PV Retribution 2026 PPV
📺 Live on the Sanctioned Violence Network
📍 Crimson Club Casino Arena, Atlantic City, NJ
📆 14th February 2026
Intro
The camera pans across the neon-drenched Atlantic City Boardwalk as the cold February wind whips off the ocean, cutting through the excitement of the capacity crowd gathered outside the Crimson Club Casino & Arena. The iconic “Project Violence” logo flashes onto the screen with a sharp, static-filled transition, accompanied by a heavy, distorted rock anthem that signals the arrival of the most brutal night on the professional wrestling calendar.
“Welcome everyone to the Sanctioned Violence Network! We are live from the heart of the Boardwalk, and tonight, the stakes have never been higher,” Zac Brindle’s voice cuts through the roar of the arena, sounding as stoic and straight-laced as ever. “I am Zac Brindle, joined as always by Johnny Kaos, and Johnny, we are at a fever pitch. Tonight is Retribution 2026!”
“Forget the stakes, Zac! I want to see the scars!” Johnny Kaos interjects, his voice dripping with gravelly enthusiasm. “We’ve got a Crimson Club filled with fans who want to see bodies flying, and looking at this card, they’re going to get exactly what they paid for! I’m talking about pure, unadulterated chaos!”
The camera cuts to a dizzying overhead shot of the ring, where several reinforced steel ladders are already positioned at the top of the entrance ramp.
“The night kicks off with a career-altering opportunity,” Brindle says, his tone shifting to analytical. “Six men—Jean Louis Duval, Rick Reid, Boyd Jackson, Teddy Rush, Scott Washington, and Dutch Ramirez—will step into that ring with one goal: climbing the ladder and securing a shot at the PV Heavyweight Championship”.
“You’ve got the ‘Aristocrat’ Duval looking to look down on everyone from the top of a ladder, but he’s got to deal with the sheer mass of Boyd Jackson and Scott Washington,” Kaos adds, leaning into the microphone. “And don’t forget the ‘Highway Hammer’ Dutch Ramirez—if that guy gets a head of steam, he’ll plow through those ladders like they’re made of toothpicks!”
The graphics for the mid-card matches flash across the screen as the lights in the arena dim to a deep, ominous red.
“A grudge match for the ages as Dash Diaz, a man who calls himself ‘The Standard,’ takes on the surly and uncompromising James Mendoza,” Brindle notes. “Mendoza has been a bitter enforcer lately, and he would love nothing more than to break the rising star of Diaz”.
“And let’s talk about the gold, Zac!” Kaos shouts. “The Masters of the Mat are putting those PV Tag Team Championships on the line against the Starr Brothers. Then we see the ‘Celestial Crusader’ Gabriel Cross try to deliver ‘Divine Judgment’ to Midas for that PV TV Title!”
The music shifts to a somber, high-intensity orchestral track as the graphic for the Main Event fills the screen. The image of the PV Heavyweight Championship belt glows in the center.
“And then, the one we’ve all been waiting for,” Brindle says, his voice lowering with gravity. “A Triple Threat match for the PV Heavyweight Championship. The champion, Caleb Knox, defends against Rowan Scatino and the man they call the ‘Steel Fortress,’ Henry Steele“.
“Knox has the ‘Iron Heart,’ but Scatino and Steele are two of the most dangerous men to ever lace up a pair of boots,” Kaos growls. “Steele doesn’t just want the win; he wants to leave a ‘Steel Collapse’ in the middle of that ring!”
“The lights are pulsing, and the wait is finally over,” Brindle concludes as the camera pans down to the ring where Harper W. Williams is standing ready. “Project Violence starts… NOW!”
Heavyweight Championship #1 Contendership Ladder Match
Jean Louis Duval vs. Rick Reid vs. Boyd Jackson vs. Teddy Rush vs. Scott Washington vs. Dutch Ramirez
The crimson-tinted spotlight cuts through the thick haze of the Crimson Club Casino & Arena as six men stand amidst a sea of cold, reinforced steel. High above the ring, suspended from the rafters, hangs the contract for a PV Heavyweight Championship match.
