ROUNDS
High above the canvas, the JumboTron bleeds violent color into the darkened rafters. The massive screen is dominated by a single, towering graphic: PCW UNLEASHED. It isn’t static. It churns. Blisters. The letters burn like superheated magma, casting a heavy, molten-orange glow across the unforgiving ringside steel.
The camera pans down from the digital inferno, sweeping over a sea of humanity. Ten thousand bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the dark. A sheer, deafening wall of sound. Flashbulbs strobe blindly through the smoke-filled air. No polite applause. Just guttural, sustained roars. Rabid. Hungry for the carnage. Waiting for the first bell to ring.
Over the rootage, the Voice of PCW’s voice cuts through the thundering cheers.
RENO: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to PRO CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING! This is the IRON GAUNTLET. I am Reno Nevada comin’ to ya from ringside. Tonight, twenty four of the best wrestlers in the world will enter this ring to decide WHO will be the LAST MAN STANDIN’.
SONG: SHAKE IT OFF by TAYLOR SWIFT
RENO: Sorry. Twenty three of the best wrestlers in the world. And then Marisol Vilaro.
The synthesized beat of Shake it Off By Taylor Swift begins to play over the public address system, as the opening lyrics soon begin, as the fans boo and flashes going off, people are waiting for the arrival of the Fitness Queen herself.
RENO: YEAH YEAH I’m supposed to be impartial. Ya right. Listen, me and the Fitness Queen got a history, ya know? (sigh) I was… at a very low point in my life… a subscriber to the VilaroSystem.
As a spotlight is on the entrance ramp and the lights dim, out steps La Marvillosa herself Marisol Vilaro. After a few moments of posing she brushes right past and begins her descent to the ring, taking the time to give the fans at ringside a hard time for even trying to touch them.
RENO: Now, before ya go judgin’ ya old pal Reno, ya gotta understand something. (a beat) She is VERY bossy. And, unfortunately, I got a weakness.
Marisol poses at ringside, showing off her muscle, and trying to sell the world on the VilaroFit mission, and how they need it to improve themselves. Then she hurries up the steps and climbs through the ropes to an arena soaked in boos and catcalls.
The synthesized beat of Shake it Off hits the PA system. Instant vitriol from the New Orleans crowd. They reject her entirely. Marisol Vilaro steps into the spotlight. The Fitness Queen. She preens. She poses. She ignores the hostility, flashing her toned physique, pointing at the front row and criticizing their physical conditioning. She climbs the steel steps, slips between the ropes, and bathes in the deafening boos.
Then, the atmosphere shifts.
SONG: KASHMIR (INSTRUMENTAL) by STARSET
RENO: Oh boy… speakin’ of bossy…
Heavy, driving strings echo through the arena. Sam Tolson steps through the curtain. No posing. No wasted movement. Just a carnivore zeroing in on a meal. She marches down the ramp, a grim, knowing smile plastered across her face.
RENO: Okay this is the perfect opportunity for me to point out for the record, I am an idiot. Take nothin’ I say tonight seriously. I ain’t ever done this before. Having said that, I’m gonna give it everything I got, and that starts with calling it right down the middle! So in that spirit, lemme say this. One of these two women is a fierce, Amazonian warrior who definitely has what it takes to start the Iron Gauntlet and stand victorious at the end of the night. The other is Marisol Vilaro.
In the ring, Vilaro throws a tantrum. Stomping the canvas. Screaming at the official.
VILARO: WHO RIGGED THE LOTTERY! I WANT NAMES!
RENO: Marisol seems to be upset that Tolson drew the second slot and is handlin’ it in a totally rational manner.
The bell rings.
RENO: And HERE… WE… GO! The Iron Gauntlet has begun!
ROUND 1
00:00
Vilaro immediately changes tactics. The panic vanishes, replaced by a practiced, corporate smile. She steps to the center of the ring and extends her right hand. A peace offering. Tolson stops. She looks at the extended hand. She looks up at the stands. Thousands of thumbs turn downward.
Vilaro keeps her left hand tucked neatly behind her back. Hidden from the official. Gripping a hard plastic bottle of VilaroFit muscle spray.
RENO: (rapid-fire) The bell rings and Vilaro’s already playin’ dirty! She’s got the hand out for a shake, but I see that left arm tucked! She’s holdin’ a bottle of that snake-oil muscle spray!
Tolson reaches out. Vilaro’s eyes widen. Her left shoulder twitches, ready to bring the spray up to blind the powerhouse. Tolson lunges. Not for the hand. She dips her shoulder, accelerating instantly, and drives a blistering lariat straight across Vilaro’s jawline.
CRACK.
RENO: Tolson just separated Vilaro’s bankrupt soul from her billion dollar body!
Vilaro’s legs give out completely. She folds backward, her skull bouncing violently off the canvas. The plastic bottle slips from her grip, skittering across the ring. Tolson casually boots it under the bottom rope. The crowd roars their approval.
Tolson grabs Vilaro by the hair. Hauls her up to her feet. She hooks the neck, throws an arm over Vilaro’s waist, and hoists her up.
RENO: Flawless snap suplex! Drove Vilaro’s spine straight into the boards! That thirty-pound weight difference ain’t a statistic, it’s a death sentence! You can’t out-cardio a freight train!
Tolson doesn’t give her a second to breathe. She grabs the limp fitness guru by the waist, throwing Vilaro effortlessly across her shoulders into a fireman’s carry. Tolson marches deliberately toward the ropes. The first elimination is imminent.
Vilaro thrashes. Dead weight. She kicks her legs blindly. As Tolson leans forward to dump her over the top rope.
RENO: We’re gonna get an elimination in the first damn minute! Vilaro is dead weight! Kickin’ wildly! She reaches down and digs her nails right into Tolson’s eyes!
Tolson yells, dropping her grip to clutch her face. Vilaro slides off the shoulders. She scrambles backward, dropping to her knees, and wraps her arms and legs around the bottom rope like a vice. She buries her face against the turnbuckle pad, chest heaving, anchoring herself to the steel cable to avoid being thrown out.
RENO: Vilaro is hangin’ onto the turnbuckle like Kate Winslet pretendin’ like she actually cares if Leo survives! WHAT?! THAT LADY IS A LIAR! There was TOTALLY enough room on the—ah! sorry! (quietly) C’mon, Reno. This is ya chance. Don’t blow it! Wrestling commentator. That’s you. You can do it buddy.
Tolson blinks rapidly, clearing her vision. She stalks toward the corner, staring down at the trapped Vilaro. The arena clock flashes. The final ten seconds of the opening round. The audience takes the cue.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 2
02:00
SONG: THE GOLIATH by HEAVY IMPACT
A slow, thumping bassline rattles the arena speakers. Out steps Big Bundy. A towering mountain of meanness. He lumbers down the aisle, his heavy boots shaking the ramp.
RENO: HOLY MARY that’s a big hoss stalkin’ down to the ring. Says here he’s… seven feet of unsmilin’ mass. Did he write his own copy? Well, either way. Here he comes, descending the ramp like Goliath coming to eat a bunch of villagers.
Inside the ring, Vilaro’s eyes light up. Survival instinct takes over. The second the giant steps over the top rope, she scrambles behind him. She uses his massive frame as a shield, pointing a desperate finger over his shoulder directly at Tolson. A cowardly manager directing her monster.
RENO: Tolson doesn’t back down. She steps right up to the giant—and throws a right hand! IT DOES NOTHIN’! Bundy just… he just absorbed the strike.
Bundy retaliates with sheer, overwhelming force. He swings a meat-hook forearm down across the back of Tolson’s neck. Then another across the collarbone. Heavy. Brutal. Driving the powerhouse down to one knee.
The two-on-one assault begins. Bundy backs Tolson into the corner. He lifts a massive boot, pressing the sole straight against her windpipe. Crushing her throat against the turnbuckle pad. Tolson gags, clawing blindly at the giant’s leg. Vilaro seizes the opening. She darts out from behind Bundy, driving sharp, opportunistic knees into Tolson’s exposed ribs. Tolson slumps downward, enduring the choke and the cheap shots, looking completely isolated.
RENO: Ah here we go. Vilaro got some big redwood to come in here to help her beat down the Missouri River Amazon. This is despicable behavior! Outrageous!
Bundy steps back. He grabs Tolson by the hair, hauling her limp frame upward. He hooks her waist and thigh, muscling her up into a towering military press. He walks her toward the edge. Looking to dump her out to the floor.
RENO: Tolson enters desperation mode! She’s beating and clawing a Bundy!
Tolson shifts her weight violently, slipping out of his grip and dropping heavily onto the canvas behind him. She doesn’t hesitate. She targets the base.]
RENO: A blistering, educated kick to the back of Bundy’s left knee! Bone on tendon. Then another. And another. Violently chopping down the structural support.
The giant groans. The joint buckles. He stumbles forward, crashing chest-first into the top rope, draped over the top cable to keep from collapsing.
Tolson sees the opening. An absolute spike of adrenaline. She hits the opposite ropes, rebounding with terrifying velocity. She launches herself. A devastating running lariat straight to the base of Bundy’s skull.
RENO: Physics meets human biology! The force of that lariat punches the staggering giant forward! HE GOES OVER THE ROPES! Seven feet and t’ree fiddy pounds of DEAD WEIGHT tumbles through the air!
THUD.
RENO: Big Bundy has been eliminated!
Bundy crashes heavily onto the ringside mats. He isn’t moving. Tolson stands in the ring, chest heaving, staring down at the wreckage. Vilaro is frozen in the opposite corner in absolute shock.
ELIMINATION: BIG BUNDY by SAM TOLSON
The clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 3
04:00
SONG: HIGHER GROUND by RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS
The music hits the PA system, but the entrance tunnel remains completely empty. No movement. No shadowy figure.
RENO: Did someone fall asleep backstage? Who’s next? Ah, well Tolson doesn’t care. She just dumped a seven foot monster out of the ring. Now she’s got her attention instantly set back on the Fitness Queen.
Vilaro is trapped in the corner, her eyes darting frantically toward the empty ramp. Tolson closes the distance. She buries her shoulder deep into Vilaro’s midsection. A brutal, driving thrust against the turnbuckles. Forcing the air from the fitness guru’s lungs. Then another. And another.
Behind them, the ring skirt twitches.
Sliding out from the darkness beneath the ring is a short, squat, wildly erratic figure.
RENO: It’s… It’s… It’s… Joe Rogan???
Troll Rogan. He doesn’t stand up straight. He moves with a hunched, animalistic gait, knuckles practically grazing the canvas.
RENO: What the hell… Who the hell let him out of Austin, Texas!
Troll Rogan creeps up behind the powerhouse. Clasping both hands together, he swings them down like a hammer. A crude, primitive double-axe handle crashing across the back of Tolson’s head.
Tolson staggers forward, her vision blurring. Vilaro seizes the lifeline. She barks orders, pointing wildly at Tolson. Rogan ignores her for a split second. He is fixated on the turnbuckle pad. He lunges at it, sinking his teeth into the vinyl, violently tearing at the top corner. Vilaro slaps him on the back, screaming at him to focus.
RENO: I don’t know how much protein is in a turnbuckle padding. Someone in the back get on that. But judgin’ by the way he’s going to town on them cotton guts, it must be astronomical.
The feral podcaster turns. Together, they swarm the powerhouse. No technique. Just pure, chaotic violence. Rogan throws wild, looping haymakers that glance off Tolson’s shoulders and jaw. Vilaro targets the joints, driving sharp, desperate stomps into Tolson’s ankles and knees.
Tolson is beaten down to a crouch. Rogan dives, wrapping his thick, hairy arms around Tolson’s calves. Vilaro moves to the upper body, shoving her hands against Tolson’s chest. They heave. A frantic, uncoordinated effort to muscle the heavier woman up and over.
RENO: Tolson tips backward! She goes over the top rope! The Pretty Little Murder Machine is tumbling to the…
Her right arm shoots out blindly. She hooks the top cable tightly into her armpit.
RENO: NO! Tolson hangs on by a thread!
Her boots dangle precariously above the ringside mats. Rogan pulls at her legs. Vilaro pushes at her shoulders.
Tolson relies entirely on her core strength. She swings her left leg up. A stiff boot connects squarely with Rogan’s chest. The impact breaks his grip. He stumbles backward, grunting. Vilaro reaches over the ropes to push her again. Tolson twists, firing a desperate back elbow.
CRACK.
RENO: Vilaro just took a bionic elbow straight to the kissah! I hope Mari’s got a warranty on those veneers! Her eyes are rolled back! She staggers away! Tolson pulls herself up, sliding her boots on the ring apron!
The Missouri River Amazon quickly rolls under the bottom rope. She pushes herself to one knee. Chest rising in deep, lung-burning breaths. She clutches the back of her neck, enduring the heavy mileage of the match. Across the ring, Vilaro is frantic. She holds her jaw, screaming at a completely distracted Rogan, who is already wandering back toward his half-eaten turnbuckle pad.
RENO: Vilaro needs to start droppin’ hot takes about the health benefits of consumin’ swamp water. That’ll get Troll’s attention.
The arena lights pulse. The ten-second warning.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 4
06:00
SONG: BONESHAKER by AIRBOURNE
A snarling, high-voltage guitar riff cuts through the arena. The crowd instantly turns hostile as Mark Kelly steps through the curtain.
RENO: Now HERE is a proper villain! No pandering. No theatrical poses. Just a leather jacket and a cold, sadistic stare.
