6/30-Wrestling Night in America


Missouri Valley Wrestling
Wrestling Night in America
Hale Arena
Kansas City, MO
Sunday June 30th, 2024

Announcers: Thunderbolt Smith and ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall

Backstage Interviewer: Kellie Burkowski

Ring Announcer: Heather Cooper


The Hale Arena in Kansas City, Missouri, was a seething cauldron of excitement and energy. The camera panned across the sellout crowd, revealing a sea of raucous fans clad in an array of colorful wrestling merchandise. They waved homemade signs and banners high in the air, each one proclaiming their loyalty to their favorite wrestler or taunting their opponents. The noise from the packed arena was deafening, a constant roar that echoed off the walls and shook the ground beneath their feet. The scent of sweat and adrenaline hung heavy in the air as thousands of passionate fans cheered and jeered, creating a symphony of sound that added to the chaotic atmosphere. Everywhere you looked, there were people on their feet, caught up in the thrilling spectacle before them. It was hard not to get swept up in the electric energy of the crowd as they awaited the start of the main event. This was more than just a wrestling match – it was a full-blown event, complete with flashy costumes, dramatic entrances, and larger-than-life personalities. And at this moment, the anticipation and excitement were palpable, crackling through the air like electricity.

Thunderbolt Smith: Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Wrestling Night in America!

Thunderbolt’s authoritative voice boomed over the din, his seasoned tone exuding the calm before the storm. His sharp gaze swept across the throng of spectators, his posture as impeccable as the crisp suit that adorned his seasoned frame; his grey-peppered hair catching the light as he gestured grandiosely to the ring.

Thunderbolt: Tonight, we’re going to bring you not one, not two, but six title matches that will set this arena ablaze!”

“Long Haul” Rick Hall, standing beside Thunderbolt like a mountain of enthusiasm, couldn’t contain his excitement, his broad shoulders tensing as he leaned into the microphone. His rugged features were split by a grin of anticipation, his eyes alight with the fire of someone who lived and breathed professional wrestling.

‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall: That’s right, Thunderbolt!  First off…

Hall’s voice cut assertively through the noise.

Rick: …we’ve got ourselves a bigtime showdown for the Women’s Heartland Title! Yosemite Samantha is putting her championship on the line against Kirsten Canfield, who’s hungry to reclaim her former glory and more importantly, her title!

The fans erupted, some chanting for the tenacious champion while others voiced their support for the challenger. The energy in the room surged like electricity, crackling through the air.

Rick: Also tonight, we will be crowning a new Men’s Heartland champion! Buckshot Henderson from the no-holds-barred Redneck Mafia… who was just relegated down to the Heartland Division… will be going toe-to-toe with the SEC’s very own Mark Hendry!

The mention of the imminent clash drew a mixed reaction—a cacophony of boos and cheers melded together, testifying to the polarizing nature of the competitors involved.

Rick: Also, Jill Berg Enterprises will put their might to the test and their titles on the line as they defend the MVW Women’s Tag Team Title against none other than The Working Girls!

A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd, the collective breath of wrestling fanatics hanging on every match announcement.

Rick: We’ll have the MVW Tag Team Champions The Stevens Dynasty going head-to-head with No Quarter for the MVW Tag Team Championship!

Cheers and jeers erupted, a wave of sound that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the arena.

Thunderbolt: We’re going to see just how much Bo and George’s appearance last weekend at HOW’s War Games took out of them.

Rick: Jennifer Colton, the reigning MVW Women’s Champion, will face the fierce challenge from The Queens of Desire’s, Victoria McGill!”

The mere mention of the competitors drew a raucous response, fans voicing their allegiances with chants and signs waving high above their heads.

Rick: And then last but not least…

Hall’s voice reached a fever pitch.

Rick: The SEC’s Luke Woods defends the MVW Title against a true force of nature, former two-time, MVW champion ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson!

The audience’s reaction was volcanic, a thunderous clashing of support and disdain for the titans set to clash.

With the matches hyped to the max, Thunderbolt Smith took control with the practiced ease of a seasoned commentator.

Thunderbolt: Now, let’s get this show started!

MATCH #1-SPECIAL ATTRACTION: The Queens of Desire (Tammie Hardy and Savannah Smith w/Dawn McGill) vs. The Soviet Bloc (Svetlana Kovaleski and Nikita Kalashnik w/Agent Valya)

He nodded toward the ring where Heather Cooper stood, shimmering under the bright lights, her outfit a stunning ensemble that commanded attention. She wore a sequined silver bodysuit that hugged her curves like a second skin, accented with a shimmering red satin bomber jacket that billowed dramatically as she moved. Her brunette hair cascaded in waves, catching the glint of the arena’s lighting, while her confident smile was the perfect accessory to her glamorous presence.

She lifted the microphone to her lips, her voice silky smooth yet carrying with authority as she began,

Heather Cooper: Ladies and gentlemen… tonight’s first match will be…

The crowd drew in a collective breath, and then, as if one entity, they exploded with the ritualistic response they all knew by heart.

The Crowd: ONE FALL!

Heather: Introducing first…

The solemn, orchestral strains of the “State Song of the USSR” filled the arena, a sea of red washed over the video screen. The bold yellow letters spelling out “THE SOVIET BLOC” stood stark against the fluttering Soviet flag backdrop, heralding the arrival of the fearsome trio. A wave of red flags unfurled throughout the arena, each one bearing the unmistakable hammer and sickle emblem of the Soviet Union.

Heather: Accompanied by their handler Agent Valya… hailing from St. Petersburg, Russia and weighing in at 155 pounds… Major Svetlana Kovaleski and from Kursk, Russia and weighing in at 135 pounds… Lt. Nikita Kalashnik… they are THE SOVIET BLOC!

The Soviet Bloc

Major Svetlana Kovaleski
AGE: 36 / HT: 5′ 11″ WT: 155 / HOME: St. Petersburg, Russia
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Power / FIN: Gory Special
Lt. Nikita Kalashnik
AGE: 21 / HT: 5’ 11” WT: 135 / HOME: Kursk, Russia
ALIGN: Heel  / STYLE: Power  / FIN: Russian Sickle
Handler: Agent Valya

Out from behind the curtains emerged the fearsome trio.  First came Major Svetlana Kovaleski, her tall and imposing figure looming over the other wrestlers. Her stern expression and rigid stance mirrored the unwavering ideology of the Cold War she represented. Beside her was Lt. Nikita Kalashnik, a young and wiry wrestler whose intense eyes seemed to see right through her opponents. Despite her lean frame, she held an air of strength and discipline that commanded respect. And flanking them both was Agent Valya, a seductive yet deadly force to be reckoned with. Her every move exuded confidence and danger, making it clear that she was not just another pretty face in this ruthless world of wrestling.

As they stood on the stage, the crowd fell silent, mesmerized by this formidable trio before them. All around us hung a heavy aura of power and dominance – a true embodiment of Soviet strength and control.

Agent Valya stepped into the limelight with her usual controlled poise. Her hands gripped the edges of a massive red banner and with Nikita’s help, opened the banner that was emblazoned with The Soviet Bloc’s name spelled out in bold, Cyrillic font. Valya and Nikita raised the banner high, like a war standard before the charge as the crowd booed.

Heather: And their opponents…

Then… it began with an inhaled breath. Then, in a clear tone, a single note is sung. It’s the letter “I,” held like a beckoning call as the opening to Donna Summer’s epic ‘Love to Love You Baby’ oozed in sultry and seductive overtones over the PA system.

With a commanding presence, Dawn McGill glided down the ramp, followed by her three cabana boys who carried a piece of opulent furniture down to the ring with them.  Dawn gracefully climbed into the ring, her curves accentuated by a skin-tight, red halter top that left little to the imagination and a mini-skirt that barely reached her thighs. The air was charged with desire and anticipation as she smirked confidently in her four-inch heels, knowing that all eyes were gazing at her stunning figure tonight.

Heather: Accompanied to the ring by Dawn McGill… from South Padre Island, Texas and weighing in at 120 pounds… Tammie Hardy… and from Benton Harbor, Michigan weighing in tonight at 110 pounds… Savannah Smith… they are THE QUEENS OF DESIRE!

Queens of Desire

Tammie Hardy
AGE: 24 / HT: 5’9” WT: 120 / HOME: South Padre Island, TX
ALIGN: Face / STYLE: High Flyer / FIN: Shooting Star Press
Savannah Smith
AGE: 23 / HT: 5’ 8” WT: 110 / HOME: Benton Harbor, MI
ALIGN: Face / STYLE: All-Round  / FIN: Waterwheel Drop
THEME MUSIC: “Love to Love You Baby”- Donna Summer
WITH: Manager Dawn McGill, Victoria McGill

Behind Dawn, the rest of The Queens of Desire materialized like visions from a fever dream. Tammie Hardy’s long legs were accentuated by her high-cut wrestling leotard under a fishnet stocking, shimmering with sequins that flashed fire with every deliberate step. Her brown hair with purple highlights was styled in wild waves that seemed to match her untamed spirit. Savannah Smith followed suit, her outfit a mirror image in red, hugging her curves as if painted on by the hands of an artist fixated on temptation. Her dark eyes were filled with mischief and desire as she strutted towards the ring with confidence and grace.

And then Dawn’s daughter Victoria McGill made her regal entrance down the ramp to cheers and gasps from the crowd.  Tori’s imposing height accentuated the wavy blonde hair that flowed like liquid gold over her broad shoulders and the black strapless top covered by black fishnet she wore. She exuded power and dominance with every step, her piercing gaze sweeping over the fans as she sauntered down the ramp. Every inch of her oozed grace and poise, making it clear that she was a force to be reckoned with.

Dawn’s cabana boys set up an oasis of luxury ringside – a chaise lounger where Dawn reclined like wrestling royalty, her every whim attended with shoulder rubs, refreshing drinks, and soothing foot massages.

Thunderbolt: Rick, tell us about our opening match.

Rick: The Queens of Desire have defeated the Soviet Bloc twice in the past few weeks with the assistance of Dawn McGill.  The Soviet Bloc have not taken kindly to Dawn’s intervention and vow to teach Dawn and the Queens of Desire a lesson here tonight.

Thunderbolt: All right… Justine Mills will be our referee and this match is underway!

The bell clanged, signaling the end of the match, but the chaos inside the ring was far from over. The crowd’s fervent roars filled the arena as Tammie Hardy discreetly slipped the brass knuckles off her clenched fist, tucking them into her gear before anyone noticed the illegal aid that had just knocked out Svetlana Kovaleski cold on the floor. Referee Justine Mills raised the Queens of Desire’s hands in victory, oblivious to the subterfuge that had occurred moments before.

Heather: Your winner at eleven minutes and thirty-four seconds… THE QUEENS OF DESIRE!

Thunderbolt: Well! Tammie Hardy knocked out the Soviet Bloc’s Svetlana Kovaleski with brass knuckles but referee Justine Mills did not see it and the Queens of Desire get the win.