“This is the ‘Sanctioned Violence Network’ and business is about to pick up!” Johnny Kaos shouts over the roar of the Atlantic City crowd. “Six men, one ladder, and a one-way ticket to a date with Caleb Knox!”
“The strategy here is simple, Johnny: survival,” Zac Brindle adds, his voice steady. “But look at the ring—Rick Reid and Scott Washington are already carving out their territory. They have an alliance that could prove insurmountable for the other four.”
As the bell rings, the arena explodes into chaos. Boyd Jackson, the 295-pound ‘Juggernaut,’ immediately levels Teddy Rush with a thunderous short-arm clothesline. On the outside, Dutch Ramirez—’The Highway Hammer’—uses his massive 6’5” frame to drive a ladder into the midsection of Jean-Louis Duval, sending the ‘Aristocrat of Agony’ sprawling into the front row.
“Duval is going to need more than a silk scarf to protect him from that!” Kaos laughs as Duval clutches his ribs in agony.
Inside the ring, the alliance of Washington and Reid pays dividends early. They wedge a ladder in the corner, and Reid whips the underdog Teddy Rush toward it. Washington follows up with a crushing corner avalanche, sandwiching Rush against the steel. The crowd erupts in boos as the two heels share a smug nod.
“It’s a numbers game, Zac,” Kaos observes. “Washington and Reid are dismantling everyone. They’re treating Teddy Rush like a New York City pigeon!”
The momentum shifts when Dutch Ramirez slides a second ladder into the ring. He ducks a double clothesline from the allies and floors them both with a ‘Highway Clothesline’. With the ring cleared, Ramirez begins the ascent. He reaches the halfway point, but Boyd Jackson slides back in, pulling Dutch off the rungs. The two giants trade clubbing blows in the center of the ring until Jackson hits a Judgement Slam that literally shakes the ring boards.
“The ring nearly imploded!” Brindle exclaims. “Boyd Jackson just deleted the ‘Outlaw’!”
Duval, ever the opportunist, slides back in and tries to sneak up the ladder while Jackson is gloating. He gets his fingertips on the contract, but Teddy Rush—the ‘Urban Ace’—leaps onto the opposite side of the ladder with superhuman speed. The two trade punches at the top until Duval attempts a dirty tactic, trying to flick cigarette ash into Rush’s eyes, but Rush blocks it and sends Duval crashing down with a Top-rope Hurricanrana from the ladder.
“Rush is flying! The kid from Brooklyn is taking over!” Kaos screams.
The finish comes in a flurry of high-stakes violence. Washington and Reid set up a bridge between the ring apron and the barricade, looking to take out Ramirez for good. However, Ramirez fights back, lifting Washington for a Road Rash sit-out powerbomb through the very bridge they created.
Back in the ring, Rick Reid is alone at the top of the ladder. He has his hand on the hook, but Teddy Rush delivers a Brooklyn Bomber spinning heel kick to the ladder, toppling it. Reid falls across the top rope, leaving the path clear.
With the crowd on their feet, Teddy Rush scales the rungs with desperation. He reaches the top, unhooks the contract, and clutches it to his chest as the bell rings.
“He did it! The underdog has bitten back!” Brindle shouts. “Teddy Rush is the number one contender for the PV Heavyweight Championship!”
“I can’t believe it, Zac! The ‘Urban Ace’ just cashed in his ticket to the main event!” Kaos adds as Rush celebrates atop the ladder, the Atlantic City faithful chanting his name.
Backstage
The fluorescent lights of the backstage corridor flicker as Elena Cruz adjusts her hair in the reflection of her phone screen, checking her follower count before signaling the camera op. She looks profoundly bored, shifting her weight in her high heels as Dash Diaz walks into the frame, adjusting his wrist tape with intense focus.
