All Activity

Serenity Hunter & Carlotta Paine ~versus~ Street Royalty (Beckie Reckless & Velma Rossi) Tag Team Match Two pairs of world traveled superstars hoping to elevate themselves into the title picture. 2x Maximum Promos, 2k Word Limit View full promo

Daughters of Texas © ~versus~ World Elite AWS Squad Championships The ladies of World Elite get to unseat The Daughters of Texas from the throne of the AWS Squad Championships. 2x Maximum Promos, 2k Word Limit View full promo

The Schoner Twins © ~versus~ Lexie Laren & Mystery Partner A2W Women's Tag Team Championships A mystery partner and Lexie Laren will get an opportunity to unseat The Schoner Twins as the A2W Women's Tag Team Champions. 2x Maximum Promos, 2k Word Limit View full promo

WARNING This live event contains strong coarse language (L), and intense violence (V) which may be unsuitable for younger viewers. Do NOT try to do reenact anything you see from this event at home. ASYLUM WRESTLING SOCIETY PRESENTS 2300 Arena in Philadelphia Event Date: 05/31/2025 Event Deadline: 05/31/2025 06:00 AM A2W Women's Tag Team Championships Tag Team Match Schoner Twins ~versus~ Lexie Laren & Mystery Partner AWS Squad Championships Trios Match Daughters of Texas (Abbi Lee, Karli Rae & Averi Michelle) © ~versus~ World Elite (Lindsey Flare, Amanda Macleod & Agent Carter) Tag Team Match Serenity Hunter & Carlotta Paine ~versus~ Street Royalty (Beckie Reckless & Velma Rossi) Card is subject to change. View full card

Concussion protocol is way more advanced these days and Ace is actually happy about that, he often feels stupid how despite his IQ and everything he was dismissive towards concussions and science and health related to the brain when it came to wrestling, to attempt a brand new super finisher with the corkscrew shooting star press the only relief is the lack of serious injury. Just flat on face to canvas. Even in defeat Ace has still impressed management, now he gets to face Jamal Payne. Jamal Payne is the antithesis of Ace Sky, a powerhouse with a background in not just the usual of weight lifting and football but also trained in boxing from his father. Jamal. Jamal came into the business as someone who did have to still pay his dues certainly however that process was a lot less stressful for him as it is for cruiserweights and female wrestlers. There is a prejudicial system created by the sayers of the industry, these aren’t wrestlers these are carny businessmen who infiltrated the sport and turned it into a global empire with their own preferences and ideals of what a “ superstar” wrestler is, being “ larger than life” trumped the importance of legitimate wrestling skill if said wrestler who fits all the characteristics and make up inside and out of what a pro wrestler is, they are the species of “ pro wrestler” however they could be now be excluded due to being small and that’s not really a disqualifier unless you have a prejudice, the thing that makes pro wrestling cool is the lack of some rules, that there are no bounds who in size and gender can compete. Pro wrestling isn’t rigged or anything , it is legit competition however there are scales that are tipped and bookers/ promoters can do a lot to achieve certain outcomes. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ace POV inner thoughts: When you are starting out and there’s ridiculous hazing in an already insular environment as pro wrestling was back when I was starting there is no way to know if you are being hazed or just bullied. The point of hazing from my perspective is to keep a new person humble and also allow them to ingratiate themselves into the locker room, you have to show you can take some shit and if you’re unfazed and take it you usually earn respect through it, it is very juvenile, sophomoric and reeks of toxic masculinity in today's standards, back then it was the late 90’s. I had thought I had built up all this experience, I was a backyard wrestler which had a big stigma but I also had an impressive background through Taekwondo and amateur wrestling unfortunately that really did not matter. I was the pariah cause I was the smallest at 5’6 and 130 pounds, I was 15 but I looked 9 years old, I was instantly a target of verbal abuse and taunting. Back then I had no idea why they were so mean to me, I had never experienced that, people often tell me nowadays it was probably because they were jealous of me, they saw my potential and knew their ceiling as never getting past a local level. Most of my early matches after I debuted , during or after win or lose they would send someone out to put me through a table. Getting put through a table is wild, first couple times were frightening, wrestling is this battle for power and your own physical autonomy is in jeopardy, especially undersized like myself. What ended up happening to my favor is fans respected me more and more, the real trick I had to figure out was how to literally turn the tables and put the attacker through the table. One time the world champ came in , this Big Brad Bandit 6’8 heavyset greasy long haired biker badass went to put me through a table again after a couple months , I never stopped fighting it and resisting it and this time it just worked, I slipped out of his grasp and I hit him with a front drop kick from behind sending him into the corner turnbuckle, he hit his face on the pad and fell back on the table in perfect position, I rushed to the top of the turnbuckle and hit a moonsault on him which broke the table. From there on out I haven’t gotten put through a table. Promoters will get their message across what they want for their brand, for their business and in a business where you can’t expect anything, it is very chaotic some chaos is controlled by a higher power, any time I was put in a Body slam challenge match against a heavyweight or super heavyweight/monster type, the table match turmoil I mentioned. The powers that be often, the boys( the locker room) even have all at some point wanted to clip my wings since day one, d I haven’t let them. I’ve had to scheme and sneak sometimes and other times I had to kick down the door, break glass ceilings and those doors I had to kick down and ceilings I had to break were not even for a spot at the top, I had to move those mountains to even achieve a spot at the lowest/ started ranking, in some ways I feel that is how it should be, it’s complicated that we have a standard that this business of pro wrestling is where the best are really the best of the best and you are not being judged on those standards of what makes you the best- top tier-technique, professional prime time level presentation, box office draw potentiality, size/ height, gender/sex are superfluous , that is just judgement at a surface level that has is not an accurate system to judge talent on. —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ace Sky is backstage, hobnobbing with the camera crew and techs—the same backstage staff most wrestlers and higher-ups ignore like NPCs. Ace sits in a lotus pose atop an equipment box, calm and grounded, talking directly to the camera crew filming him. The room is quiet—the words matter. “The first promotion I started at professionally at 15 they used to put me through tables after every match. Sometimes I lost. Sometimes I won. Didn’t matter. I was 130 pounds and looked 9 years old—I wasn’t what they wanted to sell. But here’s the part they don’t want you to think about: If I was a woman, they wouldn’t have bothered with the table. They would’ve stuck me in a bikini and said, ‘Smile for the camera, sweetheart.’” “You think this is just about me being small? No. It’s about anyone who’s ever been told, ‘You’re not marketable. You’re not believable. You’re not worth investing in.’ I’ve seen women get dismissed, sexualized, and overlooked by the same voices that once told me I’d never make it—because if it were up to them, I wouldn’t have. Their criteria? Box office numbers and TV appeal. But none of that matters once the bell rings. Because in that ring, I’m a legit threat. I’ve fought guys twice my size—guys who look like a million bucks but don’t have a dime’s worth of killer instinct. And yeah, I’ve kicked the hell out of them. And honestly? That doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t feel right—to brutalize someone who was set up to succeed but never taught to survive. But I do it. Because they made me this way. They built a system that only rewards the surface, then act shocked when someone like me breaks through and starts burning it down from the inside.” Yes you are exception to that, You came in with the right size and have been doing this for around the same time as me, you qualified not purely based on your looks, I'm sure the opponents of yours before me overlooked you, dismissed you, I'm sure you've had to go through certain struggles with the social -professional-interpersonal labyrinth. That's the odd thing, every wrestler, all of us we experience that crap and it really affects us, it does a lot to our psyche even and these complexes have given us a brotherhood but it keeps us separated because we have been traumatized to use the inner turmoil the business puts on us to prove we belong against each other when most of us know intellectually, literally " this guy is a good wrestler, just like me, now we have to fight" and for what? To entertain hard-working people, that is a thing I believe is good and needed because our stories, our hardships in this industry resonate with working-class people, this isn't a unique process it happens in all art forms and sports and entertainment industries and that's why fans matter because they aren't the masses of savages who just want to see bloodsport they see themselves in us , we know this as children we were fans of this, we all are standing on the shoulders of these giants who made us feel powerful, who fought for what we believe in or at least against something we hated or saw as injustice. “What happens in the locker room isn’t just wrestling. It’s what happens in boardrooms, in studios, in government buildings, even courtrooms. Same games. Same lies. Same people pulling strings behind the curtain, trying to decide who gets to shine and who’s told to wait their turn. But here's the truth: if you're told to wait long enough, eventually, you break down the door—and make your own spotlight.” There is a responsibility as champion to everyone to management to the fans at both a consumer and personal level , I make the case why I should be champion and how I feel I am able to do so. The one thing I try not to do, I never want to promise anything, I never promise I will win, all I can promise is that I believe I can and that just has to be good enough until the last bell rings. "