The jubilant celebration of the Queens was cut short as Nikita Kalashnik’s boots thudded against the canvas, her muscular frame radiating pure fury. With a vengeance-fueled snarl, she launched herself at Savannah Smith, tackling her to the ground with a ferocity that echoed through the arena.

Rick: Look at this! Nikita Kalashnik is incensed!

In a flash of blonde hair and determined blue eyes, Dawn McGill vaulted over the ropes, her statuesque form landing with poise and purpose. She squared up to confront Kalashnik, her stance unyielding, her piercing gaze locked onto her adversary.

Rick: And here comes Dawn McGill to even the odds!

But the confrontation took another turn when Agent Valya slinked into the fray, her provocative attire doing little to conceal the authority in her stride as she came face-to-face with Dawn. An audible hush fell over the crowd, the tension palpable.

Thunderbolt: Agent Valya stepping in… Oh, this could explode at any second now.

Before the powder keg could ignite, Victoria McGill interjected, her hands gripping her mother’s arm, pulling her back from the brink of conflict. Dawn’s features softened for a moment, acknowledging her daughter’s plea for restraint.

Thunderbolt: But Victoria McGill with the save, bringing her mother back from the edge!

On the opposite end, Nikita’s rigid stance relaxed as she caught the eye of her handler. With a curt nod, she allowed Agent Valya to be pulled away, their mutual respect averting a brawl – but the air remained thick with hostility.

Rick: Looks like cooler heads prevail… at least for the moment.

Hall’s last word hung heavy with implication.

Thunderbolt: Well, this isn’t over folks… not by a long shot.

Thunderbolt and Hall exchanged a knowing glance as the wrestlers disengaged, leaving the ring still echoing with the crowd’s mix of boos and cheers.

Rick: Absolutely, Thunderbolt. It’s just the beginning.

As the combatants retreated, nursing both pride and grudges, the scene faded out, leaving viewers on the edge of their seats, eagerly awaiting the next chapter in this heated rivalry.

Kellie Burkowski Interviews Agent Valya of the Soviet Bloc
Backstage, the air crackled with tension as Kellie Burkowski approached the simmering trio of the Soviet Bloc. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of sweat and fury, the echoes of the crowd’s jeers still ringing faintly in the distance. Agent Valya stood in the center, her piercing blue eyes smoldering beneath a furrowed brow, flanked by her imposing comrades, Svetlana Kovaleski and Nikita Kalashnik.

Kellie, microphone in hand and a tentative smile plastered on her face, stepped into the lioness’ den.

Kellie Burkowski: Agent Valya, can we get your thoughts on-

But before she could finish, Valya snatched the microphone with a swift, practiced motion.

Agent Valya: Enough!

Valya’s Russian accent sliced through the murmurs of the backstage crew like a knife. She squared her shoulders toward the camera, her gaze unyielding, her voice a tempest of icy resolve, her words were a bullet train, unstoppable and charged with venom.

Agent Valya: Dawn McGill, you have crossed line this time. The Soviet Bloc declares war on you.

The camera zoomed in, capturing every nuanced grimace that danced across Valya’s features, the subtle flare of her nostrils betraying her barely contained rage.

Agent Valya: The Soviet Bloc will eliminate Dawn as threat.  And the Queens of Desire will crumble under the might of our Soviet doctrine.

Valya’s presence was magnetic, her conviction as palpable as the heat from the stage lights, her voice rising in crescendo.

Agent Valya: There will be no perestroika… no compromise… no mercy until our mission is fulfilled throughout MVW!

With a dramatic flourish, Valya hurled the microphone to the ground, its feedback screeching like a wounded animal. She spun on her heel, her long coat billowing behind her like the dark wings of an avenging angel. Svetlana and Nikita fell into step, their expressions carved from stone, the embodiment of military precision and unshakable loyalty.

Together, they stomped away from the scene, leaving behind a palpable silence that spoke volumes of the war that had just been waged.

Kellie picked up the microphone.

Kellie: Well, the message here is clear: the Soviet Bloc is on the march, and woe to anyone who dare stand in their path. Back to you Thunderbolt.

The camera cut back to Thunderbolt and Hall at the broadcast desk.

Thunderbolt: Thanks Kellie.

Rick: The Soviet Bloc have declared war on the Queens of Desire… MVW has gone to Defcon one and who knows what the fallout may be from this.

Thunderbolt: Okay.  Let’s go back to the ring and Heather Cooper for our next match.

MATCH #2-SPECIAL ATTRACTION: ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ Ultratron-6.1 vs. ‘Suburban Homeboy’ Gary Walker
Heather nodded and began.

Heather: Our next match will be another special attraction match.  Introducing first…

The music to Sparks’s “Suburban Homeboy” began to play and ‘Suburban Homeboy’ Gary Walker barreled through the curtain to the stage.

Heather: Accompanied to the ring by the ‘Suburban Homegirl’ Candie Lynn… weighing in at 207 pounds… hailing from suburban Naperville, Illinois… he is the SUBURBAN HOMEBOY… GARY WALKER!

“Suburban Homeboy’ Gary Walker
AGE: 22 / HT: 6’ 2”  WT:  207 / HOME: Naperville, IL
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: American  / FIN: Suburban Kamigoye
Manager: “Suburban Homegirl” Candie Lynn

He strutted down the ramp, attitude in his step, rapping along to Sparks’ “Suburban Homeboy” with an obnoxious swagger with Candie Lynn skipping along besides him.

Gary Walker (rapping): I am a suburban homeboy with a suburban ‘ho right by my side

He grinned and gestured to Candie Lynn beside him.

Gary Walker: I am a suburban homeboy and I say yo dog to my pool cleaning guy.

Walker reveled in his own bravado.

Gary Walker: I hope I’m baggy enough for them,”

Gary pulled at his clothes to emphasize their looseness.

Gary Walker: I play my Shaggy enough for them.

He rolled into the ring with Candie Lynn and both popped back up in the center of the ring.

Gary Walker: I’ll pop a cap up some fool at the Gap… And I’m a suburban homeboy.

Heather: And his opponent…

The lights went dark.

Dark, ominous music began to play.  “Underground” from the movie Robots.

Heather: From Parts Unknown… weighing in at 200 pounds.  He is ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ ULTRATRON-SIX-POINT-ONE!

The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ Ultratron-6.1
AGE: ? / HT: 5’ 10″ WT: 200 / HOME: Parts Unknown
ALIGN: Cartoon Heel / STYLE: All-Around / FIN: The Disintegrator (modified F-5)
With: The Kabal of Really Awful People- ‘Defective’ Marty Pratt, David Litterman, and Bill E. Zayne

A silver metallic ‘robot’ comes out, piercing red eyes glowering towards the crowd, Ultratron-6.1 tries his best to look menacing.  He’s not quite a shiny, silver cheap b-movie knock off of a famous comic book robot but he’s awfully close.

The other members of the Kabal of Really Awful People follow him out:
‘Defective’ Marty Pratt– the guy who tries to ‘erase’ people with the oversized eraser on his oversized pencil.
Bill E. Zayne– Dressed in the fancy clothing circa 1912 of the heir to a Pittsburgh steel fortune- Caledon Hockley as he boarded the Titanic.  Zayne exudes the same snobby, arrogant, and narcissistic traits of the Hockley character from the epic movie Titanic- Voyage of Doom.
David Litterman– Ordinary looking dude with a total disregard of the environmental consequences his cavalier attitude towards trash disposal presents.

Ultratron-6.1 leads the procession down the ramp towards the ring.  Litterman casually drops a napkin and an empty pop container with straw and plastic lid on the stage following the group while Bill E. Zayne…

Bill E. Zayne: I HAVE A CHILD!

…holds up a ‘My Sweet Love Baby Doll’ strapped into a plastic pink car seat and races ahead of everyone.

Bill E. Zayne: I HAVE A CHILD!

Thunderbolt: Ultratron-6.1 has moved up the rankings and now is ranked #5 in the Men’s Division contender’s rankings.

Rick: That’s the highest ever ranking in his career.  But tonight, he faces a newcomer to MVW- the ‘Suburban Homeboy’ Gary Walker.  The two met in the Heartland Division and took an immediate dislike to each other.  Now, they meet tonight right here at Wrestling Night in America.

Thunderbolt: Ultratron-6.1 hit his Disintegrator finishing move on Walker and he knocked him out cold.

Heather: Your winner at five minutes and nine seconds… ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ ULTRATRON-6.1!

Thunderbolt: I dare say, Ultratron-6.1 looks… dangerous.

Rick: Thunderbolt, the Suburban Homeboy got home-schooled by the ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ tonight.

The MVW arena pulsated with the roars of an electrified crowd, their eyes fixed on the center ring where Heather Cooper stood, microphone in hand. Her silhouette was a portrait of poise against the kaleidoscope of lights, her voice resonating with the kind of sultry confidence that could silence a baying crowd. But the atmosphere shifted abruptly as Ultratron-6-1 descended into the ring like a harbinger of chaos.

Ultratron-6.1: Give me that.

Ultratron’s mechanical arm lunged for the microphone with a menacing swiftness.

But Heather wasn’t one to be easily intimidated. She pulled back, holding onto the mic with a firm grip, her deep brown eyes flashing defiance.

Heather: I don’t think so.

That’s when it happened. Ultratron’s eyes—a sinister shade of red—began to glow ominously. The intensity of their luminescence filled the arena, casting an eerie pall over the fans who watched in a mixture of awe and dread. Heather’s will crumbled under the robotic wrestler’s hypnotic gaze, and her once steady hand trembled as it surrendered the microphone to his grasp.

Ultratron bellowed into the mic, his voice echoing through the speakers like thunder.

Ultratron-6.1: Pathetic humans! You and your heroes are nothing but obstacles in my path!

His metal frame vibrated with fury as he paced the ring, the image of Gary Walker’s crumpled form projected behind him serving as a testament to his destructive capabilities. He raised a fist encased in cold steel.

Ultratron-6.1: ‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ is not just your nightmare in MVW.  I am the apocalypse that will conquer MVW and this pitiful world!

The audience gasped and booed, but they couldn’t look away as his voice rose to a fever pitch, fueling the hysteria of the crowd.

Ultratron-6.1: We shall stand victorious amidst the ruin of our enemies! Listen well, mortals! Our reign of terror begins now! Our power—unmatched! Our annihilation—unparalleled!

He stomped across the ring, each step punctuating his promise. ”

Ultratron-6.1: We will bring chaos, despair, death to all who dare oppose us!”

Heather Cooper, still under the robotic spell, could only watch helplessly as the New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine seized the moment to amplify its terrifying declaration.


Ultratron-6.1 thundered, its red eyes pulsating with a sinister intensity that held the audience captive. The words resonated through the arena, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of boos and jeers, but their disdain only seemed to fuel Ultratron-6.1’s fervor. It began to pace back and forth like a caged beast, the sounds of its heavy metallic steps reverberating around the ring. Its mechanical arms were raised, gesturing wildly as if conducting an orchestra of chaos.


