PV Uprising 128
📺 Live on the Sanctioned Violence Network
📍 Crimson Club Casino Arena, Atlantic City, NJ
📆 5th July 2025
🎥 [The Sanctioned Violence Network broadcast opens with a sweeping drone shot of the raucous Atlantic City crowd inside the Crimson Club Casino Arena. The lighting pulses red and black, the PV logo shining bright on the massive LED screens. Fireworks pop from the stage as the Uprising theme song rips through the speakers. Signs wave. Fans scream. The energy is palpable — because we’re one week away from Dance of the Damned!]
Zac Brindle:
“Welcome to PV Uprising 128, ladies and gentlemen! We are live on the Sanctioned Violence Network, and what a night we have lined up here in Atlantic City as the road to Dance of the Damned 2025 continues!”
Johnny Kaos:
“And Zac, the fuse is lit! Grudges are boiling over, champions are being hunted, and tonight we’ve got a blockbuster six-man tag that could shake the foundation of Project: Violence!”
Zac Brindle:
“That’s right — tonight, it’s Adam Garcia, Dash Diaz, and Dutch Ramirez joining forces to take on the French menace Jean Louis Duval and his dangerous henchmen The Legion, HyperNova and Royce Lacroix! You better believe Garcia is out for revenge after Duval cost him his match just two weeks ago!”
Johnny Kaos:
“Meanwhile, the TV Championship is on the line! The silent monster Midas defends against the ever-resilient Teddy Rush, who’s been clawing his way back into title contention. Can Teddy shock the world, or will Katya Roux’s monster remain untouchable?”
Zac Brindle:
“And in tonight’s main event, the reigning PV Heavyweight Champion and International Heavyweight Champion Masafumi Satake steps into non-title action against the unorthodox and unpredictable Brandon Snyder. A win would give Snyder the biggest upset of his career… but Satake will want to send a clear message to his PPV challenger Caleb Knox.”
Johnny Kaos:
“Speaking of Knox… where is the ‘Iron Heart’? We haven’t seen him since that icy promo a few weeks ago. You know he’s watching Satake like a predator watches prey.”
Zac Brindle:
“Elsewhere tonight — The Starr Brothers try to get back on track against the rising Rebel Society, Kat Kellison returns to action against the always obnoxious Maverick Matthews, and Steven Love looks to rebound against Chopper Anderson in a match that could shake up the mid-card scene.”
Johnny Kaos:
“Buckle up, folks. Uprising 128 is about to explode, and the Dance of the Damned is just one week away!”
🎥 [Camera zooms in on the buzzing crowd as the lights dim for the opening match. The road to Dance of the Damned rages on…]
Single Match
Steven Love vs. Chopper Anderson
Backstage
Location: Backstage hallway, just off Gorilla Position. The glow of LED lighting flickers against concrete walls. Elena Cruz is already streaming on her phone, her reflection visible in the screen as she rushes through the corridor, phone held at an awkward selfie angle.
Elena Cruz:
(cheerfully, mid-stream)
“Okay, okay! So Steven Love versus Chopper Anderson just wrapped up, and you know the night’s just getting started. BUT, look who we have back here—Caleb! Caleb! Caleb Knox!”
She lunges forward toward the imposing silhouette of ‘Iron Heart’ Caleb Knox, who’s walking calmly down the hallway with cold precision. He doesn’t even glance at her as he brushes past.
Elena Cruz:
(chasing after him, voice slightly more nervous)
“Caleb! Quick word for the Sanctioned Violence Network? Just—uh, your thoughts ahead of Dance of the Damned? Masafumi Satake? The title? The fans wanna know!”
Knox stops abruptly. The silence is heavy. He slowly turns, his stare pinning her in place like a blade through glass. Elena instinctively lowers her phone just a little, her voice catching in her throat.
Caleb Knox:
(quietly, intensely)
“You want a soundbite, Elena?”
Elena nods quickly, not daring to speak. Knox steps forward—just enough to loom slightly in her space, not aggressively, but like a storm cloud approaching.
