the bottle is real.”

Tonya nodded.

“Yes.”

She gestured toward their earlier drinks.

“…but I still don’t understand how people get drunk here.”

Roza smiled.

“Practice.”

The Maine Motel, April 5, 2023

00:12 local time,
Old Orchard Beach, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The motel room was quiet except for the low sound of a television.

Tonya sat on one of the beds with the lights dimmed, half watching a late-night movie that had already lost her attention. The glow from her phone lit her face more than the TV did.

She scrolled through Roza’s social media feed.

Roza had been very busy.

One photo showed her at a crowded bar somewhere in Gotham Hill, laughing with strangers.

Another showed her dancing under neon lights.

Another had a caption that simply read:

“Gotham nightlife > Beetle trains.”

Tonya sighed.

She checked the time.

00:12.

“You should be sleeping,” she muttered to herself.

Tomorrow was supposed to be Roza’s grand infiltration plan for the Awesome Towers. Whatever that meant.

…and Tonya knew from experience that if Roza was involved, chaos would follow.

She leaned back against the wall and tried to focus on the movie again.

Then she kept scrolling.

Another picture appeared.

Roza, arm around two women she clearly hadn’t known more than a few hours.

Tonya shook her head.

“That tracks.”

Roza had always been the more outgoing one.

She made friends everywhere.

Romances too.

Men.

Women.

Lizardfolk.

Tonya winced slightly at the memory of the one time Roza had somehow befriended a water buffalo during a festival years ago.

She and Tonya had made a pact afterward.

Never discuss the buffalo incident again.

Ever.

Tonya set her phone down.

The motel room was still quiet.

Then suddenly-

BANG.

The door flew open.

Roza stumbled inside laughing loudly.

She was very clearly drunk.

“Tonya!” she announced triumphantly.

Two women followed behind her.

“Meet Brandy and Carmen!”

Brandy waved enthusiastically.

Carmen smiled politely.

Tonya blinked slowly.

“…Of course.”

Roza didn’t even bother with introductions beyond that.

She kicked off her shoes and immediately collapsed onto her bed, pulling Brandy down with her as both of them burst into laughter.

The two of them looked like they had already decided how the rest of their night was going.

Tonya rubbed her forehead.

This was exactly what she had been worried about.

Meanwhile, Carmen looked around the room, then climbed onto the other bed beside Tonya with a playful smile.

She clearly expected the same kind of energy.

Tonya stared at her for a moment.

Then Tonya quietly stood up.

Carmen blinked.

“…Oh.”

Tonya walked past the bed without saying anything and slid open the balcony door.

The cool Atlantic air drifted into the room.

She stepped outside onto the small enclosed patio.

Behind her, Carmen remained sitting on the bed, visibly surprised.

It wasn’t anger.

Tonya hadn’t looked angry.

Just… overwhelmed.

Inside the room, Roza’s laughter continued as she and Brandy talked over each other and got closer together.

Outside, Tonya leaned on the railing and stared out toward the dark ocean.

The wind was calmer tonight.

She took a long breath.

Tomorrow was going to be complicated enough.

She didn’t need tonight to become complicated too.

The wind had calmed since earlier, but the night air still carried a sharp Atlantic chill.

Tonya leaned on the balcony railing, staring out toward the dark ocean. Somewhere in the distance waves rolled against the shore, their sound faint but steady.

Behind her, through the sliding door, the television still flickered.

A moment later the door slid open again.

Carmen stepped outside.

The cold hit her instantly.

“Oh-”

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

“I did not think it would be this cold.”

Inside the room, muffled through the glass, Roza and Brandy’s laughter had faded into quieter, unmistakably affectionate sounds.

Carmen glanced back toward the room and then quickly closed the door behind her. The window muted the noise, but not completely.

The awkward backdrop lingered.

Carmen stepped closer to the railing beside Tonya.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently.

Tonya looked over.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Tonya shook her head.

“You didn’t.”

There was a brief pause.

Tonya sighed slightly.

“…but I’m sorry for walking out like that.”

Carmen shrugged lightly.

“I’ve seen worse reactions.”

Another gust of wind made Carmen shiver again.

Tonya noticed.

Without a word she moved slightly and gestured toward the chair beside her.

“Sit.”

Carmen hesitated for a moment but then sat down beside Tonya.

Tonya leaned a little closer, letting Carmen share the warmth of her coat.

“You’re freezing.”

Carmen laughed quietly.

“I did not plan for Maine weather.”

For a moment the two women simply listened to the ocean.

Then Tonya spoke again.

“I had a boyfriend once.”

Carmen looked at her.

“Once?”

Tonya nodded.

“His name was Antony.”

She smiled faintly.

“He was a trainer at our promotion. St. Petersburg Wrestling Union.”

Carmen listened quietly.

“Unlike my sister,” Tonya continued, “I could actually date someone longer than a few weeks.”

She exhaled slowly.

“We were together for years.”

Tonya stared out at the ocean again.

“I thought we were going to be forever.”

Carmen didn’t interrupt.

“Then he died.”

The words came out quietly.

“A car crash.”

Tonya swallowed.

“The other driver was drunk.”

She paused.

“We were touring Moscow at the time.”

Carmen frowned slightly.

Tonya continued.

“Moscow isn’t part of Estonian territory.”

“So our people had no jurisdiction.”

“The local authorities said they didn’t have the resources to investigate properly.”

She shrugged faintly.

“…and that was the end of it.”

The wind moved softly through the mosquito netting.

“No charges,” Tonya said.

“No consequences.”

Carmen rested her arms on the railing beside her.

“That must have been hard.”

Tonya nodded.

“It was.”

Another quiet moment passed.

“So I don’t date anymore,” Tonya said simply.

“No one could compare to Antony.”

Carmen sat beside her for a moment before speaking.

“I had someone once too.”

Tonya glanced toward her.

“I thought he was forever.”

Tonya waited.

“He didn’t die.”

Carmen gave a small, sad smile.

“He cheated on me.”

Tonya frowned slightly.

“For how long?”

Carmen laughed softly.

“Long enough that when I finally found out, it felt like the entire relationship had been a lie.”

She shrugged.

“So I understand.”

Tonya nodded slowly.

For a while neither of them spoke.

Inside the room the sounds from Roza and Brandy faded into quiet.

The night felt calmer.

Eventually Carmen pulled out her phone.

“Friends?” she asked.

Tonya looked at it.

Then she nodded.

“Friends.”

They exchanged contact information.

Carmen slipped her phone back into her pocket and leaned against the railing again. The wind had eased, but the night air was still cool.

She shivered slightly.

Tonya noticed.

Without saying anything, Tonya shifted closer and wrapped an arm around Carmen’s shoulders, letting her share the warmth of her coat.

Carmen leaned into her with a small grateful smile.

Inside the room, the muffled laughter and movement from Roza and Brandy continued, a chaotic rhythm behind the glass.

Out here, everything was quiet.

The Atlantic rolled in the darkness beyond the motel lights.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Carmen rested her head lightly against Tonya’s shoulder.

Tonya looked out toward the dark water and felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Not romance.

Not loss.

Just comfort.

The ocean wind drifted gently through the balcony netting as the two women sat together, watching the waves and letting the night pass quietly around them.

The Morning After

Morning light slipped through the motel curtains.

Roza was still asleep.

Very asleep.

Tonya sat at the small table with a cup of motel coffee that tasted only slightly better than the drinks at the Tapioca Tavern.

Her phone buzzed.

A message.

Carmen:
Hope the infiltration goes well today. It was nice talking with you.

Tonya looked at the message for a moment.

Then she smiled faintly.

She typed a reply.

Tonya:
Thank you. It was nice meeting you too.

She set the phone down just as Roza groaned loudly from the bed.

“Oh no.”

Tonya glanced over.

Roza squinted at the sunlight like it was a personal enemy.

“Why is the sun attacking me?”

Tonya took another sip of coffee.

“You declared war on it first.”

Roza groaned again and rolled over-

-and a sudden gagging sound came from the bathroom.

A second later came the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting.

Roza immediately sat up.

“Oh.”

She staggered to her feet and hurried into the bathroom.

Brandy was hunched over the toilet.

Roza knelt beside her and held her hair back while she retched.

“There you go,” Roza said calmly. “Get it out.”

Tonya stood halfway between the table and the bathroom door, unsure whether to intervene.

“Do we need to call an ambulance?”

Roza shook her head without looking back.

“No. Just a hangover and bad decisions.”

Brandy groaned weakly into the bowl.

Roza rubbed her back with surprising gentleness.

“I told you the second round was a mistake.”

“I… didn’t… want… to be rude…”

Tonya raised an eyebrow.

Roza shrugged.

“It happens.”

Tonya glanced toward the bathroom again.

“So… I assume the shower is unavailable.”

Roza looked back over her shoulder.

“You can still use it.”

Tonya stared at her.

Roza blinked.

Then she looked down at Brandy.

“…okay, fair point.”

After a few more miserable minutes, Brandy’s stomach finally seemed to settle. She leaned back against the wall, pale but breathing normally.

Roza handed her a cup of water.

“Small sips.”

Brandy obeyed.

Tonya watched for another moment.

“Will she be fine?”

Roza nodded.

“She’ll live.”

Tonya picked up her phone again.

“Good.”

She typed a quick message.