With a display of theatrics that would have made the greatest Shakespearean actor envious, Ultratron-6.1 overdramatically thrust its fist in the air, steel fingers clenched tightly.

Ultratron-6.1: THE RAGE OF ULTRATRON-6.1!

The finality in its tone echoed like a war drum, signaling an inevitable battle ahead.

Marty Pratt ducked in to add something.

Marty Pratt: And the Kabal of Really Awful People.  ERASE!  ERASE! ERASE!

Pratt waved an oversized pencil in the air and made an ‘erase’ motion with it.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the tirade was over. With a clank and a whir of servos, Ultratron-6.1’s hand descended, offering the microphone back to Heather. As soon as the cool metal touched her palm, the hypnotic trance shattered like glass. Heather blinked rapidly, her deep brown eyes clearing as she regained her senses. She took a step back, surveying the scene with a mix of confusion and regaining her composure, looked out at the stunned audience, her lips parting as if to speak… but the words were unnecessary.

Thunderbolt: Uh oh.

Rick: Yep.

Thunderbolt: Let’s go to Kellie backstage.

Kellie Interviews The Working Girls
The camera zoomed in on Kellie Burkowski’s expectant face, her piercing blue eyes scanning the scene before her with journalistic precision. Standing amidst the electrifying atmosphere of the arena, she flashed a smile that was both professional and encouraging as she addressed the crowd.

Kellie: Thank you, Thunderbolt.

Kellie nodded appreciatively toward the seasoned commentator who had just passed the mic to her. She pivoted smoothly on her heel, directing the focus to her guests for the evening.

Kellie: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have The Working Girls here, challenging Jill Berg Enterprises for the MVW Women’s Tag Team title.”

The camera panned to Caroline Lewis, whose statuesque figure was accentuated by the iconic Hooter’s top hugging her athletic frame. The Daisy Duke shorts and wrestling boots completed the look that screamed all-American underdog. Her curly blonde hair bounced with each nod of conviction as she spoke, her gaze unwavering and fierce, her voice resonating with an assertive yet friendly cadence.

Caroline Lewis: Kellie, we’re just a couple of blue-collar warriors.  We’re going up against a well-oiled corporate machine tonight.

A confident smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she leaned in closer, almost conspiratorially.

Caroline: Sure, we’re the underdogs… but Leah and I, we’ve bucked the odds before.

She paused, her blue eyes glinting with determination.

Caroline: Hopefully, we can do it again tonight.

Leah Iris stood beside her partner, her presence equally commanding. Clad in her Donnie Iris ‘King Cool’ t-shirt, she projected an air of cool confidence. As she nodded in agreement with Caroline, the spotlight caught the gleam of passion in her expressive eyes, her voice clear and imbued with a quiet strength.

‘Queen Cool’ Leah Iris: Exactly. Tonight, we’re not just fighting for ourselves—we’re the people’s tag team.

She raised a fist, her words gaining momentum.

Leah: And we hope to win one for the little people all over the country!

Kellie beamed at them, her heart warmed by their resolve and wrapped up the interview with her trademark brevity.

Kellie: Well, there you have it, folks.  Thank your for your time, Caroline, Leah. We’re all looking forward to seeing what you’ll bring to the ring tonight. Back to you, Thunderbolt.

Cut back to Thunderbolt and Hall at the broadcast desk…

Thunderbolt: Thanks Kellie.  Can the Working Girls pull off the big upset tonight?

Rick: Anything’s possible, Thunderbolt.  But Caroline and Leah have been in a downturn of form of late.  They’ll really have to up their game tonight if they want to win the title from JBE.

Thunderbolt: Speaking of titles… we’ve got our first of six title matches coming up right now.  Heather Cooper?

MATCH #3-WOMEN’S HEARTLAND TITLE: Yosemite Samantha © vs. #1 Kirsten Canfield
Heather raised the microphone to her mouth and began.

Heather: Ladies and gentlemen, our next match will be one fall and it will be for the MVW Women’s Heartland Title!

She paused for the crowd’s applause.

Heather: Introducing first… the challenger…

The twang of Craig Morgan’s “International Harvester” reverberated through the arena, a surefire signal that set the crowd ablaze. Like a dynamo of energy, Kirsten Canfield exploded onto the stage from the back, her brown hair bouncing with each vivacious step. She came to an abrupt halt center stage, drinking in the raucous cheers with a wide, infectious grin.

Heather: From Wichita, Kansas… weighing in tonight at 95 pounds… she is the “Wichita Wonder”… KIRSTEN CANFIELD!

Kirsten Canfield
AGE: 26 HT: 5’ 7” WT: 95 / HOME: Wichita, KS
ALIGN: Super Face / STYLE: Technician/Defensive / FIN: Wheatshocker Deluxe

Kirsten struck a confident pose, one hand on her hip and the other thrown high above her head, fingers splayed. The spotlight captured the glint of determination in her eyes—a fighter through and through, yet always the fan-favorite. With an air of exuberance only she could muster, she launched herself down the ramp.

Her boots thudded rhythmically against the metal as she approached the sea of outstretched hands. Kirsten slapped palms with the fans, her own hands tingling with the fervor of their support. Every so often, she would pause, squatting down to the level of a child with wide eyes or a devoted fan, flashing her pearly whites for a quick selfie—a snapshot of a moment they’d treasure forever.

Reaching the squared circle that was her battleground, Kirsten rolled under the bottom rope with practiced ease. She popped up to her feet, spinning around to face the entrance with the same electricity she carried down the ramp.

As if on cue, the music shifted. Gone was the upbeat country anthem, replaced by a foreboding silence that soon gave way to a menacing ambiance. The stage turned a deep, blood red and the video screen flickered to life, depicting a desolate scene—tumbleweeds rolling by a stark, deserted landscape.

The audience, already at a fever pitch from Kirsten’s arrival, felt a collective chill as they anticipated what—or who—was coming next. The tension in the ring was palpable; Kirsten’s body tensed, readying herself for the inevitable showdown. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on the stage with unyielding focus. This was it: the calm before the storm, the silence before the battle cry.

Heather: And her opponent…

The arena’s atmosphere crackled with electricity as the opening riff of Metallica’s “Moth to a Flame” thundered through the PA system. An abrupt hush fell over the crowd, their anticipation palpable, before erupting into a cacophony of cheers and jeers. Emerging from the shadowy depths of the backstage area, Yosemite Samantha cut an unmistakable silhouette against the red glow that bathed the stage. The brim of her ten-gallon cowboy hat cast a dark shadow over her eyes, which scanned the audience with a piercing glint of defiance.

Heather: She is from Dodge City, Kansas!  She is the roughest, toughest, rootinest, shootinest cowgirl who ever crossed the Rio Grande!  Please welcome…YOOOOO-SIMMM-MIT-TEEEEEEEE…SAMANTHA!

Yosemite Samantha
“The roughest, toughest, rootinest, shootinest cowgirl who ever crossed the Rio Grande”
AGE: 32 / HT: 5’1″ WT: 105 / HOME: Dodge City, KS
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Brawler-Hardcore / FIN: Shotgun Knee/Cannonball Combo

With a slow, calculated swagger, she stepped forward, her boots thudding on the steel ramp like the rhythm of an ominous drum. The spotlight caught the gleam of her holster as she stopped mid-stride, her fingers brushing against the handle of the six-shooter. In one fluid motion, she drew the gun, the metal spinning in her hand in a show of skillful bravado. Twirling the weapon once, twice, the crowd’s reaction swelled to a fever pitch before she snapped it back into its leather home with a resounding click.

Her jaw was set, her lips a thin line of determination as she resumed her march toward the ring. Every step exuded confidence, a clear message that she wasn’t merely walking to a wrestling match; she was striding into battle. Yosemite Samantha’s intent gaze never wavered from the squared circle, her target locked within her sights.

Reaching the apron, the cowgirl wasted no time in asserting her presence. She leapt onto the edge with the agility of a puma, landing with both feet planted firmly, the impact sending a shiver through the ropes. With the poise of an outlaw ready to draw at high noon, she stood tall, removed her hat with a dramatic flourish, and tossed it aside without breaking eye contact with Kirsten Canfield, who awaited in the center of the ring.

Without missing a beat, Yosemite Samantha pointed directly at Kirsten with a steely finger, the universal gesture of challenge that transcended words. The message was clear: You. Me. Now. No backing down, no quarter given. This was the essence of rivalry, the heart of professional wrestling, and the fans roared their approval, knowing they were about to witness a showdown for the ages.

Thunderbolt: Yosemite Samantha defending the Women’s Heartland title tonight on Wrestling Night in America against Kirsten Canfield.

Rick: This will be a good one.  These two met on June 4th after Lani Harlot vacated the title and it was Yosemite Samantha who got the win and won the title for the third time. Kirsten will be looking for revenge and winning the Heartland title for the fifth time when she faces Yosemite Samantha tonight.

Thunderbolt: Kirsten hit the Wheatshocker Deluxe on Yosemite Samantha and that was that.  We have a new MVW Women’s Heartland champion.

Heather: Your winner at eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds… and NEW WOMEN’S HEARTLAND CHAMPION!… KIRSTEN CANFIELD!

Justine Mills presented Kirsten with the title belt.

Thunderbolt: Our first title change of the night!

Rick: Thunderbolt, Kirsten Canfield is now a FIVE-time Women’s Heartland Champion.

Thunderbolt: Kellie Burkowski is in the ring with the new Women’s Heartland Champion.

Kellie Interviews Kirsten Canfield
The raucous cheers of the crowd reverberated through the arena as Kellie Burkowski stepped through the ropes, microphone in hand, her blonde hair catching the glare of the overhead lights. The ring was still vibrating from the energy of the match that had just concluded, the air electric with excitement.

Kellie: Kirsten Canfield, congratulations!

Kellie’s voice cut through the din, clear and authoritative, demanding the attention she knew the moment deserved. The new Women’s Heartland Champion, Kirsten Canfield, beamed beside her, sweat glistening on her brow, the triumph evident in her bright eyes.

Kirsten Canfield: Thank you, Kellie! And thank you to all the fans!”

Kirsten’s elation resonated with every word as she absorbed the roaring ovation from the crowd. They were on their feet, a tidal wave of applause washing over the champion who had clawed her way to this pinnacle moment.

Kirsten: Thank you so much.  I plan to hold onto this title…

Kirsten raised the gleaming belt for all to see.”

Kirsten: …and make my way back to the Women’s Division where I belong!

The declaration sent another surge of cheers through the audience.

Kellie: Once again, give it up for your new champion!

Kellie stepped back to allow Kirsten her moment of glory. With grace, Kirsten lifted the title belt high above her head, the golden emblem shining like a beacon of victory.

Kirsten: Thank you again!

Jill Berg Enterprises Segment
As the scene faded out to the thunderous approval of the fans, the camera transitioned smoothly to the plush interior of the Jill Berg Enterprises dressing room. The contrast was stark—the luxurious ambiance a far cry from the gritty exuberance of the ring.

