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All the relevant PSW officials enter the scheduled boardroom in this shared office space. All except for Nalah Shabani, GM of the Madhouse, who keeps an eye out for...
"Jeffrey," she says to her Fight Pit counterpart, "Good morning."
"G'day, Nalah," Campbell says with a cheerful nod. He's about to enter the room when she stops him.
"May I speak to you for a moment?"
His brows raise, but he follows her around the corner, "What's up?"
Shabani taps all ten of her fingertips together and exhales, "This... should have been said on Friday, or any point over the weekend, but... What happened at the end of the draft..."
She looks straight in the eye, "I was completely out of line. The situation with Paul Grizzly was not something for public scrutiny, and calling it out like that was unprofessional. I'm... sorry."
To her surprise (and not-so-mild annoyance), he chuckles, "Is that all?"
He then rubs the back of his head, "Well, I called your champ a bloody skinwalka, so it was fair play."
"A snake demon in human skin," she corrects, "True as it may be, I felt as though I couldn't let it slide. Unfortunately, I lit an unseen. I didn't realise how fiercely loyal your men would be in such a short time."
He shrugs, "Known most of 'em for yeahs. Plus Montani knows how to stir people up. It was bound to happen, so I take a bit of blame for that."
He places a hand on her shoulder, "Look, it was a long night. Boys and gi'ls were gettin' restless. Tempers were flarin'. Just how it goes. We'll call it square and keep it movin'."
She smiles, "Thank you, Jeffrey," and then frowns, "Now, kindly remove your hand."
He pulls it back, "Sorry. Still, nevah pegged ya the apologisin' sort."
She briskly walks past him, "Cherish it. It will not happen often."
He smirks and follows her into the boardroom.
Shabani sits next to a fit-looking Caucasian man with long blonde hair and a simple black suit, Mike Miller. Campbell sits next to a fairly tall Nguni woman with a thick afro and a bright orange pantsuit, Palesa Jeyi.
"So glad you two could join us," says CEO Sanka Williams, with his fingers interlocked at the head of the table.
"Sorry, boss," Campbell says, "Had to clear the air."
"Then let's get this out of the way," he looks to his right, "Sara..."
Sara Williams clears her throat, stands, holds up a piece of paper and tells the two GMs to stand as well, along with Security Chief Brendan Steele and Senior Referee "Big Joe" Wilson. She then proceeds to utterly rip into all of them for their unprofessional conduct at the conclusion of the draft and their inability to de-escalate the conflicts or control the wrestlers. Not to mention all of the blatant rule-breaking in all three matches and the airing out of the company's dirty laundry and blah blah blah blah blah blah blah...
She eventually gets bored with this performance, crumples up the paper and tosses it, perfectly, into a nearby waste basket while yelling, "KOBE!"
Sara waves her hand downward, prompting them to sit. She then reaches for something on the floor behind Sanka's seat, "Now, then. Nalah, this..." and brings up a long black briefcase, "... is for you."
She hands it to Steele, who sets it down in front of Shabani, who opens it to reveal a championship belt. A white championship belt with crimson side plates and a front plate with the word 'BLOODBATH' carved into it.
"Well?" Sara eagerly asks, "What do you think?"
Shabani takes a moment to look at Sanka. His face shows no emotion. His eyes, however...
"It is... unconventional," Shabani says, calmly closing the box, "But I suppose that's what we're going for. Thank you, Ma'am."
Sara squints and hums before continuing, "As you can probably tell, it's called the PSW Bloodbath Championship or Crimson. You know, I like the Crimson Mask."
Shabani frowns, "As in, bleeding from your face?"
"Yep!" Sara smirks.
"Goodie..." adds Dr Anya Sharma, staring into her gigantic mug of steaming black coffee.
"There's a whole bunch of rules in that case, but the most important one is that any title defence has to take place under some kind of hardcore stipulation."
"That makes it a tidy counter for Tecton, it does," Bethany Jones chimes in.
"Exactamundo!" Sara exclaims with a point.
"One's about being the best wrestler on TV," says Tony Garcia, with his hand on his chin, "The other... is about surviving the night."
Sara stares at him for a moment before pointing at him, "Graphics, today," then at Bethany once again, "You, word for word, put it on bLast..." She looks to the wall in thought, then back at the young Social Manager, "Tomorrow, first thing."