“I’m here with Dash Diaz,” Elena says, her voice dripping with practiced apathy as she barely looks away from her screen. “Dash, you’re about to head out there for this grudge match against James Mendoza. You know, my mentions have been blowing up because people are actually wondering—since Mendoza has Henry Steele and Cherry Bordeaux in his corner—if you’ve spent more time planning your strategy or just preparing your ‘I lost’ post for Instagram?”
Diaz stops, slowly looking up at Elena. The “Standard” of Project Violence doesn’t crack a smile. He leans in closer to the microphone, his eyes burning with a quiet intensity.
“You worried about the ‘Gram, Elena? I’m worried about the grind,” Diaz says, his voice low and gritty. “James Mendoza is a fighter, I’ll give him that. He’s tough, he’s mean, and he’s got backup that would make most people turn and run back to the locker room. But Mendoza made a mistake. He started thinking that having the ‘Steel Fortress’ behind him made him untouchable.”
Dash steps closer, forcing Elena to actually lower her phone.
“Tonight isn’t about the highlights or the followers. It’s about Retribution. I’ve felt the boots of Steele and I’ve dealt with the distractions of Cherry Bordeaux for months. But when that bell rings in the Crimson Club, it’s just me and James. I’m going to show him that no matter who is standing on the outside, they can’t save him from what happens on the inside. I am the Standard for a reason, Elena. And after tonight, Mendoza is going to realize he’s just a footnote.”
“Right, totally, very ‘main character’ energy,” Elena mutters, already typing on her phone as Dash storms past her toward the curtain, the muffled roar of the Atlantic City crowd growing louder with every step. “Whatever. Follow me for the post-match reels, guys.”
Single Match
Dash Diaz vs. James Mendoza
The heavy bass of Diaz’s theme music hits, and “The Standard” emerges from the tunnel to a massive ovation. He doesn’t play to the crowd, walking with a singular purpose toward the ring. Waiting for him is James Mendoza, looking surly and dangerous, flanked by the glamorous but lethal Cherry Bordeaux. Henry Steele is conspicuously absent from ringside—for now—but his presence looms large.
“Mendoza looks like he wants to tear Diaz’s head off, Zac!” Johnny Kaos shouts as the bell rings. “No feeling-out process here!”
The two men collide in the center of the ring with a sickening thud. Mendoza immediately goes to the eyes, a veteran heel move that draws heat from the Boardwalk faithful. He traps Diaz in the corner, unloading with stiff, clubbing forearms to the back of the neck.
“Mendoza is an enforcer by trade,” Brindle notes. “He’s trying to take the air out of Diaz early, neutralizing that speed advantage.”
Mendoza sends Diaz into the ropes and catches him with a high-angle back-body drop, but Diaz flips through, landing on his feet! The crowd erupts as Diaz ducks a clothesline and nails Mendoza with a rapid-fire sequence of strikes—left, right, and a spinning back-kick that sends Mendoza reeling into the ropes.
As Diaz charges, Cherry Bordeaux jumps onto the apron, tossing her fur coat toward Diaz to obscure his vision.
“Look at that! Total distraction by the ‘Blonde Bombshell’!” Kaos yells.
The momentary pause is all Mendoza needs. He catches Diaz from behind with a brutal German Suplex, dropping him right on his shoulder. Mendoza doesn’t go for the cover; instead, he begins systematically stomping on Diaz’s joints, mocking the crowd with every blow.
“Mendoza is dismantling the Standard piece by piece,” Brindle says grimly. “He’s looking to send a message to the entire locker room.”
Mendoza drags Diaz up for his finisher, but Diaz finds a second wind, escaping the grip and hitting a desperation Enzuigiri that sends both men to the canvas. The referee, Harper W. Williams, begins the ten-count. At seven, both men are up. They trade blows in the center of the ring, a slugfest that has the Crimson Club on their feet.
