Behind the scenes, the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke mixed with the sound of tired wrestlers buzzing about from their match. The gorilla position felt more like a war room after the match they just pulled off.
Staff members scurried about breaking down equipment, coiling cords, and rolling or placing cameras back into storage. The ring team lowered the lighting rigs that were responsible for running the show, while others were packing up the ladders and tables.
Vince Maston stood next to the production monitors with his headset still draped around his neck, his eyes locked on the ratings graphs that were feeding them live updates. His suit jacket was hanging from a chair, sleeves rolled up and tie hanging loose. Lance Dawson was seated next to him, leaning up against the desk with his head laced down, pale and sweaty from nerves.
The numbers came through.
It took a moment, before either spoke again, letting the numbers settle in like the morning sun shining through the window.
IRW had done it, their All In pay-per-view had done a fraction over ACW's show in the same neighborhood.
"They..." Lance's voice wavered, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "We actually beat them. We beat ACW."
For the past fifteen years, ACW had been practically inescapable. Week after week, year after year, ACW ruled mid-level wrestling in the city.
While at IRW, Lance felt like they were scratching and clawing for relevance. He considered the fact that one night, with Vince at the helm, they had been able to overcome ACW in viewership for the first time.
Lance sat down in a chair and iced a chuckle while wiping his eyes. "I can't believe it," he said. "Fifteen years, Vince. Fifteen years! We've been chasing them." Lance inhaled deeply. "I thought I was going to die before I saw this day."
Vince stood, arms folded across his chest, nodding quietly but proudly. "You'd better get used to it. This is will be the new normal."
Mark Rivera was off to the side, tightly biting the clipboard against his chest. He wasn't smiling. He was in shock.
He had called Vince's ladder match an exercise in recklessness. He had called tonight's battle royale insane. But tonight, the noise from the audience was deafening, up for all to see on the television ratings, and the business felt like it shifted on its axis.
He swallowed his pride and stepped closer. "Vince… I'll admit it. I doubted you. I thought you were going to burn this whole place down. But tonight…" He looked down at the report Lance had dropped on the table. "Tonight proved me wrong. From here on out, I'm in. Whatever you're planning, I'll back it to the hilt."
Vince gave a small smile. "Glad to hear it, Mark. Took you long enough."
_______
The party was interrupted briefly by a buzz from Vince's phone. He pulled it from his pocket and answered simply. Gavin Lindman was hollering from the phone.
"Vince! You son of a gun, I'm not even a wrestling guy, and you had me standing again tonight. That ladder match? Pure insanity. The battle royale? People near me were reacting like little kids. I even brought a dozen shirts for the office—Every single one of us left that arena chanting IRW."
Vince chuckled while rubbing the back of his neck. "I told you it would bring people to their feet, Gav. We're just getting started. If you thought tonight was wild—and it was—just wait until the next show."
"Don't pull my leg like that," Gavin laughed. "Seriously, whatever you're doing, continue doing it. You might just have a good thing here."
Vince ended the call and tucked the phone back into his pocket. For the first time since entering this strange world, he felt a little something deep into his chest—validation. All the money he put in, the risks he took, all of his random ideas… were coming together.
At the same time, the show was in the finishing-up stages in the arena. The crew began to unplug cables from the commentary desk, while the technicians switched off the spotlights overhead, slowly turning on the softer work-lighting that engulfed the arena.
The ring crew was also tightening ropes to the ring and arranging the last ladder back into the scaffolding. Security was ushering the remaining fans out of the building and ensuring no one stood around the barricade.
The two men at the commentary desk, Noah and Irvin, took their headsets off. Both men sunk down into their chairs, the exhaustion evident upon their faces.
Irvin laughed for an extended period, while rubbing the center of his forehead. "Jeez, my throat is a wreck. I haven't screamed like that since I was twenty."
Noah smiled as best as he could, his voice cracking when he spoke. "What a night, right? Ladder matches, battle royales.... We've been calling average bouts for years now, and this felt different."
Irvin tilted his head to one side and smirked. "Not bad for a kid owner, huh? Maybe Vince knows what he's doing after all."
Noah laughed. "Maybe? After tonight, he will flip the whole table."
------
As they exited the arena, Luke and Tony followed the throng of fans spilling into the streets. Merch tables popped up like mushrooms on the exit routes selling anything and everything from "All In" memorial posters to shirts fresh off the press.
Tony zeroed in on one of the openings and slapped some cash on the table. A minute later, Tony held a brand-new Apex Predators t-shirt, grinning from ear to ear.
"Look at this beauty!" he shouted waving it in front of Luke.
Luke ignored the huge sunflowers printed on the shirt and looked at another table, forcing himself to suppress the panic welling up.
It was a tight feeling in the front of his throat that spread to the pit of his stomach. Why was he feeling so horrible? And what was that black t-shirt in Tony's hand that looked so familiar?
His anxiety peaked when Tony waved a black t-shirt with bold white letters. WHY MAYA WHY?
Tony let out a cackle at Luke's expense. "Oh man, dude, this is perfect for you, Luke. Do you want me to get it for you in your size? It'd look great on you."
The guilt washing over Luke intensified the heat on his face. He wrenched the shirt out of Tony's hand, marching it back in place on the rack. "Shut up."
Tony laughed harder, with an evil gleam in his eye. He had to jog to keep up with Luke's pace as he stormed off. "What's wrong? She lost, remember? It doesn't matter how many times she gets booed, Tracey's still the champ."
Luke shot him a glare. "Don't push it."
But Tony just slung the Apex shirt over his shoulder, still chuckling. "You're too easy, man. Too easy."