Jill Berg stood at the forefront, her perfectly tailored suit exuding power as she addressed the camera with the confidence of someone born to rule. Behind her, MVW Women’s Tag Team Champions Sheline Carrigan and Madison Miller radiated silent strength, their own title belts displayed prominently around their waists.

Jill began, her crisp voice slicing through the air.

Jill Berg: Tonight, let’s talk about dominance… the kind that only Jill Berg Enterprises can deliver.

Her piercing eyes locked onto the lens, as if challenging anyone to dispute her claim.

Jill: Sheline, Madison…

Jill gestured to the champions behind her.

Jill: …they aren’t just champions. They are executors of excellence, poised to dispatch the so-called ‘Working Girls’ with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine.”

She paused for effect, allowing the corporate jargon to sink in.

Jill: Because here at Jill Berg Enterprises, we don’t just compete. We dominate. We set the standard. And come our next match…

She leaned in closer, her gaze unwavering.

Jill: …we mean business… because… Jill Berg Enterprises means business!

With that final emphatic statement, the promo cut away, leaving an aura of unshakable confidence and an implicit challenge hanging in the air.

Cut back to Thunderbolt and Hall at the broadcast desk…

Thunderbolt: Buckshot Henderson was relegated from the Men’s Division when then Men’s Heartland Champion Ultratron-6.1 defeated him in a promotion/relegation match.  He now will face the #1 contender in the division Mark Hendry to become the new Men’s Heartland Champion.

Rick: As you know, Mark Hendry used to be one-half of the Alabama Gang tag team with R.G. Jenkins before he turned on Jenkins and joined up with the Sports Entertainment Corporation.  Now, he’s looking to pick up the Heartland Title tonight and add it to the SEC’s collection of gold.

Thunderbolt: Heather Cooper is in the ring and we are ready for our second title match of the evening.  Heather?

MATCH #4-MEN’S HEARTLAND TITLE: Buckshot Henderson vs. #1 Mark Hendry
Heather: Thanks Thunderbolt.  Ladies and gentlemen… our next match will be one fall and it will be for the Men’s Heartland title.  Introducing first…

The trumpeting fanfare of the SEC on CBS Sports Theme Song reverberated through Hale Arena, heralding the arrival of ‘The Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R. Flanked by his articulate advocate, ‘The Mouthpiece of the SEC’ Phil Feinbaum, Triple R emerged from behind the curtain, basking in the cacophony of boos and jeers that greeted him. With a smug grin plastered across his face, he waved a sheet of paper high above his head—the ‘script’ for tonight’s spectacle, a supposed guarantee of victory.

“Tonight,” Triple R’s voice thundered over the PA system, “witness the inevitable as Mark Hendry dismantles Buckshot Henderson—just like it’s written right here!” He tapped the script for emphasis, drawing even louder disapproval from the crowd.

Heather: Hailing from Enterprise, Alabama and weighing tonight at 230 pounds.  He’s representing the Sports Entertainment Corporation and accompanied to the ring by the ‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R, ‘The Mouthpiece of the SEC’ Phil Feinbaum, and the SEC’s Enforcer Brice Brantley… please welcome… MARK HENDRY!

As if on cue, Mark Hendry stepped out, muscles rippling under the arena lights, a titan among men. He wore a smirk mirroring Triple R’s, arrogance incarnate. At his side stalked Brice Brantley, the SEC’s Enforcer—a mountain of a man with a gaze that promised pain. Hendry struck a dominant pose atop the stage, flexing to the audience’s mixed reactions, before the fearsome quartet descended the ramp, each step resonating with their unshakable confidence.

Sports Entertainment Corporation

Mark Hendry
AGE: 26 / HT: 6′ 2″ WT: 230 / HOME: Enterprise, AL
ALIGN: Tweener/ STYLE: Brawler / FIN: The Alabama Slam

‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R
‘The Mouthpiece of SEC’ Phil Feinbaum
‘Georgia Bulldog’ Brice Brantley “The SEC Enforcer”

Heather: And his opponent…

But the jeering quickly turned to raucous cheers as the twang of “Kiss My Country Ass” sliced through the tension. Buckshot Henderson strode out from the back like a renegade hero straight from a honky-tonk legend. The arena erupted as he tipped a beer can and guzzled down a quick brew, a rogue’s charm in his bright eyes.

Heather: Accompanied to the ring by the ‘Girl in Every Country Song’ Lillie Mae… he is from Tryon, South Carolina and weighs in tonight at 245 pounds.  Ladies and gentlemen… BUCKSHOT HENDERSON!

Buckshot Henderson

AGE: 37 / HT: 6’ 2” WT: 245 / HOME: Tryon, SC
ALIGN: Tweener / STYLE: Fighter / FIN: Buckshot Lariat
Valet: “The Girl in Every Country Song” Lillie Mae

By his side sashayed Lillie Mae, the valet known as ‘The Girl in Every Country Song.’ She was Americana personified, her red, white, and blue bikini top and denim shorts hugging her form like the embrace of Old Glory. Together, they sauntered toward the ring, Lillie Mae’s hips swaying rhythmically to the beat, while Henderson’s boots thudded against the steel ramp, each step a defiant drumbeat challenging the authority of the SEC’s carefully laid plans.

In the squared circle, a confrontation loomed—two worlds poised to collide in a clash of wills and scripted warfare.

Rick: Thunderbolt, Buckshot’s won a Heartland title before.  But this will be his biggest challenge yet.  Mark Hendry is big… strong… and he’s developed a nasty streak since he broke away from R.G. Jenkins and the Alabama Gang. I think tonight might be Hendry’s moment that he truly separates himself from the Alabama Gang and establishes himself as a legit singles wrestler.

Buckshot hit Hendry with a steel folding chair on the floor.  But Hendry shook it off and climbed back into the ring in time to beat the count- Henderson could not.

Heather: Your winner at fourteen minutes and four seconds… AND NEW MVW MEN’S HEARTLAND CHAMPION!  MARK HENDRY!

Rick: Thunderbolt, I think there’s something seriously wrong with Buckshot Henderson’s foot.  He slowed down considerably during the match.  Henderson whapped Hendry with a chair on the floor and he couldn’t get back into the ring in time to beat the count.

Thunderbolt: But Mark Hendry did and he is the NEW MVW Men’s Heartland Champion!

Rebecca Morris Interviews the SEC
The cacophony of cheers and boos swelled to a fever pitch as CSPN’s Rebecca Morris, exuding corporate chic in her sharply tailored suit, ascended the ring steps with an air of confidence that only seasoned journalists possess. Camera flashes punctuated the charged atmosphere like lightning as the crowd glimpsed the Sports Entertainment Corporation standing center stage—a triumvirate of ambition and power.

Rebecca Morris
CSPN Reporter

Rebecca Morris: Rebecca Morris here with the SEC.

With the practiced poise of a newsroom veteran, Rebecca turned to face the men who had commandeered the night: Triple R, Phil Feinbaum, and Mark Hendry, the newly crowned Men’s Heartland Champion whose stony silence was as eloquent as any words could be.

Rebecca: Triple R, tonight has been historic for the SEC, hasn’t it?  Your thoughts on this momentous evening?

Triple R: My thoughts?  I knew what was going to happen tonight, Rebecca.

With a swift motion that seemed rehearsed yet spontaneous, Triple R reached into his jacket and produced what appeared to be a script – ‘alleged,’ they’d say, with a wink to the knowing fans. He flaunted it before the camera, the paper catching the glare of the overhead lights, eliciting a chorus of disdain from the stands.

Triple R: Historic? It’s been prophetic!

His eyes, sharp and gleaming with arrogance, fixed on the camera as he gestured grandly toward Mark Hendry.

Triple R: And our champion here… he’s just getting warmed up!

Phil Feinbaum stepped forward, his pompadour an immaculate sculpture of vanity.

Phil Feinbaum: That’s right. The SEC now holds gold in both singles divisions because we are THE faction in MVW—untouchable, unstoppable!

The crowd’s jeers rose in pitch, a stormy sea crashing against the unyielding cliffs of the SEC’s resolve.

Triple R: Absolutely, Phil.

He spun back to face Rebecca as she nodded appreciatively. His gaze locked onto the camera once more, his words a manifesto of ambition.

Triple R: After Luke Woods disposes of the trailer trash tonight… and Bill Dickinson… our script states you’ll be putting over Luke again tonight… we’re looking at those tag belts.  They’re next. Booking the SEC for victory—that’s not just a goal. It’s an inevitability.

Rebecca’s response came not just as acknowledgment but as adulation, her tone rich with admiration, her words painting them as invincible conquerors of the squared circle.

Rebecca: It seems no one can halt the juggernaut that is the SEC.

The sentiment resonated with Triple R and Feinbaum, who exchanged looks of smug satisfaction, their agreement silent but resounding.

Phil: You’ve got that right.

In that moment, under the bright lights and amid the roar of the crowd, the Sports Entertainment Corporation basked in the glory of their claimed prophecy. They were kings in their world, and all else were mere pawns in the game of wrestling royalty.

Kellie Interviews No Quarter
The camera panned across the bustling backstage area, halting as it found Kellie Burkowski standing resolute amidst the chaos. She was a beacon of professionalism, her blonde hair and striking blue eyes setting her apart from the gritty surroundings. With a microphone in hand, she turned to face the menacing figures beside her.

Kellie: Bracken, Daryn, tonight’s match against the Stevens Dynasty has high stakes. What’s your strategy?

Bracken Krueger loomed over her, his massive frame casting a shadow that seemed to darken the corridor. His gaze locked onto the camera, an unspoken challenge flickering within his eyes. The animosity he held for the Stevens Dynasty was palpable, seething beneath the surface like a beast ready to pounce… his voice thundered, each word resonating with the depth of his hatred.

Bracken Krueger: No escape…

He leaned in, the muscles in his jaw tensing as if he were already in the throes of battle.

Bracken: The Stevens Dynasty has to pin or submit us to win. No chickenshit disqualifications.  No shenanigans.  Disqualification means they lose the title.

The camera zoomed in on Daryn Thompson’s face, her eyes glinting with the kind of cold resolve that sent a clear message to anyone daring enough to hold her gaze. She nodded, the gesture slow and deliberate, as if weighing the gravity of Krueger’s vow. Then, she found her voice, and it was like the crack of a whip across the charged silence backstage.

Daryn Thompson: That’s right, Kellie,”

Daryn’s Texas drawl sliced through the tension with surgical precision.

Daryn: Stevens Dynasty… Cary… y’all listen and y’all listen good.

It wasn’t just her accent that made the air around her seem to sizzle—it was the hatred for the Stevens Dynasty that resonated in every syllable she uttered, as tangible as the heat from the stage lights above.

Daryn: We ain’t giving no quarter tonight. Not one damn inch.

She leaned forward slightly, her shoulders squared and her jaw set with an ironclad determination. The camera panned out just enough to capture the fierce determination etched into her features, mirroring the intensity that Krueger had displayed moments earlier.