Diaz gains the upper hand, hitting a leaping DDT. He scales the turnbuckle, looking for the finish, but Cherry is on the apron again, grabbing his ankle.
“She’s at it again! Someone get her out of here!” Brindle shouts.
Diaz kicks her hand away, but the distraction allows Mendoza to recover. Mendoza climbs up, looking for a superplex, but Diaz counters, hitting a sunset flip powerbomb from the second rope!
1… 2… NO! Mendoza barely gets a shoulder up!
Diaz doesn’t let up. He signals for the end, but suddenly, the crowd’s cheers turn to boos as Henry Steele appears at the top of the ramp. Diaz eyes the massive powerhouse, momentarily losing focus. Mendoza lunges for a roll-up with his feet on the ropes—
“He’s cheating! Williams, look at the feet!” Kaos screams.
Harper W. Williams catches the infraction and stops the count at two, waving it off. An irate Mendoza gets in the ref’s face, giving Diaz the opening he needs. Diaz spins Mendoza around and connects with a devastating Standard Operating Procedure (Springboard Cutter)!
1… 2… 3!
“He got him! Despite the odds, despite the interference, Dash Diaz stands tall!” Brindle exclaims as Diaz rolls out of the ring just as Steele reaches the apron, the winner narrowly escaping a post-match beatdown.
Backstage
The fluorescent lights of the backstage hallway reflect off the beads of sweat still rolling down Teddy Rush’s face. He’s leaning against a production crate, clutching the #1 Contendership contract to his chest like it’s made of solid gold, his breath still coming in ragged gasps.
The sound of expensive leather soles hitting the concrete signals the arrival of James Von Drake. The PV Commissioner walks into the frame, adjusting his cufflinks, a rare, thin smile appearing on his face.
“Teddy,” JVD says, his voice carrying that familiar authoritative resonance. “I’ve seen a lot of men climb those rungs, but I haven’t seen many do it with the heart you showed tonight. You walked into that ring as an underdog, and you’re walking out as the man who will face the PV Heavyweight Champion. Congratulations. You earned it.”
“Thanks, Commissioner,” Rush pants, nodding respectfully. “I told everyone—Brooklyn doesn’t back down. I’m ready for Knox, I’m ready for whoever—”
“Oh, please, spare us the fairy tale,” a sharp, melodic voice cuts through the moment.
Jean Louis Duval saunters into the shot, looking pristine despite his involvement in the ladder match earlier. He’s flanked by the towering, silent presence of HyperNova and the arrogant, smirking Royce Lacroix. The Legion stands like a wall of expensive velvet and cold ambition.
“Look at you, mon ami,” Duval sneers, gesturing dismissively at Rush’s bruised ribs. “You look like a stray dog that found a scrap of meat in the alley. You did not ‘win’ that match, Teddy. You survived an accident. While the rest of us were actually wrestling, you were merely… present.”
“I was ‘present’ at the top of the ladder holding this, Jean,” Rush fires back, stepping toward the Frenchman. “Where were you? Oh, that’s right—crashing through a table while I was making history.”
Duval’s face flushes a deep crimson, his composed exterior cracking for a split second. Lacroix takes a step forward, his hand hovering near his jacket, but Duval raises a hand to steady his teammate.
“Luck is a fickle mistress, Teddy,” Duval whispers, leaning in so close that Rush can likely smell his expensive cologne. “You are a flash in the pan. A mistake in the narrative. You have the contract today, but look at the men standing behind me. The Legion is the future of Project Violence. You? You are just a placeholder until a real aristocrat takes what belongs to him.”
Duval turns to JVD, offering a mock-respectful bow. “Commissioner, I hope you have a backup plan for the title match. Because I don’t think this little urchin will even make it to the opening bell.”
The Legion turns in unison and sweeps away, leaving Rush staring after them, his grip tightening on the contract.
“Don’t let them get in your head, Teddy,” JVD says quietly, glancing at the departing trio. “But keep your eyes open. In this building, the shadows have teeth.”