Tonya:
Carmen, could you come by the motel? Brandy might need help getting home.

She set the phone down and looked toward the bathroom.

Roza was still crouched beside Brandy, patiently holding the cup while she drank.

For all of Roza’s chaos, Tonya had to admit-

Roza was very good at taking care of people after the chaos.

Roza remained crouched beside Brandy for a few more minutes, making sure the worst of it had passed. When Brandy could finally sit upright without immediately regretting it, Roza helped her to the sink.

“Rinse,” Roza said gently.

Brandy did.

After a moment she looked slightly less ghost-like.

Roza gave Tonya a small nod.

“She’ll survive.”

Tonya crossed her arms. “You’re sure we don’t need medical help?”

Roza shook her head.

“No ambulance. Just water, time, and regret.”

Brandy managed a weak laugh.

Roza stood, stretched, and yawned.

“Well,” she said, already drifting back toward the bed, “my work here is done.”

Tonya stared at her.

“You’re going back to sleep?”

Roza collapsed face-first into the mattress.

“Yes.”

“Roza-”

A muffled voice came from the pillow.

“You’ve got this.”

Within seconds Roza was asleep again.

Tonya looked back at Brandy.

“Can you walk?”

Brandy nodded cautiously.

“Slowly.”

“Good enough.”

A few minutes later Tonya helped Brandy down the motel hallway and toward the lobby.

Carmen was already there when they arrived, sitting near the front window. She stood immediately when she saw them.

“Hey,” she said, stepping forward. “You okay?”

Brandy nodded sheepishly.

“I will never drink again.”

Carmen raised an eyebrow.

“We’ll revisit that statement later.”

Tonya helped Brandy into Carmen’s arm and stepped back.

“She should be fine,” Tonya said. “Just… a rough morning.”

Carmen smiled.

“Thank you for taking care of her.”

Brandy gave Tonya a small, grateful nod.

“Seriously. Thanks.”

Tonya shrugged.

“It happens.”

Carmen helped Brandy toward the door, then paused.

She turned back.

For a second neither she nor Tonya said anything.

Then Carmen stepped forward and wrapped Tonya in a long, warm hug.

Tonya returned it without hesitation.

When they finally pulled apart, Carmen smiled at her.

“The next time you’re in Gotham,” she said, “call me.”

Tonya nodded.

“I will.”

Carmen gave her one last look, then guided Brandy out into the morning light.

Tonya watched them go for a moment before turning back toward the motel rooms.

Roza was probably still asleep.

…and the day’s real chaos hadn’t even started yet.

The Awesome Towers, April 5, 2023

10:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

After the interviews concluded, the Board had a real decision to make.

Two candidates were excluded almost immediately.

Eduardo Serrano.

Juliette Mercier.

No one argued the point.

Serrano’s interview had collapsed the moment Erdan shook his head, and Serrano’s reaction afterward had only reinforced the decision. Mercier, meanwhile, had been pleasant, thoughtful and humble- qualities everyone appreciated- but none of them believed she was ready to run the largest wrestling promotion in the world.

That left three names.

Haruto Sakamoto.

Petra Kovač.

Kofi Badu.

…and that was where the trouble began.

The non-wrestling members of the Board spoke highly of Sakamoto. They liked his discipline, his structure, the sense that he would bring order to a company that had been chaotic even before Vince’s downfall.

“He sounds like someone who would run a very tight ship,” one of them said.

The wrestlers in the room disagreed.

“He’ll run it too tight,” Roman Cesar said over the video connection from Madagascar. “That man will work the roster into the ground.”

Marcy Carter nodded beside him.

“He’s impressive,” she admitted, “but he sounds like someone who believes suffering is part of the job.”

Triple X folded his arms.

“…and sometimes it is,” he said, “but not like that.”

The discussion drifted.

Then someone brought up Petra Kovač.

For a moment the room felt more comfortable.

Petra had been solid.

Professional.

Measured.

Nothing in her interview had raised red flags. If anything, she seemed like the safest option.

“That might actually be what we need right now,” someone suggested.

No one disagreed.

…but no one spoke with enthusiasm either.

The room fell into an awkward silence.

Finally Sarah Chaisson leaned forward.

“So… is Petra the choice?”

No one answered.

Even Erdan, sitting quietly beside the table, did not move. When he had touched Petra earlier he had not reacted the way he had with Serrano- but neither had he shown approval.

It was enough to plant doubt.

The conversation shifted again.

Someone mentioned Kofi Badu.

“He’s a really nice guy,” one board member said.

“He has energy,” another added.

“He clearly cares about the wrestlers.”

Roman shrugged on the screen.

“He’s great at building a hero,” he said. “But once the hero wins… what then?”

Marcy nodded.

“That’s the problem.”

Triple X sighed.

“He needs a plan for the day after the big moment.”

The room grew tense again.

They circled the same arguments.

Sakamoto brought discipline but maybe too much.

Kovač brought stability but little excitement.

Badu brought heart but questionable long-term vision.

Every time someone leaned toward one candidate, someone else raised a concern.

The more they talked, the more frustrated everyone became.

Finally Sarah leaned back in her chair and exhaled sharply.

“Alright,” she said.

The room quieted.

“We are not solving this right now.”

She stood.

“Lunch break.”

A few people chuckled weakly.

Others simply rubbed their temples.

“Take an hour,” Sarah continued. “Clear your heads.”

She looked around the table.

“Because right now we’re going in circles.”

No one argued.

…and as the Board slowly filed out of the room, one fact hung quietly over all of them.

They still had no idea who should run the WFE.

Reception Area

The lobby of the Awesome Towers was quiet, polished, and extremely professional.

Which made the two women standing near the reception desk look wildly out of place.

Roza Kharina was still wearing the outfit she had gone out in the night before.

A sparkly bralette.

A short miniskirt.

Fishnet stockings.

Heavy makeup that had once been carefully applied but was now slightly smudged from sleep, alcohol, and a rushed morning exit.

Her hair was still styled for nightlife rather than business.

Tonya Kharina, by comparison, had at least tried.

She wore a simple blouse.

…but below the waist she was still wearing the same leggings she had slept in the night before.

Neither of them had showered.

Neither had slept nearly enough.

…and both of them knew it.

Tonya had tried, repeatedly, to stop this.

“We can come back tomorrow,” she had said.

Roza had shaken her head.

“If we come tomorrow we’ll miss the chance.”

“You don’t even know if there is a chance.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

Now they stood at the reception desk.

Tonya folded her arms and quietly prepared herself for the inevitable moment where she would have to rescue Roza from whatever chaos Roza was about to create.

The receptionist looked up from her computer.

“Can I help you?”

Roza smiled brightly.

“Yes,” she said confidently. “We’re here for an interview.”

The receptionist glanced at the schedule on her screen.

“With who?”

Roza hesitated.

Only for a moment.

“The board.”

Tonya closed her eyes briefly.

The receptionist looked unimpressed.

“Name?”

“Roza Kharina.”

The receptionist typed.

Nothing appeared.

“…and you’re… scheduled today?”

“Yes,” Roza said confidently.

Tonya shifted slightly beside her.

The receptionist frowned.

“I’m not seeing anything.”

Roza leaned forward slightly.

“Maybe under the WFE booking interviews?”

The receptionist checked again.

Still nothing.

“I’m afraid you’re not on the list.”

Tonya felt the moment approaching.

This was where she would step in, apologize, and drag Roza out before security became involved.

…but Roza wasn’t finished.

“Oh!” Roza said suddenly.

“What?”

“We’re with Triple X.”

Tonya blinked.

The receptionist raised an eyebrow.

“You have a meeting with Triple X?”

“Yes.”

Tonya slowly turned her head toward Roza.

She knew for a fact that Triple X had been in Panama at the Academy.

Which meant Roza had just invented a lie on the spot.

The receptionist sighed and picked up the phone.

“Let me check something.”

Tonya leaned slightly toward Roza and whispered under her breath.

“He’s not even here.”

Roza whispered back confidently.

“Details.”

The receptionist dialed.

The phone rang once.

Then twice.

Then-

“Triple X.”

The receptionist straightened slightly.

“Sir, I have two women here who claim they have a meeting with you.”

Tonya stared at the desk.

This was going to be the moment.

Apology.

Embarrassment.

Exit.

Then the receptionist paused.

“Yes… Roza and Tonya Kharina.”

Tonya’s head snapped up.

Another pause.

The receptionist listened.

Then nodded.

“Yes sir. They’re at reception.”

She hung up the phone.

The receptionist looked back at the sisters.

“He says he’ll come down.”

Tonya blinked.

“Come down?”

“Yes.”

Roza tried very hard to look like this had all been part of her plan.

Tonya leaned slightly toward her.

“You’re lucky he’s not in Panama.”

Roza shrugged.

“I was optimistic.”

A moment later the elevator at the far end of the lobby dinged.

The doors opened.

…and Triple X stepped out.

Tonya felt the sudden realization settle in.

Somehow-

this ridiculous plan had just escalated dramatically.

The elevator doors slid open.

Triple X stepped out into the lobby.

He immediately spotted them.

For a split second he looked surprised.

Then his face broke into a wide grin.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Roza lit up.

“X!”

He crossed the lobby in a few quick strides and pulled Roza into a hug.

Then Tonya.

Not the polite kind of hug you give acquaintances.