The trip to London didn't seem to take as long as he thought it would. Of course, his thoughts were more on getting back into the game and taking care of business. He had no doubts in his mind that he could do it. He was still in great shape even after the time he spent away from the sport. He knew that he would have to start over at the bottom and work his way through the ranks. He had no problem with disposing anyone who gets in his way. He looked at his watch and shook his head. 'What the hell is taking them so long with this shit.' He thought as the clerk finally approached the counter. Clerk: I apologize for the delay sir. Here are your keys. Night Rider: So why the damn hold up anyway? My shit was taken care of before I left. No checking on shit! Clerk: Once again sir, I apologize. Your information did not get completely processed in accounting. Night Rider: I know, it wasn't your fault. It never is. He walked out of the storeroom and over to the vehicle. It was a small sedan that wasn't much for speed but got great gas mileage It wasn't what he preferred but it would do. His Harley would have been so much nicer but it was back home in Chicago. He could hardly hear the sedan as it started up and pulled out of the lot, right into oncoming traffic. Damnit, he forgot they drive on the opposite side of the road here. He laughed and pulled into the correct lane just before an old man in a pickup honked his horn and gave him the finger. He hoped this wasn't an omen. He finally made it to his Hotel and checked in. There was no problem getting him to his suite and before long he was soaking in a hot tub and relaxing. Smiling as the warm water massaged his tired body. He hated the fatigue that always happens after he flies. He would have to take a nap and rest up before meeting with the owner and seeing how they wanted to work his return. He was anxious to get back into the ring and start busting some heads again. Then a sadness began to fill him as he thought of Denise and then of Angel Fyre. He thought of all of his old friends. They were all gone now either dead or retired. He would have to make new friends and new alignments. It didn't matter, either way he was determined to succeed. Nothing was going to stop him.

(The scene opens up inside the office of John Dixon, TJ Alexander’s manager. As we see John Dixon sitting behind his large oak desk, wearing a tailor made black suit with a white buttoned shirt, and a black tie. Across from him, sits TJ Alexander, also wearing a tailor made suit, however it’s a navy blue suit, with a white buttoned shirt, and a navy blue tie.) “You know what I always say to you TJ?” John says (The camera pans to TJ sitting across as the table is in between them) “Yeah I know, John.” TJ replies (The camera reverts back to John) “That you’re the best.” John says confidently (The camera pans back to TJ) “I know you say that, what that is about?” TJ says (The camera pans to John) “I say this because, I feel it, I say this because I can see it, and I say this not to blow smoke up your arse and make your ego bigger, I say it because, it’s damn well true, or at least it was, but recently, recently it hasn’t been shown in AWS has it” John says (The camera pans to TJ) “No it hasn’t, and that’s my fault.” TJ says angrily *The camera pans to John) “I’m glad you’re taking responsibility, because while I’ve not been at ring-side as much for you, which I am going to be more so now, I’ve seen you drop off as of late, maybe it’s all the schedules that you’re trying to keep up with, are they getting too much? Like I said, or am I wrong?” John asks (The camera pans to TJ) “You’re wrong; it’s not the many schedules that I’ve got.” TJ says (The camera pans to John) So what is it? An injury, I can get it sorted, because the TJ Alexander I know would not have held back as much as you’ve had, he would have broken the jaws of opponent and collected as many championships he could.” John says (The camera pans to TJ) “Firstly John, no there’s no injury, and it’s certainly not the schedules that I keep, that I appear in every show I’m in week in and week out, but I don’t know the answer.” TJ says confused (The camera pans to John again) “So I’ve got some good news for you, I’ve worked my magic, as I’ve facilitated a move for you this Monday Night on Ward.” John says (The camera pans to TJ still looking confused) “I’m against KD Feigel on Monday night Ward.” TJ says (The camera pans to John) “Not anymore, he has been drafted to the ASSAULT brand, which is lucky for him, his out of your way now, because if he would have stayed on the WARD brand with you, I know for a fact, that you would have ended the Feigel bloodline right there and then.” John says smirking (The camera pans to TJ) “So who’s my new opponent?” TJ asks (The camera pans to John again still holding the cigar in his right hand) “I facilitated a move that only I could pull off, because Charlie Feigel wanted you to be against some random local to try and embarrass you, but I know you’re better than that, so I worked my magic, and I got you a match for the North American championship against Karlie Rae in a plain singles match, how freakin’ awesome am I.” John announces (The camera pans to TJ with a grin on his face) “So it’s going to be me against Karlie Rae for the North American championship.” TJ says rubbing his hands together (The camera pans to John) “That’s right kid, how awesome am I? I hope you’re angry still, and that anger you had for KD Feigel, I want you to divert it to Karlie Rae, because despite how small she is, she’s a little fire-cracker of a fighter, and she hasn’t got where she has out of luck, it’s been through hard work, similar to you.” John says (The camera pans to TJ) “I know how good she is, and you’re right, she is a fire-cracker, she can almost match me in speed and agility through her size and stature, but I said almost, mostly though, it’s an unfair match-up, but life’s unfair, her size and stature is what’s going to be her downfall against me, because while she tries to avoid and evade, maybe last the distance, it’s going to backfire. My endurance and stamina will subdue her, and then I’ll throw her around like a rag-doll when she’s exhausted herself out.” TJ says confidently (The camera pans to John) “There you go lad, there you go, I knew it was in there somewhere, I knew, I can still see the fire, and I knew the determination was in there too, but now it’s all down to you son.” John says (The camera fades out) (The scene opens up later that day, with a wide shot of the back of TJ Alexander. “The Game Changer” stands there facing away from the camera, still in the same clothes as earlier, then slowly exhales before he turns around to meet the viewers with a stern expression) “Yu know all week I have been training my arse off to get ready for my match against KD Feigel for this week on Monday Night Ward, but when I was told about KD being drafted to Assault, I sigh of relief exhaled out of me, not because I was afraid of him, because I’m afraid of no one, certainly not him, but I was relieved that I didn’t have to end another member of the Feigel bloodline, now KD can have all the special treatment he wants over at ASSAULT, and I can make WARD the most dominate brand in AWS history, with the North American championship in my hands.” (TJ cracks his knuckles) “Karlie Rae in the short time that I was told about our match, I’ve watched everything, I’ve sponged up every bit of knowledge I can about you, and it’s not fair on you, but the world isn’t a fair place and while you prance around with the North American title like an accessory piece of bling, when I have it, I’ll do more with it, competition will come at me in waves, because I’ll make it desirable. I’ll place it on a pedestal that everyone sees and they’ll come running, but let me ask you this, what exactly have you done as champion? The answer is very little, it’s almost like it was a pity win, to try and be something, when in reality Karlie, you’re just an average chick.” (TJ smiles into the camera) “Karlie I know it’s gonna hurt hearing the truth out loud, but when you’re up against me in the ring, when you see me, not only will you be subdued in every way by me, you’ll probably catch feelings for me, because I am a handsome Brit, and more importantly, I’m the Best Brit in the business, but Karlie, this is just business, I NEED that North American title, and I will get it.” (Saliva drips from every word as TJ speaks, and slowly shifts his weight from one foot to another. TJ was more than ready, and at Monday might Ward it’s his opportunity to do so) “I’m stepping in at Monday Night Ward with one goal, and a stomach full of hunger, like no other has, no matter what, I’ll kill for this, I’ll kill to be the North American champion, and I’ll do everything in my power to get the North American championship.” (TJ snorts, as his head slightly tilts to the left, as TJ focuses deep into the camera as fuel builds in TJ’s words) “There’s no hiding away, I know I’m going to have to deal with Karlie Rae, she’s a decent opponent, she has qualities, but those qualities are over shadowed and overpowered by me, believe me Karlie, this isn’t a match you can overcome, when I’m determined as I am, you’re already done." (TJ’s eyes roll as sweat drips from his forehead) “In a few days time, as Tuesday morning rolls around, everything will be crystal fuckin’ clear, that I’m YOU’RE new North American champion, to Karlie Rae keep dreamin that you can beat me, because it’s as close as your gonna get, believe my fuckin words.” (Scene ends)