Kelly flips off a fan in the front row, his face twisting into a sneer of absolute disgust, before sliding smoothly beneath the bottom rope.
Inside the ring, the chaos shifts. Troll Rogan, operating purely on erratic instinct, abandons the battered powerhouse in the corner. He drops to a crouch and charges the newcomer like a feral dog.
Kelly doesn’t flinch. He waits for the absolute last microsecond. A fluid, effortless sidestep. As Rogan lunges past, Kelly pivots and snaps a blistering calf kick directly into the side of the podcaster’s knee. Bone on joint. The structural support collapses instantly. Rogan hits the mat with a heavy grunt.
RENO: Money Mari tries to capitalize on the blind spot. She rushes Kelly from the side, going for a cheap shot!
Kelly barely even looks at her. He drops his hips, winding up a sickening European uppercut that catches her flush under the chin.
The snap is brutal.
RENO: Vilaro’s eyes are glazed! She crumbles to the canvas! Her limbs folding beneath her like a broken doll!
In the corner, Sam Tolson uses the turnbuckle pads to drag her heavy limbs upward. Chest heaving. Sweat stinging her eyes. She locks eyes with the Australian. Kelly stares back. A cold, unspoken tension hangs in the air.
RENO: This ain’t no alliance. Just a mutual understanding that the numbers? They’re even. And in the Iron Gauntlet, everyone is a target.
Rogan scrambles up. He clutches his compromised leg, gnashing his teeth, completely oblivious to his surroundings. He charges Kelly again, throwing a wild, looping hook.
Kelly ducks underneath the strike. He grabs a fistful of Rogan’s tights and the scruff of his neck. He doesn’t lift him. He simply uses the troll’s own chaotic, forward momentum against him. A vicious, guided heave.
RENO: Rogan goes airborne! He clears the top rope! Arms flailing! And crashes VIOLENTLY into the barricade on the outside in a whole other ZIP CODE!
ELIMINATION: TROLL ROGAN by MARK KELLY
Kelly smirks. A sadistic curve of the lip. He cracks his neck, turning his killer focus toward the center of the ring. Tolson steps out of the corner, rolling her aching shoulders, her breathing labored but her fists clenched.
Between them sits Marisol Vilaro.
RENO: Ah, looks like Money Mari is about to get bounced like a bad check.
The fitness guru scrambles backward on her hands and knees. She looks at the powerhouse Tolson. She looks at the sadistic Kelly. She throws her hands up in front of her face, crying out, a pathetic, plastic plea for sympathy. Her stalkers just close the distance.
RENO: The arena clock flashes red! The audience feels the impending violence.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 5
08:00
SONG: IT GIRL by ALIYAH’S INTERLUDE
The upbeat pop track hits the arena speakers, but there is no time for a grand, cinematic entrance.
RENO: Taylor Landry is sprinting out the curtain. An absolute blur of motion! That’s gonna help tip the scales back in Vilaro’s favor as another member of VilaroFIT comes rushing down the ramp, trailed by her bodyguard Amethyst Caldwell.
Caldwell stops at the barricade, barking encouragement, while Landry slides smoothly under the bottom rope like a heat-seeking missile.
Tolson is standing near the center of the ring, her chest heaving, eyes locked on the entrance ramp trying to track the new threat. She loses her spatial awareness for a fraction of a second.
Landry capitalizes. She pops up behind the powerhouse. A sudden, explosive leap. She grabs the back of Tolson’s head and drives both knees squarely into the lumbar spine.
KNIFE IN THE BACK (Backstabber)!
RENO: The impact forces Tolson to violently arch backward before crumbling face-first into the canvas! HOLY MARY! LISTEN TO OL’ RENNY! I THINK I CAN DO THIS!
Across the ring, Mark Kelly sees his opening. Vilaro is backed against the ropes, gasping for air, seemingly isolated. The Australian sadist charges. He drops his center of gravity, winding up for a brutal running European uppercut to take her head off.
Vilaro doesn’t try to out-wrestle him. She only wants to survive. As Kelly closes the distance, she abruptly drops to one knee and drives her shin viciously upward, straight between Kelly’s legs.
RENO: OH, RIGHT IN MARK’S KELLIES!
A collective, sickening groan echoes through the New Orleans crowd.
Kelly’s eyes bulge. The absolute shock to his nervous system shuts his body down. He collapses to his knees, gasping for air, clutching his groin as his forehead rests against the middle turnbuckle. The hunter instantly neutralized by the cheapest shot in the playbook.
With Kelly incapacitated, Vilaro scrambles to her feet. She points at Tolson. Landry is already on it, dragging the powerhouse up by her sweat-soaked hair. The alliance is unspoken but incredibly efficient.
RENO: Landry steps back, creating an angle, and fires off a blistering step-up enzuigiri!
The boot connects flush with Tolson’s temple. Tolson’s legs turn to jelly, but before she can fall, Vilaro hooks her around the neck. A sharp, sweeping Russian Leg Sweep, modified to drive Tolson’s face and chest violently into the mat.
VilaroFIT doesn’t waste a second. They grab Tolson by the shoulders and the tights, dragging her dead weight toward the ropes. They heave, trying to muscle the heavier woman up and over the top cable.
Tolson’s upper body pitches over the edge. Her arms flail. Operating purely on muscle memory and survival instinct, she kicks her heavy boots up and hooks her legs securely around the middle rope. An anchor point. She hangs precariously over the apron, refusing to budge as Landry and Vilaro shove frantically at her shoulders.
Frustrated, the fitness guru and the California native abandon the heave and just start raining heavy, spiteful stomps down on Tolson’s trapped upper body.
RENO: Tolson has managed to weather the storm but across the ring? Things are turning ugly. Kelly is using the turnbuckles to drag himself up. His face is beat red. That sadistic smirk? Evaporated in the heat of absolute, murderous rage.
And Kelly is staring a hole straight through the back of Marisol Vilaro’s head.
The arena lights pulse. The countdown clock takes over the screen.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 6
10:00
SONG: YOUR IDOL (ANNAPANTSU COVER) by KPOP DEMON HUNTERS
Pyre starts forward. A heavy, stalking gait. The chain drags against the steel ramp, sparking in the dim light.
RENO: Representing the Black Rainbow, here comes Selene Pyre! Now, technically you are NOT allowed to bring weapons inside the over-the-top-rope portion of the Iron Gauntlet. After all, there are safety concerns. I don’t know if everyone in the ring is up-to-date on their tetanus booster. Me? I get it once a year. Just to be safe.
Pyre reaches ringside, dragging her fingers along the apron, marking the territory, before uncoiling the chain and letting it drop to the floor in a heavy clatter. She slips smoothly under the bottom rope.
The numbers game is already critical. Vilaro and Landry have Tolson trapped against the ropes. They are straining, trying to muscle the powerhouse’s dead weight over the top cable.
Pyre does not break stride. She zeroes in on the target. She steps into the fray, chambering her leg, and unleashes a brutal, high-angle Yakuza kick straight into Tolson’s sternum.
RENO: BAM! Tolson’s lungs just deflated like a cheap air mattress!
The trio swarms. Vilaro, Landry, and Pyre unleash a coordinated barrage. Sharp forearms. Spiteful stomps. Pyre targets the joints, seeking to inflict maximum pain, while Vilaro and Landry batter the upper body. The sheer volume of the assault finally brings the Missouri River Amazon crashing down to one knee.
RENO: Now it’s three-on-one! They’re swarmin’ the powerhouse like seagulls on a dropped french fry at Revere Beach! This is just a muggin’!
They are entirely focused on the kill. They don’t see the threat rising behind them.
Mark Kelly is finally on his feet. The Australian Ace leans against the turnbuckles, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with absolute malice. He doesn’t want to save Tolson. He just wants to break bodies.
RENO: (voice rising) Wait a minute, look who’s up! The Aussie is awake and he is lookin’ for blood!
Kelly sprints out of the corner. Taylor Landry senses the movement and—
RENO: Landry turns around!
It is too late. Kelly launches himself off one foot, his knee snapping forward with terrifying velocity.
SUCH IS LIFE (Bicycle Knee Strike)!
CRACK.
RENO: SWEET FEATHERY JESUS! Kelly just drove his knee straight through Landry’s frontal lobe!
The sound of bone on cartilage echoes through the arena. The impact is catastrophic. Landry’s eyes roll back instantly. Her legs give out, and she folds into a heap on the canvas, absolute dead weight, unconscious before she hits the mat.
RENO: She is sleepin’ before she even hit the deck! Somebody check her for a pulse!
Vilaro spins around, the corporate smile vanishing, replaced by sheer panic as she sees her ally destroyed. Kelly doesn’t give her a microsecond to process it. He slips smoothly behind the Fitness Queen. He hooks his arm tightly around her neck in a reverse headlock. He drops his hips violently, pulling her backward.
SOUTHERN CROSS DROP (Scorpion Death Drop)!
Vilaro’s skull bounces sickeningly off the canvas. She arches in agony, clutching the back of her head, completely neutralized.
RENO: That’s what you get for kickin’ a man in the Kellies, Mari! The bill always comes due!
Across the ring, the alliance has fractured. Selene Pyre, operating purely on chaotic instinct, abandons the downed Tolson and lunges wildly at the powerhouse.
Tolson is battered, bleeding slightly from the mouth, but she operates on pure, unadulterated muscle. She catches the charging Pyre mid-stride. She wraps her heavy arms around the smaller woman’s waist, arches her back, and throws. A massive, overhead belly-to-belly suplex.
RENO: Belly-to-belly! Launched her across the ring like a tossed caber! Pyre’s spine just got realigned the hard way!
The ring is a wasteland of broken bodies. Landry is out cold in the center. Vilaro is writhing near the ropes. Pyre is gasping for air on the mat.
Tolson pushes herself up, wiping a streak of blood from her chin. She turns.
Mark Kelly is standing there. Waiting. He cracks his neck, a sadistic, chilling grin spreading across his face. He stares at the powerhouse. The air sucks out of the arena. Two warriors, waiting for the other to flinch.
RENO: (breathing heavy) Look at this… bodies everywhere. Landry is dead to the world. Vilaro is seein’ double. And we got the Amazon and the Aussie Psycho lockin’ eyes in the middle of the wreckage. No friends in the Gauntlet!
The arena clock flashes red. The countdown begins.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 7
12:00
SONG: GHOST by BAYONETTA 3 SOUNDTRACK
The arena erupts as the heavy, droning guitars hit the sound system. Helen Beck steps out. No pageantry. No wasted motion. Just a fast, entirely controlled march down the ramp. She slides perfectly under the bottom rope and instantly goes to work.
RENO: (rapid-fire) Here comes Helen Beck! No posin’ for the cameras, she slides in like a shark smellin’ chum!
A methodical predator. She targets the biggest threats in the ring immediately. Tolson is staggering. Helen snaps a stiff forearm shiver right under the powerhouse’s jaw. She pivots. Mark Kelly lunges. She cracks the Australian straight in the mouth with a sharp back elbow.
RENO: She is movin’ like a buzzsaw in a lumber yard!
Helen alternates strikes, keeping both opponents entirely off balance.
Kelly finally absorbs a heavy kick to the ribs. He snarls. Absolute malice. He drops his hips and launches forward off half a step, aiming his devastating knee strike squarely at Helen’s skull.
RENO: (pitch rising) The Aussie is sick of it! He winds up!
SUCH IS LIFE (Bicycle Knee Strike)!
Helen reads it. She drops to the canvas and rolls smoothly underneath the strike. Kelly’s momentum carries him forward. He can’t stop. The force of the knee connects flush with the jaw of Sam Tolson.
CRACK.
RENO: OH MY GAWD! HE JUST TOOK TOLSON’S HEAD COMPLETELY OFF HER SHOULDERS! Helen slipped out the back door and Kelly just caught the Amazon flush! She folded up like a cheap card table! She is out cold!
Kelly looks down at the prone powerhouse. He just shrugs, a callous, uncaring gesture. He spins around to reacquire his target—just in time to see Helen Beck launching a high thrust kick right at his face. Kelly ducks. He rolls frantically beneath the boot.
RENO: Helen goes for the boot—misses!
As Helen’s leg sails through empty air, Selene Pyre blindsides her. The Greek native tackles Helen violently into the turnbuckles, unloading a barrage of heavy, aggressive strikes to keep the newcomer pinned.
Across the ring, survival instinct takes over. Vilaro crawls frantically over to a recovering Taylor Landry. Reaching blindly into Landry’s waistband, Vilaro produces a hidden bottle of muscle spray to replace the one she lost earlier. Kelly cracks his neck. He stalks toward the two women, looking for the kill.
RENO: Wait a minute, look at Money Mari! She’s diggin’ into Landry’s waistband! She smuggled in a backup bottle of that chemical garbage!
Vilaro raises the bottle. She presses the nozzle. A cloud of chemicals sprays directly into Kelly’s eyes.
RENO: Right in the corneas! Kelly is blind!
The Australian shrieks. He stumbles backward, clawing blindly at his face, his vision completely compromised. Vilaro pounces. Landry, fighting on unsteady legs, joins her. They shove the blinded Kelly backward against the ropes.
Seeing the opportunity, Selene abandons Helen in the corner. She rushes across the ring. The three women lock their hands onto Kelly’s waist and legs. A unified heave. They force the heavy, blinded sadist up, tipping his center of gravity over the top rope. He tumbles out, crashing violently to the floor.