Daryn: The Stevens Dynasty are going to pay tonight.. I promise retribution. We’all are ready to step into the ring and claim what was rightfully ours. Bracken and me are walkin’ out of here with the tag belts.

Kellie Burkowski gave a nod, her professionalism unwavering as she wrapped up the interview with the succinctness that had become her trademark.

Kellie: There you have it.  No Quarter is ready to claim victory, by any means necessary.  Back to you Thunderbolt.

As the segment ended, the screen faded to the image of the roaring crowd, their cheers echoing through the arena as the anticipation for the upcoming battle reached its fever pitch.

Thunderbolt: All right. It is time for the MVW Women’s Tag Team Title match.  Heather Cooper… take it away.

MATCH #5-MVW WOMEN’S TAG TEAM TITLE: Jill Berg Enterprises (‘Canadian Cyborg’ Sheline Carrigan and Madison Miller w/CEO Jill Berg) © vs. The Working Girls (Caroline Lewis and ‘Queen Cool’ Leah Iris)
Heather: Ladies and gentlemen… our next match will be one fall and for the MVW WOMEN’S TAG TEAM TITLE!

She paused as the crowd let out a roar.

Heather: Introducing first… the challengers…

The pulsating energy of the crowd reached a crescendo as Donnie Iris’s “Ah Leah” blared through the speakers. Heather Cooper’s voice, sultry and commanding, cut through the din.

Heather: Making her way to the ring… weighing in at 125 pounds from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania… ‘Queen Cool’ LEAH IRIS!

“Queen Cool” Leah Iris
AGE: 28 / HT: 5′ 9″ WT: 125 / HOME: Pittsburgh, PA
ALIGN: Face / STYLE: Technical-All Around / FIN: Pittsburgh Plunge (Fisherman Buster)

Leah strutted down the aisle, basking in the adoration that poured from the stands like a tangible wave, her official Donnie Iris ‘King Cool’ t-shirt hugging her athletic frame. She blew kisses left and right, her smile radiant under the spotlight. The fans ate it up, returning her affection with thunderous applause and cheers.

Heather: Her partner…

The music seamlessly transitioned to Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money” and Caroline Lewis stormed out from behind the curtain, power-walking with an intensity that matched the driving beat of her entrance music. Her Hooter’s top and Daisy Duke jeans were unconventional ring attire but resonated with the audience who saw in her their own blue-collar spirit.

Heather: From Conway, New Hampshire… weighing in at 135 pounds… she is a former Hooter’s waitress… CAROLINE LEWIS!

‘Former Hooter’s Waitress’ Caroline Lewis
AGE: 33 / HT: 5’11 WT: 135 / HOME: Conway, NH
ALIGN: Face / STYLE: Power / FIN: Last Round


Together, Lewis and Iris headed down the ramp and slapped eager hands, forging a bond of unity with their supporters that was palpable even at a distance.

Heather: And their opponents…

Heather’s tone shifted, a touch of drama lacing her words, signaling the arrival of a different breed of competitor.

Suddenly, a series of resounding THUMP, THUMP, THUMP-THUMP-THUMP echoed throughout the arena. The camera shifted its focus to the stage, where Jill Berg, CEO of Jill Berg Enterprises, confidently strode out with her security detail flanking her on either side. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and jeers as she made her way down the ramp, her eyes locked onto the ring like a predator stalking its prey and surveying the arena like a conqueror eyeing new territory.  With each step, Jill exuded power and control, her gaze never wavering as she climbed into the ring.

Heather: Accompanied to the ring by the CEO of Jill Berg Enterprises… JILL BERG!  She weighs in at 145 pounds… she is the ‘Canadian Cyborg’ hailing from Vilbank, Saskatchewan… SHELINE CARRIGAN!

Sheline Carrigan ‘The Canadian Cyborg’
AGE: 27 / HT: 6’0″ WT: 145 / HOME:  Vilbank, SK
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Power-Technical / FIN: Canadian Destroyer

“Canadian Cyborg” Sheline Carrigan followed, her imposing figure clad in red and white, muscles rippling with each step—a living embodiment of strength and precision.

Heather: …and from Custar, Washington… weighing in tonight at 100 pounds… MADISON MILLER!

Madison Miller
AGE: 22 HT: 5’ 11” WT: 100 / HOME: Custer, WA
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Technical / FIN: Cyber Blow

Beside Carrigan, Madison Miller, the personification of heart and tenacity, held aloft the MVW Women’s Tag Team title belts. Their gleam caught the light as if winking at the challengers.


Completing the procession, JBE’s enforcer, known only by her number, Prisoner #034291, stalked behind. Her presence alone whispered threats no words could match.

Together, they posed atop the stage—a tableau of power and dominance. Then, with Jill Berg leading the charge, they moved, a well-oiled machine heading toward the squared circle and the battle that awaited.

Cut back to Thunderbolt and Hall…

Thunderbolt: Rick, these two teams have met before… JBE has won every time.  Could this be the night The Working Girls win the tag title?

Rick: Thunderbolt, sure.  But the Working Girls have slid a couple spots down the rankings to #3… behind Backman Taylor Powerdrive and the resurgent Missouri Valley Fight Club.  This is their chance because the MVFC are the new #1 contenders and they will face the winner of this match in August.

Thunderbolt: Madison Miller hits the Head Pull-Up Lariat to Leah Iris and that does it.  Jill Berg Enterprises retains the title.

Heather Cooper stepped into the ring to make it official.

Heather: Your winner at seven minutes and fifty-one seconds… and STILL MVW WOMEN’S TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS… JILL BERG ENTERPRISES!

Jill Berg and Prisoner #034291 joined Carrigan and Miller in the ring to celebrate.

Rick: Thunderbolt, with this win, JBE is on a collision course with the Missouri Valley Fight Club and I can’t wait for that one.

Thunderbolt: That’s right.  Next up for Jill Berg Enterprises is a title defense when MVW returns in August against four-time tag champions the Missouri Valley Fight Club.

Rick: That match is going to be very good.

Thunderbolt: All right.  Let’s go back to Kellie Burkowski who has the MVW Tag Team champions with her.

Kellie Interviews Cary Stevens and The Stevens Dynasty
The camera zoomed in, capturing the vibrant energy backstage as Kellie Burkowski stood poised, microphone in hand. Beside her loomed the imposing figures of The Stevens Dynasty: Bo and George, muscles rippling under the fluorescent lights, their expressions a mixture of focus and simmering fury.

Kellie: Tonight’s match-up is one of the most anticipated-

Kellie was cut off mid-sentence as Cary Stevens stepped into the frame, his presence like a storm cloud rolling over calm waters.

Cary Stevens: Anticipated?

Cary’s eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to ignite the air around him.

Cary: Let me tell you what’s anticipated, Kellie.

He leaned closer, his voice gruff and impassioned, each word punctuated by the heavy Texan accent that had become his signature.

Cary: No Quarter’s had their share of cheap shots, hiding behind the ref’s back. They can’t beat my boys fair and square, so they resort to bull-

A sharp *BLEEP* echoed through the broadcast, censoring Cary’s language but not his fervor.

Cary: …every damn time!

Cary jabbed a thick finger toward the camera, as if pointing out the culprits through the lens.

Cary: Every dang time it’s some bull-*BLEEP* disqualification saving their asses!

Bo and George nodded, their stoic faces set in agreement. The elder Stevens, George, cracked his knuckles audibly, a subtle but clear sign of his readiness to unleash hell.

Cary: I don’t give a rat’s ass that Ray McAvay put in the stip tonight about the title changin’ due to disqualification.  Tonight…

Cary now pacedg slightly, the intensity of his words growing with every step.

Cary: …we’re putting an end to this nonsense. The Stevens Dynasty…

He gestured to his kin with a sweep of his arm.

Cary: …is gonna take No Quarter out back to the woodshed, and we’re gonna give ’em a Texas-sized ass-kicking they ain’t ever gonna forget!

The camera panned briefly to catch Bo’s smirk and George’s nod, a silent endorsement of Cary’s heated declaration. Kellie, ever the professional, kept the microphone steady, waiting for the tempest of Cary’s tirade to subside.

Kellie: Thank you, Cary.  There you have it, folks. The Stevens Dynasty is fired up and ready for tonight’s showdown.

As the camera pulled away, leaving Kellie to wrap up the segment, the atmosphere backstage remained charged with the electric promise of retribution.

The camera zooms in on the opulent interior of the Queens of Desire’s dressing room. Velvet drapes cascade from ceiling to floor, creating a lush backdrop to the scene unfolding. Dawn McGill reclines languidly on a plush chaise lounger, her statuesque figure draped in a shimmering robe that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her wavy blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, catching the glint of the vanity lights as one cabana boy meticulously massages her shoulders with strong, deliberate strokes as she purrs, her piercing blue eyes closing momentarily in contentment.

Dawn McGill: Ah, that’s the spot.

Another cabana boy kneels dutifully at her feet, his hands working over her high arches and along the soles, eliciting a relaxed sigh from Dawn. The third stands at the ready, a silver tray in hand, offering a crystal glass filled with a sparkling amber liquid, ice cubes clinking melodically.

Dawn commands with an imperious wave of her hand, teasing out her golden locks with her fingers.

Dawn: Keep them coming.

Adjacent to this display of leisure, Victoria McGill is the picture of concentration, her muscles flexing as she goes through a series of dynamic stretches. She’s all business, ignoring the pampered scene beside her, her gaze locked on an unseen opponent as she prepares for the upcoming title bout against Jennifer Colton.

Cut to a stark contrast, the austere confines of the Soviet Bloc’s locker room. A steel-blue hue bathes the space in cold light. Svetlana Kovaleski, Nikita Kalashnik, and Agent Valya stand like sentinels in front of the monitor displaying the Queens of Desire’s indulgent spectacle.

Svetlana’s voice drips with disdain.

Svetlana Kovaleski: Look at her. “like a kitten amidst her playthings. This… weakness disgusts me.

Nikita Kalashnik: American decadence.

Nikita’s face echoes with a snarl, her steely gaze fixed on the screen.

Agent Valya leans forward, her eyes narrowing as she observes the scene.

Agent Valya: Tonight was last straw.

The others nodded in solidarity.

Agent Valya: We will not stand for this any longer.

Valya strides over to the door, her movements swift and purposeful. With a single motion, she flings it open, revealing a startled cameraman who had been capturing their reactions. Her lips curl into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach her calculating eyes.

Agent Valya: Out!

Her words are sharp as a whip crack. The cameraman stumbles backward, nearly tripping over his equipment as he makes a hasty retreat.

With the door slamming shut behind him, the trio turns back to each other, their expressions hardening with resolve. They lean in close, heads together, as they begin to plot in hushed tones, their voices a conspiratorial whisper lost beneath the din of the crowd outside.

Cut back to Thunderbolt and Hall at the broadcast desk.