Caleb Knox:
“Masafumi Satake talks about heart. About honor. About pride. That’s beautiful… poetic, even. But in Project Violence, poetry doesn’t win titles.”
He finally glances at her phone, his lip curling slightly.
Caleb Knox:
“He walks out to that ring every night like a samurai. Stoic. Noble. Pretending the world still respects men like him. But at Dance of the Damned, the mask comes off.”
Beat. He tilts his head, speaking slower, colder now.
Caleb Knox:
“I don’t need pride. I don’t need honor. I have something far more dangerous.”
He places one gloved hand over his chest.
Caleb Knox:
“An iron heart. Unyielding. Merciless. I will not stop. I will not break. And Satake? He will crack. Just like every hero who dares to believe his code will protect him.”
Elena fumbles slightly with her phone, her hand trembling just enough to be caught on camera. Knox notices, but doesn’t smirk or smile. Just stares through her.
Caleb Knox:
“At Dance of the Damned… Masafumi Satake’s final act begins. I end it.”
Without another word, Knox turns and walks off into the shadows, his boots echoing in the hallway. Elena stares after him, wide-eyed, her phone still rolling. She adjusts the angle back to her own face awkwardly, clearly shaken.
Elena Cruz:
(stammering)
“O-okay… well… there you have it, folks. Caleb Knox… ready for Dance of the Damned.”
The feed cuts to black, fading out on Elena’s uncertain expression.
Ringside
[IN-RING SEGMENT – FOLLOWING OPENING MATCH | PV UPRISING 128]
Location: Crimson Club Casino Arena, Atlantic City, NJ
The crowd is buzzing from the opening contest when the arena lights dim slightly and classical string music transitions into the sharper notes of technical-sounding rock. The crowd immediately begins to boo as Masters of the Mat — George Lancaster and Mike Donovan — strut confidently onto the stage in matching custom tracksuits, tailored to perfection. Their smug expressions do little to win over the Atlantic City crowd.
They make their way to the ring with slow, deliberate steps, the kind that scream superiority. Lancaster has a microphone in hand as they step between the ropes. Donovan gestures to the crowd, sneering at the reaction as Lancaster raises the mic.
George Lancaster:
(smirking)
“Well… wasn’t that something.”
He motions dismissively toward the entrance ramp, referencing the previous match.
George Lancaster:
“Sloppy grappling. Lazy footwork. A complete and utter disregard for form or finesse. Exactly what we’ve come to expect from the so-called competition here in Project Violence.”
The crowd boos louder, but Lancaster just tilts his head in mock sympathy.
George Lancaster:
“We don’t blame them. After all, when you’ve been raised in chaos… how could you ever understand mastery?”
Mike Donovan steps forward, smirking, arms crossed confidently.
Mike Donovan:
“You people cheer for anarchy. You celebrate fists over fundamentals. You reward brawlers who can barely string together three moves without falling over themselves.”
Lancaster paces slowly.
George Lancaster:
“And speaking of chaos… let’s talk about your Tag Team Champions. The Anarchy Alliance.”
Mixed reaction from the crowd — some cheers for the champs, but still strong heel heat for Masters of the Mat.
George Lancaster:
“They swing chairs. They throw punches. They fight like rabid dogs in a back alley. And somehow… they hold gold. Ourgold.”
Donovan nods in agreement, chiming in smugly.
Mike Donovan:
“But not for long.”
George Lancaster:
“At Dance of the Damned, the storm ends. The noise fades. And order is restored to this division. Scientific wrestling — precision, poise, discipline — that’s what defines champions. Not some tattooed anarchists with a chip on their shoulders.”
Mike Donovan:
“We are the future of tag team wrestling. Not just here, but anywhere. And when we take those titles… you’ll all finally understand what it means to be a master.”
George Lancaster:
“So Edwin… Stevie… enjoy your little moment. Enjoy being wild and free. Because come July 26th, you’re going to be dismantled, limb by limb, hold by hold… by the Masters of the Mat.”
Lancaster lowers the mic as the crowd erupts in boos, but the two men bask in the disdain. Their theme plays again as they exit the ring, confident and untouched, leaving behind their message loud and clear: chaos ends, mastery reigns.
