(THE SCENE: STRUGGLE Pro Acting President NATE RUGGLE‘s office in the old Blockbuster next to the arena, where we join a heated argument in progress. NATE and UNCLE ABDUL are trying to diffuse the situation, as STORMY KNIGHT voices her disapproval with the general state of things.)

NATE: …Look, just calm down, and-

STORMY: Calm down!? You can’t be serious! I have been here since you relaunched this promotion, and I have beaten everyone you’ve put in front of me! How can I NOT be the number one contender!?

ABDUL: You haven’t beaten everyone. Hell, last time you and Jezebel crossed paths, she pinned you.

STORMY: And this was when she came in fresh, after I took out her little buddies, Wish Dot Com Yumiko and The Great Communicator. One on one, I beat her every time.

ABDUL: …Except that time y’all went to a draw.

STORMY: Because she ran from me for thirty minutes!

ABDUL: Debatable.

STORMY: The point is, there is absolutely no way she should get a title shot before I do! What happened to number one contenders matches? You’re always happy to have one of those, until I’m in the picture. And gee, I wonder why.

NATE: What’s that supposed to mean?

STORMY: It means you’ve been stacking the deck against me ever since I got here! Meanwhile, that redneck gets my shot, because she’s related to one of your beloved geriatrics, and she hangs out with another one! Who is also inexplicably ranked above me for some fucked-up reason, by the way.

ABDUL: Look, Stormy. First of all, those rankings are unofficial; I’m pretty sure one of the ring crew guys cooked them up for web content. Don’t get all bent out if shape over that shit. Second of all, we can’t just have title matches every three damn days. You’ve gotta be patient.

STORMY: THIS IS ME BEING PATIENT! I haven’t been waiting for weeks or months – it’s been years! So I’m still stuck fighting local talent, while you pay me starvation wages.

NATE: Look, here’s what we can do. We’ll just put a title match off until the next show-

ABDUL: That’s gonna hurt the gate, boss.

NATE: We will put the title match off until the next show, and you can fight Jezebel to determine who gets the shot.

ABDUL: Still say it’s gonna hurt the gate to start the big tour without a title match, but I’m sure Jezebel would agree to it. She’s crazier than a shithouse rat, and probably just wants to fight somebody.

STORMY: …And she leaves her two little friends at home. I saw what they did to Donita and Patience. No three-on-ones.

NATE: Okay, we’ll ban them from ringside.

STORMY: From the building.

NATE: Well, that seems kind of excessive.

ABDUL: They’re not booked anyway, boss.

NATE: Okay, that’ll work then. Are you happy now.

STORMY: No, but less mad.

NATE: Then my work here is done.

MEANWHILE…

(NOTE: From here on out, everything is translated from Spanish, unless otherwise noted)

(At the still-yet-to-officially-open Tri-State Luchatorium, TSLL founder, wrestler, and owner-in-name-only PUÑO DORADO is observing a training session between NEON DEMON and CANNONBALLS!, when he is approached by the diminutive-yet-menacing EL PROFESIONAL, along with two other, much larger, hired thugs.)

EL PROFESIONAL: Mr. Dorado.

PUÑO DORADO: Oh god, what now?

PRO: come with us, sir.

DORADO: What? I can’t right now. I’m busy.

PRO: This was not a request, sir.

DORADO: Fine, whatever.

(EL PROFESIONAL and the thugs lead DORADO down a back hallway in the building, leading to what he had been told was a janitor’s closet this whole time, and had just never bothered going into, because he wasn’t the janitor. As being lead to a mop closet by a gang of thugs can be somewaht… concerning… DORADO voices his disapproval.)

DORADO: Wait, what is this!? Where are you taking me!?

PRO: (reaching for the door knob) Inside. Now.

(DORADO briefly considers making a run for it, until the door swings open, revealing a shockingly luxurious office.)

DORADO: What? When did this happen?

PRO: You need to pay more attention to “your” building, Mister Dorado. Now go inside. (to the two thugs) Watch the door.

(DORADO and THE PRO enter the room, and behind a incredibly expensive-looking desk, an office chair turns around dramatically, revealing a large, well-dressed man in a black mask and a cowboy hat. DORADO immediately recognized him as PUÑO DE HIERRO, a retired luchador who was his former tag team partner from ages ago, is the true owner of Tri-State Lucha Libre, and without getting into specifics, is also an extremely dangerous man.)

DORADO: You! What the hell is this!? You can’t be here!

PUÑO DE HIERRO: Miguel! Is this any way to greet your partner?

DORADO: It was supposed to be a silent partnership.

HIERRO: And it just got louder. Sit. We have much to discuss.

DORADO: I have nothing to discuss with you. You are a disgrace to your father’s mask!

HIERRO: …And you disgraced your mask when you lost it. So we can be disgraceful together! Sit.

DORADO: I have nothing to say to you! I’ve already done everything you-

HIERRO: Ah, yes, there it is. You’ve done everything I asked. Did you think that would be all? That you could just use your good reputation to sneak a couple of suitcases across the border and get a free wrestling promotion out of the deal? You were always so naive, Miguel, and now you belong to me. SIT.

(Fuming, DORADO finally sits down)

HIERRO: Profesional, leave us.