[Scene opens in a dark, sandstorm-drenched desert with an Iraqi flag fluttering in the background. A lone torch flickers against a cracked stone wall carved with Arabic script. Amir Al-Hassan steps into frame, wearing a traditional keffiyeh and his black-and-gold wrestling robe, eyes cold, intense, unblinking.] Amir Al-Hassan: ["In Arabic-accented English"] Heh… You say you are a god, Cameron Tyler? A Rock Star God? [scoffs] Do you hear yourself; you are arrogant, delusional fool? Do you truly believe that dressing like an overgrown glam puppet from a forgotten era makes you divine? Is that what passes for godhood in your country now? Leather pants, spray tan, and dollar-store eyeliner? Ha! You are not a god, Cameron. You are not even a man of conviction. You are the byproduct of a rotting empire. An empty vessel filled with loud music, cheap perfume, and broken promises. You prance around arenas like a peacock — all feathers, no fight. But at Proving Ground, you will learn the meaning of reality. [Amir paces slowly in a half-circle, torchlight casting ominous shadows across his face.] You see, I come from the cradle of civilization. From a land older than your flag, richer in blood and sand than your spoiled country could ever comprehend. Mesopotamia — my home — where empires rise and fall. Where every man who claimed divinity was buried by truth. And truth, Cameron Tyler, is coming for you. You… you dare call yourself a god? You are comical. A parody of strength. A false prophet wrapped in glitter and lies. You sing your little songs, strut your little struts, and bathe in the adoration of ignorant fools. But in that ring, under the lights, under the weight of your own illusion… you will break. Not because I am stronger. Not because I am faster. But because I am real. [He jabs a finger toward the camera.] You are manufactured. I am forged — by war, by blood, by the fire of every drone strike and shattered city my people have endured because of people like you. You, the face of the West. You, the smiling villain. You are no god. You are the reason gods go silent. You are everything wrong with your dying culture. But let me be clear. This is not just about you, Cameron Tyler. This is judgment. You stand on a stage built by liars. I walk with the weight of a thousand ancestors. While you play air guitar, I carry the stories of martyrs in my fists. I am Amir Al-Hassan, the Punishment of the East. The Desert Storm Reborn. The Walking Reckoning. And at Proving Ground… I will expose you. [Camera zooms in on Amir’s face, sweat starting to bead across his forehead as he speaks with even more venom.] You want to talk about “star power”? Pfft. The only stars you’ll see after our match are the ones spinning above your empty skull when I drive your head into that mat. You want to talk about “godhood”? When you feel your joints twist, when your spine screams under my grip, when your lungs beg for air and I show no mercy — then you will pray. Not to your so-called god-self, but to anyone who will listen. And no one will. Because in that ring… there will be only me. And there is no salvation for the false. You see, this is what you don't understand. Wrestling, to you, is a stage. A circus. You perform. I punish. You entertain. I inflict. You prance for attention. I fight for retribution. You carry a guitar on your back? I carry rage. The rage of a generation. The fury of stolen oil, of toppled statues, of cities turned to ash. Every cheer you receive is a slap to the face of the forgotten. And that is why I must silence you. I will not just beat you. I will make an example of you. You may be AWS’ golden boy — its glittering idol — but when I’m done, there will be nothing left to worship but broken bones and bitter tears. [Amir pulls a steel chair into the frame and slowly sits down, draping his arms over the backrest like a lion ready to strike.] You see, Tyler… Rock Star God… this isn’t personal. Not yet. But it will be. When you look in my eyes and realize your gods have abandoned you… When your fans fall silent and watch their idol crumble… When your screams echo across the arena and are swallowed by silence… Then, and only then, you will understand what you were up against. I am not coming to wrestle you. I am coming to humble you. You think this is a gimmick? A game? Do you think I wear this keffiyeh for show? That I speak in riddles and rage for entertainment? No. This is not a costume. This is not an act. This is who I am. I walk with generations behind me. With holy vengeance in my veins. I will drag you from your artificial heaven, down to the sand and grit where men become monsters. And I will drag my boot across your throat as a reminder… That the gods of America are fragile. And the gods of the West… bleed. [He leans closer, eyes piercing through the camera like twin daggers.] You call yourself a Rock Star God? Good. Because false gods make the sweetest victims. And I have come to build an altar of broken idols. You will be the first. Let the world see it. Let the world watch as their loudest voice is silenced. Their golden boy turned to bronze. Their “chosen one”… exposed. When I lock in the Chains of Babylon (Rings of Saturn)… and your limbs beg for mercy… there will be no encore. When I drive your face into the mat with the Desert Verdict (BFT), no crowd chant will revive you. No guitar riff. No bright lights. Just silence. Just the truth. And I… I will stand over you, triumphant, as the world sees what happens when illusions clash with inevitability. I am the storm coming to your arena. I am the reckoning that cannot be stopped. While your people chant “USA! USA!” in blind devotion, I will answer with every suplex, every submission, every sickening impact that screams one simple message: Your gods are false. And at Proving Ground, Cameron Tyler, I will tear your altar down with my bare hands. [He rises slowly, turning his back to the camera, the Iraqi flag rippling in the background as thunder rumbles faintly in the desert sky.] You may be a star in your land, Cameron. But in mine… stars fall. Fade to black.