Thunderbolt: Threatening words from the Soviets.  Should the Queens of Desire be concerned?

Rick: Thunderbolt, this is war, and the Soviet Bloc is clearly ready to strike.  I would say yes… the Queens of Desire should be very concerned.

Thunderbolt: We are ready for the MVW Tag Team Title match.  Let’s go to Heather Cooper in the ring… Heather?

MATCH #6-MVW TAG TEAM TITLE: The Stevens Dynasty (Bo and George Stevens w/Cary Stevens) © vs. No Quarter (Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson)
Heather nodded back and began.

Heather: Ladies and gentlemen… our next match will be one fall and for the MVW TAG TEAM TITLE!

She paused as the crowd responded in kind.

Heather: Per MVW owners Ray McAvay and Joe Bergman… the title WILL change hands should The Stevens Dynasty be disqualified in this match.  Introducing the challengers…

“Kicking and Screaming” by Blues Saracino tore through the air, the bassline a pulsating force as Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson emerged into the spotlight. The roar of the crowd swelled like a tidal wave, crashing against the walls of the arena.

Heather: From Chicago, Illinois and weighing in at 290 pounds… he is the ‘Lakeshore Leviathan’ BRACKEN KRUEGER!  And from Dallas, Texas, weighing in at 165 pounds… she is the ‘Texas Technician’ DARYN THOMPSON!  They are… NO QUARTER!

No Quarter

Bracken Krueger
“The Lakeshore Leviathan”
AGE: 31 / HT: 6’11” WT: 290 / HOME: Chicago, Illinois
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Power / FIN: Into the Deep (over-the-shoulder Fisherman’s Driver)
Daryn Thompson
The Texas Technician, The Daughter of Dust

AGE: 29 / HT: 6’ 0” WT: 165 / HOME: Dallas, Texas
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Technical/submissionist / FIN: Legacy Lock (Anaconda vice)

Bracken strutted forward, each step a testament to his unshakable confidence. His slicked-back dark hair shimmered under the bright lights, framing a face etched with determination. His eyes, fierce and predatory, scanned the sea of faces before him, a silent challenge to any who dared meet his gaze.

Beside him, Daryn Thompson was the picture of lithe strength, her presence undeniable. She glided with an elegance that belied the sheer power coiled within her frame. Her long hair billowed out behind her, a living banner that captured the fervor of their supporters. Together they paused, striking a pose that sent the fans into a frenzy, their adulation echoing off the rafters.

With the cheers of the crowd fueling them, Bracken and Daryn descended the ramp. Each step synced to the pounding rhythm of the music, their chemistry palpable. Daryn moved with a poised grace that served as the perfect counterpoint to Bracken’s raw, simmering energy. Her eyes, alight with youthful ambition, were fixed on the prize ahead—the ring that would soon be their battleground.

Reaching the squared circle, they ascended the apron in unison and stepped over the ropes. The motion was fluid, seamless—an exhibition of their shared resolve and harmony as partners. Inside the ring, they stood shoulder to shoulder, warriors ready for the impending clash.

Turning, Bracken’s intense gaze locked onto the entrance stage. There, in moments, the MVW Tag Team Champions would make their appearance, the bearers of the gold that he and Daryn hungered for. His eyes narrowed, and though no words were spoken, the silent vow hung heavy in the air—a tempest was on the horizon, and they were its harbinger.

Heather: And their opponents…

The arena’s atmosphere shifted as the haunting opening notes of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” echoed through the venue, a spectral twang that heralded the arrival of the defending champions. The video screen flared to life with the bold letters, “STEVENS DYNASTY,” emblazoned across the screen, framed by the proud image of a Texas flag caught in an invisible breeze.

Heather: … accompanied to the ring by the Patriarch of the Stevens Dynasty Cary Stevens and Scott Stevens… from Waco, Texas and weighing in tonight at 234 pounds… BO STEVENS!  And from Texarkana, Texas… weighing 445 pounds… GEORGE STEVENS!  They are the REIGNING MVW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS… THE STEVENS DYNASTY!

The Stevens Dynasty

Bo Stevens
AGE: 27 HT: 6’ 1” WT: 234 / HOME: Waco, TX
ALIGN: / STYLE / FIN: Rolling Cutter
THEME: “Ghost Riders in the Sky”- The Outlaws

George Stevens
AGE: 42 / HT: 6’ 5” WT: 445 / HOME: Texarkana, TX
ALIGN: / STYLE: Power / FIN: Texas-Sized Slam
THEME: “Ghost Riders in the Sky”- The Outlaws

Manager: Cary Stevens with Scott Stevens

Bo and George Stevens strode onto the stage, the glint of gold around their waists catching the light. Their steps were deliberate, each footfall resonating with the legacy they carried—the MVW Tag Team Championship belts, symbols of their reign. Behind them, Cary Stevens, the grizzled patriarch, loomed like a ghost from wrestling’s storied past, his gaze steely and unforgiving. Scott Stevens flanked his family members, his presence adding to the formidable aura of the dynasty.

Bracken and Daryn, standing united in the ring, watched the procession with a simmering intensity. The champions’ arrival had ignited a definitive tension that crackled through the charged air. Bo and George, with a synchronicity born of blood and battle, raised their arms and pointed accusingly at the challengers. The silent accusation was clear: this was their domain, their legacy at stake.

Words flew between the two teams like arrows in a medieval skirmish, each jab meant to wound pride and provoke. Cary Stevens, never one to be outdone in verbal sparring, barked barbs with a voice rough as sandpaper, his comments slicing through the noise of the crowd. As he walked, his shadow stretched down the ramp like a dark omen, his lips curled into a knowing sneer that spoke of battles fought and won.

Referee Ron Martin, sensing the growing volatility, inserted himself between the dueling factions with a practiced urgency. His arms outstretched, he became a barrier to the verbal onslaught, his eyes darting from face to face as he tried to maintain a semblance of order. The chirping intensified, a cacophony of challenges and retorts that threatened to boil over into chaos before the bell could even sound.

Thunderbolt: Rick?

Rick: Not much more to say about this one, Thunderbolt.  Let’s go!

Thunderbolt: Wait a minute!  What just happened?

Rick: Thunderbolt, George and Bo Stevens are assaulting Bracken Krueger in the ring!  Daryn Thompson got knocked out at ringside.  I have no idea what happened.


Bradlee Nelson and Bowie Abrams… two young, good-looking, fun-loving stoner boys… raced down the ramp. Scott Stevens went to head them off but Nelson launched himself forward with a missile dropkick to catch Stevens off guard. Abrams rolled into the ring and low-blowed George Stevens. Abrams went to the top rope… frog splash to George!


Nelson climbed to the top rope as well and hit a missile dropkick to Bo that sent him rolling out of the ring.


Rick: Daryn Thompson just tried to get back up! Cary Stevens stomped on her with a big boot and drove her to the floor.

Abrams back to the top rope and he took flight again and splashed Cary with another frog splash.  Krueger gets back to his feet and tosses George out of the ring.

Then all attention turned to referee Ron Martin.

Thunderbolt: Referee Ron Martin is talking with Heather Cooper right now…

Heather nodded at Ron Martin and walked to the center of the ring.  The crowd hushed.  Both Bo and George Stevens retreated to the ropes while Cary and Scott Stevens climbed into the ring.

Heather: Ladies and gentlemen.

The arena was silent now.

Heather: Referee Ron Martin has… disqualified-

The crowd then exploded.  Cary Stevens’ face turned beet red. Bo and George both looked at each other in bewilderment as Heather tried to talk over the din.

Heather: The Stevens Dynasty have been disqualified for outside interference.  Your winners and… NEW!-

Again the crowd erupted, drowning out Heather.

Thunderbolt: We’ve got new champions!

Heather tried again.


Rick: Thunderbolt, upon further review, the replay clearly shows Cary Stevens knocked out Daryn Thompson from behind.

Immediately, MVW Security streamed down to the ring to make sure no other post-match shenanigans would take place.

Thunderbolt: They were warned, though.

Rick: Absolutely.  Ray McAvay made it clear if there was ANY outside interference that referee Ron Martin would disqualify the Stevens Dynasty and they would lose the title… and that’s exactly what happened.  The Stevens Dynasty have no one to blame but themselves.  They didn’t have to do this.  George Stevens wore out Daryn Thompson in the ring for over two plus minutes and threw her over the top rope to the floor.  Thompson was spent but Cary Stevens had to intervene and that cost the Stevens Dynasty the match and the title.

Thunderbolt: Cary Stevens is beside himself.  But the decision has been made.  No Quarter… Bracken Kruger and Daryn Thompson… have won back the MVW Tag Team titles.  While MVW Security keeps the peace and usher the Stevens Dynasty to the back, let’s go to Kellie Burkowski who has the MVW Women’s Champion with her.

Kellie Interviews MVW Women’s Champion Jennifer Colton
Backstage, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation as Kellie Burkowski stood ready, microphone in hand. Her piercing blue eyes focused on the entrance of MVW Women’s Champion Jennifer Colton, who emerged from the shadows, her championship belt glinting under the harsh lighting.

Kellie: Jennifer, you’re moments away from your title defense against Victoria McGill of the Queens of Desire. Given your history with her and Jill Berg Enterprises, what’s going through your mind right now?

Jennifer’s gaze was steely, a reflection of the intensity that had carried her to the pinnacle of the MVW women’s division.

Jennifer Colton (voice resonating with confidence): Kellie, I’ve been in this game long enough to know what Tori’s all about.  She’s tough, I’ll give her that, but I’ve been the MVW Women’s Champion twice now in the past year for a reason.  Last year, I defeated Daryn Thompson to win the title for the first time… lost it to Tori in December… then took the title back in March.

The champion adjusted the belt over her shoulder, her eyes never wavering from the camera lens.

Jennifer: I know Tori McGill like the back of my hand.  I’m familiar with all the tricks Jill Berg Enterprises used to pull when she was with them and I’m aware that Dawn McGill and the other Queens of Desire will be at ringside.  I’m not about to let Tori or her girls distract me from what I came here to do.

Jennifer paused, her jaw set.

Jennifer: Tonight, I defend this title with everything I’ve got.  Victoria McGill is going to bring the fight, but I’m ready. And I assure every fan out there that when the dust settles, I will be standing tall, championship right here… still in my grasp.

Kellie nodded, her expression one of respect for the champion’s resolve.

Kellie: Thank you, Jennifer. Good luck out there tonight.

With those final words, she turned back towards the camera.

Kellie: And now, let’s send it back to Thunderbolt Smith at ringside.

The scene transitioned smoothly, the focus shifting from backstage intensity to the electrifying crowd around the ring. Thunderbolt Smith, his seasoned gaze taking in the charged arena, leaned into his microphone.

Thunderbolt: Ladies and gentlemen, the stage is set for what promises to be an epic confrontation. The champion is poised, the challenger is hungry, and the title is on the line. Stay tuned, because this match is up next!