Fade to the commentary desk where Zac Brindle and Johnny Kaos react to the challenge just laid down.
Tag Team Match
Rebel Society vs. The Starr Brothers
Backstage
The camera cuts to the backstage area, where PV’s ever-present social media-obsessed interviewer Elena Cruz is standing with one arm extended, awkwardly trying to find the right angle on her phone for a live stream selfie. She barely looks at the camera crew as she speaks.
Elena Cruz:
(half-smiling at her phone)
“Hey guys, it’s your girl Elena, and I’m here backstage with—wait, let me flip the filter—ugh, okay, now I’m here with Rex Stone!”
The camera pans slightly as Rex Stone steps into frame. He’s dressed in his ring gear, dripping with intensity, jaw clenched, hands wrapped tight. He doesn’t even glance at Elena—his gaze is fixed straight ahead, laser-focused. Elena starts to speak again but Rex cuts her off before she can finish a fluff question.
Rex Stone:
(voice firm, eyes locked on the camera)
“You want to know what I’m thinking? It’s simple.”
He takes a deliberate step forward, now directly addressing the camera, cutting through all the noise.
Rex Stone:
“My name is Rex Stone. And I’m coming for the Project Violence TV Championship.”
Elena blinks and lowers her phone slightly, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.
Rex Stone:
“I’m tired of the waiting. Tired of the silence. Tired of Katya Roux parading around with that smug grin, thinking she can keep Midas hidden behind shadows and smoke. Like he’s some unstoppable monster nobody can touch.”
He leans in closer, intensity rising.
Rex Stone:
“I don’t fear monsters. I hunt them.”
Beat. He straightens, jaw tense.
Rex Stone:
“I’ve watched Midas destroy everyone in his path while Katya whispers in his ear like some twisted puppet master. I’ve waited for my shot. Earned my wins. And every time I get close—Katya pulls the strings. Changes the game. But that ends now.”
Elena awkwardly tries to get her phone angle right again, clearly uncomfortable. Rex never breaks eye contact with the camera.
Rex Stone:
“Midas, I know you’re watching. I know you don’t speak. You don’t have to. Your silence? It doesn’t scare me—it drivesme. Because I see through it. You’re not a god. You’re just a man… hiding behind a mask, behind a handler, behind excuses.”
He steps even closer to the lens, voice low but forceful.
Rex Stone:
“You can’t hide forever. I’m not going anywhere. I will get that shot. And when I do—I’m going to crack that mask. I’m going to break the silence.”
He turns, brushing past Elena Cruz without a second glance. She fumbles with her phone, unsure whether to smile or panic.
Elena Cruz:
(awkwardly to the camera)
“Um… okay… that was Rex Stone, everyone… yikes…”
Cut back to the arena as the tension hangs thick in the air.
Backstage
The camera fades in to a quiet backstage hallway, where Bernard Wolfe, the Wayward Traveller, is leaning against a stack of production crates. His trademark leather jacket is slung over one shoulder, and he’s casually signing an autograph for a grinning young crew member.
Crew Member:
“Thanks so much, Mr. Wolfe. My brother’s a huge fan—he’s gonna flip when he sees this!”
Bernard Wolfe:
(grinning warmly)
“Tell him the road’s always open to those with the courage to take the first step.”
The crew member nods excitedly and hurries off. Wolfe watches him go with a small, thoughtful smile before adjusting the strap of his duffel bag. Just then, Boyd Jackson strides into frame, cocky and swaggering with a towel over his shoulder. He glances at the scene with a snort of derision.
Boyd Jackson:
(laughing smugly)
“What is this, a travel agency? Autographs and fortune cookies? Come on, Wolfe—Project Violence ain’t a hostel for wanderers.”
Wolfe doesn’t move at first. He calmly finishes zipping his bag, then slowly turns to face Jackson with a wry, knowing smirk.
Bernard Wolfe:
(smoothly)
“You know, Boyd… funny thing about travellers—we always find our way. Even in places like this.”
Boyd folds his arms, unimpressed.