Inside an operating room somewhere, a lonely scalpel, illuminated by an overhead spotlight, lays atop Mayo tray draped all in blue. Medico Muerte steps next to the tray. He picks up the scalpel and examines it. “A fresh 10 blade.” He draws the blade against his gloved finger. “It’s sharp, shiny, and does its job quickly and efficiently: it gets under the skin.” “Every surgery starts with the blade. Without it you’d get nowhere in your operation. Imagine trying to bypass a blocked carotid, or birthing a child whose head was stuck in the mother’s pelvis.” “You just can’t do it without a blade.” Medico gently drops the scalpel back onto the tray and steps away into the darkness before the spotlight turns off. A second spotlight appears, shining down over Medico, whose deep cyan eyes that hide behind his black leather mask stares down at the floor. “Every opponent I face is akin to a new operation. Each time the bell rings is like the start of my procedure. And what do I do?” Medico slightly cocks his head. “I draw that 10 blade on my opponent until I get to where I need to be successful.” “Just like what I’m going to do to you.” Medico shifts his focus directly into the camera. “KD Feigel. The son of the Asylum president and second generation wrestler. Your reputation precedes you. For years now you’ve been admitted in the asylum, plying your trade for gold and glory above all else… but what do you have to show for it?” The camera slowly begins zooming in. “On Tuesday Night Assault I am going to show Asylum and all the lunatics exactly what I am all about when perform my first ‘operation—’” Medico’s eyes flicker as he points at the camera. “On you.” “Take a good look at me, Feigel. This is what a true professional looks like. The mask— the gloves— the tights. I want you to remember me as the last thing you see before going under, because what you and the lunatics out there will quickly realize is that I don’t play. I’m quick, I’m sharp, and I’m to the point. And speaking of points, I hope your ‘blade’ hasn’t dulled from all your work over the past three years here… because a dull blade won’t cut. That’s why I sharpen mine after each and every performance. And when I perform on you, KD—” Something shine’s off Medico’s eyes. “I’ll make sure you properly go under the knife. Medico holds the scalpel up in front of his face for a close up into the camera. “This 10 blade signifies the start of Medico Muerte’s run here in Asylum. And when I come face to face with your stagnant ass in the ring I’m going to do what I need to do to succeed…” “And if that means bypassing you like the clogged carotid you are for a shot at the NXT-LVL title, or just straight up cutting you out of mommy and daddy’s incubator like the entitled brat you are…” “So be it.” Medico reaches up and pulls the spotlight right above his head. “Tengo tu remedio, Feigel. And at Tuesday Night Assault you have an appointment with me to receive it.” Click. Lights out.

