Chapter 4
WINTER - NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
Now playing: Anxiety - G - Eazy
Cal and I were absolutely exhausted. We had been busting our asses nonstop since our initial meeting with Rob Harlow several weeks back.
We barely had time to sleep in between shows, let alone process the reality that our careers were moving faster than we could keep up with.
My body felt like it was vibrating on a frequency of pure caffeine and anxiety, a constant hum that never quite settled.
We hadn’t even set our bags down when the trajectory of our lives changed yet again.
The second we walked through the backstage doors of the Aftershock venue in New York, a production assistant with a headset and a clipboard intercepted us. She looked frantic, tapping her pen against the paper.
“Reed. Deadlock,” she said, not even looking up. “Don’t go to the locker room. Drop your bags in the hall. Management needs you in Conference Room B. Now.”
Cal and I exchanged a look. His eyes were bloodshot from the drive, shadowed by exhaustion, but they sharpened instantly.
“Did we fuck up?” he muttered, low enough that only I could hear.
“I don’t think so,” I whispered back, my stomach tightening. “But that doesn’t sound like a ‘good job’ meeting.”
We left our gear against the concrete wall and headed down the hallway. The air backstage usually smelled like Icy Hot and stale coffee, but today it felt heavy. Charged.
When we pushed open the doors to Conference Room B, the tension hit us like a physical wave.
We weren’t alone. Sitting around the long table were Andre Waters, an all-around nearly perfected in ring technician who wrestled with a grappling style so smooth it looked like water flowing over rock, and Julian Martinez, a luchador from Mexico who could defy gravity in ways that made physics look like a suggestion rather than a law.
They looked just as confused as we felt.
And at the front of the room, projected on a massive screen, was the entire upper echelon of the UWF.
Evan flashed on the monitor first, looking tired but alert, his blond hair messy. Beside his feed were Showdown’s GM Rob Harlow, Demolition’s GM Kayden Michaels, and the owner and Chairman of the UWF himself, Mark Murran.
Cal stiffened immediately beside me. It wasn’t a noticeable response to the room, he didn’t flinch or shift, but to me, the guy who had spent the last few months breathing his air and learning his tells, it was loud and clear.
His jaw set. His shoulders locked. He hated the suits. He hated the politics.
“Thank you all for getting together on such short notice,” Mr. Murran started, his voice gravelly through the speakers, sounding like a man who smoked cigars for breakfast. “We’ve called a meeting here to discuss a potential change in the Man Overboard card.”
My stomach dropped, a cold stone plummeting through my guts. Were they seriously cutting us from it? This felt like a nightmare in the making.
The heat going into Man Overboard was… underwhelming.
Our current Heavyweight Champion, Maddox Elite, wasn’t pulling the views production had hoped for when they pinned the title on him, and our UWF Champ, Korbin Matthews, was pretty much in the same boat.
The product felt safe. Sterile. The fans were feeling the stagnation, the polite applause instead of the feral roaring, and so could we.
“I want to start off before we dive into it by saying you all have done a fantastic job, and we appreciate the work you guys have put in on your transfers,” Tate Martin, the Aftershock GM, chimed in from the head of the table, playing the diplomat.
“Absolutely,” Rob Harlow added from the screen. “I know for myself, I have been hard as shit on my two guys, and I can imagine Kayden has been no different on his three.”
“And with everything I have thrown at my three, they’ve run with it. Wilder has more than proven his rank here, and I have no doubt Martinez and Waters will follow suit,” Kayden agreed.
“Let’s get into the meat of this,” Mark cut in, slicing through the praise.
“Numbers and traffic for Man Overboard have been much lower than we expected. It happens, but we need to correct it, and fast. Which brings me to the changes creative has slated for you all. As you guys were aware, Deadlock, Reed, Martinez, and Waters, you were supposed to debut in the Every Man For Himself match. That is still standing. However, we think it’s necessary for you all to show face before then. ”
“So we’re heading to our brands early?” Waters asked, leaning forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table.
“No. We have a different angle,” Harlow said, a smirk playing on his lips that told me he knew this was going to ruffle feathers. “As you all know, Evan is already on Demolition. He debuted, and fans love him, which is the perfect setup for the established main roster to hate him.”