ELIMINATION: MARK KELLY by MARISOL VILARO, TAYLOR LANDRY, & SELENE PYRE
RENO: The unholy trinity of Corporate Fitness and Black Rainbow is firmly in control of this match!
Vilaro, Landry, and Pyre turn inward. They nod to one another. The alliance holds. But they took their eyes off Helen Beck. Helen steps out of the corner. The numbers game instantly catches up to her. Vilaro, Landry, and Pyre swarm. A vicious, three-on-one beatdown. They drive Helen Beck into the turnbuckles, taking turns battering her with spiteful stomps and forearms.
RENO: It’s a three-on-one muggin’ in the corner!
Total corporate control. In the center of the ring, Sam Tolson remains completely motionless.
The buzzer warns the crowd.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 8
14:00
With Mark Kelly gone and Helen Beck temporarily neutralized in the corner, Marisol Vilaro barks orders. She points directly at the motionless body of Sam Tolson. The bad blood between them runs deep. She wants the powerhouse gone. Landry and Pyre move in, grabbing Tolson by the heavy limbs, smelling blood in the water.
SONG: KARATE by BABYMETAL
A frantic riff floods the auditorium. Ryujin sprints down the ramp and hits the ring at maximum velocity, sliding under the bottom rope and launching herself like a bowling ball into the corporate trio. A rapid-fire flurry of forearms backs Pyre up. Ryujin hits the ropes, rebounding with explosive speed to deliver a sharp double-dropkick that scatters Vilaro and Landry across the canvas.
RENO: It’s total chaos! Ryujin pops up, riding the adrenaline! She hits the ropes again to keep the momentum going… until Helen Beck steps directly into her path!
Ryujin runs right into a vicious, blunt knee strike to the sternum. The impact folds the high-flyer in half. Helen doesn’t hesitate. A cold, calculating executioner. She follows up with a surgical sequence of heavy elbows and a stiff kick to the temple. Ryujin goes completely limp.
RENO: Helen grabs Ryu by the hair and drags her to the edge! RYUJIN GETS UNCEREMONIOUSLY DUMPED OVER THE TOP ROPE!
ELIMINATION: RYUJIN by HELEN BECK
The sudden burst of speed and violence provided a crucial window. Across the ring, Sam Tolson shakes her head violently, clearing the cobwebs from Kelly’s knee strike. Selene Pyre turns back toward her target.
RENO: Tolson explodes upward! Pure instinct! Unadulterated power!
Before Pyre can throw a strike, Tolson clamps her arms around the Greek native’s waist. She bridges violently backward. A massive release belly-to-belly suplex.
RENO: Pyre goes airborne!
ELIMINATION: SELENE PYRE by SAM TOLSON
Tolson is seeing red. Taylor Landry stumbles to her feet. Tolson grabs her. Same hold. Same violent arch. She launches the California native overhead. Landry flies backward over the top rope, destined for the concrete.
But she doesn’t hit the floor!
Amethyst Caldwell is there. The massive bodyguard braces herself and catches Landry squarely in her arms.
RENO: Amethyst Caldwell with the save! She just… she just caught Landry squarely in her arms like Kevin Costner!
Caldwell quickly deposits the dazed Landry onto the ring apron. Landry scrambles frantically underneath the bottom rope, gasping for air, sliding back into the ring just in time.
RENO: The VilaroFIT numbers advantage is completely shattered. Vilaro and Landry scramble into a corner, their eyes wide with panic!
Across the ring, Helen Beck stands near the ropes, her breathing steady and controlled. In the center, Sam Tolson is back on her feet. A thin stream of blood runs from her mouth. She paces the canvas, a furious, wounded animal waiting for the next threat.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 9
16:00
SONG: MANIAC by MICHAEL SEMBELLO
The heavy synthesizer beat hits the PA system. The New Orleans crowd erupts. Gina Neon bursts through the curtain, a sudden streak of hot pink and lime green against the gritty reality of the gauntlet. She charges down the ramp, a blur of pure energy.
RENO: Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Someone blew up the highlighter factory! It’s Gina Neon sprintin’ to the ring! I LOVE Gina’s nickname. THE WINNAAAAH!
Before Gina even reaches the ringside mats, the ring remains a warzone. Sam Tolson operates on sheer malice and heavy exhaustion. She grabs a staggering Taylor Landry around the waist. A guttural yell echoes off the canvas. Tolson deadlifts the California native, arches her back violently, and launches her blindly over the top rope with a massive release belly-to-belly suplex.
Landry crashes in a heavy heap on the floor.
ELIMINATION: TAYLOR LANDRY by SAM TOLSON
RENO: Tolson gets a little payback for the earlier beatdown. She just dropped Landry to the floor like a sack of Vilaro-branded potatoes! And this time, her bodyguard wasn’t in position to make the save. Gravity’s a cruel mistress, Landry!
Across the ring, Helen Beck has a panicked Marisol Vilaro cornered. Beck steps in, chambering a heavy strike for the kill. Vilaro is desperate. She raises her hidden bottle of Rejuvenate spray and blasts a cloud of chemicals directly into Beck’s eyes.
Unlike Mark Kelly, Helen Beck doesn’t flail. Pure survival ring IQ kicks in. She drops immediately to her knees, rolling smoothly under the bottom rope to safety. Blinded, she stumbles toward the barricade, feeling her way to the announce desk. Reno Nevada is shouting into his headset.
Beck ignores him. She snatches his open water bottle right off the desk and violently douses her own face, desperately flushing the chemicals from her eyes.
RENO: HEY! THAT’S MINE! That’s pure quality Dasani and you’re wastin’ it! My throat gets dry when I talk a lot!
Inside the ring, Vilaro turns around. A smug, self-satisfied smile spreads across her face.
It vanishes instantly. Gina Neon hits the ring. Completely fresh. She drops Vilaro with a rapid-fire sequence of leaping clotheslines.
RENO: Money Mari thought she was clear, but here comes the neon blur! Clothesline! Another clothesline! Vilaro’s head is spinnin’ faster than a roulette wheel!
Vilaro scrambles frantically backward. She raises the spray bottle again, threatening to blind the newcomer. Gina doesn’t hesitate. A precision kick snaps upward, knocking the hard plastic bottle cleanly out of Vilaro’s grip. It skitters away across the canvas.
RENO: Not this time! Neon kicks that snake-oil right into the cheap seats!
Defenseless. Vilaro drops to her knees, waving her hands, begging for mercy. Gina hits the ropes, building maximum momentum. She rebounds, screaming, NEON POWERRR! at the top of her lungs.
NEON KICK (Running Kick)!
The boot connects flush against Vilaro’s sternum. The impact lifts the Fitness Queen entirely off her feet. She pitches backward, tumbling clumsily over the top cable and thudding hard against the floor.
RENO: (voice rising) Right in the sternum! Vilaro just got evicted from her own real estate! Over the top she goes! See ya at the country club, Mari!
ELIMINATION: MARISOL VILARO by GINA NEON
Marisol Vilaro jumps to her feet and proceeds to throw a billion dollar temper tantrum. She shoves referees. Screams at fans at ringside.
VILARO: I AM GOING TO SUE ALL OF YOU!
She stared right at Reno.
RENO: ME?! What did I do?!
The officials work to remove Vilaro from ringside. Meanwhile inside the ropes, Gina throws a high-energy pose for the cheering crowd. In the nearest corner, Sam Tolson leans against the turnbuckles. She wipes a smear of blood from her split lip, staring absolute holes through the energetic Neon. On the outside, Helen Beck leans against the apron, furiously blinking the water and stinging chemicals from her eyes.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 10
18:00
SONG: BUILT TO LAST by TWISTED F8
The heavy, grinding nu-metal riff hits the arena. The lights pulse red. Bia steps onto the stage. No rush. Just a slow, menacing march. The West Australian War Goddess brings an immediate, brutalist energy to the arena, her eyes locked on the squared circle.
Inside the ropes, both Sam Tolson and Gina Neon make a fatal error. They stop moving. They watch the ramp, momentarily distracted by the arriving powerhouse.
Helen Beck does not make that mistake.
RENO: (rapid-fire) Rule number one of a bar fight, ya never watch the front door! You watch the room! Beck ain’t stargazin’! She’s slidin’ right back in!
Her face still dripping with water from the announce desk, Beck slides silently under the bottom rope. She stalks Neon from behind. No wasted motion. She hooks the energetic neon-clad wrestler, hoisting her up and driving her face-first into the canvas with terrifying precision.
EMOTIONAL DAMAGE (Paulverizer)!
Neon bounces off the mat, completely folded, her relentless energy snuffed out in an instant.
RENO: Planted her straight into the dirt! She is folded up like a cheap roadmap!
The heavy thud makes Tolson spin around. Operating on pure instinct, she raises a forearm just in time to block a surgical, incoming strike from Beck.
But the distraction is all Bia needs.
The War Goddess hits the ring and instantly brings a heavy double-axe handle down across the back of Tolson’s neck. A sickening thud echoes off the canvas. Tolson is rocked, her knees buckling. Beck and Bia trap the Missouri River Amazon in the corner. Heavy blows. Spiteful stomps. A brutal two-on-one mugging that threatens to break the exhausted powerhouse.
RENO: Bia enters the chat with a meat cleaver to the spine! They got the Amazon trapped in the corner! This ain’t wrestling, it’s a beatdown!
Tolson is mouth-bloodied, bruised, and running entirely on fumes, but she refuses to die quietly. She swings wildly out of the corner. A blistering European uppercut catches Beck flush on the jaw. The impact sends the woman stumbling away to the opposite side of the ring.
Bia steps in, throwing a massive haymaker.
RENO: Tolson’s running on absolute fumes but she’s swinging heavy! Uppercut connects! Headbutt connects like her skull is made of solid Missouri granite!
Bia staggers backward, momentarily stunned. Tolson sees her window. She steps in, clamps her thick arms around Bia’s waist, and heaves. Operating on pure muscle memory, Tolson launches the Western Australian powerhouse overhead with a massive belly-to-belly suplex, aiming straight for the outside.
But Bia doesn’t fall.
RENO: Tolson goes for the home run! Heaves her over the top—but Bia grabs the cable! She’s hangin’ onto the apron!
Showing terrifying body control, Bia reaches out blindly and catches the top rope mid-air. The grip halts her momentum entirely. She lands boots-first on the ring apron, a heavy thud against the edge of the ring.
Inside the ring, Tolson doesn’t see the survival. The Amazon roars, slamming a taped fist against her own chest, believing she just scored another massive elimination.
RENO: (frantic) Turn around! Turn around, Sam! She ain’t gone! You’re celebratin’ a ghost!
Bia ducks between the top and middle ropes. She strikes from behind, scooping the exhausted Tolson up smoothly into a fireman’s carry. The crowd gasps. Bia turns, locking eyes dead on the hard camera with a cold, blank stare.
She twists violently.
THE MAELSTROM (Fireman’s Carry Facebuster)!
RENO: (pitch rising) Bia scoops her up! Dead to rights! OH MAH GAWD!!!
The rotational force is catastrophic. It doesn’t just drive Tolson into the mat—it launches the battered iron woman completely over the top rope. Tolson’s heavy frame pitches forward, falling awkwardly and crashing face-first against the ringside mats. She does not move.
ELIMINATION: SAM TOLSON by BIA
RENO: SHE JUST ROTATED THE AMAZON RIGHT OUT OF THE GUEST HOUSE AND ONTO THE LAWN!
The air is sucked out of the stunned New Orleans crowd. Sam Tolson survived over eighteen brutal minutes, only to be tossed out by a fresh, enraged Bia.
RENO: Eighteen minutes! Tolson carried this whole damn match on her back, she racked up the miles, but what have we learned tonight? Aussies don’t play. And the War Goddess came in with a tank full of guzzoline, ready to ride eternal, shiny and chrome!
The War Goddess stands tall in the center of the ring, rolling her heavy shoulders, completely unfazed. In the corner, Helen Beck is clutching her jaw, watching the new threat with cold, calculated eyes. On the canvas, Gina Neon twitches, completely out cold.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 11
20:00
SONG: WALKING ON SUNSHINE by KATRINA & THE WAVES
The buzzer blares, and the music hits. It is a hyper-pop melody that drills into the brain. Puppy Pie sprints down the ramp. She is erratic, ears twitching, an angry sway to her tail, charging straight into the warzone.
RENO: Oh, for the love of… we got broken bodies everywhere and here comes Puppy Pie skippin’ down the ramp like a mascot at a minor league baseball game! Read the room, kid! No one ordered sparkles or glitter! This is a wrestling match! Not a gawd damn Build-a-Bear!
She slides under the bottom rope, entirely ignoring the bodies and the tension. She marches directly up to the towering Western Australian War Goddess.
Pie doesn’t throw a punch. She doesn’t throw a kick. She just jabs a single, trembling finger aggressively into Bia’s chest.
PIE: Who the PUP do you think you are, huh? You… you… you Tree weasel!
RENO: She’s jabbin’ a finger at the War Goddess! That’s like poking a nightclub bouncer with a cocktail sword!
Bia looks down at the finger pressed against her sternum. She slowly raises her gaze, locking her cold, deadpan eyes onto Pie. The expression doesn’t shift a millimeter.
Without a word, Bia reaches out. She grabs Pie by the back of the neck and a fistful of her waistband. One smooth motion. A single, violently dismissive heave.
RENO: Pie is flyin’ back to the pound! That’s gotta be the shortest shift in Gauntlet history!