Ring Name: Napalm Steele Real Name (optional/private) Nickname(s): "Firestorm” aka “The Pyromaniac Psycho" Date of Birth: 9/11/1998 Hometown: Scranton, Pennsylvania Billed From: Scranton, Pennsylvania Height: 6'3” Weight: 255 bs Alignment (Face / Heel / Tweener): Heel Wrestling Style(s) (e.g., Technical, Hardcore, Brawler, High Flyer, Submission, Deathmatch): Hardcore Deathmatch Brawler Debut Year: Ready to Debut 🧠 CHARACTER DETAILS Persona / Gimmick Summary: (Brief overview of character's identity, attitude, and mindset) (Napalm Steele is a disraced former firefighter turned serial arsonist and convicted criminal. He wears his old firefighter outfit in an ironic tribute to his past life and still loves to play with fire. Attitude/Mindset (GZF! Gives Zero Fucks! Self hating Loner that is looking for a reason to cause chaos. The epitome of hurt people hurt people.) Catchphrase(s): "Can you take the heat?” Let's burn this bitch up! Feel...the...Burn!!!" Entrance Theme: “Pyromaniac” by Violent J Entrance Description: (Detail how they walk to the ring, lighting, pyro, mannerisms, interaction with the crowd, etc.) [The arena lights dim to complete darkness.] (The sound of distant sirens echoes through the arena. Faint crackling of a fire fades in. A deep, distorted voice speaks.) “Savior to Sinner… Let's burn this bitch up! One match at a time.” [BOOM!] (“Pyromaniac” by Violent J blasts throughout the arena as a massive burst of flame explodes from the entrance ramp that floods with thick, orange-lit smoke. Through the haze, a dark, looming silhouette of a figure emerges: Napalm Steele. He wears black fireman’s gear. burned, torn, and stitched with red-ember seams. Over his shoulder: a dented fire axe. On his back: a custom vest reading "ARSON UNIT 187" in scorched letters. Lighting flickers like firelight, casting sharp shadows across his face, half-hidden behind a scorched gas mask. He pauses at the top of the ramp, slowly turning his attention toward the ring before removing the mask to reveal a twisted smirk and wild eyes.) (A wall of flame erupts behind Napalm Steele as he strides to the ring, occasionally casting a cold stare towards the crowd. Steele climbs onto the apron and kneels while running a gloved hand across the mat like he’s "testing the temperature." Napalm throws his arms wide in a burning crucifix pose as more flames shoot from the four ring posts.) Ring Announcer: "From the ashes of his former life… weighing 255 pounds… the Firestorm… NAPALM STEELE!" Manager / Valet / Stable (if any): Trademark Objects / Props (e.g., barbed wire bat, mask, chains, throne): Firefighter Axe and Fire Extinguisher or in extreme cases a molotov cocktail or flamethrower 💥 MOVESET Finisher(s) (Name + Description): Napalm Bomb (Running Release Powerbomb from inside the ring to the outside floor) https://youtu.be/mZfi7lY770s?si=dpiiUbJhc3mnIcjc Fireman's Inferno (Fireman's Carry into Powerslam https://youtu.be/7uwfYq3J4VU?si=KQU30zifWIRglguS Signature Moves (3–5 with names + brief description): Backdraft Breaker (Running Turnbuckle Bomb) https://youtu.be/aQoymrdDcbc?si=0O0s4KC8WxVwPUHX Firestorm Face Buster (Lifting double underhook facebuster) https://youtu.be/nl6GhKu84ts?si=sn1XXLHTVVpIZDYm Rolling Fireman's Carry Slam https://youtu.be/nZKN3221w9c?si=CJVVpPrM0_MroUUV Fireman's Carry Sit-Out Spinebuster https://youtu.be/l0YivNIFUxs?si=oCTldFEn34bf5Zkg Flashpoint (Running Boot to Face) https://youtu.be/QX8WsDOf11g?si=eSAMje8Q6jkEA04- Common Moves (5–10 standard moves they often use): Fireman's Carry Takedown Airplane Spin Discus Lariat Springboard Shoulder Tackle Reverse Powerslam Burning Hammer Sidewalk Slam Jawbreaker Swinging Neckbreaker Pump handle Slam Weapon of Choice (if applicable): Loves to use fire in any form. Prefers flaming tables, molotov cocktails or a flamethrower when in extreme psycho mode. Also lkes to use a firefighter ladder for various high spots. 🩸 PROMO STYLE Promo Sample: (It’s another normal cold day in Scranton, PA. The electric chime sounds off as Napalm Steele steps out of a corner market with a plastic bag of fresh groceries swinging in his hand. He keeps his head down and eyes hidden behind dark shades as he turns the corner on the sidewalk strolling through the quiet street, minding his own business. That is until he hears the unmistakable sound of a nuisance streamer yelling in an obnoxious voice. Napalm Steele gives an annoyed sigh as he turns to see a camera phone already recording his every move.) Nuisance Streamer: "Yo, yo, yo, what’s up to all my fans out there! Today we’re gonna hit someone with the ultimate prank!” (The voice is loud, brash, and irritating, the kind you just want to punch in the face.) “Here he comes! We got the perfect target, boys. Let's see if this homeless looking bum wants to say hello to our lil’ friend!” (The lame Scarface impression gets an eye roll from Napalm Steele. He glances to his left. A young man with an iPhone records a Livestream while another kid, around twenty or so, is holding a water gun. The water gun, though, isn't filled with water—it’s filled with something darker. A sickly yellowish tint bubbles from the nozzle. “Hey, man,” the nuisance streamer shouts toward Napalm, “you ready to get wet, boi?” (He grins like he’s about to ruin someone’s day and make it a viral moment. Napalm doesn’t say a word. He just glares at them with unblinking eyes. These clout chasing troublemakers did not care to know that the man they are “pranking” is someone who doesn’t take well to being the butt of anyone's joke, especially an unfunny one like this. Without warning, the kid with the water gun raises it and fires, the stream of urine hitting Napalm square in the forehead. The pungent smell hits instantly. The nuisance streamer bursts into laughter with his friends, looking to provoke the reaction he expects to get from the target. Napalm begins to mimic and mock the nuisance streamer slapping his knee in hysterical laughter before suddenly stopping with a deadly gaze.) Napalm Steele: “Cute prank. I consider myself more of a magician. You boys like magic, right? Of course you do, who doesn't like magic? Oh do I have a trick for you. Don't worry you're fans watching your Livestream are going to like this. (The nuisance streamer laughs nervously as he tries to anticipate whatever is about to happen nextt. Napalm Steele tilts his head slightly, a slow smirk grows as his pulls a cigarette from behind the ear and reaches into his denims pants pocket to retrieve a Zippo lighter. He flicks the lid open with his thumb and rolls the wheel. the lighter sparks once. Then twice. The flame catches just as he inhales the smoke of the cigarette.) Napalm Steele: “Here comes the best part of the trick, ready?” (That’s when Napalm’s hand shifts again, this time pulling out a small bottle of lighter fluid from his inside coat pocket. With a calculated motion, he begins to spray the fluid in the nuisance streamers direction, just inches from his eyes and face.) (The nuisance streamer stares, wide-eyed, still processing what's happening. Napalm takes another drag of his cigarette, eyes cold, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, the cigarette is tossed into the air. Spinning end over end as it lands right near the nuisance streamers face.) (For a moment, everything goes silent. The world seems to slow down as the cigarette meets the lighter fluid. A small spark ignites quickly into flames as if it were the devil's tongue licking at his face. The nuisance streamers scream is music to Napalm Steele's ears as his skull is now a fireball of burning flesh. The nuisance streamer runs off in a state of panic and the iPhone camera falls to the concrete as the recording Livestreamer chases after his friend in hopes of helping put out the face fire with the urine filled water gun. Napalm steps forward and hovers over the dropped camera. His grin is wider now, almost devilish.) Napalm Steele “I call that trick how to make a nuisance and his eyebrows disappear. Not bad, right? Be sure to smash that like button, share the show with your friendsa as if any of you losers have any, and subscribe for more karma related chaotic content coming back to bite these nuisance streamers on the ass.” (Napalm Steele’s eyes glint with amusement from behind the shades as the heel of his boot steps on the iPhone camera screen, causing several cracks in the glass. The sound of sirens approaches in the distance. Although it's too little too late as by the time they arrive, there’s nothing but the faintest smell of burnt flesh in the air and one very damaged camera with a cracked spiderweb view of a city that’ just became a little less safe.) Promo Tone (e.g., Serious, Unhinged, Methodical, Psychotic, Cerebral, Comedic): Unhinged, Psychotic Accent / Voice Style (optional): soft spoken with evil intentions, similar to a Jake “The Snake” Roberts Preferred Promo Setting (e.g., Dark Room, Backstage, In-Ring, Vignette Style): Outdoors or public setting, occasionally Vignette style, in ring second, backstage Notable Quotes / Lines: “Let’s burn this bitch up! One match at a time.” “Can you take the heat?” “My obsession still burns and so will you.” 🏆 CHAMPIONSHIP HISTORY (Within AWS or other major promotions — optional) Titles Held: Notable Feuds / Rivalries: Major Accomplishments / Tournament Wins: 🧬 AESTHETICS & ATTIRE Ring Gear Description: Firefighter boots, suspenders, firefighter pants (3 colors; camouflage, yellow and red) Entrance Gear (if different): Red firefighter helmet. A self-contained breathing apparatus (SCBA) Firefighter pants Firefighter boots Tattoos / Scars / Distinctive Features: Burn scars around the neck, tattoo sleeves of unique red ink flames Facepaint / Mask / Warpaint: Color Scheme / Symbolism: red and yellow to represent both his obsession with fire but also his past as a once promising firefighter. Also uses black to symbolize the burnt ashes that this Phoenix will rise. 📸 MEDIA & PRESENCE Social Media Handles (if used in character): Custom Titantron Video Description (optional): Logo or Emblem (describe or attach): Merchandise Ideas (shirt slogans, styles, themes): ‘Napalm Steele’ torch lighters. “Can you take the heat?” Firefighter T-shirt. 🕯️ BACKSTORY / LORE (Can be as short or as elaborate as needed. Highlight key moments, origin story, motivation, trauma, goals, etc.) Character Biography: Former Firefighter turned Convicted Arsonist.Born into a storied legacy of public service, Nathaniel “Napalm” Steele was the fifth generation in a proud lineage of firefighters based in Scranton, Pennsylvania. From the time he could walk, Nate wore plastic helmets and played with hoses in the firehouse where his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all served. By 18, Nate had already earned a reputation as one of the most fearless volunteer firefighters in just his first year on the force but behind the heroics was a man struggling with identity, addiction to adrenaline and unresolved trauma. The pressure of legacy and the thrill of chaos became a dangerous mix. Investigators noticed a disturbing pattern. Fires that seemed targeted, almost staged. In 2017, after a string of suspicious blazes, Nate was investigatd then arrested and later convicted for arson. The revelation shocked the community. A hero turned villain. A savior turned destroyer. After serving four years in prison, Nate emerged with a new purpose. Reinventing himself as Napalm Steele, leaning into his controversial past. Critics are quick to comment on his criminal past but Napalm Steele thrives in the fire of controversy. Wrestling promotions from indie circuits to national stages now clamor for his presence. Whether in the ring or out, he’s a man who has walked through the fire both figuratively and literally. Now Napalm Steele has a newfound burning desire at a second chance to make a name for himself, no matter the cost. "I was born to fight the fire. Now I AM the fire." — Napalm Steele