The kind you give people you genuinely haven’t seen in years.

“Look at you two,” he said, stepping back to get a proper look. “It’s been what… ten years?”

“About that,” Tonya said.

Triple X laughed.

“Back when the Academy was just a couple of rings and a bad air conditioner.”

Roza nodded enthusiastically.

“…and twenty people sleeping in the same dorm.”

“Twenty?” X said. “Try thirty.”

The three of them shared a brief laugh.

Back then the Academy had been small—barely more than an experiment. Because of that, Triple X had known the recruits personally.

…and the Kharina sisters had been among the first ones he ever trained.

He remembered them clearly.

They had understood wrestling in a way many recruits didn’t. Storytelling. Psychology. Timing.

They weren’t the most gifted athletes the Academy had ever seen, but they had instincts.

Good ones.

Unfortunately, instincts alone didn’t guarantee a main roster career.

Their time at the Academy had been short.

…but Triple X had always liked them.

He turned toward Tonya.

“How’s Antony doing these days?”

The smile vanished from Tonya’s face.

The change was immediate.

Triple X noticed.

“What?”

Tonya looked down briefly.

“He died,” she said quietly.

Triple X blinked.

“Oh.”

The word came out softer than he intended.

“In a car crash,” Tonya added.

X nodded slowly.

“I’m… sorry.”

Tonya gave a small shrug.

“It was a long time ago.”

The moment lingered awkwardly for a second before Triple X cleared his throat.

Then he took a proper look at the sisters.

Really looked.

Roza’s sparkly bralette.

The miniskirt.

The smudged makeup.

The fishnet stockings.

Tonya’s blouse… paired with leggings that clearly hadn’t been chosen for a professional meeting.

Neither of them looked particularly well-rested.

Triple X tilted his head slightly.

“…You two okay?”

Roza waved dismissively.

“We’re fine.”

Tonya nodded.

“Just… a long night.”

Triple X raised an eyebrow but let it go.

“So,” he said, folding his arms, “what brings you to the Awesome Towers?”

Tonya glanced at Roza.

Then back at X.

“Well,” she said, “Roza had this… harebrained idea.”

Roza frowned.

“It was not harebrained.”

Tonya continued anyway.

“She thought we could come here and somehow get an interview for the WFE booking position.”

Triple X blinked.

Tonya raised both hands slightly.

“I know. I know. The WFE probably saw our application and rejected it. I told her that.”

Roza stepped forward.

“…but I thought maybe- just maybe- if we showed up and asked, someone might give us a chance.”

Her voice softened.

“If we interview and you’re not impressed, that’s fine. I’ll accept that.”

Triple X studied them for a moment.

Behind them the lobby continued its quiet business, but the three of them stood in their own little bubble of conversation.

He thought about the Board upstairs.

The debate.

The uncertainty.

The fact that none of the candidates had truly convinced anyone.

Then he looked back at the sisters.

“You know what?” he said.

Both women looked at him.

“I’ll bring you upstairs.”

Tonya blinked.

“Wait… what?”

“The Board is still deciding,” Triple X said, “and frankly, they’re not sold on anyone yet.”

Roza’s eyes widened.

“You mean-”

“I mean I’ll give you your chance.”

Tonya stared at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah.”

Then Triple X glanced between them again.

“…but first…”

He gestured toward the exit.

“You two look like you could use food.”

Roza grinned instantly.

“Yes.”

Triple X chuckled.

“I’ll buy you lunch. Then we’ll go upstairs and see if the Board wants to hear what you have to say.”

Roza practically bounced.

Tonya shook her head in disbelief.

Yet somehow-

Roza’s ridiculous plan had just turned into a real interview.

…and neither of them had expected that.

The Grand Gotham Diner, April 5, 2023

13:27 local time,
Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The Grand Gotham Diner was busy but comfortable- polished chrome, red booths, the smell of coffee and grilled food hanging thick in the air.

Triple X had chosen it mostly because it was close.

Roza and Tonya didn’t care why he chose it.

They were starving.

Their table quickly filled with food.

A towering burger and fries for Roza.

A full breakfast platter for Tonya- eggs, toast, hash browns, sausage.

A second basket of fries appeared shortly afterward.

Then a milkshake.

Triple X watched with amusement as the sisters ate like they hadn’t seen food in days.

“Did you two skip breakfast?”

Roza swallowed a bite of burger.

“This is breakfast.”

Tonya took a long sip of coffee.

“We were… busy.”

Triple X decided not to ask.

After a moment he pulled out his phone.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s see if I can make this official.”

He dialed.

Roza and Tonya both slowed their eating slightly.

Sarah Chaisson answered.

“Yes?”

“It’s X.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got two more candidates.”

A pause.

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

Sarah sighed.

“We’ve already interviewed five people today.”

“These two just showed up.”

Another pause.

“Who?”

“The Kharina sisters.”

Silence on the line.

Sarah finally spoke again.

“I don’t know who that is.”

Triple X wasn’t surprised.

“Their application must have been in the stack.”

“That stack had hundreds of names,” Sarah replied. “If they weren’t shortlisted there was probably a reason.”

Roza and Tonya exchanged a look but kept eating.

Triple X leaned back in the booth.

“Look,” he said calmly, “I trained them years ago when the Academy started.”

“So they’re wrestlers?”

“They understand wrestling.”

Sarah hesitated.

“We already have enough candidates.”

“Do we?”

Sarah didn’t answer.

Triple X continued.

“You just spent the entire morning debating three people you’re not sure about.”

That landed.

“You told me yourself no one’s convinced.”

Another pause.

Roza quietly resumed attacking her fries.

Tonya pretended not to listen.

Finally Sarah exhaled on the other end of the line.

“…You’re serious about them.”

“Yes.”

“…and you think they deserve an interview.”

“I do.”

A longer silence followed.

Then Sarah relented.

“Fine.”

Triple X smiled slightly.

“One interview,” she continued. “That’s it.”

“That’s all they’re asking for.”

“Bring them up after lunch.”

“Will do.”

Sarah hung up.

Triple X put the phone down.

Roza immediately leaned forward.

“Well?”

Triple X shrugged casually.

“You’ve got your interview.”

Roza froze for half a second.

Then she broke into a grin.

Tonya stared at him.

“You actually did it.”

Triple X nodded toward the plates in front of them.

“Finish eating.”

Roza grabbed another fry.

“Best lunch ever.”

Tonya shook her head in disbelief.

Somehow- the plan had worked.

Again.

The Awesome Towers, April 5, 2023

15:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The ride back to the Awesome Towers was quiet.

Very quiet.

Roza, who had spent the entire morning charging forward with reckless confidence, now looked like she wished she could disappear into the floor.

Tonya wasn’t doing much better.

They stood with Triple X inside the elevator as it began its slow ascent toward the executive floors.

The doors slid shut.

For a few seconds no one spoke.

Roza shifted her weight.

Tonya noticed the sudden change immediately.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Roza didn’t answer right away.

Instead she glanced toward the mirrored wall of the elevator.

Then she saw herself.

Her eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

Tonya frowned.

“What?”

“My makeup.”

Roza leaned closer to the mirror.

“It’s smudged.”

Tonya squinted at the reflection.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s terrible.”

Roza rubbed lightly under one eye and immediately made it worse.

“Oh no it’s worse.”

Triple X folded his arms, watching the crisis unfold.

“You’re about to interview for a wrestling company,” he said calmly. “Not the royal court.”

Roza shook her head.

“No, this is bad.”

Tonya stepped closer.

“Roza-”

Roza turned toward her.

“I look like I slept in a nightclub.”

Tonya raised an eyebrow.

“You did.”

Roza opened her mouth to argue.

Then stopped.

The reality of the moment seemed to hit her all at once.

Her shoulders sagged.

“This is a mistake,” she murmured.

Triple X’s expression softened slightly.

“No it isn’t.”

Roza shook her head.

“They’re going to see us and think we’re ridiculous.”

Tonya stepped closer to her sister.

“Roza-”

…but Roza was already overwhelmed.

Her eyes watered.

…and suddenly the fearless, chaotic confidence that had carried her all the way into the building disappeared completely.

She collapsed against Tonya’s shoulder.

“I can’t do this.”

Tonya wrapped her arms around her immediately.

“Yes you can.”

Roza shook her head, tears now fully forming.

“No I can’t.”

Triple X stepped closer and placed a steady hand on Roza’s back.

“You’ve already done the hard part,” he said gently.

Roza sniffed.

“What’s that?”

“Showing up.”

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open onto the executive floor.

Triple X glanced down the hallway toward the boardroom.

Then back at the sisters.

“Take a minute,” he said.

They stepped out of the elevator.

Roza took a few shaky breaths while Tonya stayed beside her.

Triple X waited patiently.

Eventually Roza wiped her eyes and nodded.

“I’m ready.”

Tonya squeezed her shoulder.

Triple X stepped forward and opened the boardroom door.

“Alright,” he said.

“Let’s go meet the Board.”

Triple X opened the boardroom door.

The conversation inside stopped immediately.

Every head at the long table turned toward the entrance.

…and then toward the two women standing behind him.

Roza and Tonya stepped in.

They immediately felt the weight of the room.

The Board members.

Triple X.

Erdan.

…and on the large video screen- Roman Cesar and Marcy Carter, watching from Madagascar.