MAIN EVENT #1-MVW WOMEN’S TITLE: Jennifer Colton © vs. Victoria McGill
Heather Cooper stood in the middle of the ring.

Heather: Our first main event match of the evening will be…

She paused for the crowd… who are just itching to shout out…

Crowd: ONE FALL!

Heather: …and it will be for the MVW WOMEN’S TITLE!  Introducing the challenger…

Then… it began with an inhaled breath. Then, in a clear tone, a single note is sung. It’s the letter “I,” held like a beckoning call as the opening to Donna Summer’s epic ‘Love to Love You Baby’ oozed in sultry and seductive overtones over the PA system.

The arena lights dimmed momentarily, a hush falling over the raucous crowd before spotlights swiveled and converged upon the entrance ramp. A single figure emerged from backstage, her silhouette commanding immediate attention. Dawn McGill, draped in the regalia of wrestling royalty, descended the ramp with the poise of a queen surveying her dominion.

Behind her, three cabana boys, their muscles gleaming under the bright lights, labored to carry an opulent chaise lounge, its golden frame catching sparkles that danced across the sea of onlookers. Dawn, her piercing blue eyes locked onto the ring ahead, ascended the stairs with calculated grace. She stepped between the ropes, her skin-tight, red halter top and daring mini-skirt proclaiming the confidence she felt within.

With a smirk playing on her lips, Dawn took her seat upon the lavish furniture now situated at ringside, crossing her legs with deliberate seduction.

Heather: Representing the Queens of Desire tonight.  She comes in at 140 pounds.  From Killeen, Texas… she is… VICTORIA McGILL!

Queens of Desire

Victoria McGill
AGE: 26 / HT: 6’ 2″ WT: 140 / HOME: Killeen, TX
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Power / FIN: Gutwrench Facebuster
WITH: Manager Dawn McGill, Tammie Hardy, and Savannah Smith

The music switched up to Samantha Fish’s “Twisted Ambition.” The air thickened, charged with anticipation as Victoria McGill followed suit, flanked by Tammie Hardy and Savannah Smith, each exuding their own unique blend of determination and allure as they claimed their space at the center of the squared circle.

Heather: And her opponent…

Then, the opening riff of The Eagles’ “Heartache Tonight” shattered the tension, the familiar anthem heralding the arrival of MVW Women’s Champion Jennifer Colton.

Heather: Weighing in tonight at 130 pounds and hailing from Evansville, Indiana… she is the reigning MVW WOMEN’S CHAMPION!  JENNIFER COLTON!

Jennifer Colton

AGE: 22 / HT: 5’6″ WT: 130 / HOME: Evansville, IN
ALIGN: Face / STYLE: Technical / FIN: Colton Clutch 2 (Lebell lock, but with cobra clutch grip instead of crossface)

Bursting forth like a tempest, Colton’s presence commanded a rousing ovation from the gathered masses. With every bound towards the ring, she slapped the extended hands of her fans, absorbing their energy and channeling it into the fervor of combat.

Jennifer rolled under the bottom rope, agile and poised, her feet finding the mat as she immediately launched into a series of warm-up bounces. The champion’s gaze was unyielding, laser-focused on Victoria McGill. The crowd could feel the electricity coursing through the air – two gladiators, one ring, and the coveted championship title hanging in the balance.

Thunderbolt: This is what it’s all about. The tension you can cut with a knife, the anticipation of a championship clash, and the indomitable spirit of two warriors ready to etch their names into the annals of history.

Rick: Fans, what you’re witnessing tonight is the heart and soul of professional wrestling.  Victoria McGill and the Queens of Desire have laid down the gauntlet, but Jennifer Colton has never been one to back down from a challenge.

Thunderbolt: Here we go… for the MVW Women’s Title!

Thunderbolt: Good lord! What has she done? That’s a disqualification if I’ve ever seen one!

Referee Corrina Romanov wasted no time calling for the bell, her decision met with a chorus of boos and jeers. Tammie Hardy and Savannah Smith erupted, bombarding Romanov with a barrage of protests. The chaos inside the ring mirrored the turmoil outside it.

Thunderbolt: Referee Corrina Romanov has called for the bell after Victoria McGill struck Jennifer Colton with a foreign object and knocked her out cold!

Heather Cooper rolled into the ring with the official result while three people rolled a stretcher down the ramp towards the ring.

Heather: Referee Corrina Romanov has disqualified Victoria McGill for using a foreign object.  Your winner at three minutes and fifteen seconds and STILL the MVW WOMEN’S CHAMPION… JENNIFER COLTON!

Rick: Victoria McGill has crossed a line tonight.  Using a foreign object this early? This isn’t just about the match anymore- she’s relit the fuse of an already explosive feud with Jennifer Colton!

Thunderbolt: These two will meet again in late August as Tori McGill defeated Shizuko Yamazaki to regain the #1 contender’s ranking and will get another title shot.  But…

The camera focused in on the prone Jennifer Colton, still unconscious and unattended to in the ring.

Thunderbolt: Wait a minute.  What happened to the three medical people bringing the stretcher down?

Rick: Thunderbolt, where is Dawn McGill?

Before answers could be found, the arena’s massive screen flickered to life, replaying the moments of pandemonium. In the corner of the frame, while all eyes had been locked on the ring, a sinister subplot unfolded.

Thunderbolt: Look there! Three individuals, stretcher in tow, approaching Dawn McGill at ringside.

The images rolled, revealing Dawn’s focused gaze on the in-ring drama, unaware of the impending betrayal. One of the trio stepped forward, brandishing a hypodermic needle. With practiced precision, they jabbed it into Dawn’s neck. Her body went limp, collapsing into their waiting arms.

Rick: Whoa!  Unbelievable!

Disbelief laced his words.

Rick: They’ve kidnapped Dawn McGill!

Strapped to the stretcher, Dawn was whisked away, disappearing from the sight of the stunned audience. Only then did MVW’s legitimate medical team sprint toward the ring, their attention fixed on the fallen champion.

Thunderbolt: We have a dire situation unfolding. Dawn McGill appears to have been abducted, but the question remains—by who?

Rick: Oh… I have an idea.

With the scene dissolving into bedlam, Thunderbolt’s voice carried the weight of uncertainty and fear.

Thunderbolt: Stay tuned as we try to unravel this mystery.

Kellie Interviews ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson
The camera cut from the chaotic replay to a stark contrast backstage, where Kellie Burkowski stood with an air of composed urgency. Beside her towered the imposing figure of ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson, his face etched with steely determination that reflected the gravity of the night ahead.

Kellie’s voice projected clear and strong amidst the ever-present hum of the excited crowd.

Kellie: Bill, tonight is monumental for you. After sliding down the rankings, how significant is this match against Luke Woods?

Bill shifted his weight, his broad shoulders rolling back as he locked eyes with Kellie. The raw intensity in his gaze spoke volumes before he even uttered a word.

‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson: Kellie, I reckon it’s do or die tonight.

A confession with a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

Bill: I’ve tumbled down further than I’d like to admit. But tonight? Tonight is everything.

He paused, the sound of his knuckles cracking filled the brief silence as he clenched and unclenched his fists, visual cues of the fire burning within.

Bill: See, Luke Woods—he ain’t no pushover. He’s tough as nails and twice as sharp. But I didn’t come here to lay down easy. No ma’am.

Kellie nodded, her piercing blue eyes never leaving Bill’s as she pressed on.

Kellie: Can you win tonight? Can you overcome the odds and bring home the MVW Title?

Bill’s lips curled into a half-smile, half-snarl, a fusion of confidence and the ferocity of a man with everything on the line.

Bill: Win?

Dickinson’s southern drawl was thick with conviction.

Bill: Kellie, I’ll move heaven and earth to win this match. I’ll claw, scratch, and fight with every ounce of grit I’ve got. And when the dust settles, Luke Woods is gonna know he’s been in a war with ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson.

Kellie: Thank you, Bill.  There you have it, folks. Determination personified. Now let’s send it back to Thunderbolt Smith at ringside.

But first…

Ray McAvay’s Office
The thick, wooden slab of a door to Ray McAvay’s office quivered on its hinges as Cary Stevens, veins bulging along his reddened neck, burst into the room with the force of a Texas tornado. Papers fluttered off the desk like scared birds taking flight at the sudden intrusion.

Cary: McAvay!

Cary’s voice roared like a gravelly thunderclap in the otherwise quiet space.

Cary: Your goddamn referees screwed us! My boys were stripped of the title and you know it!

Ray McAvay, MVW’s no-nonsense boss, remained seated behind his mahogany desk, every inch the immovable object to Cary’s unstoppable force. The lines on his face seemed to deepen as he locked eyes with the irate Texan. He knew this confrontation was inevitable.

Ray McAvay: Cary…

McAvay’s voice even but firm, cutting through Cary’s tirade like a knife through butter.

Ray: I warned you- no outside interference, or there’d be consequences. You play by the rules, or you pay the price.

Cary’s hands slammed down onto the desk, his knuckles white as his fingers gripped the edge.

Cary: Bullshit! We were robbed, and you’re here sittin’ pretty in your office, doin’ nothin’ about it!

Ray: Enough, Cary!

McAvay rose from his chair with an authority that commanded respect. His shadow fell over the papers, the contracts, and the championship belts that adorned his office—a testament to his wrestling empire.

Ray: You had your chance, you blew it. Now get out before I have security throw you out.

Cary: Like hell I will-

Cary’s protest was cut short as two burly security guards appeared in the doorway. They didn’t need to speak; their presence alone was enough to convey their intent.

Security Guy #1: Time to go, Mr. Stevens.

As the guards took hold of Cary’s arms, the old wrestler’s feet dragged across the plush carpet, leaving scuff marks in his wake. He continued to hurl insults over his shoulder, each profanity echoing off the walls long after he was physically removed from the office.

Cary: McAvay, this ain’t over!

Cary’s voice, now distant but still filled with indignant fury, filtered back into the room as he was escorted away.

Ray (muttering to himself): It is tonight.

Ray McAvay stood alone, the tumultuous encounter hanging heavy in the air. He shook his head slowly, a mix of disappointment and resolve etched into his weathered features. McAvay had a code, a sacred bond of honor and fairness, and he’d be damned if he let anyone, even a legend like Cary Stevens, trample it beneath his cowboy boots.

Without missing a beat, the scene transitioned back to the familiar and calming presence of Thunderbolt Smith, who sat ready to guide the audience through whatever may unfold next.

Thunderbolt: Well, it’s been an interesting evening.

Rick: That’s right.  We have new Men’s and Women’s Heartland Champions in Mark Hendry and Kirsten Canfield.  Jill Berg Enterprises retains but No Quarter regains the MVW Tag Team Title. Jennifer Colton also retained via DQ.  The Queens of Desire-Soviet Bloc blew up big time tonight.  Cary Stevens is on the warpath.

Thunderbolt: And we’ve got one more match to go.  Heather Cooper, take it away.

MAIN EVENT #2-MVW TITLE: MVW TITLE: Luke Woods © vs. ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson
Heather Cooper shifted back and forth in the middle of the ring as the anticipation ramped up.