(It’s another normal cold day in Scranton, PA. The electric chime sounds off as Napalm Steele steps out of a corner market with a plastic bag of fresh groceries swinging in his hand. He keeps his head down and eyes hidden behind dark shades as he turns the corner on the sidewalk strolling through the quiet street, minding his own business. That is until he hears the unmistakable sound of a nuisance streamer yelling in an obnoxious voice. Napalm Steele gives an annoyed sigh as he turns to see a camera phone already recording his every move.) Nuisance Streamer: "Yo, yo, yo, what’s up to all my fans out there! Today we’re gonna hit someone with the ultimate prank!” (The voice is loud, brash, and irritating, the kind you just want to punch in the face.) “Here he comes! We got the perfect target, boys. Let's see if this homeless looking bum wants to say hello to our lil’ friend!” (The lame Scarface impression gets an eye roll from Napalm Steele. He glances to his left. A young man with an iPhone records a Livestream while another kid, around twenty or so, is holding a water gun. The water gun, though, isn't filled with water—it’s filled with something darker. A sickly yellowish tint bubbles from the nozzle. “Hey, man,” the nuisance streamer shouts toward Napalm, “you ready to get wet, boi?” (He grins like he’s about to ruin someone’s day and make it a viral moment. Napalm doesn’t say a word. He just glares at them with unblinking eyes. These clout chasing troublemakers did not care to know that the man they are “pranking” is someone who doesn’t take well to being the butt of anyone's joke, especially an unfunny one like this. Without warning, the kid with the water gun raises it and fires, the stream of urine hitting Napalm square in the forehead. The pungent smell hits instantly. The nuisance streamer bursts into laughter with his friends, looking to provoke the reaction he expects to get from the target. Napalm begins to mimic and mock the nuisance streamer slapping his knee in hysterical laughter before suddenly stopping with a deadly gaze.) Napalm Steele: “Cute prank. I consider myself more of a magician. You boys like magic, right? Of course you do, who doesn't like magic? Oh do I have a trick for you. Don't worry your fans watching your Livestream are going to like this. (The nuisance streamer laughs nervously as he tries to anticipate whatever is about to happen nextt. Napalm Steele tilts his head slightly, a slow smirk grows as his pulls a cigarette from behind the ear and reaches into his denims pants pocket to retrieve a Zippo lighter. He flicks the lid open with his thumb and rolls the wheel. the lighter sparks once. Then twice. The flame catches just as he inhales the smoke of the cigarette.) Napalm Steele: “Here comes the best part of the trick, ready?” (That’s when Napalm’s hand shifts again, this time pulling out a small bottle of lighter fluid from his inside coat pocket. With a calculated motion, he begins to spray the fluid in the nuisance streamers direction, just inches from his eyes and face.) (The nuisance streamer stares, wide-eyed, still processing what's happening. Napalm takes another drag of his cigarette, eyes cold, the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, the cigarette is tossed into the air. Spinning end over end as it lands right near the nuisance streamers face.) (For a moment, everything goes silent. The world seems to slow down as the cigarette meets the lighter fluid. A small spark ignites quickly into flames as if it were the devil's tongue licking at his face. The nuisance streamers scream is music to Napalm Steele's ears as his skull is now a fireball of burning flesh. The nuisance streamer runs off in a state of panic and the iPhone camera falls to the concrete as the recording Live Streamer chases after his friend in hopes of helping put out the face fire with the urine filled water gun. Napalm steps forward and hovers over the dropped camera. His grin is wider now, almost devilish.) Napalm Steele “I call that trick how to make a nuisance and his eyebrows disappear. Not bad, right? Be sure to smash that like button, share the show with your friendsa as if any of you losers have any, and subscribe for more karma related chaotic content coming back to bite these nuisance streamers on the ass.” (Napalm Steele’s eyes glint with amusement from behind the shades as the heel of his boot steps on the iPhone camera screen, causing several cracks in the glass. The sound of sirens approaches in the distance. Although it's too little too late as by the time they arrive, there’s nothing but the faintest smell of burnt flesh in the air and one very damaged camera with a cracked spiderweb view of a city that’ just became a little less safe.)

Name: Eirian Pierce Ring Name: The Welsh Destroyer Height: 5'4" Weight: 150 lbs Hometown: Cardiff, Wales Billed From: “The Wreckage of the Valleys” Age: 25 Alignment: Tweener (leans face with a biker's edge) Affiliation: The Reapers MC — Las Vegas Chapter Theme Music: “Fuel to the Fire” by Music Beyond Appearance & Attire: Eirian is a powerhouse in a compact frame. With piercing bright green eyes and blown-out red hair streaked with blonde highlights, she commands attention the moment she enters. Her biker-inspired ring gear includes: A black and pink leather cut branded with The Reapers, MC — Las Vegas, NV*, featuring the Grim Reaper on a chopper on the back. * Worn blue jeans with a tight athletic fit, tucked into jet-black biker boots. * A pink studded belt with a silver & purple metallic buckle. * Subtle but enhancing cat-eye makeup that adds ferocity to her look without losing femininity. In-ring, she removes her jacket to reveal a black sports top and reinforced knee pads for durability in physical matches. Wrestling Style: Hybrid Brawler/Powerhouse with Technical Submissions Eirian combines raw strength with gritty street-fight tactics and old-school catch wrestling taught to her by her grandfather in Wales. Every match feels like a pub brawl with purpose. Signature Moves: * Dragon Valley Driver – Sit-out Michinoku Driver II * Reaper’s Reign – Ground-and-pound flurry with mounted elbow strikes * High Noon Headbutt – Running headbutt from a low crouch * Welshbreaker – Back suplex transitioned into a spinebuster * Throttle Kick – Running big boot, often used as a match opener Finisher Moves: * Last Ride to Cardiff – Crucifix Powerbomb with a high-impact toss * Chrome Guillotine – Rear naked choke while mounted, ending in a body-scissors sleeper combo Character Background: Eirian Pierce was born and raised in Cardiff amidst a rough, working-class background. Her father ran a bike repair shop while her mother worked double shifts in a steel mill. Her affinity for motorcycles and destruction led her down a dark path until she found purpose in the squared circle. She left Wales at 19 and was embraced by The Reapers MC after earning her place in an underground fighting circuit in Nevada. A fiercely loyal biker with a no-nonsense edge, she doesn’t seek the spotlight — she earns it with pain and pride. Notable Quotes: * “I don’t ride for fame. I ride for legacy... and to crush bones.” * “Wrestling ain’t ballet — it’s a war on leather wheels.” * “They thought I was just another girl with an accent. Now they know I’m the last one they’ll hear.” Notable Feuds: * "The Rebel Rose" Vera Eames – A turf war between rebellious hearts * Street Royalty (Velma Rossi & Beckie Reckless) – For biker pride and turf dominance in the women's tag team scene Championships & Accomplishments: Inducted into The Reapers MC – Inner Circle* as a full patched sister (first non-American member) Catchphrase: "I don’t knock. I kick the door down and burn the house with it."

Wrestler Name: "Big" Rob Pierce Real Name: Robert Alan Pierce Height: 6'7" Weight: 333 lbs Hometown: Las Vegas, Nevada Alignment: Heel (Outlaw Enforcer) Nickname(s): * "The Reaper's Hammer" * "Sin City Juggernaut" * "The Steel Horse Executioner" Affiliation: The Reapers, M.C. (Motorcycle Club stable) Appearance: Towering and heavily built with a dominating presence Bald head with a scruffy, jet-black beard Piercings in both ears and eyebrow Intense silver eyes that reflect a cold, menacing glare Wears a black leather biker jacket emblazoned with: “The Reapers, MC – Las Vegas, NV” on the back featuring a grim reaper riding a chopper Worn blue jeans held with a distressed brown leather belt and heavy silver buckle Jet-black biker boots Often seen walking out beside his custom chopper with orange flame detailing Entrance Theme: “Fuel to the Fire” – by Raging Speedhorn Entrance Description: The arena lights dim to a burning red glow as the rumble of a motorcycle engine echoes throughout the building. A spotlight hits the ramp as "Big" Rob Pierce slowly rides his flame-covered chopper to ringside. The crowd erupts in boos and awe as Pierce dismounts, staring down the ring like a man ready to deliver judgment. He walks methodically to the ring, cracking his neck, leather jacket still on, and silver eyes locked in with deadly intent. Wrestling Style: * Brawler / Powerhouse * Ruthless, calculated, brutal * Uses heavy strikes and spine-jarring slams * Shows no mercy, prefers to injure opponents to send a message Signature Moves: * Chopper Drop – Sit-out Crucifix Powerbomb * Sin City Smash – Running big boot to the face * Concrete Slam – Swinging Side Slam * Pierce the Veil – Mounted punch barrage in the corner until the referee intervenes * Hell’s Hitch – Avalanche-style Fallaway Slam from the second rope Finisher(s): * Last Ride to Vegas – High-angled Razor's Edge into a backbreaker * Reaper’s Verdict – Devastating Running Lariat (often turns opponents inside out) Catchphrases: * "What happens in Vegas... gets buried by me." * "I don’t wrestle. I wreck souls." * "The road to hell runs right through me." * "Your ride ends here." Championships & Accomplishments: * Multiple-time Tag Team Champion in outlaw circuits across the American southwest * Leader of “The Reapers, MC” faction Backstory / Gimmick: “Big” Rob Pierce is the enforcer and spiritual cornerstone of The Reapers, M.C., a violent outlaw motorcycle gang turned wrestling stable. A former underground bare-knuckle fighter and bodyguard for a Vegas crime syndicate, Pierce transitioned to professional wrestling with the same purpose he’s always had — dominate and destroy. A man of few words and dangerous presence, Pierce uses intimidation and violence to mark his territory. Whether it's dragging an opponent's body off like roadkill or riding down to the ring like a harbinger of doom, he represents lawlessness and brute power in AWS. Pierce doesn’t just want to win — he wants to leave a trail of wreckage behind him and establish the Reapers as the deadliest force in professional wrestling.