They both nod.
She then picks up another long briefcase and places it in front of Sanka, "This one, you kids are just going to have to share."
She opens it to reveal a black championship belt with an overall design of two fists holding bolts of golden lightning, "I call this one, the PSW Thunderweight Championship or Thunder, for short. Open to anyone under 220 pounds."
"That's a hundred kilos," Campbell points out, "Leaves out half of my guys."
"Quit being greedy," Sara scolds, pointing at Shabani's Crimson-containing briefcase, "I had to make a whole new belt because of you."
Campbell sits up, "I-"
"Just kidding, I had it made weeks ago. Could have been yours, though."
Shabani, Garcia, Jones, Miller and Jeyi all nod in agreement. Campbell decides not to retort.
"Like I said, we're still on the lookout," Sara continues, "Besides, there's enough on both shows to make a proper division."
"Speaking of," Sanka adds, "We're going to need each of you to name someone to represent you by COB. The plan is to have a straightforward, fast-paced technical bout to open the show. Thunder is perfect for that."
Wilson lets out a relieved sigh. As does Steele.
Jeyi suddenly whispers something in Campbell's ear, and he smiles, "If you want fast-paced, then it's gotta be Danys Vités!"
Wilson stiffens. Steele closes his eyes. Dr Sharma gives Campbell a side-eye.
"That's the fella who sets himself alight by runnin' real quick, yeah?" asks Jones.
"Yep! He's the perfect face. A blue chippa with no ceilin'," Campbell smirks at Shabani, "Beat that."
Miller locks eyes with Shabani, who says, "El Demonio de la Heladas."
Steele mutters, "Straightforward match, my ass."
Dr Sharma sips her coffee.
"Ooh, 'e's a le-gen'," Jones says, "An' 'e's got bloomin' ice powers!"
"And you want to put one of my refs in between those two?" Wilson asks in disbelief.
"It'll be taken care of, Joe," Sanka says, while looking at Dr Sharma, who is now sipping her coffee with her eyes closed.
"The visual alone sells itself!" Garcia says, "I'll have-"
"But wait," Jones cuts back in, "He's Cobra's 'usban'."
"Yeah, so what?" Garcia queries.
"I thought..." She looks over at Shabani, "I thought you weren't too keen on 'nepotism'. It's why you put Ngozi as your second draft pick, right?"
The whole room goes silent. Garcia pinches his nose, "Damn rookie..."
Sara's now blank-faced stare shifts from Jones to Shabani. Shabani's eyes shoot daggers diagonally across the table at Jones, "The choice to use Heladas for this match is, as illustrated, due to his experience, name-value and to counter my opposition. The draft has spoken for itself, as I'm sure you can attest."
Jones wilts, "S-Sorry, I didn' mean nothin' by it. Just curious, I was, is all."
Shabani relents on the glare. Garcia shakes his head at Jones. Sanka closes the Thunderweight case, ending this part of the discussion.
Campbell suddenly raises his hand, "Uh... since we're havin' uncomfortable chats about the draft... Sanka, Sara, your kid's gonna to be on my show. What's the play there?"
Sara squints again.
"You're the GM, Jeff," Sanka says, with a perfect poker face, "That's your call."
A cold sweat runs down Campbell's neck, "Thanks..."
Sara then loudly claps, "Moving on," she points at Shabani, "We're going to have Crimson contested in cage!"
"We just had a cage match at the Super Fight," Shabani points out, "Won't that be too many?"
Sara looks genuinely offended and starts speaking through her teeth. Her long, sharp teeth, "There... is no such thing... as too many... steel cage matches."
She is suddenly drawn to the sound of loud slurping. It is Dr Sharma with her coffee still to her lips and her own eyes shooting daggers.
Sara just stares at her for a moment, then looks back at Shabani, "Anyway, you and Miller come up with names. 3 or 4. Now, onto-"
Suddenly, a phone starts vibrating. It is Sanka's. He pulls it out and his eyes go wide, "Sorry, everyone, I have to take this. Let's call a recess."
He gets up and briskly walks out, "Tío Carrera!"
An aged Hispanic voice is heard over the phone, "Who are you calling Tío?!"