PV Tag Team Championship Match
Masters of the Mat (c) vs. The Starr Brothers
The atmosphere in the Crimson Club shifts from tension to high-octane energy as the strobe lights hit. The Starr Brothers explode through the curtain, playing to the Atlantic City crowd, their high-flying reputation preceding them.
“These kids have the speed, Zac, but they’re walking into a buzzsaw tonight!” Johnny Kaos shouts as the champions, the Masters of the Mat, make their way to the ring with grim, clinical determination.
“The Masters are all about efficiency,” Brindle notes. “They don’t care about the highlight reel; they care about the ligaments and the tendons.”
The match begins with a stark contrast in styles. The Starr Brothers use quick tags and double-team maneuvers, catching the champions off guard with a stereo dropkick that sends them both to the outside. But the veteran instincts of the Masters take over quickly. They lure the younger team into a brawl on the floor, using the ring post to neutralize the speed advantage.
Back inside, the Masters systematically isolate the younger Starr brother, working over his left knee with a series of grapevined leg locks and stiff European uppercuts.
“This is a clinic, Johnny. They’re dismantling the foundation!” Brindle exclaims.
The Starrs mount a desperate comeback after a hot tag, nearly securing the win with a spectacular 450 Splash, but the legal Master kicks out at two and nine-tenths! The finish sees the Masters catch the Starr Brothers mid-air during a double-crossbody attempt, transitioning directly into a devastating Spinebuster-Powerbomb combination.
1… 2… 3.
“Still your PV Tag Team Champions!” Kaos yells. “The Masters of the Mat prove once again why they are the gold standard of the division!”
Backstage
The backstage area of the Crimson Club is a hive of activity, but Elena Cruz stands in a pocket of stillness, staring intensely into the screen of her phone. She rolls her eyes at a notification before looking up as the “Celestial Crusader” Gabriel Cross enters the frame. He is dressed in pristine white and silver gear, looking more like a vengeful deity than a wrestler.
“I’m here with Gabriel Cross,” Elena says, her voice flat and dripping with her trademark lack of interest. “Gabriel, you’re about to go out there and challenge Midas for the PV TV Championship. Now, Midas has been on quite the roll with Katya Roux in his corner, and honestly, the betting apps aren’t really in your favor. Are you actually prepared for a ‘Golden Age,’ or should I just start drafting your ‘Better Luck Next Time’ post for my Story?”
Cross doesn’t flinch. He stares directly into the camera lens, his eyes cold and unwavering.
“The betting apps? The social media chatter? You dwell in the trivial, Elena,” Cross says, his voice a haunting, melodic baritone. “Midas believes his gold is a shield. He believes that with Katya Roux pulling the strings, he is untouchable. But gold is a soft metal. It bends. It breaks. It melts under the heat of a true crusade.”
He takes a step closer, towering over the interviewer. Elena finally looks away from her phone, momentarily unsettled by the intensity in his gaze.
“Tonight, the ‘Golden Age’ ends not with a whimper, but with a descent into the dark,” Cross continues. “I am not just here to compete; I am here to deliver a prophecy. The TV Championship is a beacon, and it has been flickering in the hands of a charlatan for far too long. Midas will learn that all the riches in the world cannot buy salvation when Gabriel Cross is standing across the ring. Tonight, I take the title, and I leave the Crimson Club as the new law. Tell your followers to watch closely, Elena. They are about to witness a miracle of violence.”
Cross sweeps past her, his white cape fluttering in his wake. Elena watches him go for a beat, then immediately turns back to her phone. “Ugh, so dramatic. Someone tell me in the comments if his cape is even real silk.”
PV TV Championship Match
Midas (c) vs. Gabriel Cross
The arena turns a shimmering gold as Midas makes his way to the ring, showering the front row with “Gold Coins” (chocolate, as the fans loudly complain) while Katya Roux walks beside him with the poise of a queen.