🩸 WRESTLER PROFILE FORM 🩸📛 BASIC INFORMATIONRing Name: "The Living Doll" Izzy Daniels Real Name (optional/private): Izzy Daniels Nickname(s): The Living Doll Date of Birth: 5-12-2000 Hometown: London, England Billed From:Her Own Personal Dollhouse Height: 5'4"Weight: 125 Alignment (Face / Heel / Tweener): Tweener Wrestling Style(s) (e.g., Technical, Hardcore, Brawler, High Flyer, Submission, Deathmatch): Technical Debut Year: 2025 🧠 CHARACTER DETAILSPersona / Gimmick Summary: Living Doll. Think Tatum Paxley meets Demon Finn Balor meets indy wrestler, Hilda La Muneca (Brief overview of character's identity, attitude, and mindset) Catchphrase(s): Entrance Theme: Intro from the face Wendy Choo theme, Snack Time, into "Miss Murder" by AFI. Miss Murder starts at the chorus. Entrance Description: (Detail how they walk to the ring, lighting, pyro, mannerisms, interaction with the crowd, etc.) Manager / Valet / Stable (if any): Trademark Objects / Props (e.g., barbed wire bat, mask, chains, throne): 💥 MOVESETFinisher(s) (Name + Description): Twisted Dreams (Judo Throw DDT) Signature Moves (3–5 with names + brief description): Sweet Dreams (Curb Stomp) Common Moves (5–10 standard moves they often use): Hurricanrana, Tarantula, Insult to Injury, Twisted Bliss, Snap DDT, Snap Suplex, Any form of moonsault or flying move. Weapon of Choice (if applicable): 🩸 PROMO STYLEPromo Tone (e.g., Serious, Unhinged, Methodical, Psychotic, Cerebral, Comedic): Depends on how she's feeling that day. Accent / Voice Style (optional): Can be dark and brooding, can be upbeat. Preferred Promo Setting (e.g., Dark Room, Backstage, In-Ring, Vignette Style): A literal dollhouse. Notable Quotes / Lines: 🏆 CHAMPIONSHIP HISTORY(Within AWS or other major promotions — optional) Titles Held: Notable Feuds / Rivalries: Major Accomplishments / Tournament Wins: 🧬 AESTHETICS & ATTIRERing Gear Description: Uploading Attachment...add facepaint if she feels like it, and glasses. Entrance Gear (if different): Tattoos / Scars / Distinctive Features: Facepaint / Mask / Warpaint: Color Scheme / Symbolism: 📸 MEDIA & PRESENCESocial Media Handles (if used in character): Custom Titantron Video Description (optional): Logo or Emblem (describe or attach): Merchandise Ideas (shirt slogans, styles, themes): 🕯️ BACKSTORY / LORE(Can be as short or as elaborate as needed. Highlight key moments, origin story, motivation, trauma, goals, etc.) Character Biography:

Awarded to who provide assistance with promos or demonstrate acts of kindness. May 12th - Greta Williamson

The screen fades from black. A low bass hum underscores a chaotic mix of black-and-white training footage, flashes of steel chairs, ropes snapping under tension, and the unmistakable voice of KD Feigel. Suddenly, color slams into the frame as “Kid Kaos” bursts into view—backstage, drenched in sweat, fists wrapped, eyes wild with focus. The camera pulls in tight as he starts to speak, pacing like a wolf in a cage. KD FEIGEL (voiceover, then live): "You ever get tired of carrying the weight for everybody else? Of being the guy who shows up every single time while other people... other people just coast?" He stops. Looks dead into the lens. "Yeah. I’m talkin’ to you, Medico Muerte." KD smirks and shakes his head slowly. "You see, for weeks now I’ve been out here grindin'. Match after match, name after name, whether it’s the lowest rung of the ladder or somebody with a Twitter blue check and a five-year contract. Doesn’t matter. I go hard. I bring that Kaos every time the bell rings. Because this—this ain’t a game to me. This is my life. This is my everything." "But what about you, Medico?" He holds his arms out mockingly. "What exactly have you done since showing up in AWS? Huh? Where have you been? More importantly, what have you proved? ‘Cause if this company’s about rising through the ranks—earning your spot—then how the hell did you even get your name on the list for a Next-LVL Title opportunity?" "You wanna be the future of this place, but you haven’t even proven you belong in the present." Cut to footage of Medico Muerte in past matches—sloppy footwork, slow tags, moments of hesitation. The feed flickers, then cuts back to KD, who’s now sitting on a metal equipment trunk, hands folded, elbows on his knees. "Now, I’ve heard people backstage try to gas you up. They say, 'Oh, Medico’s a legend in Mexico,' or, 'He’s got ring IQ,' or some crap about 'mystique.' But lemme tell you something, mystique don’t mean a damn thing when you’re gettin’ planted face-first into the mat. Reputation means jack when you’re starin’ up at the lights, wondering what just hit you." He smirks again, a bit more malicious now. "And what’s gonna hit you, Medico... is me." "See, Tuesday night? It ain’t just another night on the schedule for me. This is the kind of night I live for. Stakes are up. Spotlight’s on. And the opportunity—my opportunity—for the AWS Next-LVL Championship is hangin’ right there, ripe for the takin'. But you? You’re just a stepping stone, bro. You’re just another test, another speed bump that thinks he’s a roadblock. And when I put you down—and I will put you down—maybe then people’ll stop pretending like you’re on my level." He stands up, the camera tracking him as he walks down the hallway toward the ring entrance, breathing heavy, fire in his voice. "I hope you actually show up this time, Muerte. I really do. Because if you’re comin’ in half-asleep, thinkin’ this is gonna be some slow, mat-based clinic, you’re dead wrong. This ain’t the lucha libre circuit. This is AWS. This is where we fight until the air leaves your lungs and the crowd’s on their damn feet beggin’ for more. And you? You better bring everything you got, man." "You better bring your footwork. You better bring your strikes. Bring that Mexican pride, bring that family legacy, bring that mask and all the spirit behind it. Bring your A-game—hell, bring your whole alphabet—’cause Kid Kaos ain’t takin’ this night lightly." He stops at the curtain. The hum of the crowd beyond it is deafening now. KD turns toward the camera one more time. "Look, I don’t care who’s watchin'. I don’t care if it’s the suits in the back or the kids in the front row. I don’t care if the champ himself is out there, takin' notes. Because all I know is this: Every single night, I fight like I’ve got everything to prove. Because I do. I’m not some golden boy. I’m not management’s pet. I’m a self-made storm. And tonight? Tonight I turn Medico Muerte into a human message." "A message to the rest of the AWS locker room." "A message to the champ." A beat. KD’s voice lowers—firm, cold. "A message that Kid Kaos doesn’t get overlooked. He gets his shot. And when he gets it... he takes it." The screen fades to black again. But the promo isn’t over. We cut to the ring. It’s empty, dimly lit. KD Feigel now stands center stage, mic in hand, fans cheering. He paces slowly as he begins speaking again—this time with more controlled intensity, more venom. KD FEIGEL (in-ring): “You know what makes me laugh, AWS? The way people act like opportunity is something they’re owed. Like it’s something that just comes to you if you hang around long enough. You know, just survive a few matches, shake a few hands, keep your mouth shut—and boom, here’s your title shot!" He chuckles, shaking his head. "Nah, man. That ain’t how this works. That ain’t how any of this works. See, I didn’t come up the easy way. I wasn’t trained in some fancy dojo. I didn’t have a legend for a father, and I damn sure didn’t have people throwing me chances." "I earned my name. I earned this crowd. And I earned the respect of every single person who’s ever stepped into that ring with me." He points to the stage. "And Medico Muerte? He walks in like he’s already made. Like his name alone deserves the spotlight. But here’s the thing, man—you ain’t made. Not here. Not yet. And when we lock up, I’m gonna show you just how far you’ve got to go." "You wanna wear that mask and play the part of the silent assassin? Cool. But when I beat you clean in the middle of that ring, there ain’t gonna be any mystery left. No more hype. No more illusions. Just facts. And the fact is this—" He stabs his finger into the mat. "—Kid Kaos is the one who’s earned this shot. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let some half-committed import slide into my lane and take what I’ve bled for." He walks to the ropes, leans forward over them, locking eyes with the camera. "I’m not just gonna beat you, Medico. I’m gonna expose you. I’m gonna rip the mystique off your legacy, and I’m gonna show the world exactly why I am the next AWS Next-LVL Champion." "And you?" He grins again, wicked and wild. "You’re just chapter one in a brand-new story of chaos." The crowd pops as KD Feigel drops the mic, climbing the ropes to stare out at the imaginary opponent and crowd. His music hits—fast, aggressive, loud. But his face never loses focus. He knows what's at stake. And he’s ready. KD FEIGEL. MEDICO MUERTE. AWS TUESDAY NIGHT ASSAULT. WINNER GETS A SHOT AT THE AWS NEXT-LVL CHAMPIONSHIP. Only one walks out with destiny on their side.