Several of the interviewers gave them curious glances.

Not hostile ones.

Just… confused ones.

Roza’s sparkly bralette.

The miniskirt.

Fishnets.

Smudged makeup.

Tonya’s blouse paired with leggings that were clearly not chosen for a professional setting.

It wasn’t exactly standard interview attire.

Roza felt every one of those glances.

Tonya did too.

…but something else caught their attention.

The screen.

Roman Cesar.

Marcy Carter.

Two people they had watched countless times on Thursday Night War.

People who, until now, had only existed on television screens.

Now those same screens were looking directly back at them.

Roza blinked.

Tonya swallowed.

Suddenly the whole thing felt far more real.

Before anyone could say anything, one man stood up from the table.

“Kharinas?”

Kassian Oddo walked over and opened his arms.

Roza grinned instantly.

“Kass!”

He hugged her warmly.

Then Tonya.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Too long,” Roza replied.

Oddo looked at Tonya a moment longer.

“I heard about Antony.”

Tonya nodded quietly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you.”

The moment passed gently.

Oddo gestured toward the table.

“Come on. Have a seat.”

Roza and Tonya sat down side by side across from the Board.

For a second neither of them spoke.

Then Tonya cleared her throat.

“We should probably apologize for… this.”

She gestured vaguely toward both of their outfits.

Roza nodded.

“…and also for being nervous.”

A few members of the Board chuckled softly.

Sarah Chaisson leaned forward slightly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Another board member nodded.

“Your answers are what matter.”

Triple X moved quietly to the side of the room.

Roza took a breath.

Tonya did the same.

Sarah folded her hands.

“Alright,” she said.

“Let’s begin.”

Sarah Chaisson began.

“Tell us about your promotion.”

Roza and Tonya exchanged a glance.

Roza started.

“The St. Petersburg Wrestling Union.”

Tonya continued.

“It’s… a little unusual.”

That earned a few quiet smiles from the Board.

Roza leaned forward slightly.

“We run a lot of tournaments.”

“Structured ones,” Tonya added. “Brackets, rankings, points. Wrestlers have records.”

Triple X nodded slightly from the side of the room.

“That part sounds normal,” one board member said.

Tonya tilted her head.

“That’s the part that is normal.”

Roza picked up the explanation.

“We like the sport feel. Discipline. Competition. Long matches. Technical matches.”

Tonya nodded.

“…but the structure is only half the story.”

Sarah leaned forward slightly.

“What’s the other half?”

Roza grinned.

“Chaos.”

A few people chuckled.

Tonya continued.

“We like upsets. Swerves. Unexpected outcomes.”

“Story turns,” Roza added.

“Things people don’t see coming.”

Roman Cesar’s voice came through the screen.

“Give us an example.”

Roza thought for a moment.

“Once we decided a title match by whether Shaq could hit a free throw.”

The room went quiet.

Marcy Carter blinked on the screen.

“…What?”

Roza shrugged.

“He made it.”

Tonya nodded.

“So the challenger got the match.”

Several board members exchanged confused looks.

Sarah leaned back in her chair.

“…and that… made sense to your audience?”

Roza and Tonya both nodded.

Tonya answered carefully.

“It didn’t make sense at first.”

Roza finished the thought.

“…but we made it make sense.”

Tonya leaned forward slightly.

“If you build the logic of the world correctly, the audience will accept strange things.”

Roza nodded.

“They’ll even enjoy them.”

Triple X watched quietly from the side.

The Board members were clearly intrigued.

They liked the answers.

They liked the way the sisters explained wrestling.

…but there was still hesitation.

Something unspoken in the room.

Erdan rose slowly from his chair.

He walked toward the sisters.

The room fell quiet.

Roza watched him approach with curiosity.

Erdan reached out and placed his hand gently against hers and against Tonya’s.

Roza blinked.

Then, instinctively- as was her nature- she placed her other hand on top of his.

The moment their hands fully connected-

Both of them reacted.

A sudden jolt.

Not painful.

…but powerful.

Roza gasped slightly.

Erdan’s eyes widened.

For a brief moment the room felt completely still.

Then Erdan pulled his hands back.

He looked at Roza.

Then Tonya.

…and suddenly his face broke into a wide, approving grin.

He nodded.

Slowly.

Confidently.

The sisters didn’t fully understand what had just happened.

…but they understood one thing.

At least to Erdan-

-they felt right.

The interview resumed.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted slightly.

The sisters were still nervous- but the more they spoke, the more that nervousness gave way to something more natural.

This was their world.

Wrestling.

Storytelling.

Competition.

Even the strange parts.

Roman Cesar leaned forward on the large screen.

“I’ve got a question.”

The room quieted.

He folded his arms.

“Let’s say I’m the Imperial Crown champion.”

Roza and Tonya nodded.

“…and let’s say some kid from the Academy gets called up.”

Roman paused.

“A nobody. A rookie.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Would you book that kid to beat me on some random Thursday Night War?”

He let the idea hang in the air.

“Or even worse… at a house show?”

Several Board members watched carefully.

It was clearly a test.

Roza answered immediately.

“Yes.”

The answer came so fast that a few people blinked.

Tonya didn’t hesitate either.

“Yes.”

Roman raised an eyebrow.

Roza leaned forward slightly.

“In real sports, upsets happen all the time.”

Tonya nodded.

“The best team doesn’t always win.”

Roza continued.

“A rookie can beat a legend on any given night.”

Tonya added calmly,

“…and when that happens, people remember it forever.”

Sarah studied them carefully.

“So you’d do that just for shock value?”

Roza shook her head immediately.

“No.”

Tonya followed.

“That’s not the point.”

Roza continued.

“We care about the story.”

Tonya nodded.

“The fans.”

“The wrestlers,” Roza added.

“…and everything else that goes into booking a match.”

Roza leaned back slightly.

“…but we don’t want to always play it safe.”

Tonya smiled faintly.

“Sometimes safe booking makes wrestling predictable.”

Roza glanced briefly toward Roman on the screen.

“Sometimes you need to be bold.”

Tonya gestured slightly toward her sister.

“Like showing up here today.”

Roza grinned.

“My sister called it a harebrained idea.”

Tonya didn’t disagree.

“…but sometimes,” Roza finished, “those ideas work.”

The room grew quiet again.

The Board members exchanged thoughtful looks.

They were still processing the sisters.

Still weighing what they had heard.

…but one thing was becoming clear.

The Kharinas were not afraid of taking risks.

The questions kept coming.

At first they were formal.

Careful.

Structured.

“How would you balance long-term storytelling with weekly television?”

“What do you do when a crowd rejects the story you planned?”

“How much control should wrestlers have over their own characters?”

Roza and Tonya answered each one.

At the beginning their voices were careful.

Measured.

…but the longer the interview continued, the more comfortable they became.

The sisters started finishing each other’s thoughts the way they had done for years.

Tonya explained structure.

Roza explained instinct.

Tonya talked about pacing.

Roza talked about emotion.

The Board members began leaning forward instead of sitting back.

Even the wrestlers on the screen joined in more actively.

Marcy Carter asked about character arcs.

Roman Cesar asked about match psychology.

Triple X watched quietly from the side of the room, occasionally smiling to himself.

At some point the interview stopped feeling like an interview.

It became a conversation.

Stories came out.

Examples.

Moments from the St. Petersburg Wrestling Union.

A tournament that unexpectedly created a new star.

A storyline that had to be rewritten because a crowd reacted differently than expected.

A match that had gone wrong- but ended up better because of it.

The room loosened.

People laughed.

Someone made a joke about the Shaq free throw story again.

Even Erdan joined the exchange in his own quiet way.

At one point he stood and approached Roza again.

This time she didn’t hesitate.

She stood up and hugged him like they had known each other for years.

Erdan returned the hug with the same warmth.

When they separated he gave another approving nod.

The sisters no longer looked like two nervous applicants who had stumbled into the wrong building.

They looked like people who belonged in the room.

…and everyone there could feel it.

The tension that had hung over the Board all morning slowly disappeared.

The sisters had stopped worrying about how they looked.

Stopped worrying about saying the wrong thing.

They were simply talking about wrestling.

…and somewhere along the way, no one noticed the time passing.

The interview had already gone much longer than anyone expected.

…but no one in the room seemed eager to end it.

Eventually, the interview had to end.

Not because anyone wanted it to.

…but because it had simply gone on long enough that someone finally noticed the time.

Even then, the conversation didn’t stop immediately.

A few more questions came up.

A few more stories.

Roza told one last tale about a match in St. Petersburg that went completely off the rails but somehow became the most talked-about event their promotion had ever produced.

Tonya explained how they turned that chaos into a storyline that lasted nearly a year.

People around the table laughed.

Someone shook their head in disbelief.

Triple X glanced at the clock and finally said, gently,

“Alright.”

That seemed to break the spell.

Sarah Chaisson stood.

“I think that’s enough for today.”

Roza and Tonya rose as well.

For a brief moment the room was quiet again.

Then the goodbyes began.

Kassian Oddo hugged them first.

“Good to see you again,” he said warmly.

“You too,” Roza replied.

Other Board members shook their hands.

Some hugged them.

Even the more reserved interviewers smiled as they said goodbye.

On the screen, Roman Cesar gave them a respectful nod.

“Good interview,” he said.

Marcy Carter smiled brightly.