“Midas looks confident, Zac, but Cross is a different kind of animal,” Johnny Kaos says as the bell rings.
The match is a psychological battle from the start. Midas uses his agility to frustrate Cross, ducking out of the ring and hiding behind Katya whenever Cross gains momentum. Katya proves her worth early, tripping Cross as he runs the ropes, allowing Midas to hit a beautiful standing moonsault for a near-fall.
“Katya Roux is the X-factor!” Brindle notes. “She’s the reason Midas has held that title for so long.”
However, the “Celestial Crusader” will not be denied. Cross catches Midas mid-air during a crossbody attempt and transitions into a rib-shattering backbreaker. He begins a methodical assault, hitting a series of high-impact power moves that leave the champion gasping for air.
Midas tries to fight back, hitting a flurry of strikes and a desperation superkick, but Cross doesn’t even leave his feet. The champion looks terrified. Katya climbs the apron to distract the referee, Harper W. Williams, but Cross doesn’t wait. He grabs Midas by the throat, looking directly at Katya.
“Judgment is here!” Kaos screams.
Cross nails the Descent from Grace (Elevated DDT). Instead of pinning him, Cross lifts him back up and hits a second one for good measure.
1… 2… 3!
“New champion! New champion!” Zac Brindle exclaims. “Gabriel Cross has silenced the ‘Golden Age’ and claimed the PV TV Championship!”
Katya Roux looks on in horror from the floor as Cross stands over the fallen Midas, holding the belt high as the red lights of the Crimson Club bathe him in an eerie, righteous glow.
Backstage
The camera cuts to the high-end, velvet-curtained private dressing room of the elite faction. The room is dimly lit, smelling of expensive cigar smoke and iron. Henry Steele, the “Steel Fortress,” is seated on a black leather weight bench, hunched over with his massive hands clasped together. He looks like a gargoyle carved from granite, his muscles rippling under the harsh overhead light.
Standing before him is Cherry Bordeaux, draped in a shimmering, floor-length white fur coat over her glittering red ring gear. She is slowly pacing in front of him, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete floor, a predatory smile on her face.
“Look at you, Henry,” Cherry purrs, her voice smooth as silk but laced with venom. She reaches out, trailing a manicured hand across his massive shoulder. “The world sees a monster. The locker room sees a nightmare. But tonight? Tonight, Caleb Knox is going to see his reign turn into dust.”
Steele looks up, his eyes cold and devoid of empathy. He doesn’t say a word, but the intensity in his gaze causes even the cameraman to flinch.
“Knox thinks he has ‘Iron Heart,’” Cherry continues, leaning down so her face is inches from his. “He thinks he can out-suffer you. He thinks Rowan Scatino’s chaos is going to distract you. But they don’t understand what I know. You aren’t just a man, Henry. You are the inevitable. You are the wall that the ‘Heart’ breaks against.”
She reaches into her clutch and pulls out a small, gold-flecked silk handkerchief, delicately dabbing a bead of sweat from Steele’s forehead as if he were a king being prepared for battle.
“James Mendoza did his part,” she whispers, her eyes flashing with malice. “He softened the ground. Now, you go out there and you take that PV Heavyweight Championship. You don’t just win, Henry. You collapse them. I want to hear the sound of Knox’s ribs breaking. I want to see the hope leave Scatino’s eyes when he realizes he can’t move the Fortress.”
Steele stands up slowly, towering over her, his massive frame blotting out the light in the room. He rolls his neck, the audible cracks echoing in the silence.
“Tonight, Cherry,” Steele’s voice is a low, guttural rumble that sounds like grinding stones. “The foundation of Project Violence falls. And I’m the only one left standing in the rubble.”
Cherry smirks, adjusting his collar with a proprietary pat. “That’s my champion. Let’s go show Atlantic City what real power looks like.”
Steele grabs his wrist tape, giving it one final, violent tug, and stalks out of the room. Cherry follows closely behind, a look of triumph already etched onto her face as they head toward the Gorilla position.