Heather: Ladies and gentlemen!  Our second main event match of the evening will be…

She paused for the crowd…

Crowd: ONE FALL!

Heather: …and this is for the MVW TITLE!

The crowd roared in approval.

Heather: Introducing the challenger…

“My truck’s where my money goes,
Got buck blood on my Sunday clothes
And directions to a honey hole that I’ll never tell
And I know it’s redneck of me
Letting moonshine get the best of me
But I’m unapologetically
Country as hell”

A bright flash of red, white, and blue light envelops the stage following the acapella beginning of Hardy’s “Unapologetically Country as Hell.” Fog sifts out from both sides of the stage as the song begins in earnest.

“People say I’m podunk but I don’t really care
My grandpa’s mamaw lived right over there…”

Sunny O’Callahan walks out slowly from the back. She’s dressed in the guise of a background singer of a 1970’s Southern rock band with a flimsy top, jeans, and heels.

“I spoon scale my perch
Dirt stays on my shirt
And if you can’t dip in church, you can’t dip anywhere
No you can’t…”

Heather: Accompanied to the ring by Sunny O’Callahan… he hails from Troy, Alabama… he is the 330 pound Southern Brawler… ‘REDNECK’ BILL DICKINSON!

‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson “The 330 Pound Southern Brawler”
AGE: 39 / HT: 6′ 1″  WT: 330 / HOME: Troy, AL
ALIGN: Tweener / STYLE: Brawler-Power / FIN: Southern Fried Powerbomb
WITH: Sunny O’Callahan

A second round of red, white, and blue lights illuminate the stage as the song hits the chorus and the 330 Pound Southern Brawler, ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson emerges from the fog and ambles out onto the stage. Dickinson’s wearing standard black wrestling tights, a black and red vest with “Bill Dickinson” embroidered in block letters on the back.

“And my truck’s where my money goes
Got buck blood on my Sunday clothes
And directions to a honey hole that I’ll never tell…”

Dickinson looks out at the packed house.

“And I know it’s redneck of me
Letting moonshine get the best of me
But I’m unapologetically.
Country as hell”

He nods his head to the melody of the song and takes a deep breath.

“I got a fridge full of beer
Freezer full of good aim
If there’s tire marks at the Wal-Mart
My Chevrolet’s to blame..”

Joining hands with Sunny, both exchange wry smiles and bathe in the atmosphere of the moment…

“My chicken’s more fried
My dogs live outside
Ever since George Jones died country ain’t been the same…”

… and when the chorus hits again, begin to make their way down towards the ring.

“And my truck’s where my money goes
Got buck blood on my Sunday clothes
And directions to a honey hole that I’ll never tell…”

Now down at ringside, Dickinson stops at the apron and takes one last curious look around the arena.

“And I know it’s redneck of me
Letting moonshine get the best of me
But I’m unapologetically.
Country as hell”

Dickinson helps Sunny into the ring and then climbs right behind her.

“You can blame it on my pedigree
But I can’t help my heredity
I’m unapologetically… country”

He hands his vest to Sunny and runs the ropes a few times to get limbered up while the song winds down.

“…Country as hell”

Cold ending to the song and then…

Again, the trumpeting fanfare of the SEC on CBS Sports Theme Song heralded the arrival of ‘The Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R. Flanked by ‘The Mouthpiece of the SEC’ Phil Feinbaum, Triple R emerged from behind the curtain, basking in the cacophony of boos and jeers that greeted him. With a smug grin plastered across his face, he once again waved a sheet of paper high above his head—the ‘script’ for tonight’s spectacle, a supposed guarantee of victory.

Heather: Hailing from St. Louis, Missouri… weighing tonight at 200 pounds and representing the Sports Entertainment Corporation.  He is accompanied to the ring by the ‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R, ‘The Mouthpiece of the SEC’ Phil Feinbaum, and the SEC’s Enforcer Brice Brantley… he is also the MVW CHAMPION!  Please welcome… LUKE WOODS!

Sports Entertainment Corporation

Luke Woods
AGE: 21 / HT: 6’3” WT: 200 / HOME: St. Louis, MO
ALIGN: Heel / STYLE: Technical / FIN: Arm Octopus Hold

‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R
‘The Mouthpiece of SEC’ Phil Feinbaum
‘Georgia Bulldog’ Brice Brantley “The SEC Enforcer”

As if on cue, Luke Woods stepped out from the back holding up the MVW title belt. At his side- Brice Brantley, the SEC’s Enforcer.  Wood posed with the title belt atop the stage before the quartet headed down the ramp to the ring.

Thunderbolt: Luke Woods versus ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson for the MVW Title.

Rick: Can Bill Dickinson regain the MVW Title for the third time?  Or will Luke Woods… and the SEC… consolidate their control over the title?

Thunderbolt: Here we go!

Thunderbolt: Both Woods and Dickinson get counted out!

Heather Cooper climbed back into the ring.

Heather: At four minutes and forty-two seconds, referee Davey Keels counted out both Luke Woods and ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson and this match is a draw.

The cacophony of the crowd reached a fever pitch as Luke Woods and ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson brawled on the arena floor, their bodies slamming into the unforgiving concrete with each thunderous impact. The referee’s count was long forgotten, lost in the sea of shouts and cheers that cascaded down from the stands.

Thunderbolt: It’s a double count-out, but they’re not done yet!

Woods, driven by a relentless fury, connected with a solid right hook to Dickinson’s jaw, staggering the ‘Redneck.’ But Dickinson, ever the brawler, spat blood onto the floor and responded with a brutal uppercut that sent Woods reeling back. They exchanged blows with a ferocity that belied the toll of their grueling match.

As Dickinson reared back, harnessing every ounce of his country strength to land a devastating punch that could end it all, a shadow loomed ominously behind him. Brice Brantley, the imposing SEC Enforcer, had arrived without fanfare, his massive frame casting a pall over the scene. With a predatory swiftness belying his size, Brantley unleashed a vicious clothesline that caught Dickinson completely unaware. The ‘Redneck’ crumpled to the ground like a sack of feed, his body hitting the floor with an ominous thud.

The crowd, sensing the tide turning, erupted into a chorus of boos and jeers. It wasn’t long before The Alabama Kid and Gator Bates sprinted down the ramp, their boots pounding on the steel as they slid into the melee, grins spread wide across their faces like crocodiles anticipating a feast.

Rick: Looks like we’ve got ourselves a four-on-one mugging.

Thunderbolt Smith remained stoic beside him, yet his normally steady voice carried an edge as he described the injustice unfolding.

Thunderbolt: The SEC seems determined to make a statement tonight.

Sunny O’Callahan’s vibrant blonde locks were like flames against the chaos, her frantic waving a desperate SOS amidst the sea of turmoil. The arena’s roar reached a crescendo, fans on their feet, eyes locked on the unfolding drama. Then, bursting through the curtains with the force of an Alabama tornado, came David Bonnett and R.G. Jenkins, the rest of the Alabama Gang. Their faces set in grim determination, they barreled down the aisle, the crowd’s anticipation crackling in the air.

Thunderbolt: Here we go!

Thunderbolt Smith’s voice was the guiding light through the melee, as clear and as commanding as ever.

Thunderbolt: The cavalry has arrived, and this brawl has turned into an all-out war!

Bonnett and Jenkins hit the fray like human wrecking balls, their fists carving arcs of retribution through the air. Each punch from the Alabama Gang was a statement, a declaration that they would stand shoulder to shoulder against any odds. The SEC Enforcers recoiled under the onslaught, the tables turning before the eyes of the electrified audience.

The arena quaked, resonating with every slam and strike, the din of battle echoing off the rafters. Grunts of exertion and the slap of flesh on flesh melded into a symphony of violence, the wrestlers’ bodies entwined in a dance as old as the sport itself. Fans roared approval, feeding the frenzy with their cheers.

Thunderbolt: And what a way to end the night, folks! We will see you all in August!

As the dust settled and the combatants caught their breath, the audience knew they had witnessed something monumental—a clash that would be etched into the annals of Wrestling Night in America, a testament to the spirit that made professional wrestling an indelible part of their lives. With bated breath, they awaited the battles yet to come.

-The Queens of Desire defeated The Soviet Bloc at 11:34
‘The New Age Cybertronic Criminally Insane Rogue Sentient Robot Wrestling Machine’ Ultratron-6.1 defeated ‘Suburban Homeboy’ Gary Walker at 5:09
-Kirsten Canfield defeated Yosemite Samantha © at 8:37 to become the new Women’s Heartland Champion
-Mark Hendry of the SEC defeated Buckshot Henderson at 14:04 to become the new Men’s Heartland Champion
-Jill Berg Enterprises © defeated The Working Girls at 7:51 to retain the MVW Women’s Tag Team Title
-No Quarter defeated The Stevens Dynasty © via DQ at 15:23 to become the new MVW Tag Team Champions
-Jennifer Colton © defeated Victoria McGill of the Queens of Desire via DQ at 3:15 to retain the MVW Women’s Title
-Luke Woods © vs. ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson goes to a double count-out at 4:42- Woods retains the MVW Title.

As the crowd’s cheers reverberated through the arena, eager for a glimpse of their heroes standing tall, the screen began to transition to the show’s iconic logo. But before it could fully materialize, the scene took an abrupt turn, plunging viewers into an unexpected silence.

The raucous energy that had moments ago pulsated through the arena was abruptly replaced by the stifling stillness of a van’s shadowy interior. Inside, three silhouetted figures sat in grim anticipation, their features hidden behind masks of deception. With measured movements, the trio methodically peeled away their disguises, the dim light revealing their true identities: Svetlana Kovaleski, Nikita Kalashnik, and Agent Valya of the Soviet Bloc.

Svetlana, her sharp features set in an expression of stern determination, glanced at her compatriots with piercing eyes. Her disciplined demeanor, reflected in the crisp lines of her uniform, exuded an air of authority. Nikita, ever the stoic soldier, nodded in acknowledgment, her posture betraying no hint of doubt in their mission. Valya, the enigmatic handler, allowed a wry smile to play upon her lips, her charm serving as a foil to the unwavering seriousness of her companions.

Svetlana Kovaleski: Operation is proceeding as planned.

Nikita Kalashnik: Da, Major Kovaleski.

Agent Valya: Indeed.

Valya’s voice a purring contrast to the rigid formality of the others.

Agent Valya: The Queen of Desire will soon awaken to a new reality.

The camera then panned to the side, revealing the ultimate prize of their clandestine operation: the unconscious form of Dawn McGill. Once the fierce leader of the Queens of Desire, she now lay vulnerable, restrained on a gurney. Her golden locks were a stark contrast to the cold metal beneath her, spread out like a halo around her head. The handcuffs at her wrists and ankles gleamed ominously in the faint light, while a strip of duct tape across her lips sealed away any plea for mercy.

The camera lingered on her face, a silent testament to the gravity of her plight, before fading to black.

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