“You two are fun.”

Before the connection ended, Marcy even blew them a playful kiss.

Roza laughed and returned the gesture.

Tonya shook her head but couldn’t help smiling.

As the sisters stepped away from the table, they realized something strange.

They felt… sad.

Like they were leaving friends they had known for years.

The feeling seemed mutual.

The Board members didn’t look particularly eager to end the meeting either.

…but eventually the moment passed.

Triple X opened the door for them.

Roza and Tonya stepped out into the hallway.

The door closed softly behind them.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

They still had no idea what the decision would be.

They hadn’t been told they were hired.

They hadn’t even been told they were finalists.

…but one thing was certain.

Both sides felt very good about how it had gone.

The door closed behind the sisters.

For a moment the boardroom was quiet.

Several people leaned back in their chairs.

Others exchanged glances.

It was Sarah Chaisson who spoke first.

“Well.”

A few quiet chuckles followed.

“That,” she said, “was not the interview I expected today.”

No one disagreed.

Kassian Oddo folded his arms.

“They made an impression.”

Roman Cesar’s voice came from the screen.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Marcy Carter smiled faintly.

“They were fun.”

Sarah rested her hands on the table.

“…but we should slow down.”

The room looked at her.

“We’re all feeling pretty good right now,” she continued. “That doesn’t necessarily mean we should make a decision while we’re riding that feeling.”

A few heads nodded.

One board member added,

“We should ask ourselves if we’re thinking clearly or if we’re just reacting to the energy in the room.”

Another voice joined in.

“They also have a steep learning curve.”

Several people looked over.

“The St. Petersburg Wrestling Union is smaller than Mercier’s promotion,” the board member continued, “and we already decided Mercier wasn’t ready for this job.”

That point hung in the air.

Someone else spoke.

“…and their philosophy…”

They hesitated.

“…it’s unconventional.”

Roman leaned forward on the screen.

“That’s putting it politely.”

Marcy shrugged.

“It’s interesting though.”

“…but will it translate to the WFE?” another board member asked.

“That’s the real question.”

The discussion continued.

Measured.

Careful.

Balanced.

Then Erdan stood.

The room quieted.

He looked around the table slowly before speaking.

“We came here looking for someone we could work with.”

He gestured toward the door the sisters had just exited.

“Someone we could connect with.”

Another pause.

“Someone the audience could connect with.”

He folded his arms.

“They may have flaws.”

A few people nodded.

“They may not be the most polished bookers.”

More nods.

“…but we all felt it.”

He tapped the table lightly.

“The connection.”

No one interrupted him.

Erdan continued.

“The relationship fit.”

He smiled slightly.

“Like a glove.”

Triple X spoke next.

“You can teach someone a lot of things.”

The room turned toward him.

“You can teach production.”

“You can teach television timing.”

“You can teach how to structure a show.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“…but character?”

He shook his head.

“Connection?”

Another small pause.

“You can’t teach that.”

The room grew quiet again.

Sarah looked around the table.

At the Board members.

At Erdan.

At Triple X.

Then toward the screen where Roman and Marcy watched.

Finally she nodded.

“I think,” she said slowly, “we’ve found our bookers.”

Roman leaned back and smiled.

Marcy clapped her hands once.

…and around the table, one by one, the rest of the interviewers agreed.

The Maine Motel, April 5, 2023

18:12 local time,
Old Orchard Beach, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The motel room looked exactly the way it had that morning.

Except now the sisters were exhausted.

Roza sat cross-legged on the bed scrolling through a takeout menu on her phone.

Tonya sat in the chair near the small table, staring out through the mosquito-netted balcony at the fading evening light over the Atlantic.

“Burger place or pizza?” Roza asked.

Tonya didn’t turn around.

“Pizza.”

Roza nodded.

“Good choice.”

She placed the order.

Neither of them had much energy left.

The day had taken everything out of them.

Eventually Tonya spoke.

“Well.”

Roza looked up.

“We tried.”

Roza nodded.

“We did.”

Tonya turned back toward her sister.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.”

Roza gave a small smile.

“It’s fine.”

Tonya raised an eyebrow.

“You’re not even going to tease me about that?”

Roza shrugged.

“You’ll doubt me again.”

Tonya considered that for a moment.

“…That’s fair.”

Roza laughed.

Their phone buzzed.

Roza glanced down at it.

“Unknown number.”

She answered.

“Hello?”

A familiar voice came through.

“Hey Roza.”

Roza froze.

“X?”

Tonya immediately looked over.

“Did we leave something at the Towers?” Roza asked.

Triple X laughed lightly.

“No.”

A small pause.

“I’m calling because the Board made their decision.”

Roza’s expression shifted.

“Oh.”

Tonya leaned forward slightly.

Roza braced herself.

“Well?”

“You got the job.”

Roza blinked.

“…What?”

“You and Tonya,” Triple X continued. “The Board voted. You’re the new WFE bookers.”

Roza stared at the phone.

Then she started laughing.

“Good one.”

Tonya frowned.

“What?”

Roza covered the microphone.

“He says we got the job.”

Tonya blinked.

“It’s April fifth.”

Roza nodded.

“Exactly.”

She spoke back into the phone.

“Nice late April Fool’s joke, X.”

Triple X sighed.

“It’s not a joke.”

Roza stopped laughing.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

Tonya leaned closer.

“Put him on speaker.”

Roza did.

Triple X continued.

“The Board wants to sign your contracts tonight.”

Roza and Tonya stared at each other.

Roza finally spoke.

“…Tonight?”

“Yes.”

Roza looked around the motel room.

“We just ordered takeout.”

Tonya added quietly,

“…and our flight leaves tomorrow.”

Triple X chuckled.

“I’ll cover the takeout.”

Roza blinked.

“…and if you need to change the flight,” he continued, “the WFE will handle that too.”

Tonya leaned back in the chair, stunned.

“You’re serious.”

“Completely.”

Triple X’s tone softened.

“Come back to Gotham Hill.”

“Dinner’s on me.”

“…and then we’ll sign the contracts.”

The sisters looked at each other.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Finally Roza said quietly,

“…Okay.”

Tonya nodded.

“Okay.”

Triple X laughed.

“Good.”

“I’ll send you the restaurant.”

The call ended.

The room went silent.

Roza slowly lowered the phone.

Tonya stared at her.

For a long moment neither of them moved.

Then Roza suddenly screamed.

Tonya burst out laughing.

Roza grabbed her sister and pulled her into a hug.

“I told you!” Roza shouted.

Tonya could barely speak through the laughter.

“You did!”

Roza spun around the room in disbelief.

“We actually did it!”

Tonya shook her head, still laughing.

“This ridiculous adventure…”

Roza grinned wildly.

“…worked.”

The Awesome Towers, April 5, 2023

20:02 local time,
City of Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The city lights of Gotham Hill shimmered outside the tall windows as Triple X escorted the sisters back into the Awesome Towers.

Dinner had been long.

Relaxed.

Full of laughter, stories, and the kind of disbelief that comes when a day takes a turn no one expected.

Now things were becoming official.

Triple X led them into a smaller conference room just off the executive offices.

A neat folder sat on the table waiting for them.

“Alright,” he said, sliding the folder toward them.

Roza and Tonya sat down.

Roza opened it carefully.

The first document was short.

Much shorter than they expected.

“This,” Triple X explained, “is the official job offer form.”

Tonya scanned it.

“It’s not the full contract?”

“No,” Triple X said. “This just confirms that you’re accepting the position so the company can officially bring you into the system.”

He tapped the page lightly.

“Once this is signed, HR can put you in the employee databases, payroll systems, everything like that.”

Roza nodded slowly.

“Step one.”

“Exactly.”

Tonya flipped to the next section.

This document was much thicker.

Her eyes widened slightly.

“This… must be the real one.”

Triple X nodded.

“The full booking contract.”

Roza leaned closer.

Then she saw the compensation section.

Her eyes widened.

Tonya saw it next.

They both stared at the number.

“…That’s more than we made in five years,” Roza muttered.

Triple X chuckled.

“Welcome to the big leagues.”

The sisters exchanged a stunned glance.

Triple X pulled up a chair and sat with them.

“Let’s go through it.”

…and they did.

Line by line.

Triple X explained each section patiently.

Compensation.

Responsibilities.

Creative authority.

Production coordination.

Television obligations.

Travel.

Public appearances.

The sisters asked questions.

Some small.

Some cautious.

Triple X answered every one.

Nothing felt rushed.

When they reached the end, Triple X closed the folder gently.

“Now,” he said.

He slid the contract back toward them.

“Do not sign this tonight.”

Roza blinked.

“…What?”

Triple X smiled slightly.

“Take it with you.”

“Read it.”

“Then read it again.”

Tonya nodded slowly.

“…and if we want changes?”

“Then we talk to the Board,” Triple X said.

“If you want additions or adjustments, this is the time to ask.”

Roza frowned slightly.

“That sounds complicated.”

“It isn’t,” Triple X assured them.

“This is normal.”

He leaned back slightly.

“We want the contract to work for both sides.”

Roza relaxed.

Then she tilted her head mischievously.

“So…”

Triple X already knew that tone.

“Yes?”

Roza grinned.

“Can I put in the contract that I get to ride a triceratops to the ring at every show?”

Triple X stared at her for a moment.