“The aura back there is terrifying, Zac,” Johnny Kaos says as the broadcast returns to the arena. “I’ve seen Henry Steele angry, but tonight? He looks like he’s going to a funeral—and he’s the one digging the graves!”
“The Main Event is next,” Brindle adds, his voice hushed with anticipation. “Triple Threat. One Title. Three of the most dangerous men in this industry. Don’t go anywhere.”
PV Heavyweight Championship Triple Threat Match
Caleb Knox (c) vs. Rowan Scatino vs. Henry Steele
The lights in the Crimson Club Arena dim to a haunting, deep crimson as the atmosphere turns suffocatingly tense. The familiar, rhythmic thud of a heartbeat echoes through the speakers, faster and faster, until the heavy metal riffs of “Iron Kingdom” blast through the PA system.
Caleb Knox, the PV Heavyweight Champion, emerges from the smoke. He carries the gold with a sense of grim entitlement, his “Iron King” persona etched into every cold line of his face.
“He’s been the benchmark of brutality in this company for over a year, Johnny,” Zac Brindle says as Knox raises the belt high. “But tonight, the King is surrounded by wolves.”
“I don’t see wolves, Zac, I see a wrecking ball and a madman!” Johnny Kaos shouts as the static-heavy theme of Rowan Scatino hits. The “Straight to Video” brawler charges to the ring, ignoring the spectacle, eyes locked on the prize. Finally, the arena shudders under the weight of “The Fortress.” Henry Steele stalks down the ramp, Cherry Bordeaux draped in her white fur at his side, looking like the queen of a dying empire.
The bell rings, and the Crimson Club explodes.
The match starts as a physical car crash. Knox and Steele, the two behemoths, immediately trade massive forearms in the center of the ring, but Scatino—the wild card—dives into both of them with a double-springboard crossbody. The action spills to the outside instantly. Scatino sends Knox into the steel steps with a sickening clang, only to be leveled by a pounce from Steele that sends him flying over the announce table.
“Scatino just took a trip to the front row, and he didn’t even buy a ticket!” Kaos screams.
Back in the ring, Knox and Steele put on a masterclass of heavyweight violence. Knox locks in an Iron Claw, trying to crush the skull of the challenger, but Steele powers out, lifting the champion for a massive vertical suplex that holds him in the air for a staggering ten seconds before dropping him.
“The strength of Henry Steele is otherworldly,” Brindle notes. “But Knox doesn’t stay down. He’s the ‘Iron King’ for a reason.”
As the match progresses, the “Triple Threat” rules become the focal point. At one point, Scatino hits a Director’s Cut(Cutter) on Knox, and the referee, Harper W. Williams, begins the count—1… 2…—only for Steele to pull Williams out of the ring by his ankles.
“Steele just saved his chances, but he cost Scatino the title!” Kaos yells.
The momentum swings wildly. Knox catches Scatino in the Iron Throne (Chokeslam) and looks set to retain, but Cherry Bordeaux jumps onto the apron, screaming at the referee. Knox drops Scatino and stalks toward her, his face a mask of rage. This gives Steele the opening to hit Knox with a Steel Collapse (Running Powerslam), but the impact is so great that both men roll out of the ring.
Scatino, sensing the end, climbs the top turnbuckle. He looks at the Atlantic City crowd, screams “Action!”, and connects with a massive Final Scene (Moonsault) onto both Knox and Steele on the arena floor!
“He took them both out! Rowan Scatino is risking it all for that gold!” Brindle shouts over the deafening “PV! PV!” chants.
Scatino drags Steele back into the ring, his body battered. He sets up for the finish, but his exhaustion shows. Out of nowhere, Caleb Knox slides in, looking to steal the win with a low blow to Scatino behind the ref’s back. Knox goes for the cover, but Steele recovers, hitting a massive headbutt that staggers the champion.