Puppy Pie tumbles through the air, crashing onto the ringside mats like a discarded plushy. A five-second appearance.
ELIMINATION: PUPPY PIE by BIA
Across the canvas, Helen Beck is already exploiting the distraction. Gina Neon is trying desperately to crawl to her feet, gasping for air. Beck doesn’t let her breathe. She grabs the neon-clad wrestler by the back of her head, dragging her violently backward, dropping to her knees, and driving both boots straight down into Neon’s face.
WITCH KICK (Inverted Stomp Facebreaker)!
RENO: Beck drives both boots right through Neon’s sinuses! You take a shot like that, your nose cartilage is gonna be parked in the back of your throat!
Neon collapses into the bottom turnbuckle. Her eyes are glassy. The vibrant energy is completely snuffed out. She is a crumpled, neutralized heap.
The ring goes quiet.
RENO: Neon is completely out cold!
Beck turns slowly. Bia turns.
RENO: (voice dropping, serious) Look at this. The two executioners. No trash talk. No poses. Just two killers locatin’ the target.
The two executioners lock eyes across the center of the ring. No posturing. No words exchanged. They simply step forward and collide.
RENO: And here we go! It’s a straight-up hockey fight in the center of the ring! Forearms! Elbows! Bia is tryin’ to lean on her like a heavy barroom regular, but Beck is slippin’ punches and tenderizin’ those ribs! This is just ugly, violent survival!
Bia tries to use her sheer mass to overpower Beck, backing her up with brute force. Beck refuses to be bullied. She slips a wild hook, dropping her hips, and targets Bia’s exposed ribs with stiff, agonizing knee strikes.
They hit the ropes, a violent, tangled mess. Neither giving an inch.
Neon remains unmoving in the corner. Beck and Bia are locked in a vicious collar-and-elbow tie-up, jockeying desperately for leverage, straining against the heavy cables.
The arena clock flashes red.
RENO: They are tangled up in the cables! Neither one is givin’ an inch! And listen to the crowd! The clock is flashing! Who is stupid enough to walk into the gauntlet next?!
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 12
22:00
SONG: SIN AFTER SIN by ALTER BRIDGE
The buzzer sounds. The arena lights flicker to an ominous, bleeding red. A haunting, heavy riff bleeds through the speakers. Uncle Sinister emerges from the tunnel.
RENO: Six-foot-five. Two-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds of pure psychological terror! I can sense the jealousy of my sleep paralysis demon as Uncle Sinister marches down the ramp.
Inside the ropes, the war ignores the spectacle. Helen Beck has Bia trapped against the cables. Heavy forearm. Another. A third, blistering shot to the jaw spins the War Goddess completely around.
She spins directly into the path of the nightmare.
Sinister is already there. A brutal boot to Bia’s midsection doubles her over. He hooks her waist. A man his size shouldn’t move like this. He flips forward with unnatural agility, spiking Bia squarely into the canvas.
DEVIL DESTROYER (Canadian Destroyer)!
RENO: Bia’s neck crunches awkwardly! She goes completely limp! Dead weight on the mat!
Sinister fires to his feet. The New Orleans crowd erupts into a deafening roar of shock and hostility. He doesn’t get a microsecond to celebrate. Helen Beck doesn’t care about monsters. She attacks.
Surgical, cutting elbows from Beck. Sinister absorbs them. He returns heavy, clubbing blows that rattle Beck’s jaw. An ugly, violent brawl. Beck tries to outmaneuver the giant, snapping a stiff kick directly to his knee.
RENO: Helen Beck stares into the abyss and starts throwin’ elbows like she’s trying to clear out a crowded pub on St. Paddy’s!
But Sinister barely flinches. He lunges through the strike, his massive hand shooting out to grab Beck by the throat.
He violently forces his fingers into her mouth.
RENO: MANDIBLE CLAW!
He digs deep into the soft tissue under her tongue, applying agonizing downward pressure. Beck’s eyes go wide. She gags. Clawing desperately at his thick forearm. Her knees buckle as she begins to suffocate.
RENO: Sinister is trying to perform a tonsillectomy the hard way. Meanwhile, Gina Neon has dragged herself back into the land of the livin’!
The neon-clad Winnah locks her eyes on the torture session in the middle of the ring. There is no hesitation.
RENO: Neon jumps on Sinister’s back like a rapid spider monkey! She’s throwin’ hands, tryin’ to save Beck!
With her legs wrapped tightly around Sinister’s torso, Neon begins furiously hammering her fists into the side of his masked head to break the hold.
Sinister drops Beck. She rolls away across the mat, coughing violently, clutching her throat.
Ignoring the punches, Sinister stands straight up, carrying Neon’s weight effortlessly. He pivots. A violent, rapid spin.
The centrifugal force rips Neon’s grip loose. She goes flying off his back, crashing hard against the ropes. As Neon bounces off the cables, Sinister steps directly into her path. He unloads a sickening, full-force clothesline.
RENO: Sinister just knocked Gina Neon out of her Keds the same way he knocked her right over the top rope! Down she goes, smacking hard on the ringside floor!
ELIMINATION: GINA NEON by UNCLE SINISTER
RENO: Gina Neon fought like a maniac for nearly eight minutes! She might be leavin’ disappointed to have come up short in the Iron Gauntlet, but someone tell her Reno owes her one for kicking out that billion dollar brat Marisol Vilaro! And I wouldn’t be shocked if we see those two back in the ring again under less chaotic terms.
Gina Neon’s bright colors are a crumpled mess on the outside. Inside the ring, Helen Beck is on her hands and knees, clutching her throat and gasping for air. Bia remains unmoving from the Destroyer. In the center of the ring, Uncle Sinister slowly tilts his head, surveying the carnage.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 13
24:00
SONG: RISEN by SEVENDUST
The buzzer blares. The heavy, driving rhythm of Risen hits the PA system. Evan Carmine ignores the crowd entirely. He sprints directly into the warzone, sliding cleanly under the bottom rope with athletic precision.
RENO: CARMINE FLIES LIKE A BULLET TO THE RING. Like he’s on a mission!
Uncle Sinister is standing tall, slowly turning from his destruction of Neon and Beck. Carmine doesn’t hesitate. He blindsides the six-foot-five nightmare with a blistering running forearm straight to the back of the neck.
RENO: Carmine clocks the monster straight in the brainstem! These are prison rules in PCW! First day, you walk right up to the biggest, baddest dude in the yard and give ‘em the ol’ Right There Fred!
Sinister staggers forward, caught completely off guard. Carmine presses the advantage instantly. He utilizes sharp, calculated strikes, snapping stiff kicks into the back of the giant’s knees to violently chop away at his base.
RENO: You don’t swing high at a guy the size of a 747! You cut off his landing gear!
Sinister snarls. He swings a massive, wild clothesline. Carmine ducks underneath the heavy arm effortlessly. He hits the ropes to build maximum velocity and launches himself forward. A sickening running knee strike catches Sinister flush.
The 235-pound monster finally drops to one knee, dazed. Carmine stays locked in. He grabs Sinister in a tight front facelock, hooks the thick arm, and muscles the giant up and over.
RENO: Beautiful snap suplex! That pure evil spine just met the canvas the same way a piano hits a sidewalk! In pieces!
The ring is a divided battlefield. While Carmine keeps the pressure on the giant in the center of the canvas, the veterans are simply surviving on the perimeter. Helen Beck is slumped against the bottom turnbuckle, hacking violently and clutching her bruised throat. Diagonally across from her, Bia is just beginning to drag her heavy limbs up the ropes, her neck severely compromised from the brutal Destroyer minutes earlier.
RENO: Carmine is a house of fire, but look at the veterans on the outside edges! Beck is coughin’ up a lung in the corner from that Mandible Claw, and Bia is movin’ like a car with a bent axle! Her neck might be completely shot!
Carmine rolls his shoulders, staring a hole through the recovering Uncle Sinister. He is completely fresh. Completely focused. Beck and Bia remain cornered and gasping for oxygen.
The arena clock flashes red. The ten-second countdown takes over.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 14
26:00
SONG: BORN TO RULE by VO WILLIAMS & UNSECRET
The buzzer sounds. The heavy, building intro of Born to Rule echoes through the Municipal Auditorium. The house lights dim just enough to change the atmosphere.
RENO: Oh. Mah. GAWD! Is it?! IS IT?!
Inside the ropes, Bia is dragging her heavy limbs up using the turnbuckles. She hears the opening notes. She freezes. The War Goddess abandons her corner, turning slowly toward the entrance ramp.
RENO: IT’S THE PWE CHAMPION! ALEKI KEKOA!!!!!
Kekoa marches down the ramp like he’s attending his own coronation. Bia stares, wide-eyed and snarling. The bitter, violent history from Prestige Wrestling Empire instantly overrides the reality of the gauntlet.
Aleki Kekoa steps through the ropes. No rush. Just a slow, measured march to the center of the canvas.
Bia meets him there. A heavy, absolute standoff.
The New Orleans crowd buzzes, recognizing the deeply personal bad blood. No posturing. No words. They simply collide. Heavy, clubbing forearms from Bia. Stiff, loaded strikes from Aleki. It isn’t a wrestling match anymore. It is a bitter, ugly fight for survival.
RENO: This is like runnin’ into your ex at the local dive bar! The rest of the Gauntlet doesn’t even exist to them right now! They are just tradin’ heavy leather in the center of the ring!
In the background, the athletic Evan Carmine is still pressing his advantage against a staggered Uncle Sinister.
Helen Beck watches from the opposite corner. Her breathing is steady. She sees the opening.
Beck abandons the turnbuckles, slipping silently behind Carmine. A surgical, driving knee into the small of Carmine’s back completely kills his forward momentum.
RENO: Beck is playin’ chess while these palookas are playin’ checkers! She slips right into the blind spot! Knee to the lumbar! She just turned his lower half to jelly!
Sinister snaps his massive hand around Carmine’s throat. Beck grabs the striker by the waistband. An unspoken, momentary pact of convenience. Together, Beck and the monster hoist Carmine’s dead weight up and launch him violently over the top rope.
RENO: Sinister grabs the throat! Beck grabs the belt! Heave-ho! They just tossed Carmine out with the Sunday trash!
Carmine tumbles out, crashing heavily against the ringside barricade.
ELIMINATION: EVAN CARMINE by HELEN BECK & UNCLE SINISTER!
Beck doesn’t even watch him fall. She immediately pivots, snapping a vicious back elbow flush against Sinister’s jaw, rattling the giant and backing him up.
RENO: And the partnership expires in three, two, one—BAM! Beck cracks him right in the jaw! There’s absolutely zero honor among thieves in this match!
Helen Beck goes right back to the hunt, circling a furious Uncle Sinister. In the center of the ring, Aleki and Bia completely ignore the elimination, locked in a violent clinch, tearing blindly at each other.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 15
28:00
In the center of the ring, Aleki Kekoa is systematically dismantling the War Goddess. Heavy, loaded right hands back Bia against the ropes. A blistering forearm to the temple drops her to her knees.
SONG: LIVING DEAD GIRL by ROB ZOMBIE
The buzzer blares and the heavy industrial beat hits.
RENO: Aleki is throwin’ absolute ham-hocks at Bia! Dropped her right to her knees! But the buzzer sounds and… oh boy! Someone left the Gates of Hell unlocked! Angel to some, demon to others—here comes Lamashtu!!!
Lamashtu sprints down the aisle. No slow, theatrical walk. Just a terrifying, erratic sprint. She slides under the bottom rope, ignoring the perimeter fights entirely.
Aleki stands over Bia, breathing heavily. He doesn’t see the blur of motion behind him.
Lamashtu leaps. She completely bypasses a wrestling hold, wrapping her legs around Aleki’s waist and locking her arms around his throat. She drops her jaw and violently sinks her teeth straight into the thick muscle of Aleki’s trapezius.
RENO: Watch your six, Aleki! She jumps on his back—wait, what is she doin’?! She just took a chunk out of his neck! She’s bitin’ him like a rabid stray dog behind a butcher shop!
Aleki roars. A guttural sound of pure shock and agony. He stumbles blindly toward the ropes, clawing frantically at the woman on his back. Blood draws instantly. Aleki thrashes wildly. He whips his massive torso to the left, then violently to the right. Pure, desperate centrifugal force.
RENO: Aleki is bleedin’! He’s thrashin’ around tryin’ to shake off a monster!
The sheer power breaks Lamashtu’s grip. She is dislodged. She flies blindly off Aleki’s back, pitching violently over the top rope. She crashes hard into the barricade, her feral shrieks echoing through the arena.
ELIMINATION: LAMASHTU by ALEKI KEKOA
RENO: Lamashtu goes flyin’ over the ropes and splatters against the barricade! Good riddance. Now someone have a rabies shot on standby for Aleki.
Aleki leans against the ropes, clutching his bleeding shoulder. Across the ring, Bia shakes off the damage. The tunnel vision returns. She sees her bitter rival vulnerable. Bia pushes off the mat and charges full speed at Aleki, looking for the elimination.
But Uncle Sinister is already moving.
He has just planted Helen Beck face-first into the canvas with a sickening elbow strike. Sinister pivots. He sees the charging War Goddess. He doesn’t brace for impact. He simply raises his leg.
A size sixteen boot, thrown with the force of a battering ram, catches Bia flush under the jaw just as she reaches maximum velocity.
RENO: Sinister just punted the War Goddess’s skull like he’s one of the Flying Gramatica Brothers!