Then burst out laughing.

“I’m not sure about the triceratops.”

Roza shrugged.

“Worth asking.”

Triple X shook his head with a smile.

“…but,” he added, to her surprise,

“…maybe something can be arranged.”

Roza’s eyes lit up again.

Tonya covered her face with one hand, laughing quietly.

Somehow-

-the wildest day of their lives still wasn’t finished.

The Maine Motel, April 6, 2023

17:12 local time,
Old Orchard Beach, Gotham Civic Region, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The motel room had barely changed since the night before.

Except now the small table, both beds, and even part of the floor were covered with papers.

The WFE contract.

Printed.

Highlighted.

Marked with notes written in the margins.

The sisters had spent most of the day inside the room.

Reading.

Re-reading.

Then reading again.

Several empty coffee cups sat near the window.

Roza lay on her stomach across one of the beds, flipping through the pages again.

Tonya sat at the table with a pen, making another small note beside a paragraph.

At least four times during the day they had called Triple X.

…and every time he had picked up.

Patiently answering questions.

Explaining clauses.

Clarifying responsibilities.

Roza flipped another page.

Then suddenly stopped.

She frowned.

Tonya noticed immediately.

“What?”

Roza didn’t answer right away.

She stared at the contract.

Tonya leaned back in her chair.

“Is this about the triceratops?”

Roza laughed.

“No.”

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m just…”

She searched for the words.

“…nervous.”

Tonya nodded slowly.

“That’s reasonable.”

Roza sat up again.

“This is a huge jump.”

She tapped the contract.

“The travel alone.”

Tonya nodded again.

“They want us everywhere.”

Roza continued.

“Television production meetings. Media appearances. Creative meetings every week.”

She flipped to another page.

“…and all these departments we’ll have to coordinate with.”

Roza gestured toward the contract.

“Production.”

“Marketing.”

“Broadcast.”

“Legal.”

Tonya listened quietly.

Roza sighed.

“In St. Petersburg it’s just us.”

“Sometimes a dozen people total.”

She tapped the pages again.

“This is… a machine.”

Tonya looked down at the contract as well.

Roza continued.

“…and the wrestlers.”

“The egos.”

“The television pressure.”

She shook her head slightly.

“What if we’re not ready for this?”

Tonya didn’t dismiss the concern.

She understood it.

“I have worries too,” she admitted.

Roza looked at her.

Tonya folded the contract closed for a moment.

“What if the roster doesn’t trust us?”

“What if the audience rejects our ideas?”

“What if the Board decides we were a mistake?”

Roza nodded slowly.

“Exactly.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

Then Tonya picked the contract back up.

She flipped through the pages again thoughtfully.

Finally she looked up at her sister.

“Triple X promised us something.”

Roza tilted her head.

“What?”

Tonya smiled faintly.

“He promised the Board would listen to us.”

She tapped the contract.

“So let’s give them that chance.”

The Awesome Towers, April 7, 2023

10:15 local time,
Gotham Hill, Gotham Grand Sovereignty, UCSS

The conference room felt different from the first time the sisters had sat there.

This time there were no nerves.

No awkward introductions.

Just paperwork.

Contracts, notes, coffee cups, and the quiet hum of a serious conversation.

Roza and Tonya sat on one side of the table.

Sarah Chaisson and several members of the Board sat on the other.

Triple X sat beside the sisters, acting less like a negotiator and more like a translator between two worlds.

Roman Cesar and Marcy Carter appeared again on the screen at the end of the room.

The discussion had already been going for nearly an hour.

…and most of it had gone surprisingly well.

“Creative advisor until Empire Fest,” Sarah said, reviewing a note. “We can accommodate that.”

Roza brightened slightly.

“Really?”

Sarah nodded toward Triple X.

“You’ll need someone who understands how the company runs. And frankly, he’s the reason we’re all sitting here.”

Triple X shrugged modestly.

“Happy to help.”

Tonya made a note on the contract.

“That will make the transition easier.”

“…and the compensation terms remain the same,” Sarah added. “No changes there.”

Roza flipped through the contract again and shook her head slightly in disbelief.

“We’re still getting used to that number.”

A few people laughed.

For the most part, the negotiation had been smooth.

…but eventually the conversation arrived at the parts that weren’t so easy.

Sarah turned to the next section.

“Creative control.”

The room grew quieter.

Tonya spoke first.

“We want to be clear about something.”

Sarah nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re not asking for unlimited power,” Tonya said carefully. “We just don’t want decisions being changed behind our backs.”

Roza leaned forward slightly.

“If we write a show and someone changes the ending without telling us, that’s a problem.”

Sarah folded her hands.

“The current contract allows the Board veto power.”

“We saw that,” Tonya replied.

“…and there’s a reason for it,” Sarah added.

Roza tilted her head.

“Vince?”

A few people smiled.

“Yes,” Sarah said simply.

Triple X leaned back in his chair.

“No one in this building is interested in recreating that situation.”

Tonya nodded.

“We understand.”

“…but we need to know when something changes,” Roza added.

Sarah made a note.

“That’s something we’ll need to discuss further.”

The conversation moved on.

Travel requirements.

Roza had been waiting for this one.

She slid the contract across the table slightly.

“This schedule.”

Sarah glanced at the page.

“What about it?”

Roza pointed.

“Thursday Night War.”

“Pay-per-views.”

“Special events.”

“Weekly presence in the Towers.”

“Academy visits.”

She leaned back.

“If we follow this exactly, we’ll be on the road over three hundred days a year.”

Roman chuckled from the screen.

“Welcome to wrestling.”

Roza shook her head.

“That’s not what we’re used to.”

Tonya nodded.

“In St. Petersburg we run a much smaller operation.”

Sarah tapped the table lightly.

“I’m actually trying to reduce travel for talent compared to Vince’s schedule.”

Roza raised an eyebrow.

“That may be true.”

“…but this still looks brutal.”

Sarah didn’t argue.

She simply wrote another note.

“That’s another point we’ll need to revisit.”

The discussion continued.

Next came contract length.

Tonya explained their concern calmly.

“The contract currently allows review after every Empire Fest.”

Sarah nodded.

“Yes.”

“We’d prefer the review happen after every second Empire Fest.”

Roza added quietly,

“We’d like time to actually build something.”

Marcy nodded on the screen.

“That’s fair.”

Sarah didn’t respond immediately.

She simply marked the page.

“We’ll discuss that.”

Then came the final major point.

Roster construction.

Roza spoke before Tonya could soften the wording.

“We’d like control over roster construction.”

Sarah looked up.

“In what sense?”

Roza shrugged slightly.

“I’d prefer if we had final say on who gets hired and who gets released.”

Several people exchanged looks.

Triple X glanced sideways at her.

“Starting negotiations strong, I see.”

Roza smiled.

“Why not?”

Tonya stepped in quickly.

“What Roza means is that storylines depend on the roster.”

“We need to know who we’re working with.”

Sarah leaned back in her chair.

“That’s a much bigger discussion.”

Roza nodded.

“I figured.”

The room grew quiet again.

Sarah closed the contract folder for a moment.

“We’ve made good progress today,” she said.

“…but these four issues need more thought.”

Triple X nodded.

“Fair.”

Roza leaned back in her chair.

“So… negotiations continue?”

Sarah smiled slightly.

“Yes.”

“Negotiations continue.”

The sisters and Triple X had stepped out of the room.

The door closed softly behind them.

Inside, the Boardroom grew quieter.

Sarah leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly.

“Well,” she said. “They’re not shy.”

A few people chuckled.

Roman’s face on the screen showed a thoughtful expression.

“They came prepared.”

Marcy nodded.

“…and honestly, they’re asking the kinds of questions you’d expect from people who suddenly realized the scale of what they’re stepping into.”

Sarah looked down at her notes.

“Let’s go through the points one at a time.”

She tapped the contract lightly.

“Contract length.”

That one didn’t take long.

“They want reviews after every second Empire Fest,” Sarah said.

Roman shrugged.

“That’s reasonable.”

Marcy agreed.

“They need time to build something.”

Sarah nodded.

“Yes…but we still need a safety valve.”

The room murmured in agreement.

“We add a financial trigger,” Sarah continued. “If the company experiences a twenty-five percent decline in operating revenue over a rolling twelve-month period.”

Roman finished the thought.

“Verified by independent audit.”

Sarah nodded.

“That would trigger a review regardless of Empire Fest timing.”

No one objected.

Sarah wrote the decision down.

“Done.”

She moved to the next issue.

“Travel.”

Roman leaned back in his chair.

“This one’s tricky.”

“They’re not wrong,” Marcy added. “Three hundred days on the road isn’t sustainable.”

Sarah tapped her pen thoughtfully.

“What if we structure the year differently?”

Everyone looked at her.

“The two months after Empire Fest,” she continued. “That’s when the company traditionally plans the next cycle.”

Roman nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

“So during that period,” Sarah said, “they’re expected to be in the Towers.”

“For planning meetings, production coordination, long-term booking.”

“…and the rest of the year?” Kassian Oddo asked.

“They travel,” Sarah replied.

She glanced at her notes again.

“Required attendance at Thursday Night War tapings, pay-per-views, and designated major shows.”

Roman nodded.

“That’s standard.”

“…and we drop the Academy requirement,” Sarah added.

“That’s not really necessary for them.”

