NO CHANCE

Backstage. Somewhere. 

A room. A chair.

The former Universal Champion.

Hayes Hanlon sits in that chair. Black button down shirt. Black pants. Black dress shoes. Leaning forward with elbows resting on his knees.

The hair isn’t gleaming. The ‘stache is decidedly NOT on point.

His deep dark eyes burn dead ahead.

A shudder, and a glitch in the screen.

Ivan Stanislav shoves Nova’s head through the ropes, pulling the middle over the top to wrap them around the Starchild’s neck, before turning to stalk toward Jared Sykes, daring him to make a move.

A twitch in the corner of his mouth, a lift in the mustache. The camera zooms in slowly.

Another shock to the screen, distorting it.

Brandon Youngblood, helpless after a grueling Universal Title match, is unable to free himself from FLAMBERGE’s full nelson. Tyler Adrian Best bounds off the ropes, and drives his knee across PRIME’s ACE, sending him to the mat in a heap.

Sweat on the brow, a sharp breath through the nose. Camera closing in, bit by bit.

The screen vibrates, buzzing elsewhere.

Cecilworth Farthington, after showering boots to the Event Horizon, plants one more into his midsection, spilling the former Champ onto the floor.

A bounce of the legs, and lips curling back. Teeth grinding, camera closing in on dark, narrowed eyes.

One last glitchy shudder, taking us back to ReVival 27’s close.

Pleased with their work, Farthington wraps an arm around the shoulders of Best and FLAMBERGE. The Glue Factory formed anew. 

And then, the camera shoots back. And the Event Horizon stands from his chair. He wipes his brow, and smooths his ‘stache, before walking slowly back to the lens, leaning in close.

Hayes Hanlon: Not a fucking chance.

We then cut to the ring.