Bia is instantly derailed. She falls flat on her back, her eyes rolling into her head. Completely neutralized.
Lamashtu is gone. Bia is laid out in the center of the ring. Helen Beck is motionless in the corner. Aleki Kekoa is leaning against the ropes, checking his hand for his own blood. Uncle Sinister stands alone in the center of the carnage, a terrifying monolith surveying his territory.
RENO: Bia is out cold! Beck is folded up in the corner like a busted accordion! Aleki might have contracted lycanthropy! And Uncle Sinister? He’s just standin’ in the middle of the disaster zone like he’s waitin’ for a bus!
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 16
30:00
SONG: FIRST CLASS by JACK HARLOW
The buzzer blares. The laid-back hip-hop beat hits the PA system. Chris Mosh steps through the curtain. The V.I.P. is in no rush. He adjusts his purple and gold gear, a smug, arrogant smirk plastered across his face. He takes a slow, admiring walk down the aisle, completely ignoring the sheer violence happening inside the ring.
RENO: Oh boy. Here we go with this guy. Look at him. Walkin’ down the ramp like he just won a million on polymarket betting against the human race. This dude is as crooked as the SALE sign at a mattress store that’s been ‘Going Out of Business’ since 1996. Meanwhile, Bia and Aleki are still tradin’ brain damage in the center of the ring!
Aleki Kekoa and Bia are entirely oblivious to the countdown. They lock back in to a bitter, ugly exchange in the center of the canvas. Heavy collar-and-elbow strikes. Trading blunt-force trauma. The gauntlet does not matter to them.
In the opposite corner, a nightmare is unfolding. Uncle Sinister stalks forward, trapping Helen Beck against the turnbuckles. The giant reaches out.
Beck explodes. Pure survival instinct. A desperate, blistering onslaught of offense. Lefts. Rights. Sharp European uppercuts snapping Sinister’s head back. Stiff, agonizing kicks to the massive thighs. She empties the tank, throwing everything she has at the monster.
RENO: Look at Beck throwin’ the kitchen sink at the monster! Lefts! Rights! Uppercuts! She’s emptyin’ the magazine on this maniac!
Sinister eats the strikes. Every single one. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t stagger. He just tilts his head, absorbing the punishment like a stone wall.
Beck winds up. She throws one final, exhausting overhand chop.
CRACK.
The sound echoes through the auditorium. Sinister merely blinks. Beck freezes. Her chest heaves. Her hands drop to her sides. She stares up at the unmoving giant, completely unsure of what to do next.
RENO: He ate a full-force chop like it was a forty ounce porterhouse and didn’t even blink! That’s like throwin’ pebbles at a brick wall! Beck is lookin’ at him like he just grew a third eye!
Chris Mosh finally slides under the bottom rope.
RENO: Chris Mosh took so long gettin’ into the ring I completely forgot he existed! But I gotta admit, it ain’t a bad strategy. Rules say you only have to be in the ring before the next buzzer and he shaved off a cool minute just struttin’ around ringside like a cock of the walk.
the V.I.P. glances at the brawl between Aleki and Bia. He smartly decides to give them a wide berth.
Mosh spots the standoff in the corner. He sees Sinister’s back completely exposed. The opportunist strikes. Mosh hits the ropes, building maximum momentum, and launches himself. A perfectly placed dropkick connects squarely between the giant’s shoulder blades.
The sudden impact breaks Sinister’s base. The nightmare stumbles forward, arms flailing to catch his balance.
Helen Beck doesn’t hesitate. Her ring IQ takes over. Recognizing the trajectory of the falling giant, she drops immediately to her knees and violently yanks the top rope down.
Sinister pitches forward. Unable to stop his own heavy momentum, he tumbles awkwardly over the lowered cable, crashing heavily to the floor outside.
RENO: Beck drops down—yanks the cable! Over he goes! The monster is out! The dragon has been slayed!
ELIMINATION: UNCLE SINISTER by CHRIS MOSH and/or HELEN BECK???
The monster is gone. Inside the ring, Chris Mosh immediately pops to his feet. He throws his arms high in the air, loudly bragging to the crowd, claiming absolute credit for the massive elimination.
Beck pushes herself up from the mat. Furious. She marches over and shoves Mosh hard in the chest. She points to herself, barking at the arrogant newcomer.
BECK: Why are you celebratin’? I eliminated him!
MOSH: No, I eliminated him!
RENO: No word from the back on who technically gets credit for that one but hey, there ain’t no time to argue about the stat sheet. The monster is on the floor after traumatizing the entire ring. Count your blessings and move on.
Mosh sneers. He shoves her right back. A bitter, heated argument erupts between Beck and The V.I.P. in the corner.
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 17
32:00
SONG: ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA (STRAUSS)
The buzzer blares. Instantly, the Municipal Auditorium is plunged into pitch-black darkness.
RENO: Hey! Who plugged in a hair dryer and tripped the circuit breaker?!
The crowd buzzes with confusion. Thousands of cell phone flashlights begin to illuminate the stands, dotting the arena in a sea of white light. The booming, orchestral horns of Also sprach Zarathustra begin to build over the PA system. A grand, cinematic spectacle.
RENO: OH MAN! I know who this is! It’s my favorite wrestler! Elvis Wrestly! The Hunka Hunka King of the Ring!
The house lights abruptly snap back on.
Standing dead center in the ring is Blackstar. The Supreme Leader of the Church of Scientology. He strikes a theatrical pose, waiting for the adoration.
RENO: Oh, no. Wait. Cancel the celebration. It’s just Tom Cruise in face paint, strikin’ a pose like he just completed an impossible mission on Mars.
The adoration never comes. The bitter argument between Chris Mosh and Helen Beck stops. The ugly brawl between Aleki Kekoa and Bia ceases entirely. The four exhausted, violent competitors slowly turn. They step forward, forming a tight, inescapable circle around the bizarre newcomer.
Blackstar lowers his arms. He looks left. He looks right. The realization sets in.
BLACKSTAR: (yelling at the ceiling) CELESTIALS! I bid thee to release me from my POWER CONSTRAINTS against this HORDE of SUPPRESSIVE PERSONS!
RENO: The last time Tom was this hopped up, he jumped on Oprah’s couch! But there ain’t no couch in this ring!
The violence is instantaneous. Beck snaps a stiff forearm directly into his jaw. Mosh spins, burying a back kick deep into his ribs. Bia clubs him across the back of the neck. Aleki drives a heavy, loaded right hand into his temple. Blackstar is violently ping-ponged between the four competitors. A coordinated, rapid-fire mugging. He cannot defend himself.
RENO: Forearm! Kick! Right hand! Screw the war! Hostilities between the nations ceased the moment Risky Business slid into this ring to Old Time Rock-n-Roll!
Aleki Kekoa steps in, bringing the beatdown to a decisive halt.
He grabs the dazed Blackstar by the throat and a fistful of his waistband. With a guttural grunt, the Samoan Cyborg hoists the Supreme Leader up, walks him to the ropes, and effortlessly launches him over the top. Blackstar tumbles through the air and crashes violently into the steel barricade. His grand arrival lasted less than thirty seconds.
ELIMINATION: BLACKSTAR by ALEKI KEKOA
RENO: Take ya flying saucer and get the hell outta here, Last Samurai! But say hi to Elizabeth Moss for me at the next cult retreat.
The momentary truce shatters the second Blackstar hits the floor. The brief moment of unity is gone. The chaos resumes its natural order.
Bia instantly blindsides Aleki. She jumps onto his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and tearing viciously at his face, pulling him backward to resume their bitter war.
RENO: The ceasefire crumbles faster than vending machine coffee cake. OH! And Mosh eats a blistering uppercut from Helen Beck! It drops the V.I.P. flat on his back!
The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 18
34:00
SONG: INIKO by JERICHO
The buzzer blares. The familiar, haunting notes of a specific entrance theme flood the arena. Helen Beck freezes. The shock makes her drop her guard completely. She stares a hole through the entrance tunnel. Waiting for the ghost of her sister.
RENO: HELENA BASKET! Helen Beck’s sister! Eternia Pro Wrestling Moonstone Champion!
The ramp is empty. Helena Handbasket drops over the barricade on the far side of the ring. Emerges straight from the sea of fans. The chaotic newcomer slides silently beneath the bottom rope.
Beck never sees the blindside.
RENO: Helena clocks Beck with a forearm to the neck!
Beck’s knees buckle. Helena grabs her sibling by the hair and the waistband. One violent, dismissive heave. Beck pitches entirely over the top rope, crashing heavily onto the ringside mats.
RENO: Helena tosses her sister out like yesterday’s garbage! Family reunions in this business are uglier than a Maury Povich episode!
ELIMINATION: Helen Beck by HELENA HANDBASKET
Pure rage. Beck scrambles up, lunging for the apron. Helena leans over the top cable, offering a sarcastic, mocking wave. American Moderator and a swarm of officials flood the ringside area. They physically shove the furious wrestler backward up the steel ramp, preventing an absolute riot.
RENO: Helen is ready to commit a felony on live television! The officials are earnin’ their hazard pay right now keepin’ her out of that ring!
Inside the ropes, the gauntlet ignores the family drama. Bia has Aleki Kekoa trapped in the corner. Driving heavy, suffocating stomps into the Samoan Cyborg’s midsection.
Chris Mosh sees a cheap opening. The V.I.P. steps up behind the War Goddess. He cracks a stiff forearm across the back of her skull.
Bia stops dead. She slowly wheels around. Absolute murder in her eyes. Mosh throws both hands up, backing away. Before Bia can swing, Mosh drops to the canvas and rolls rapidly to safety beneath the bottom rope. He backs up the aisle, tapping his temple with a smirk. Mocking her from a safe distance.
RENO: Look at this coward! Mosh taps her on the back of the head and bails like a guy who just dinged a parked car at the grocery store! He wants absolutely zero part of the War Goddess—and I can’t blame him. I’ve been in the ring with her and I still got nightmares.
Aleki Kekoa uses the distraction. The Samoan surges out of the corner, favoring his bleeding shoulder. He throws heavy right hands at Helena. Helena slips a punch. Fast. Erratic. She breaks away, changing targets instantly. She charges Bia from behind. A desperate, forceful shove sends the War Goddess tumbling over the top rope.
Terrifying body control. Bia twists mid-fall. She lands boots-first on the narrow ring apron. Helena leans over the ropes to finish the job. Bia swings her heavy leg up. A brutal boot snaps flush against Helena’s temple.
RENO: Helena thought she had an easy elimination, but Bia lands on the apron! A size-ten boot right to the temple! That’ll scramble your equilibrium and blur your vision for a week!
Helena staggers backward. Completely dazed. Right into the center of the canvas. Aleki is waiting. The 265-pound powerhouse lowers his shoulder, leaving his feet.
SPEAR (Running Shoulder Tackle)!
The impact cuts Helena completely in half. She folds into the mat as dead weight.
RENO: Helena staggers back right into the path of the Samoan freight train!
On the floor, Mosh sneaks around the steel ring post. He grabs Bia by the ankles while she stands on the apron. Frantic, violent yanks. Trying to pull the War Goddess down to the concrete. Bia drops flat onto her stomach, desperately wrapping her arms around the bottom rope. An anchor against the coward’s tug-of-war.
RENO: And look at the V.I.P. on the outside! He’s yankin’ on Bia’s ankles like a repo man tryin’ to tow away a Honda! She’s huggin’ that bottom cable for dear life!
The ring is pure chaos. Aleki stands over a folded Helena. Mosh strains against Bia’s grip on the outside. The arena clock flashes red.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 19
36:00
SONG: GOD BLESS THE U.S.A. by LEE GREENWOOD
The buzzer blares. The booming, nostalgic chorus floods the PA system. Total tonal whiplash. The crowd stares in confusion. Then, Head Referee American Moderator marches around the ring. Scrawny. Unintimidating. He violently tears away his black-and-white stripes. Rips off the tearaway pants. Underneath is a bright red, white, and blue wrestling singlet.
RENO: (baffled) What in the patriotic hell is this?! The Head Ref is strippin’ down to his star-spangled underoos! He looks like a firecracker that got left out in the rain!
On the outside of the ring, Chris Mosh is hunched over, gasping for air. Moderator marches right up to him. A firm tap on the shoulder. Mosh turns in confusion.
BONK!
A hardbound Pocket Constitution smashes flush across the bridge of Mosh’s nose.
RENO: Mosh just got served his constitutional rights the hard way! The votes are tallied. The amendment to kick Mosh’s ass back inside the ring has been certified by all fifty states!
Moderator grabs the wincing coward by the ear. Physically dragging the arrogant wrestler up the steel steps. Forces him back under the bottom rope.
Inside the ring, Bia uses the bizarre distraction. She slides under the bottom cable. Completely exhausted. The War Goddess slumps into a neutral corner. Clutching her ribs. Desperately fighting for oxygen.
In the opposite corner, the violence remains completely uninterrupted. Aleki Kekoa has Helena Handbasket pinned against the turnbuckles. Burying heavy, suffocating strikes into her guard. Helena survives by fighting dirty. She drives a thumb deep into the Samoan’s eye socket. Aleki recoils blindly. Helena grabs his tights, reverses their positions, and viciously stomps his midsection against the bottom turnbuckle.
RENO: Aleki and Helena don’t care about the 4th of July parade! Helena goes right for the eyeball like Simon Phoenix bustin’ out of cryo prison!