Kassian smiled slightly.

“The Academy will survive.”

“…and if they’re already on the road,” Sarah continued, “we drop the weekly office requirement.”

“That’s fair.”

The Board seemed comfortable with that.

Sarah wrote the second decision down.

“Travel addressed.”

Then she paused.

The next two issues were heavier.

“Creative control.”

The room went quiet.

Everyone understood why that clause existed.

Roman spoke first.

“We cannot remove the Board veto.”

No one argued.

Sarah nodded slowly.

“Not after Vince.”

Marcy crossed her arms thoughtfully.

“…but they’re not asking for dictatorship.”

“They’re asking not to be blindsided,” Kassian said.

Sarah considered that.

“We can acknowledge their input,” she said carefully.

“…but the veto stays.”

Roman agreed.

“That clause is non-negotiable.”

Sarah made another note.

“Creative control remains with Board oversight.”

She looked up again.

“Roster construction.”

Roza’s bold request still hung in the air.

Roman laughed softly.

“She wants final say on hiring and releases.”

Marcy shook her head.

“That’s not happening.”

Sarah nodded.

“Contracts involve legal exposure.”

“…and budget,” Roman added.

“However,” Kassian said thoughtfully, “they should still have a voice.”

Sarah agreed.

“They’ll work with the roster every day.”

Roman leaned forward slightly on the screen.

“So we keep hiring and release authority with the Board.”

“…but they get consultation rights.”

Marcy nodded.

“They recommend.”

“We decide.”

The room seemed comfortable with that.

Sarah wrote down the final note.

She closed the folder and looked around the table.

“So.”

The major issues were settled- at least internally.

Some compromises.

Some firm lines.

Sarah stood.

“Let’s bring them back in.”

Outside the room, Roza and Tonya still had no idea how those decisions had gone.

The sisters returned to the Boardroom with Triple X.

Roza looked curious.

Tonya looked focused.

Sarah waited until everyone was seated again before opening the folder.

“We’ve discussed the four major points,” she said calmly.

“We’d like to walk through them one by one.”

Roza nodded.

“Sounds fair.”

---

Contract Length

Sarah began with the easiest one.

“The Board agrees to your request regarding the review period.”

Roza blinked.

“That was fast.”

“The contract will now require review after every second Empire Fest instead of after each one.”

Tonya nodded approvingly.

“That gives us time to build long-term stories.”

Sarah held up a finger.

“However.”

Roza leaned back.

“There’s always a however.”

Sarah continued.

“If the company experiences a twenty-five percent decline in operating revenue over a rolling twelve-month period, verified by independent audit, that will also trigger a review.”

The sisters exchanged a quick glance.

Tonya nodded almost immediately.

“That’s reasonable.”

Roza shrugged.

“If we lose a quarter of the company’s revenue, we probably deserve a review.”

Roman laughed quietly from the screen.

“That’s the spirit.”

Sarah made a note.

“Then that point is settled.”

---

Travel

Sarah turned to the next section.

“Travel requirements.”

Roza straightened slightly.

“We’ve modified the proposal.”

Sarah explained the new structure.

“You would still be required to attend every Thursday Night War, all pay-per-views, and other designated major events.”

Roza nodded.

“That makes sense.”

“However,” Sarah continued, “during the two months following Empire Fest, we expect you to be physically present here at the Towers.”

Tonya tilted her head.

“For planning.”

“Yes,” Sarah said.

“That period will serve as the company’s annual planning window.”

Roman nodded on the screen.

“Production planning, long-term storylines, marketing coordination.”

“The rest of the year,” Sarah added, “you’ll primarily be traveling with the shows.”

She glanced down at the contract.

“We’re also removing the Academy requirement.”

Kassian smiled.

“The Academy can operate without you.”

“And,” Sarah continued, “we’re dropping the weekly office requirement whenever you’re already on the road.”

Roza and Tonya looked at each other again.

Tonya spoke first.

“We can agree to that.”

Roza nodded.

“But we’d like to choose the exact two-month window.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow.

“You’d prefer flexibility?”

“Yes,” Tonya said.

“Empire Fest timing can change depending on the calendar.”

Roza added,

“And we’d also like the ability to take a vacation during non-critical periods.”

Roman chuckled.

“You’re negotiating vacation time already?”

Roza shrugged.

“If we’re doing this job, we want to survive it.”

Sarah considered that for a moment.

“That’s something we can review.”

She made another note.

“Travel mostly resolved.”

---

Creative Control

The room grew quieter as Sarah moved to the next point.

“Creative authority.”

Roza folded her hands on the table.

Sarah spoke carefully.

“The Board will retain veto authority over creative decisions.”

That was expected.

Roza didn’t react.

“The company has had… experiences in the past that make this necessary.”

Everyone understood the reference.

Tonya nodded slowly.

“We understand why the clause exists.”

Sarah continued.

“That will not change.”

She paused.

“However, several members of the Board believe you should still have input in those decisions.”

Roza leaned forward slightly.

“What kind of input?”

“Consultation,” Sarah said.

“Discussion.”

“But the veto remains with the Board.”

Roza glanced at Tonya.

Then she looked back at Sarah.

“We’re not comfortable with that.”

The room shifted slightly.

Tonya spoke calmly.

“We don’t want decisions reversed without our involvement.”

Sarah nodded.

“And we don’t want a repeat of Vince.”

Neither side moved.

---

Roster Construction

Sarah continued.

“The Board will also retain final authority over hiring and release decisions.”

Roza sighed softly.

“That was the one I expected.”

Tonya remained calm.

“We understand the legal side of that.”

“Contracts, liability, budget,” Sarah said.

“Exactly.”

“But,” Kassian added, “we do believe you should have input regarding talent.”

Roman nodded from the screen.

“You’re the ones writing the stories.”

Roza tilted her head.

“So we recommend.”

“And the Board decides.”

Sarah didn’t argue.

“That’s correct.”

Roza leaned back in her chair.

“That’s not what we asked for.”

Tonya nodded slowly.

“It’s not.”

The conversation began to slow.

Questions were asked.

Clarifications were offered.

Small details were debated.

No one raised their voice.

But the discussion started circling the same points again and again.

Creative control.

Roster authority.

Where one side wanted flexibility.

And the other wanted safeguards.

Minutes turned into nearly an hour.

The energy in the room shifted from excitement to fatigue.

Finally Sarah closed the contract folder.

“That’s enough for now.”

Everyone looked up.

She stood.

“We’re not going to solve these two issues while we’re tired.”

Roza exhaled.

“That’s fair.”

Sarah gestured toward the door.

“Let’s take a break.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Clear your heads.”

The negotiations weren’t over.

Not even close.

The break room was quiet.

A vending machine hummed softly in the corner.

Roza sat at the small table staring at a bottle of water she had barely touched. A half-open bag of pretzels sat between her and Tonya.

Neither of them had eaten much.

Triple X leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee.

No one spoke for a moment.

Finally Roza sighed.

“I think we’re losing this.”

Tonya looked over.

“Roza—”

“No,” Roza said quietly. “I can feel it.”

She pushed the pretzels around the table with one finger.

“They’re being polite. But they’re not giving us anything that matters.”

Tonya didn’t answer right away.

Triple X stepped forward slightly.

“You’re jumping ahead.”

Roza shook her head.

“They’re not budging on the big things.”

“Creative.”

“Roster.”

“That’s the job.”

Triple X sat down across from them.

“Let me ask you something.”

The sisters looked up.

“How long did it take you to negotiate your SPWU contracts?”

Roza blinked.

“Negotiate?”

“Yes.”

Tonya exchanged a look with her sister.

Then Tonya gave a small shrug.

“We didn’t really negotiate.”

Triple X tilted his head.

“No?”

Roza shook her head.

“Valentina Volkova called us into her office.”

“…and?”

Roza smiled faintly.

“She asked if we wanted the job.”

Tonya added,

“…and then she gave it to us.”

“That was it?”

Roza nodded.

“Pretty much.”

Triple X chuckled softly.

“Well… that explains a few things.”

Roza frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Triple X leaned back in his chair.

“My contract negotiations took six weeks.”

The sisters both looked at him.

“Six weeks?” Tonya asked.

“…and that was the short version.”

Roza blinked.

“With who?”

Triple X smiled faintly.

“Vince.”

The sisters groaned simultaneously.

“Oh no,” Roza said.

Triple X nodded.

“Oh yes.”

He took a sip of coffee.

“Every clause.”

“Every line.”

“Every word.”

“There were days where we argued for two hours about a single paragraph.”

Tonya leaned forward slightly.

“Seriously?”

Triple X nodded.

“Seriously.”

He smiled faintly at the memory.

“There were times I walked out of the room convinced the deal was dead.”

Roza looked skeptical.

“…but you still signed.”

“Eventually.”

Triple X shrugged.

“That’s negotiations.”

Roza stared at the pretzels again.

“So this is normal?”

Triple X nodded calmly.

“This is very normal.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“If the Board didn’t want you, this meeting would already be over.”

Tonya looked up.

“That’s true.”

Roza still looked doubtful.

“They could still walk away.”

“They could,” Triple X said.

“…but they didn’t.”

“…and neither did you.”

He gestured toward the door.

“You pushed back.”

“That’s not something people do when they’re losing a negotiation.”

Roza was quiet.

