by 
Rosita vs Brinia Sky
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The scene shifts to Haku who is literally using a statue located outside of the arena as a punching bag. The camera zooms in on a recent crack that he left on the statue before it focused on his face.
Haku: Win, lose, or draw, people leave matches with me feeling like they got hit by a bus and lived to tell the tale.
Haku punched again.
Haku: Now some dumb bastard has the bright of putting me in a ring with no ropes?
Haku stopped, turned, and looked to the camera.
Haku: I am a walking, breathing, Samoan killing machine. I leave death and destruction wherever I go. Blake Adams!
Haku cracked his knuckles.
Haku: You gonna need to sell you bike to pay for your medical bills boy, because VCW ain’t gonna be enough!
Enraged, Haku leaves the battered statue alone and walks toward the arena…
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KURT STORM v DAVID JACKSON
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[The lights dim… spotlights swirl as funky jazz-meets-heavy-metal hits the PA. Suddenly, a puff of glitter explodes, and CATBOB struts into the ring in his signature glittery cat robe. Microphone in paw, he’s followed by DOGBOB—tail wagging in sync to the beat—and behind them, the newest member of the Kitty Cat Club… JASON MASON!]
CATBOB:
Well, well, well… would ya look at this fabulous feline fiesta we got goin’ on tonight! But before we get too cozy—he turns to the camera, tail flicking sassily—let me talk to YOU, FERNANATOR.
You been struttin’ around like this is your litterbox and the rest of us just your scratching posts, huh? But I got news for ya, toots… the claws are OUT. And I don’t roll alone anymore.
DOGBOB:
Woof! That’s right, buddy. We ain’t just barkin’ up the tree—we’re takin’ the whole dang forest down! You think you got bark? You ain’t heard the howls we’re about to drop on you!
CATBOB:
And now… allow me to introduce the cuddliest, smiliest, bacon-snackin’-est bringer of DOOM this side of the Milky Way—our newest member of the Kitty Cat Club…
ALL TOGETHER:
JAAAASON MAAASON!!
[Spotlight hits JASON MASON, who’s flexing while holding a plush pig toy in one arm and a sizzling plate of bacon in the other. He smiles warmly… then suddenly SNAPS the plate in half like it’s paper.]
JASON MASON:
I give hugs, I bring snacks, and I make people feel warm inside… right before I turn the lights OUT.
Kindness ain’t weakness—it’s camouflage.
Because I live by one code: what would Baine do?
CATBOB (grinning ear to ear):
He’d smile… then SNAP your spine with style. And you, Fernanator, better get used to lookin’ up at the lights, baby.
DOGBOB (growling low):
The Kitty Cat Club ain’t just claws and purrs anymore… we got Jason freakin’ Mason.
CATBOB (leaning into the mic with a devilish grin):
So get your tissues ready, buttercup. ‘Cause YOU WILL ALL MISS ME…
ALL TOGETHER:
BECAUSE DID YOU MISS ME… MEEEOOOWWWWW!!!
[Cue pyro and laser whiskers. Fade to black.] 😼🔥🐾
GUNNAR v ASYLUM
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MIKE DIAMOND v LARKSPUR
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[Camera fades in. The screen flickers between static and shadowy footage of Kurt Storm walking a dark corridor. Thunder cracks in the background. He stops, face in half-light, eyes cold.]
Kurt Storm:
You ever watch a once-great warrior wither into a walking punchline?
I have.
His name… is David Jackson.
[Crowd Boos]
This broken-down, crippled husk of a man—
Parading around the ring like a discount sideshow act, juggling nostalgia and cheap pop from people too dumb to see the truth.
The ring is a sacred circle.
It is not a circus tent.
And you, Jackson, disgrace every inch of it with your clown shoes and your tired, pandering antics.
You don’t belong in my era.
You don’t belong in my ring.
So I did what needed to be done—I put the dog out of his misery. And if anyone wants to cry about it? Go ahead.
Cry loud enough.
Maybe you’ll be the next one to get silenced.
But David Jackson was just the beginning. I could careless about winning, I made an example of this washed up has been poser.
Because Virtual Championship Wrestling has become a festering pool of overhyped egos, cartoon theatrics, and so-called superstars who think charisma wins championships.
I see sin in that locker room.
I see fraudulence in that ring.
And I see three names at the top of the list…
Baine.
A monster built on empty violence and cheap destruction.
Showtime.
A man who hides behind flash, glitter, and a thousand catchphrases.
And the so-called champion himself—Kent Lassiter.
A poser. A puppet. A false prophet holding a title that belongs around the waist of a real disciple of the art.
At Wrestle Elite 10, I don’t just fight.
I purge.
I cleanse.
I eliminate.
And when I leave that battlefield, VCW will begin a new chapter.
One without the weak.
One without the clowns.
One ruled by the storm.
Because I am not here for applause.
I am not here for acceptance.
I am here for reformation.
And never forget…
I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SILENCE the MASSES.
[Camera glitches. Static. Fade to black.]
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