American Moderator climbs the steps. Struts down the apron. Steps over the top rope. Mosh, furious at the embarrassment, attacks instantly. He catches the referee with a stiff scoop slam. Bounces the scrawny veteran off the canvas.
Mosh stands over him. Gloating.
But Moderator begins to shake.
RENO: UH OH! HE’S QUEIN’ UP THE MOD TOOLS!
The crowd roars. Moderator feeds off the energy.
RENO: He’s channeling the power of the founding fathers!
American Moderator pushes himself up to his knees, violently shaking his head. Mosh throws a frantic right hand. Blocked. Another punch. Blocked. Moderator points a single finger dead at Mosh’s face.
AMERICAN MODERATOR: YOU!
Three heavy right hands. Moderator whips Mosh into the ropes. Cuts him down with a massive RED WHITE & BOOT (Running Big Boot). Moderator hits the ropes himself. Drops a textbook BAN HAMMER (Running Leg Drop) directly across Mosh’s throat.
Operating on pure referee muscle memory, Moderator hooks the leg for a cover.
CROWD: ONE! TWO!
Mosh violently kicks out.
RENO: Close but no cigar!
The magic dies instantly. Mosh scrambles to his feet. Absolutely enraged. He swarms the veteran with a flurry of stiff, ugly forearms. Backs Moderator against the ropes. Grabs him by the singlet and unceremoniously heaves the Head Referee over the top to the floor.
ELIMINATION: AMERICAN MODERATOR by CHRIS MOSH
RENO: They say the American Dream is dead. I don’t know about that, folks. But American Moderator’s hopes of winning the Iron Gauntlet just crashed like the 2008 housing market.
Mosh smacks his hands together. Dusting them off in arrogant celebration. He never sees Bia.
The War Goddess pushes out of the corner. Silently stepping up behind the gloating coward. She clamps her hands onto his waistband and the back of his neck. One explosive heave. Bia sends Mosh sailing over the top rope.
Bia immediately turns her back. Slumping heavily against the turnbuckles. The job is done.
But Mosh doesn’t fall. His chest slams against the top rope. His arms desperately wrap around the cable. He dangles over the floor outside, his boots swinging mere inches from the mats. Wide-eyed and panicking.
RENO: Mosh grabbed the top cable! He’s hangin’ on like a cat on a screen door! Bia thinks he’s gone and turned her back!
American Moderator is helped by another official to his pile of his referee uniform and begins pulling the articles back on. Inside the ropes, Bia catches her breath, completely unaware that Mosh is still a legal competitor hiding on the apron. Across the canvas, Helena and Aleki are locked in a bitter struggle as the arena plunges into the ten-second countdown.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 20
38:00
SONG: MY WAY by LIMP BIZKIT
The buzzer blares. Vance Isaac Parker marches out of the tunnel. No rush. No panic. He walks with deliberate purpose down the aisle, casually watching the chaos unfold inside the ring. A hunter assessing the available prey.
RENO: Well, folks. We got a problem of too many wrestlers in the ring and the Solution has arrived! Vance Isaac Parker is a big, bad man and he is glaring at the ring like a lion looking at a family of zebras.
Inside the ring, Bia spots Chris Mosh. The cowardly opportunist is still clinging desperately to the bottom rope. The War Goddess begins to violently claw at Mosh’s fingers to break his grip. She even bends down to bite at his knuckles as he screams in pain, kicking his feet inches above the floor.
Aleki Kekoa charges. The massive Samoan throws a full-force lariat squarely into the back of Bia’s neck.
THWACK.
The blunt-force impact pitches Bia forward over the top rope. But as she falls, her leg catches awkwardly behind Aleki’s knee. The sudden, violent weight shift pulls the 265-pound giant forward. He tumbles over the top cable right alongside her.
A terrifying scene on the perimeter. Aleki, Bia, and Mosh. Three bodies dangling from the top rope. White-knuckled grips on the cables. Boots hovering mere inches from the ringside floor.
RENO: Look at this! Three bodies hangin’ off the edge! One slip and they are all done!
Shoulders screaming in agony. Gravity pulling heavy. None of them let go.
Using their immense core strengths, the three competitors simultaneously pull. They swing their heavy legs upward, hooking the top cable. They drag their entire body weight back over the precipice, collapsing in a tangled, exhausted heap onto the canvas.
They hit the mat, chests heaving, completely drained.
RENO: All three made it back! I’ve never seen anything like that! But HELENA HANDBASKET was just waiting for her moment!
She has simply been resting in the corner. Hands on her knees. Watching them struggle. The exact second Aleki Kekoa pushes his heavy frame up to his knees, the chaotic Brit explodes forward.
FECK OFF! (Bullhammer Elbow)!
The loaded, unprotected elbow strike catches the Samoan flush on the temple.
SMACK.
RENO: Aleki’s brain just did a factory reset!
Aleki’s eyes roll backward. The sheer force of the blow shuts his nervous system down. He topples backward, absolute dead weight, falling completely over the top rope and crashing heavily to the floor.
ELIMINATION: ALEKI KEKOA by HELENA HANDBASKET
RENO: The Ace of Diamonds has eliminated the Samoan Cyborg!
Vance Parker slides smoothly under the bottom rope. He looks at Mosh. He looks at Bia. A silent agreement is formed.
Vance and Mosh swarm the exhausted War Goddess. Heavy boots. Clubbing blows. They drag Bia up by the hair, whip her violently into the ropes, and catch her on the rebound with twin back elbows. Bia drops flat on her spine, gasping for air.
The two VIPs turn to face each other. Mosh extends his hand for a shake. Vance reaches for it.
Mosh yanks his hand away at the last microsecond. He runs his hand through his hair, strutting arrogantly around the ring.
MOSH: You idiot! There is only ONE V.I.P. of PCW!
RENO: I guess Chris Mosh decided a wrestling ring was the proper place to file a trademark infringement lawsuit.
Vance’s eyes go cold. He pivots instantly. Violent rotation.
TACO SUPREME (Judas Effect)!
The spinning back elbow crushes Mosh’s jaw.
RENO: And Vance just countersued with seasoned beef and some pico de gallo in a corn tortilla!
Mosh is out on his feet. His ankles wobble. He stares blankly at the arena lights. Vance grabs him by the back of the neck and the waistband. One effortless heave. Vance dumps the dead weight over the top rope. Mosh hits the floor in a crumpled heap.
ELIMINATION: CHRIS MOSH by VANCE ISAAC PARKER
RENO: Chris Mosh just got escorted to his V.I.P. table on the concrete!
Vance brushes off his hands, admiring his own handiwork. A smug smirk. He never checks his six.
Helena charges from the corner. She leaps, grabbing Vance around the head.
SUPERSONICS (Slingshot Bulldog)!
She uses the top rope for leverage, violently driving Vance’s face straight into the canvas. Helena pops up to her feet, breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes as the arena plunges into the ten-second countdown for Entrant #22.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 21
40:00
SONG: HOW IT’S DONE by HUNTRIX
The buzzer blares. The upbeat pop track hits the PA system.
RENO: It’s the FLAME BRINGER!
Thaïs Empristikí wastes no time on pageantry. A dead sprint down the steel ramp. The Flame Bringer slides smoothly beneath the bottom rope and pops instantly to their feet.
Across the canvas, Bia pushes up to one knee.
The War Goddess freezes. Eyes lock.
RENO: The bitter, shattered history of Tigress is about to play out like Monopoly on family game night. For those who don’t know, Empristikí is leader of Tigress, one of the premiere factions in all of wrestling. Until a month ago, Bia was one of its most decorated members. But you know the ol’ saying. All is fair in love and war, but in wrestling, nothin’ lasts forever.
Bia’s chest heaves. Pure, hulking rage. Thaïs refuses to flinch. The defiant striker steps straight forward into the danger zone.
Bia rises. They meet dead center. Chest to chest. Breathing heavy. The violence pauses for just a microsecond of pure, unadulterated hatred.
CROWD: TIGRESS! TIGRESS! TIGRESS! TIGRESS! TIGRESS!
They never get to throw the first punch.
Helena Handbasket slides directly between them. Hands raised. A mocking, chaotic smile. The faux peacemaker.
It lasts exactly one second. Helena pivots violently. She buries a loaded forearm flush into the side of Bia’s jaw.
RENO: BAM! Forearm to the jaw! Helena just crashed the family reunion like a drunk aunt at Thanksgiving!
Helena swarms the stunned War Goddess, backing her violently into the cables with a relentless barrage of stiff, erratic strikes.
RENO: Thaïs watches the mugging unfold. Whatcha doin’, kid? Helena is your friend! This is the Gauntlet, not a samurai movie! Honor isn’t going to win you this match and punch your ticket to the Terrordome!
Thaïs steps backward, resting their hands on their head. The bad blood with Bia runs deep, but Thaïs refuses to participate in a cheap two-on-one beatdown.
A fatal lapse in situational awareness. Honor has no place in the gauntlet.
Vance Isaac Parker steps up blindly from behind. A massive, clubbing forearm across the base of Thaïs’s neck.
RENO: Vance just took their head off with a forearm! That’s what happens when you’re followin’ the rulebook in a street fight!
The blunt-force impact instantly drops the newcomer to their knees. The sheer weight and strength advantage is immediate. Vance hauls Thaïs up by the hair. He violently whips their lighter frame into the turnbuckles. Vance traps them there. He punishes the hesitation with heavy, suffocating shoulder thrusts, repeatedly driving his collarbone deep into Thaïs’s sternum to force the oxygen from their lungs.
The ring fractures into two ugly, desperate corners. Helena mercilessly chokes Bia against the middle rope. Vance physically bullies Thaïs, smothering the striker’s speed with sheer, unadulterated brute force. The arena clock flashes red.
RENO: Thaïs is suckin’ wind, Bia is gettin’ choked out on the ropes, and the clock is flashin’! We only got two bodies left in the back!
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 22
42:00
SONG: FANTASY by MARIA KANELLIS
The buzzer blares. The upbeat pop track floods the arena. Hope Russo doesn’t wait for a theatrical cue or a crowd reaction. A dead sprint down the steel ramp.
RENO: Speakin’ of reunions, here comes Hope Russo rocketing to the ring to help her wife!
Inside the ropes, Vance Isaac Parker is systematically dismantling Thaïs Empristikí. The 200-pound powerhouse has the lighter striker pinned against the turnbuckles, driving heavy, suffocating shoulder thrusts deep into their midsection. Breaking their wind.
Hope slides under the bottom rope. A blur of motion. She launches herself directly at the big man’s exposed back. A brutal running knee strike to the kidneys.
Vance arches his spine, bellowing in sudden agony, and breaks his grip.
RENO: That’s gonna turn Vance’s morning coffee pink for a month! Vance drops the grip and Thaïs hits the deck!
Thaïs collapses to the mat, coughing violently.
Hope doesn’t stop. She grabs Vance by the shoulder, spins him around, and unloads a blistering combination of heavy forearms across his jawline.
Thaïs refuses to stay down. Seeing their wife in the fire, the Flame Bringer pushes up off the canvas. The spouses work in immediate, unspoken tandem.
Thaïs drops low. A vicious, snapping kick to the back of Vance’s left knee. As the VIP’s leg buckles, Hope steps in. She drops her hips and drives a surgical European uppercut flush under his chin. The synchronized assault chops the massive competitor down to one knee, completely neutralizing his strength advantage.
RENO: Tigress is workin’ over Vance! Kick to the back of the knee—uppercut to the chin! It’s a high-low muggin’! They’re pickin’ him apart, trying to knock him down like the goal posts after the Superbowl.
Across the canvas, the violence is far less coordinated. Pure, ugly attrition.
Bia and Helena Handbasket are locked in a bitter collar-and-elbow tie-up. No space. No breathing room. A battle for leverage.
Helena breaks her left hand free. She drives a blunt knee straight up into Bia’s bruised ribs. The War Goddess grunts, absorbing the heavy blow, and returns fire instantly. A deafening, open-handed chop across Helena’s collarbone.
RENO: Bia returns fire with a chop that sounded like a gunshot in an empty parking garage! Helena’s collarbone is gonna look like Christmas in the morning!
Momentum swings violently with every strike. Helena has the gas tank. She utilizes sharp, erratic, dirty tactics to keep Bia off balance. But Bia has the terrifying baseline power. Every time Helena attempts to whip her into the ropes, Bia simply plants her heavy boots. She refuses to be moved. She yanks Helena violently back into another bone-rattling exchange.
RENO: Helena’s tryin’ to out-hustle her, but you can’t Irish whip a brick wall! Bia just plants her romper stompers and yanks the Brit right back into the battle!
The ring is firmly divided into two distinct wars. Hope and Thaïs systematically dismantling Vance Parker in the corner. Bia and Helena trading heavy leather in the center of the canvas.
The arena plunges into the final ten-second countdown.
CROWD: 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5.. 4… 3… 2… 1…
BUZZ
ROUND 23
44:00
SONG: TIP TOE THRU’ THE TULIPS WITH ME by TINY TIM
The final buzzer sounds. Warped, manic, tinny music blasts over the PA.
RENO: Oh jeezus christ. If this is that ghost kid from InsidiousI. Am. Out.
A motorized, topless clown car speeds recklessly down the entrance ramp. Roxie Ripper is behind the wheel. She doesn’t hit the brakes.
RENO: Thank gawd, it’s just Roxie Ripper. And I gotta say, I ain’t seen drivin’ this erratic since I reviewed my New Year’s Eve dashcam footage.