Triple X smiled gently.

“You’re doing fine.”

Tonya finally opened the pretzel bag again and took one.

“Roza.”

Roza looked up.

Tonya gave a small smile.

“We’ve survived worse ideas than this.”

Roza finally laughed.

“That’s not exactly reassuring.”

Triple X stood up.

“Relax.”

He tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash.

“Negotiations always feel like they’re falling apart right before they come together.”

Roza picked up the bottle of water and finally took a drink.

“I hope you’re right.”

Triple X smiled.

“I usually am.”

Outside the break room, the Board was preparing to resume the discussion.

The second break room was quieter than the first.

No vending machine.

No chatter.

Just a coffee pot slowly dripping into a glass carafe.

Sarah Chaisson stood by the counter, staring down at the legal notes she had carried out of the meeting.

Kassian Oddo leaned against the wall, arms folded.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Finally Oddo broke the silence.

“You set today as the deadline.”

Sarah didn’t look up.

“Yes.”

Oddo walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“That’s ambitious.”

Sarah finally looked at him.

“We need the creative directors in place.”

“The shows resume April thirteenth.”

“I’m aware,” Oddo said.

He took a sip of coffee.

“…but maybe you’re trying a little too hard to fit the timeline.”

Sarah closed the folder.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oddo shrugged slightly.

“We’re asking two first-time bookers to negotiate a contract for the biggest wrestling promotion in the world.”

“…and you’re doing it in one afternoon.”

Sarah crossed her arms.

“It’s not impossible.”

Oddo raised an eyebrow.

“It might be.”

Sarah shook her head.

“The negotiation can finish tonight.”

Oddo gave a quiet laugh.

“You sound very confident.”

“I am.”

Oddo leaned against the counter.

“You’ve been in corporate negotiations before, Sarah.”

“You know these things stretch.”

“They spiral.”

“They stall.”

Sarah’s voice stayed calm.

“That happens when people don’t want the deal.”

Oddo studied her.

“…and you’re sure that’s not the case here?”

Sarah didn’t hesitate.

“No.”

Oddo took another sip of coffee.

“They’re not budging on creative.”

“…and they’re not backing down on roster control.”

Sarah nodded.

“Correct.”

Oddo gestured toward the hallway.

“…and the Board isn’t moving either.”

“That’s also correct.”

Oddo set the cup down.

“So how exactly do you expect this to wrap up tonight?”

Sarah smiled faintly.

“Because both sides still want the same thing.”

Oddo tilted his head.

“Oh?”

“They want the job.”

“…and we want them to take it.”

Oddo considered that.

Sarah continued.

“Negotiations only fail when someone decides they don’t want the deal anymore.”

Oddo thought about that for a moment.

“…and you don’t think we’re anywhere near that point.”

Sarah shook her head.

“Not even close.”

Oddo smiled slightly.

“You’re betting a lot on that.”

Sarah picked up her folder again.

“Yes.”

Oddo chuckled quietly.

“You know, I thought the sisters were the gamblers.”

Sarah headed toward the door.

“They are.”

She paused and looked back at him.

“…but I didn’t bring them here to lose.”

Oddo grabbed his coffee and followed her out.

The break was almost over.

…and the real negotiation still hadn’t happened yet.

The break had done little to ease the tension.

Everyone had returned to the table.

The contracts were open again.

Pens tapped against the table. Pages turned. Coffee cups were refilled.

…but the conversation had stalled.

Creative authority.

Roster control.

The same arguments circled again and again.

Sarah kept her voice calm.

“The Board cannot relinquish veto authority.”

Tonya nodded.

“We understand your concern.”

“…but we cannot run creative if decisions can be changed without us.”

Roza leaned back in her chair.

“You hired us to book the shows.”

Roman watched quietly from the screen.

Marcy folded her arms.

Sarah remained patient.

“…and we also have a responsibility to the company.”

Roza exhaled.

“We know.”

That was the frustrating part.

Both sides understood each other.

…but neither side could move.

Another twenty minutes passed.

Clarifications.

Rephrasings.

Nothing changed.

Finally Sarah closed the contract again.

“We may need to revisit this another day.”

The words hung in the air.

Roza stared down at the table.

Tonya’s pen stopped moving.

Triple X watched both sides carefully.

No one spoke.

Then Roza suddenly sat up.

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at her.

Tonya turned as well.

Roza looked at her sister.

“What if we’re looking at this wrong?”

Tonya frowned.

“How?”

Roza leaned forward.

“The problem isn’t authority.”

“It’s trust.”

Sarah tilted her head slightly.

Roza looked around the room.

“We’re trying to decide who wins every argument before the arguments even happen.”

Tonya slowly began to understand.

Roza continued.

“What if we don’t?”

Sarah leaned forward slightly.

“Explain.”

Roza glanced at Tonya.

Tonya nodded.

Roza took a breath.

“Creative and the Board agree to good faith discussions on all creative and roster decisions.”

Sarah listened carefully.

Tonya continued the thought.

“The Creative Team is recognized as the authority on the creative process.”

Roza added immediately.

“…and the Board is recognized as the authority on personnel matters.”

Sarah didn’t interrupt.

Kassian leaned forward slightly.

“…and when those things overlap?” he asked.

Tonya answered.

“If we disagree and can’t resolve it.”

Roza finished.

“We form a temporary committee.”

Sarah looked up.

“Temporary?”

“Ad hoc,” Tonya clarified.

“Equal representation from Creative and the Board.”

Roza nodded.

“They review the dispute.”

“…and whatever decision they make is binding.”

The room went quiet.

Sarah looked down at the contract again.

Roman leaned forward on the screen.

“That would prevent unilateral decisions.”

Marcy nodded slowly.

“…and it forces both sides to talk.”

Kassian looked thoughtful.

“It also keeps disputes contained.”

Triple X smiled faintly.

“That’s actually very elegant.”

Sarah tapped her pen against the table again.

Then she looked at Roza.

“You’re proposing a dispute resolution mechanism.”

Roza shrugged.

“We’re proposing that we work together.”

Tonya added quietly,

“…and if we can’t… then someone else helps us decide.”

The room stayed silent for several seconds.

Then Roman smiled.

“That might actually work.”

Marcy nodded.

“I like it.”

Sarah looked around the room.

One by one, the tension that had filled the negotiations began to ease.

She finally closed the contract again.

“This,” she said slowly, “is the first real breakthrough we’ve had all afternoon.”

Roza leaned back in her chair.

“I was hoping someone would say that.”

Sarah picked up her pen.

“Let’s write it.”

The mood in the room had completely changed.

Only an hour earlier the negotiations had felt stuck, heavy, and exhausting.

Now the contract sat finalized on the table.

The final pages had been printed.

Everyone leaned forward as the last clauses were reviewed one more time.

Sarah looked around the room.

“Is everyone satisfied with the language?”

Heads nodded.

Roman and Marcy exchanged a glance on the screen.

Kassian gave a small approving smile.

Tonya read the final paragraph again.

Roza leaned over her shoulder.

“Still says we’re bookers?”

Tonya smiled.

“It does.”

Roza looked up.

“Then let’s do it.”

Sarah slid the document across the table.

“Welcome to the World Fighting Empire.”

Tonya took the pen first.

Her hand paused for just a moment.

Then she signed.

Roza grabbed the pen next.

She hesitated for half a second longer.

Then she wrote her name.

The room broke into smiles.

Sarah signed on behalf of the Board.

The final copies were exchanged.

…and suddenly the tension of the entire day disappeared.

Roman clapped softly from the screen.

“Well done.”

Marcy grinned.

“Now the real fun starts.”

Kassian stood and gave both sisters a hug.

“Congratulations.”

Roza hugged him back tightly.

“Thank you.”

Sarah stepped forward next.

“Welcome aboard.”

Tonya shook her hand.

Roza hugged her.

Even Sarah laughed a little at that.

Triple X waited patiently until the commotion settled.

Then he shook their hands.

“You did it.”

Roza looked stunned.

“We actually did.”

Tonya exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding all afternoon.

“Thank you for believing in us.”

Triple X smiled.

“I didn’t have to believe very hard.”

---

The Awesome Towers – Outside the Boardroom

16:52 local time

The door closed behind them.

The hallway was quiet.

Roza stood there for a moment holding the folder with the signed contract.

She stared at it.

Then she looked at Tonya.

For a second neither of them said anything.

Then they hugged.

Tightly.

The kind of hug that came after a long day of nerves and arguments and uncertainty.

Roza laughed through tears.

“We’re bookers.”

Tonya wiped her eyes.

“We’re bookers.”

They pulled Triple X into the hug too.

He laughed.

“All right, all right.”

Roza stepped back.

“We owe you dinner.”

Triple X shook his head.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

He pointed down the hallway.

“You two should go celebrate.”

Roza grinned.

“Don’t worry. We will.”

Triple X smiled.

“…but remember something.”

The sisters looked at him.

“The real work begins Monday.”

For a moment they just stared at him.

Then Tonya nodded.

“That sounds perfect.”

Roza smiled.

“Good.”

She looked back at the contract folder again.

“Because we already have ideas.”

Triple X chuckled.

“I had a feeling you would.”

The sisters walked down the hallway together.

Still laughing.

Still wiping happy tears.

The long day of negotiations was over.

…and the next chapter of the WFE had just begun.