The finish is a chaotic blur of interference and power. Knox and Steele trade blows until they tumble over the top rope together, crashing into the barricade. Inside the ring, Scatino is struggling to his feet. Cherry Bordeaux slips into the ring, her heels clicking on the mat. As Scatino turns around, she blinds him with a handful of powder she had hidden in her fur coat!
“Blatant cheating! Where is Williams?!” Kaos roars.
Scatino stumbles, blinded and gasping. Henry Steele slides back in, his eyes glowing with predatory intent. He catches the sightless Scatino and delivers a final, thunderous Steel Collapse in the center of the ring.
Steele hooks the leg. 1… 2… 3!
“He’s done it! We have a new champion!” Brindle screams. “Henry Steele has ascended the throne!”
“And look at Caleb Knox!” Kaos points out. “The King is still on the floor! He lost the title and he wasn’t even the one pinned! The Fortress has stood firm!”
Cherry Bordeaux slides into the ring, placing the PV Heavyweight Championship over Steele’s massive shoulder as he stands over the fallen Scatino. The era of the “Steel Fortress” has begun in Atlantic City, leaving the “Iron King” empty-handed and the underdog broken in the rubble.
Ringside
The heavy, industrial vibration of “The Fortress” theme music shakes the foundations of the Crimson Club as Henry Steele stands tall in the center of the ring. The new PV Heavyweight Champion is a mountain of stone and muscle, his chest heaving as he hoists the gold high above his head with one hand.
“Look at the sheer power of that man,” Zac Brindle says, his voice hushed in awe. “A new era has been forged in steel tonight.”
Cherry Bordeaux is draped over Steele’s shoulder like a predator, her fingers digging into the leather of the championship belt. She looks into the camera, a wide, wicked smirk playing on her lips as she points to the man she helped crown. She grabs the belt from Steele’s hand and holds it up for the Atlantic City crowd to see, her white fur coat stained with the sweat and grit of the battle.
“She’s the architect of this destruction, Zac!” Johnny Kaos shouts. “The Blonde Bombshell played everyone in that ring like a fiddle, and now she’s got the keys to the kingdom!”
The camera pans to the entrance ramp, catching a glimpse of the former champion. Caleb Knox is backed against the LED screens, his “Iron Heart” visibly heavy. He’s clutching his ribs, his face a mask of disbelief and simmering rage. He hasn’t been pinned, he hasn’t submitted, but the title he guarded with such malice is gone. He locks eyes with Steele for a fleeting moment—a look that promises a cold, violent war to come—before disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel.
“Knox is a ghost in his own arena,” Brindle notes. “The King has been exiled.”
The feed suddenly cuts to a grainy backstage monitor in the locker room area. The camera pulls back to reveal Teddy Rush, the “Urban Ace,” leaning forward in a chair. He’s still battered from the ladder match earlier in the night, a bag of ice pressed against his side, but his eyes are fixed on the celebration taking place in the ring. He clutches the #1 Contendership contract in his other hand, his knuckles white.
“And there he is,” Kaos says, his voice dropping an octave. “The man who holds the golden ticket. Teddy Rush is watching the mountain he’s going to have to climb.”
Rush doesn’t blink. He watches Steele roar in triumph on the screen, a look of grim determination settling over his face. He knows the target on Steele’s back is massive, and he knows the “Steel Fortress” is now the only thing standing between him and his dream.
Back in the arena, the confetti begins to fall—gold and silver shimmering under the red lights. Steele and Cherry stand on the second rope, looking out over the capacity crowd, the visual of total dominance.
“The landscape of Project Violence has been permanently altered,” Zac Brindle concludes as the ‘Sanctioned Violence Network’ logo appears in the corner of the screen. “For Henry Steele, the night of Retribution is over. But for the rest of the locker room… the nightmare is just beginning. Goodnight everyone from Atlantic City!”
The screen fades to black as Steele’s guttural roar echoes one last time.
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