[The camera cuts to a dimly lit backstage area. Steam rises from vents as crew members hustle in the background. Suddenly, the lens catches Amir Al-Hassan, pacing like a lion behind the curtain. Dressed in black and green ring gear adorned with Arabic script, he glares at the camera with eyes burning like oil fire. The moment he sees the red light, he storms forward, his voice laced with venom and raw conviction.] Amir Al-Hassan: ["Backstage exclusive," huh? You want a soundbite? Here’s your headline, America: The Lion of Baghdad is done being disrespected.] Look at who they throw at me in this Iron Survivor Match. Kaito Ishikawa, the paper samurai—flashy kicks and no spine. AJ Flare, a cheap imitation of a daddy’s legacy with enough pyro to blind the sheep in the crowd. Cameron Tyler? Please. Another soft-hearted poster boy for these weak, lazy fans to chant for like he’s some kind of savior. Donavan Di Niro thinks being a loudmouth thug makes him tough—I've seen tougher boys throwing rocks at tanks in Fallujah. And Silver Baron... pfft. A clown in gold paint. A joke. A disgrace. None of these so-called "contenders" deserve anything. Not your cheers. Not your boos. Not your attention. And certainly not the honor of holding the AWS Television Championship. You know what they deserve? To be humbled. To be broken. To be reminded that the world doesn’t revolve around their American ego and delusions of grandeur! [Amir slaps a metal crate beside him, causing it to rattle with a sharp clang. He leans in closer to the camera, his voice lowering, more focused now, deadlier.] Amir Al-Hassan: I come from a land bombed by your democracy, stained by your lies. I have trained in blood. I have wrestled with hunger. I do not care about your legacy. I am legacy. The only thing that matters in this match... is me. This Monday Night Ward... I bring war. Not sportsmanship. Not hope. WAR. I walk into that match not for the glory—but to prove to the world, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am one of the best professional wrestlers alive. Not in America. In. The. World. And when I break their bodies and take that title... you people will have no choice but to acknowledge the truth you’ve tried to ignore since I stepped through the curtain. Amir Al-Hassan is inevitable. And your heroes? They're already finished. [He glares down the camera one last time, then spits on the floor and storms off, leaving the sound of his boots echoing in the corridor like a war drum.]

[The scene opens inside a lively British pub, warm golden lights casting a glow over polished wood and old photos of legendary fighters on the walls. Laughter rings in the background, but the camera focuses on a booth in the corner where Street Royalty—Velma Rossi and Beckie Reckless—sit nursing half-drunk pints. The air is thick with energy. Velma is leaned back, calm and confident, while Beckie’s bouncing her leg under the table, all coiled adrenaline. As the AWS camera crew approaches, Beckie slams her pint down with a grin, and Velma turns toward the lens with a smirk.] Velma Rossi: [smirking] Oh, y’finally showed up, huh? Thought we’d have to come knock on your door next. Come on then—pull up a stool. We’ve got a story to tell. Beckie Reckless: [leans in, eyes fiery] See, before we were Street Royalty, we were just a couple of hungry girls tryin’ to get our boots through the ropes. No flashy entrance. No pyro. Just grit, spit, and nights sleepin’ in cars after doin’ backyard shows for gas money. Velma Rossi: Mmhmm. But we kept grindin’. Scratched, clawed, bled for this sport. And then—then he saw us. Charlie Feigel. The man himself. Beckie Reckless: [grins wide] The Boss. The Founder. Took one look at us and didn’t just say, “You’ve got potential.” Nah. He said, “I’ll make you killers in that ring.” And he did. Took us under his wing. Made us smart. Made us dangerous. Velma Rossi: And now we’re sittin’ here, not just a tag team. We’re a legacy in motion. Street Royalty isn’t a nickname. It’s a damn birthright. And come Monday Night Ward XLVIII, that ring becomes our court. Beckie Reckless: [pounds her chest] And standin’ on the other side? Daughters of Texas. Abbi Lee. Averi Michelle. Velma Rossi: [tilts her head] Bright futures, no doubt. Y’all got the fire, you got the crowd. Hell, we see some of our younger selves in you, don’t we? Beckie Reckless: [nods, but eyes sharp] But don’t confuse that with mercy. ‘Cause when that bell rings? Experience beats enthusiasm. Every. Damn. Time. Velma Rossi: You girls are the future of this division. But right now? We’re the present. And until you’ve had your heads kicked in by a Queen and a Brawler—? Beckie Reckless: —you haven’t stepped to royalty. [They both stand, Velma pulling on her leather jacket, Beckie cracking her knuckles and downing the rest of her pint. The camera stays locked on them as they start to walk off toward the door, the crowd noise fading behind them. Velma turns one last time to the lens.] Velma Rossi: Monday night? Watch how royalty rules the ring. Beckie Reckless: [grinning] Long live the crown, baby. [Cut to black with the AWS logo pulsing in time with the heavy bass of their entrance theme.]