And before anyone spoke further, I knew exactly what angle they were aiming for. This wasn’t going to be us going in solo, trying to win over the crowd one by one. This would be a battlefield. A war between the hungry future of UWF and the entitled men who currently ruled it.
“We’ve been chatting with Dante Andrews,” Mark continued. “He’s our top guy right now. People fucking hate him. The heat he’s catching has surpassed what we ever thought, and as you all probably figured out, he will be this year’s winner of Every Man For Himself.”
Dante Andrews was a name everyone knew in professional wrestling.
He was a legacy hire, but not like me. Coming from a long line of professional wrestlers, he was easily sixth generation in this company.
He was untouchable. To everyone. He walked like he owned the pavement he stepped on, and in a way, he did.
“So you basically want us to be jobbers for a dude that doesn’t need them?” Cal asked.
The room went quiet. Cal’s arms were crossed over his chest, his expression blank, but his tone dripped with the kind of disdain that usually got people punched in the mouth.
“Jesus, Cal,” I hissed under my breath, kicking his foot under the table and burying my face in my palm. Great.
We’re going to get fired before we even debut.
“No. We want you guys to come in as a unit. We want to see you guys give him a run for his money,” Mark said, completely unbothered.
In fact, he looked amused. “This is going to be the battle everyone has wanted to see. The future and the change of this business versus the Legacy, the children of those who ruled the golden age of our industry. This is you guys versus them. Targets on your backs, and everything in the world to prove. Not just to us, but to the fans.”
“And you want us to just hit hard and fizzle out to, as I said earlier, be jobbers for a dude that was set up to do this before he could even walk,” Cal shot back, his snark and challenge overly apparent. He wasn’t backing down. He was staring down the Chairman of the board.
Everyone’s eyes shot to him. The heat of their gaze settled into my bones because, lucky fucking me, he was next to me. Silas Reed and Deadlock were, to my own dismay, a package deal in everyone’s eyes.
“Can you not open your fucking mouth?” Waters snapped, glaring straight at Cal across the table.
Cal, of course, just smirked at him. Confrontation seemed to get him off. It fed him. Why he never acted that way with me, why he softened when the doors closed and the cameras were off, I would never understand.
“No, I like it. It’s ballsy. I appreciate it, actually,” Murran said with a satisfied grin, clearly enjoying the fact that the only one stupid enough to run their mouth was Cal. “That’s the exact attitude we need tonight.”
“Tonight?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“What we want is you guys showing absolutely everything you’re capable of at Man Overboard,” Mark continued.
“Instead of being short filler entrants, you will be sporadic, and we want you to withstand the heat. But before we get to the PPV, we need buildup. So tonight, you guys won’t be going to Aftershock.
You will be at Showdown. Think Invasion. ”
The room went silent. The air felt sucked out of the space.
“Dante is going to cut an in-ring promo,” Harlow explained. “About how he’s so sick of all these new guys coming in and fucking up his chance to be the face of this company like we all know he should be.”
“So we’re just gonna, like, storm the ring?” Martinez asked with hesitation.
“No, my thought here was we have Evan head this one up,” Harlow said.
“Not necessarily as a leader, but he’s the one who got the crew of you together to solidify that the future is just as bright as the past was.
He’s already established on the Demolition brand.
Having him jump over for a promo like this will be solid, and it’ll allow us to float you all between the brands in the leadup.
This is basically the making of the first big feud any of you will be in. ”
My mind felt heavy. This was insane. All of it. But it was making perfect sense, and there was no doubt that this was going to catapult all of us.
“So what’s the plan for the attack? Moves? Spots? Do we have anything like that to go off of yet?” Evan finally spoke from the screen.
“Yes. When you guys get to the arena, we’ll have you run over it.
Evan will be the first to the ring, interrupting the promo.
When the attack goes down, the four of you will storm the ring in his defense.
When this happens, Dante will have backup.
Other guys that feel the same as him, Carlos Manta, Drew Aldridge, Madden Smith, and Jonathan Rockwell. ”
“Jonathan Rockwell is turning heel?” I asked, genuine surprise breaking through my anxiety.