The small vehicle crashes violently into the heavy steel frame of the ring apron. The blunt-force impact launches Roxie forward. She uses the chaotic momentum to flip up, sliding dynamically between the bottom and middle ropes. Straight into the warzone.
Maximum carnage. Six bodies. Fists flying blindly. It is a suffocating, disorganized brawl in the center of the canvas.
Roxie throws wild, chaotic strikes, cackling loudly. But she runs directly into a brick wall. Vance Isaac Parker absorbs a glancing punch. He grabs the clown by the throat. Using pure, terrifying brute strength, Vance hoists her up and launches her straight over the top rope. Roxie crashes heavily to the ringside floor.
RENO: Vance ain’t buyin’ tickets to the circus! He grabs her by the windpipe and chucks her right back to the midway! One ride only!
ELIMINATION: ROXIE RIPPER by VANCE ISAAC PARKER
Vance turns to gloat. Thaïs and Hope Russo are already there.
The spouses attack the giant simultaneously. A synchronized, high-velocity assault. They back Vance forcefully against the ropes.
Together, they heave. Vance tips backward over the top cable. But as gravity takes him, instinct kicks in. He reaches out blindly. His massive hand clamps onto Russo’s gear.
He tries to drag her to hell with him. Russo is pulled violently over the top rope, dangling dangerously over the floor.
RENO: Team Tigress swarms the big man! Over he goes! But wait—he’s got a death grip on Russo’s gear! He’s draggin’ her to the abyss with him!
Thaïs anchors themself. They grab Russo by the arm, planting their boots deep into the canvas.
RENO: Thaïs drops anchor! It’s a tug-of-war for the wife!
Straining against the dead weight of the falling giant. Vance’s white-knuckled grip finally breaks. He plummets to the floor.
RENO: Vance’s grip breaks! He’s out of here!
ELIMINATION: VANCE ISAAC PARKER by THAÏS EMPRISTIKÍ & HOPE RUSSO
Russo survives. She stands on the narrow ring apron, chest heaving, eyes wide. Thaïs leans over the top rope. A desperate sigh of relief. The two share a brief, emotional embrace over the cables. They survived the monster.
RENO: They’re sharin’ a tender moment on the ropes, but this ain’t a rom-com! It’s the Iron Gauntlet! Get back in the fight!
Behind them, the war continues. Helena Handbasket steps into Bia, throwing a vicious short-arm clothesline.
Bia ducks smoothly under the heavy arm. She hooks Helena tightly by the waist. Blinded by exhaustion and running on pure adrenaline, Bia simply heaves. She throws Helena blindly across the ring to create space.
Helena becomes a human projectile. She flies across the canvas. She crashes violently into the unprotected back of Thaïs.
The transfer is devastating. Thaïs is shoved violently forward against the ropes.
RENO: Helena is a human cannonball! Hits Thaïs in the back. Chain reaction! Russo gets blasted off the apron!
Russo crashes hard against the steel barricade below.
ELIMINATION: HOPE RUSSO by HELENA HANDBASKET
Helena catches her balance. She whips around, eyes wide, realizing the catastrophe she just caused.
Thaïs turns around. They see Russo laid out on the floor. Unmoving. They look up. They see Helena standing there.
RENO: Thaïs didn’t see that it was Bia who threw Helena like a bowling ball!
Thaïs’s face twists into absolute protective rage. There is no explanation. Only assumed betrayal.
Before Helena can even open her mouth to speak, Bia bounces off the opposite ropes. She builds maximum velocity. She strikes the distracted Helena directly in the spine.
THE DOCK BLOCKER (Running Low Angle Shoulder Charge)
The sheer, concussive force folds Helena entirely in half. It sends her stumbling wildly forward on jelly legs.
She stumbles right into the furious Thaïs. The Flame Bringer doesn’t hesitate. They grab the staggering Brit by the neck and the waistband. Using Helena’s own forward momentum, Thaïs hurls her violently over the top rope.
Helena spirals out of the ring, crashing heavily to the floor.
RENO: Thaïs grabs her friend and tosses her out! Goodnight, London!
ELIMINATION: HELENA HANDBASKET by THAÏS EMPRISTIKÍ
The dust settles. The ring is suddenly, terrifyingly empty. Thaïs breathes heavily, staring down at their fallen wife on the floor. Behind them, Bia pushes slowly up to her feet.
RENO: And now there are two! It’s just the Flame Bringer and the War Goddess. The bad blood. The Gauntlet is over… It’s time to find out who will be the last one standing. Who will get a one-way ticket to the Terrordome on June 18th and face PCW owner Yelena Gorgo for the UNLEASHED World Championship!
LAST MAN STANDING
The bell rings. Head Referee American Moderator officially starts the Last Man Standing rules.
RENO: No pins, no submissions, just two maniacs tryin’ to beat each other into a coma until one of ’em can’t answer the ten-count!
Thaïs Empristikí operates on pure, unadulterated rage after watching their wife get eliminated. They utilize their inherent speed as a true all-arounder to immediately swarm the exhausted West Australian War Goddess.
Bia relies on her uncompromising, smothering approach. She constantly moves forward. She reaches out with heavy, lumbering grabs.
RENO: Thaïs is a buzzsaw of pure rage! If watching their wife get blasted into the barricade wasn’t enough, now they are facing off against a woman who walked out of Tigress with two double middle fingers.
Thaïs evades the heavy hands effortlessly. A lightning-fast Pele kick connects flush. Thaïs follows up with a rapid-fire flurry of stiff palm strikes. The strikes rattle Bia’s jaw, instantly putting the 165-pound powerhouse on her heels.
Recognizing Bia’s sheer physical mass, Thaïs intelligently targets the foundation.
RENO: Bia previously tore her left MCL. Thaïs is smart for going after it. Surgical drop kick crashes directly into the side of the leg! The joint buckles instantly. Bia collapses to the canvas with a guttural yell, her power base entirely neutralized.
Thaïs refuses to allow the War Goddess a microsecond to breathe. Showcasing deceptive, surprising strength, Thaïs hauls the heavier Bia up from the mat. They hook the leg and bridge over, executing a flawless, high-angle Fisherman Suplex.
Bia stubbornly tries to push herself back up to a seated position. Thaïs tracks the movement. They spring upward with explosive agility.
GREEK TIME (Front Flip Backstabber)
RENO: Thaïs flips forward in a tight arc! Both knees DRIVE into Bia’s upper back! The force snaps the powerhouse forward and straight down into the mat.
Bia operates entirely on her renowned toughness and heart. She uses the ropes to blindly drag herself up. Out on her feet. Dead weight.
Thaïs steps in. They secure a tight front facelock, threading an arm deep under Bia’s chin. A sharp lift driven by the legs and core hoists the War Goddess completely vertical. Thaïs drops backward.
SIGN OF FIRE (Michinoku Driver II)
Bia is driven spine-first into the center of the ring with a sickening, heavy impact. She folds on the unforgiving canvas.
RENO: Thaïs just slams down a royal flush of offense! Greek Time followed by Sign of Fire! Now we find out of it’s enough to keep Bia down for a ten count!
Thaïs stands and retreats to a neutral corner, chest heaving. Staring a hole through their fallen opponent. American Moderator steps into the center of the ring. The Last Man Standing count begins.
REFEREE: ONE!
CROWD: TWO!
CROWD: THREE!
RENO: Bia remains entirely motionless! American Moderator throws up four fingers. Then five! Thaïs watches from the corner but it ain’t confidence on their face! It’s more like hope… hope that Bia doesn’t get up because deep down, Thaïs doesn’t want to hurt their former friend!
CROWD: EIGHT!
Absolute refusal to surrender. Bia blindly grips the bottom cable.
CROWD: NINE!
She drags her battered frame upward, breaking the official’s count at the very last possible microsecond.
RENO: Bia did it! She’s on her feet. Barely! Thaïs wastes not a breath before wisely pushing the pace. Bia has been in the ring for nearly forty minutes! She is beaten. Battered. Exhausted!
A quick Irish whip attempt. Bia plants her boots. A brick wall. The whip is violently reversed. Bia refuses to wait for the rebound. She blindly charges the ropes, throwing a massive, desperation lariat.
The heavy collision carries their combined momentum entirely over the top cable. Both competitors topple awkwardly over the edge. A sickening, meat-on-mat thud rings out at ringside. Thaïs takes the brunt of the fall, landing violently on the point of the shoulder.
RENO: Thaïs rolls toward the steel barricade, clutching her arm. American Moderator begins the count… and Bia? She’s goin’ shopping!
She slides under the bottom rope, reaching blindly beneath the apron. She drags a violent inventory into the aisle. A black velvet bag. A battered steel folding chair. A heavy black briefcase. Finally, a thick wooden table.
RENO: What is this, a mob drop? What else is under there? Jimmy Hoffa?!
Thaïs refuses to wait. Pushing off the barricade. A stiff, snapping kick digs deep into Bia’s midsection, folding the powerhouse instantly. Pure brawling ensues down the concrete aisle. Heavy, unblocked right hands traded back and forth. They crash directly into the abandoned, topless clown car left behind by Roxie Ripper.
Tumbling into the front seat. Suffocating close-quarters violence. Bia grabs Thaïs by the back of the neck. She violently slams their forehead straight into the steering wheel.
CRACK. AWOOOGA. AWOOOGA. AWOOOGA. The ear-shattering, tinny horn blares through the arena. A surreal, jarring soundtrack to the sheer violence.
RENO: In all the ways to earn a case of CTE, getting pie-faced into a clown car horn that blasts like a Toon Town soundboard might be the most tragic.
Thaïs reacts on instinct. A blind elbow snaps backward, catching Bia flush on the jawline. Thaïs hooks the hair, slamming the back of Bia’s skull against the hard plastic dashboard. A heavy, bone-jarring thud echoes through the cab.
RENO: Thaïs says ‘No Ticket’ and throws a heavy kick that ejects the dazed War Goddess entirely from the vehicle. Bia crashes heavily onto the unforgiving concrete.
Thaïs climbs out. Stepping onto the reinforced hood of the clown car. Measuring the distance to the fallen giant. A sudden leap.
DRACARYS (Diving Double Foot Stomp)!
RENO: OH MAH GAWD! Both boots drive violently into Bia’s sternum!
The impact punches the oxygen from her lungs in a breathless, agonizing gasp.
RENO: Moderator’s counting but Thaïs ignores it completely! They know the War Goddess won’t stay down. The Flame Bringer walks back to the discarded arsenal like a trip to the Home Depot. They’re unfolding the wooden table onto the concrete. Snapping the latches of the black briefcase. What’s inside?
The camera man pushes to reveal a can of lighter fluid and a silver Zippo.
The crowd can’t even wait for the fire to start chanting.
CROWD: HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!
RENO: Thaïs tilts their head back, taking a massive swig directly from can like it’s Pappy Van Winkle!
REFEREE: EIGHT!
Bia blindly drags herself up against the clown car bumper. Lumbering forward. Drained. Moving entirely on instinct. Thaïs strikes the Zippo. Leaning forward. Violently expelling the fuel.
RENO: Thaïs just roasted the War Goddess like she’s a Marsh Mallow!
A massive, roaring ball of fire erupts. Engulfing Bia’s face completely. The sheer, terrifying heat forces the front row to physically scramble backward.
Bia stumbles wildly. Screaming. Desperately wiping thick black soot from her eyes. Completely blinded. Throwing frantic, heavy, wild swings into the empty air, hoping to make blunt-force contact. Unfazed, Thaïs casually drenches the wooden table with the remaining fluid. The Zippo drops. The wood instantly ignites into a roaring, crackling inferno.
Thaïs stalks behind the blinded War Goddess. Cinching both arms tight around Bia’s waist, looking for a fatal German Suplex straight into the flames.
Bia throws a blind, desperate elbow backward. It cracks flush against Thaïs’s mouth. The grip breaks. Bia spins around, her face smeared black with soot and fury. A heavy boot directly to the gut doubles the Flame Bringer over. Bia hooks the waist. Hoisting the 140-pound striker up with sheer, adrenaline-fueled power. She steps forward. Violently driving Thaïs straight down.
Gutwrench Powerbomb.
Thaïs crashes directly through the roaring table. Splintering wood. A chaotic explosion of sparks and fire.
RENO: GUTWRENCH POWERBOMB! RIGHT THROUGH THE INFERNO! She just sent the flame bringer through their own fire! This is absolute madness! Somebody get a fire extinguisher out here!
An anxious ringside official immediately rushes forward, hauling a heavy red fire extinguisher. Bia stubbornly steps directly into his path. Using her massive frame to intentionally block his access to the wreckage. Agonizing seconds bleed away. Thaïs remains buried in the burning splinters.
Finally, the official shoves his way past, coating the wreckage in a thick, blinding layer of white foam. American Moderator steps in, staring in absolute horror at the smoking debris. He starts the count.
REFEREE: ONE!
REFEREE: TWO!
REFEREE: THREE!
A hand violently grips the edge of the ring apron. Thaïs pulls themselves up from the wreckage.
RENO: I’ve seen a lot of things in my time on this business. I’ve seen wrestlers fight through a marathon dressed like Elvis. I’ve been in LEGO death matches. But I have never in my life seen a person go through a flaming table and rise like the Mother of gawd damn Dragons.
The Flame Bringer hasn’t suffered a single burn. Their skin is completely untouched. Only the ring gear is singed and blackened by the fire’s vicious bite. They stand tall before the count of four.