Shabani gestures for Miller to follow her out, likely to discuss
Sara watches them leave, "Okay then..." and turns to Jones, "So, how was the... response to Zázrak being in the Tectonic Triple Threat?"
The Welshwoman blushes, "Uh... Well..."
"You know what?" Sara says, with a strange intensity in her eyes, "How about you tell me outside?"
Jones' blush goes away as panic rises.
"Just go," Garcia quietly urges, "Get it over with."
Jones gulps, stands and leaves the room with Sara. They go around the corner, ironically the same one that Shabani had her conversation with Campbell, and see Sanka in the middle of his conversation,
"Let me guess, he knows it?"
"It's about the only thing he does know. He's an idiot, but he's a good ki..."
Sara leads Jones away to a different corner, away from prying eyes or ears, "I'll be brief. What you did in there, with Shabani, in front of everyone, never again. Understood?"
Jones solemnly nods, while looking at the floor, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Look at me."
Jones obeys, seeing Sara's index and middle finger pointing back at her own eyes, "I am up here," Her hand falls to her chin, "Shabani and Campbell are here," then the base of her neck, "You are here, and very soon, she's going to have the power to do this," She makes a slicing motion with her finger.
Jones gulps again.
Sara puts her hand on her hips, "First chance you get, pull her aside and squash it."
"I will," Jones promises.
Sara softens, "Good," She suddenly smiles like a cat, "Now, about Zázrak..."
Jones blushes and buries her face in her hands.
"Come on," Sara prods, "Let me see it."
Jones pulls out her phone, unlocks it and hands it to her.
Jones pulls out her phone, unlocks it and hands it to her.
Sara reads a post on bLast from an account handled @BonBon23 and places a hand over her mouth to stop the laughter, "Oh, my God..."
Jones' face gets even redder.
"Wow, girl. Should get you in the writer's room."
Sara gives her back her phone, "Come on, let's go."
As they walk back to the boardroom, Jones takes a deep breath to recover from her embarrassment and quickly changes the subject, "Ms Williams?"
"Hmm?"
"That whole chinwag wi' Ms Shabani and Shay Maharaj, and Sara Jr at the draft, after..."
"After Maharaj smacked my daughter upside the head with a ringbell?"
"... Yeah. It went viral, it did."
"I saw."
"I was just thinkin', like, d'you feel like lettin' 'em 'ave another go at Ascension?"
"You saw the actual wrestling match, right?"
"... I did..."
Sara stops and turns around as they reach the door. The look on her face is one of profound dispassion, "So, what do you think my answer's going to be?"
Jones nods, "Got it. Some fans were asking, so I thought I should. Thanks, Ma'am," before heading back inside, closing the door behind her.
Sanka shows up with his phone in hand, "You talk to her?"
"Yep. She understands," Sara looks at the phone, "How are things with Tonye?"
"He's doing well. He just asked me for a huge favour."
"What does he need?"
"He's got a kid, a recent student. Unbelievably talented, excels at damn-near everything, but full of himself-"
"He'll fit right in. I'll get the paperw-."
"Let me finish," Sanka says with his hand up, "He wants the kid humbled on the biggest stage we have. He's asking to put him on the Ascension card."
"Put him in the cage."
"What?"
"There's nothing more humbling than 16 feet of steel."
Sanka frowns, "Sara, that's a championship match."
"Against what I expect to be some absolute killers," Sara insists.
"We just had the draft."
"And we're still signing people," Sara reminds.
"This kid, Sara, he just turned 20 two months ago."
Sara raises an eyebrow, "Okay? The youngest world champion ever was 21."
"He was also an athletic freak."
"Exactly. Look, if Tonye mf-ing Carrera says this kid is the real deal, we cannot let a chance like this slip."
Sanka shrugs, "Fair enough. Make it happen and let Nalah know."
He's about to head inside when she grabs his arm, "Hold on. The CEO signed off on it. He should tell her."
He smiles, "It was the Head of Creative's idea, and you know I don't like stealing credit."
He kisses her on the cheek and enters the boardroom, right as Shabani and Miller return. Sara grimaces and reaches for him, but the door shuts.
"Sara, excellent timing," Shabani says, "Mike and I have decided on four names that would be excellent for the Crimson Cage Match."
Sara sighs and turns around, "Yeah... about that..."
It is a long day, but when it is over, the Ascension card is set.
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