PRO: Are you sure of this?

HIERRO: Yes. Now go.

(EL PROFESIONAL, despite clearly not being comfortable with this decision, leaves the room. The two former tag team partners share an long, uncomfortable silence, until HIERRO finally speaks.)

HIERRO: So the big debut show is a go, then?

DORADO: (tersely) Ready to go.

HIERRO: And you took my suggestion for the title situation? With the two three-way matches?

DORADO: Yes. Although I still object to inserting myself into it.

HIERRO: The “owner” being in the title scene is a bad look, but in spite of yourself, you’re still a draw, and those idiots in the crowd would probably want you there. And I see you’ve put Joaquin in on the Rudo side of things?

DORADO: Yes.

HIERRO: Hm. (He proceeds to pull a bottle of incredibly-expensive tequila and a pair of shot glasses and fill them both, sliding one toward DORADO, who seemingly ignores it, before taking a shot himself) So tell me… What do you think of young Joaquin?

DORADO: (with just a hint of nervousness) Well, he’s… Well… He’s an impressive young talent. And well, you know… Your son’s prior record on the independent scene dictated that… Well, you know…

HIERRO: (sighs and takes another shot) For God’s sake, Miguel, just be honest.

(DORADO takes a long time to measure his words carefully, but seemingly can’t think of a nice way to say what he’s thinking, as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. In the end, he just opens his mouth and says nothing. Finally, a clearly fed-up HIERRO takes a third shot and speaks)

HIERRO: Jesus Christ, just say it. Nothing will happen to you.

(DORADO finally downs the shot of tequila, takes a deep breath, and speaks)

DORADO: He’s a little asshole! He’s a spoiled brat who runs around here like he owns the place, and he’s a cancer to my fucking locker room!

(DORADO, realizing he just gravely insulted an immediate family member of a dude who more than likely knows how to make a body disappear, visibly cringes and sinks back into his seat. HIERRO just sighs deeply and downs yet another shot of tequila.)

HIERRO: Yup, sounds about right.

DORADO: Wait, what?

HIERRO: Joaquin is… He’s a brat, and he doesn’t know how to appreciate a damn thing. I buy him cars, he crashes them. I give him a house, he wrecks the place. I set him up with a wrestling promotion, and he steps all over everyone there, acting like some sort of big shot gangster because he knows that everyone else knows who his father is, and they are too afraid to smack him around for being a miserable little bastard. And I’m still pissed that he refused a mask and used our actual family name. Personally, I blame his mother.

DORADO: Wait, this whole thing is for him? (laughs) And that’s supposed to make him less spoiled, somehow?

HIERRO: Sort of. I guess. I don’t know. You see, when he told me he wanted to be a wrestler, I was so happy, Miguel. I thought that I could steer him toward the thing I used to do, and maybe that would keep him away from the sort of things that I do now. And I knew I couldn’t do it, so that’s why I subjected you to the little shithead.

DORADO: So I’m supposed to fix the kid that you screwed up?

HIERRO: (taking yet another shot, and showing no signs of intoxication despite the fact that he should be dead by now, suggesting quite a tolerance) I don’t know, maybe. But I do know that he needs to be humbled. And that is what I’m asking of you now. Joaquin is my first-born, my son, the heir to all I have… And Miguel…. I…. I need you… (sighs) I need you to beat his fucking ass.

DORADO: (just starts laughing, and doesn’t actually respond)

HIERRO: I’m being serious! He needs to be humbled! Do you have any idea how insufferable he is going to be if he ends up being the champion!? Do you have any idea what it would be like for you and me both to have to put up with that shit!?

DORADO: (still laughing) I- I’m sorry, it’s just funny, is all. But I don’t think we have anything to worry about. The Rudos match has him up against Beatriz’s kid. You remember her, right?

HIERRO: Beatriz?

DORADO: You know, used to wrestle back when we were still partners. Was into all the weird witchy black magic nonsense, and got involved with that dickhead gringo who skipped town when she got pregnant.

HIERRO: Ohhh, Beatriz! My god, how could I forget Beatriz? That jet black hair, those big, brown eyes, (holding his arms out in front of him, with his hands upturned, as if preparing to catch a thrown watermelon) that big, round, brown-

DORADO: Okay, calm down.

HIERRO: I’m just saying. Damn thing looked she was smuggling baked hams into the arena.

DORADO: Anyway, the kid grew up, and he’s an unholy monster now. He’s huge, he can move, and he’s meaner than a snake. This whole “Triple Double Challenge” thing is probably just a formality.

HIERRO: I’ll believe it when I see it. Take whoever the third guy in that match is out. I want The Pro in there.

DORADO: El Profesional? No offense, but he’s tiny. If Joaquin can somehow outlast El Hijo Del Beatriz Negro, I’m not sure if you want him as your emergency measure. Besides, has he even wrestled before?

HIERRO: He has, and he’s a mean little son of a bitch. You’d be surprised at what he can do out there. Put him in.

DORADO: I still say El Galvatrón would’ve put up more of a fight, but then again, I’m not the real owner.

HIERRO: Damn right.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN!? FIND OUT ON TWITCH, THEORETICALLY SOMETIME IN THE NEXT COUPLE OF WEEKS!