Bia leans heavily against the steel barricade. Chest heaving in deep, oxygen-sucking huffs. The War Goddess stares at her former ally in absolute, terrifying disbelief.
RENO: Bia is staring at Thais like they’re the T-1000 casually walkin’ from the smoldering carnage.
Thaïs smiles. The fire didn’t break the Flame Bringer. It ignited something far more dangerous.
Thaïs snatches the battered steel chair, heaving it under the bottom rope. Next, the black velvet bag. They collide on the unforgiving concrete at ringside. Ugly, desperate brawling. Heavy, looping fists traded back and forth. They drag their battered frames back inside the ropes. Thaïs immediately grabs a wrist, whipping the heavier Bia violently into the corner.
Thaïs drops to a knee in the center of the ring. Untying the velvet strings. A violent shake. Thousands of silver thumbtacks spill across the canvas.
RENO: The ring is now a minefield sharp steel tacks! I already see a few stuck into the Flame Bringer’s boots! But Bia refuses to be outdone! She’s violently tearing the remains of protective foam from the turnbuckle Troll Rogan feasted on earlier in the night! Nothin’ left but a dull, gray steel bolt!
Bia hurls the padding directly at Thaïs. They charge.
A heavy lockup. Bia hooks the back of the neck. She attempts to hurl Thaïs face-first into the naked steel ring bolt. Thaïs plants their boots. A violent reversal of the Irish whip. Bia hurdles toward the dangerous corner. Her knee failing. She relies on pure upper-body strength, grabbing the top two cables, desperately arresting her forward momentum just inches from the jagged steel.
Thaïs charges in for a high-velocity corner splash. Bia sidesteps. She catches Thaïs by the back of the head. Ruthlessly driving the Flame Bringer’s face flush into the exposed bolt.
Thaïs collapses backward. The blunt-force trauma is immediate. Skin splits open across the forehead. Deep crimson blood begins to mask their features.
RENO: The blood is splattering across the mat like spilled spaghetti sauce! Mama Mia! This could be it!
American Moderator drops to begin the count. Thaïs rolls toward the ropes, leaving a thick smear of blood painted across the canvas. Fingers blindly gripping the cables. Dragging upward. It is clear they will beat the count. Bia refuses to wait. She yanks the bloody striker to their feet at six.
Thaïs flings Bia’s hands away. Pure defiance. A blistering palm strike. A knife-edge chop. A snapping spin kick to the midsection. Bia is driven backward, pinballing against the ropes. Barely upright.
Thaïs stumbles forward. Bypassing the sea of silver tacks. Snatching the steel folding chair. Bia lumbers toward them. Completely drained. Dead on her feet.
RENO: Crack! Thaïs swings the steel flush against Bia’s skull!
The heavy blow staggers the War Goddess. Miraculously, she does not fall. Brain rattling. Legs like jelly. Thaïs steps directly into the pocket. Swings again.
RENO: CRACK! A second chairshot to the frontal lobe! This one drops the War Goddess to her knees! Skin splits. Blood rains down her face from a gash across her hairline!
Thaïs stands over the powerhouse. Raising the dented steel high above their head. Loading up for a third, definitive blow.
They freeze.
RENO: WHAT ARE YA DOIN’, KID?! Hit her again! Win the Gauntlet!
Bia is swaying on her knees. Glass-eyed. Unfocused. Visibly concussed and completely defenseless. Thaïs stares down at their former ally. The anger breaks.
THAIS: Not this way.
RENO: The Friend to Humanity! Thais refuses to end Bia’s career with another chair shot!
Thais tosses the chair dismissively over the top rope to the floor but mercy is a dangerous game. Thaïs pulls the dead weight of Bia up. Securing the front facelock. Attempting to hoist the 165-pound powerhouse for a second SIGN OF FIRE.
Pure survival instinct. Bia scrambles wildly as her boots leave the canvas. The sweaty grip fails. Bia slips down behind Thaïs. She wraps her thick arms around the waist. Violently hoisting the striker up onto her shoulders.
RENO: (screaming) The sweaty grip slips! Bia slides out the back door!
The arena howls in absolute, hostile fury. Bia rotates violently.
THE MAELSTROM (F5) Thaïs spins blindly through the air. Crashing face and chest first directly into the bed of thumbtacks.
RENO: (screaming) THE MAELSTROM! RIGHT INTO THE MINEFIELD! Thaïs just took a hundred silver tacks straight to the face! They’re wearin’ the canvas like a metal mask!
American Moderator immediately drops to begin the count. Bia shoves the Head Referee violently out of the way. She isn’t done.
She grabs Thaïs by the hair. Dragging the Flame Bringer up from the wreckage. Thaïs’s face and chest are covered in silver metal. Bleeding profusely. Still fighting. Throwing weak, exhausted, defiant elbows into Bia’s jaw.
CROWD: FUCK YOU BIA! (clap clap clap-clap-clap!) FUCK YOU BIA! (clap clap clap-clap-clap!)
Bia simply eats the strikes. She hoists Thaïs up onto her shoulders a second time.
RENO: Bia is learning from Thaïs’ mistake! Nothin’ is ovah until IT’S OVAH! If you want to win the Iron Gauntlet, you got to WALK ALONE and do whatever is necessary to walk out victorious!
THE MAELSTROM (F5) Thaïs’s body is violently crushed into the remaining thumbtacks. Pinned to the canvas by a hundred tiny daggers. The referee begins counting.
RENO: Bia stumbles blindly away from the wreckage and crashes back-first into the turnbuckles.
Bia wraps her thick arms around the top rope just to remain standing. Chest heaving. Lungs burning. Blood gushing over her face. She wipes her eyes clean then screams at Thaïs. Hoarse. Desperate.
BIA: STAY DOWN!
REFEREE: SIX!
REFEREE: SEVEN!
RENO: I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! Thaïs reaches up! A tack-covered hand plants onto an open patch of canvas. They’re pushing! Attempting to press off the mat! Blood has drenched the mat beneath them!
Bia screams again. It’s both an order and a plea.
BIA: STAY DOWN!
REFEREE: EIGHT!
REFEREE: NINE!
RENO: Thaïs tries to surge upward on pure willpower!… But the body refuses! The nervous system shuts down! Thaïs collapses flat against the crimson canvas!
REFEREE: TEN!
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The grueling Iron Gauntlet is over. American Moderator raises Bia’s heavy, blood-soaked arm. The West Australian War Goddess leans heavily into the ropes, completely spent, staring blankly at the canvas. Ringside officials swarm the ring, immediately dropping to their knees to check on the unconscious, bloodied, and tack-covered body of Thaïs Empristikí.
RENO: We started with twenty-four bodies. And now, after an hour and nine minutes unadulterated hell, Bia is the Last Man Standing! But look at the wreckage! Get the EMTs in there! Get a magnet for those tacks! And somebody get me a double whiskey, I need to wash the taste of copper out of my mouth!
Bia raises her arms on unsteady legs. Her face is covered in a thick, dried layer of blood, bits of it cracking and crumbling off as she flashes an unhinged grin.
RENO: I got some statistics here. Bia entered the match at the 18 minute mark. Total time in the ring? Fifty-nine minutes! I… I’m blown away by the performance. Tonight, the War Goddess Bia stands alone, winner of the Iron Gauntlet!
The house lights die. Instantly. The arena plunges into a total, suffocating B L A C K.
Silence hangs in the dead air—a held breath—before the world DETONATES.
SONG: “BLACK RAINBOW” by SPIRIT BOX
♫ YOUR HEART ♫
♫ IS A HOLE ♫
Violent STROBES shatter the dark—a disorienting, epileptic stutter. Words flash on the video screen in rapid, subliminal bursts.
RENO: I guess the show isn’t quite over yet, people! The owner of Pro Championship Wrestling is making her presence known.
♫ I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES! ♫
♫ BEYOND THE BLACK RAINBOW! ♫
Color-tinted haze bleeds out across the stage floor. The camera sweeps the crowd, catching the frenetic energy. The arena plunges to black again. The music builds, grinding upward.
♫ EX-IT! ♫
House lights rise. Yelena Gorgo is already halfway down the ramp. Over her shoulder is the PCW UNLEASHED Championship. Bia stares in the center of the ring, clearly exhausted but defiant.
RENO: These two women have… what you might call a complicated history. Friends. Foes. Friends again. I can’t keep up with it. But right now, looking at Bia, I don’t know if she’s sure which it is, either.
Yelena climbs the steel steps, then marches down the apron before ducking through the ropes. American Moderator and an EMT are already assisting Thaïs in a far corner. Yelena doesn’t even glance down at the Flame Bringer. Her gaze is locked onto Bia’s. The two women come together, chest to chest. Yelena staring down and the War Goddess glares right back up.
RENO: The first time these two went head to head in a wrestling ring, Yelena came out on top, taking Bia’s Black Garnet Championship. Now Bia will get her chance at revenge. On June 18th in the Terrordome! It will be Bia the War Goddess versus PCW Owner Yelena Gorgo for the UNLEASHED World Championship!
Yelena turns towards the hard camera, grabs Bia’s wrist and holds it up into the air.
SONG: BUILT TO LAST by TWISTED F8
Bia’s music breaks through Yelena’s. The crowd is past cheering and booing based on some skewed sense of morality. The arena is a roaring noise of appreciation for everyone who competed tonight.
RENO: For the crew, the wrestlers, for everyone, thank you for watching us! I will see you in two weeks, right back here in the Municipal Auditorium in the Big Easy… assuming I still got a job!
STATISTICS
TOTAL MATCH RUNTIME
01:09:00
GAUNTLET RUNTIME
00:49:00
LAST MAN STANDING RUNTIME
00:20:00
ELIMINATION ORDER
Big Bundy eliminated by Sam Tolson
Troll Rogan eliminated by Mark Kelly
Mark Kelly eliminated by Marisol Vilaro, Taylor Landry, and Selene Pyre
Ryujin eliminated by Helen Beck
Selene Pyre eliminated by Sam Tolson
Taylor Landry eliminated by Sam Tolson
Marisol Vilaro eliminated by Gina Neon
Sam Tolson eliminated by Bia
Puppy Pie eliminated by Bia
Gina Neon eliminated by Uncle Sinister
Evan Carmine eliminated by Helen Beck and Uncle Sinister
Lamashtu eliminated by Aleki Kekoa
Uncle Sinister eliminated by Chris Mosh and/or Helen Beck
Blackstar eliminated by Aleki Kekoa
Helen Beck eliminated by Helena Handbasket
American Moderator eliminated by Chris Mosh
Aleki Kekoa eliminated by Helena Handbasket
Chris Mosh eliminated by Vance Isaac Parker
Roxie Ripper eliminated by Vance Isaac Parker
Vance Isaac Parker eliminated by Thaïs Empristikí and Hope Russo
Hope Russo eliminated by Helena Handbasket
Helena Handbasket eliminated by Thaïs Empristikí
Thaïs Empristikí eliminated by Bia
ESTIMATE RING TIME
Puppy Pie: 5 seconds
Blackstar: ~30 seconds
Roxie Ripper: ~30 seconds
Ryujin: ~30 seconds
Lamashtu: ~45 seconds
Big Bundy: ~1 minute
American Moderator: ~1 minute 30 seconds
Troll Rogan: ~3 minutes
Hope Russo: ~4 minutes
Evan Carmine: ~5 minutes
Selene Pyre: ~5 minutes
Mark Kelly: ~7 minutes
Vance Isaac Parker: ~7 minutes
Gina Neon: ~7 minutes 45 seconds
Taylor Landry: ~8 minutes
Uncle Sinister: ~9 minutes
Chris Mosh: ~9 minutes 30 seconds
Aleki Kekoa: ~13 minutes
Helena Handbasket: 15 minutes
Marisol Vilaro: ~17 minutes
Sam Tolson: ~19 minutes
Helen Beck: ~22 minutes 30 seconds
Thaïs Empristikí: 29 minutes
Bia: 51 minutes
TOTAL ELIMINATIONS
Bia: 3 (Sam Tolson, Puppy Pie, Thaïs Empristikí)
Helen Beck: 3 (Ryujin, Evan Carmine [Co-elimination], Uncle Sinister [Co-elimination])
Helena Handbasket: 3 (Helen Beck, Aleki Kekoa, Hope Russo)
Sam Tolson: 3 (Big Bundy, Selene Pyre, Taylor Landry)
Thaïs Empristikí: 2 (Vance Isaac Parker [Co-elimination], Helena Handbasket)
Aleki Kekoa: 2 (Lamashtu, Blackstar)
Chris Mosh: 2 (Uncle Sinister [Co-elimination], American Moderator)
Uncle Sinister: 2 (Gina Neon, Evan Carmine [Co-elimination])
Vance Isaac Parker: 2 (Chris Mosh, Roxie Ripper)
Gina Neon: 1 (Marisol Vilaro)
Hope Russo: 1 (Vance Isaac Parker [Co-elimination])
Marisol Vilaro: 1 (Mark Kelly [Co-elimination])
Selene Pyre: 1 (Mark Kelly [Co-elimination])
Taylor Landry: 1 (Mark Kelly [Co-elimination])
Mark Kelly: 1 (Troll Rogan)
Evan Carmine: 0
American Moderator: 0
Big Bundy: 0
Blackstar: 0
Lamashtu: 0
Puppy Pie: 0
Roxie Ripper: 0
Ryujin: 0
Troll Rogan: 0