Boyd Jackson:
“Yeah? Well this ain’t some postcard town, Wolfe. This is the real deal. The fight. The grit. The blood.”
Wolfe steps a little closer, his tone still cool and composed but layered with purpose.
Bernard Wolfe:
“And I’ve bled on roads you couldn’t even pronounce. See, you fight for fame, Boyd. I fight because I’ve lived. Every scar I’ve got tells a story. Yours? Just scream insecurity.”
Boyd stiffens slightly, his smug expression faltering just for a moment.
Bernard Wolfe:
(patting him on the shoulder with a small grin)
“Keep talking, though. Maybe one day someone’ll believe you.”
Wolfe turns and walks off down the corridor with a relaxed, confident gait, leaving Jackson standing alone, jaw tight, muttering something under his breath. The camera lingers on Boyd’s simmering glare before cutting to black.
Single Match
Kat Kellison vs. Maverick Matthews
Backstage
[BACKSTAGE SEGMENT – GM’S OFFICE | PV UPRISING 128 | CRIMSON CLUB CASINO ARENA]
Inside the sleek and orderly office of James Von Drake, the General Manager of Project Violence, the atmosphere is calm and professional. Framed posters of past PPVs line the walls, and the PV logo gleams behind his desk. Von Drake is standing beside his desk in a sharp suit, reviewing match reports on a clipboard.
Suddenly, the door bursts open.
Elena Cruz storms in, phone raised and already recording for her livestream. She’s mid-sentence, breathless and clearly excited.
Elena Cruz:
“James! James! Okay, just give me something for the socials—what’s going down at Dance of the Damned? My followers are going crazy!”
Von Drake doesn’t look up immediately. He sets down the clipboard, adjusts his cufflinks, and then gives Elena a measured look.
James Von Drake:
“Elena. As always, your timing is… dramatic.”
Elena Cruz:
(grinning)
“Dramatic sells, James. But come on, the fans deserve a scoop—”
James Von Drake:
(cutting her off, calm but firm)
“What the fans deserve is clarity. So let’s give them that.”
He turns to the camera, his expression serious but steady.
James Von Drake:
“As General Manager of Project Violence, my job is to ensure this brand maintains its integrity, even as tensions rise and rivalries boil over. Tonight, Midas defends the Project Violence TV Championship against Teddy Rush. Should Midas retain… then I am officially announcing that at Dance of the Damned, he will defend the TV Title against none other than Rex Stone—a man who has made his case loud and clear.”
Elena’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting that level of detail.
Elena Cruz:
“Wait, what if Teddy Rush wins tonight? Does Rex still get—”
James Von Drake:
(interrupting, still composed)
“If Teddy Rush pulls off the upset, then we reassess. But as of now, Rex Stone is the top contender. He’s earned that much.”
Von Drake steps forward, placing his hands on the desk.
James Von Drake:
“There’s no room in Project Violence for endless sneak attacks, posturing, or stalling. You want respect? You earn it in that ring. That’s how things will be handled moving forward. Starting tonight.”
Elena tries to follow up.
Elena Cruz:
“Okay, okay, but what about—”
James Von Drake:
(not missing a beat)
“No spoilers, Elena.”
Von Drake offers a small, diplomatic smile before turning his attention back to his clipboard. Elena, slightly deflated but still recording, shrugs and looks into her phone.
Elena Cruz:
“Well, there you have it, folks! Rex Stone vs. Midas—if Midas survives tonight. #DanceOfTheDamned is heating up!”
She waves to her followers, but the camera lingers on Von Drake’s calm, calculated expression as he flips the page on his clipboard—already looking one step ahead.
[FADE OUT]
Six-Man Tag Team Match
Adam Garcia, Dash Diaz, & Dutch Ramirez vs. Jean Louis Duval, HyperNova, & Royce Lacroix
Ringside
The crowd is booing furiously as the final bell rings. The team of Jean Louis Duval, HyperNova, and Royce Lacroix have just stolen a win in the six-man tag team match against Adam Garcia, Dash Diaz, and Dutch Ramirez—largely due to dirty tactics and outside interference. The chaos has settled, but the damage is done.
In the ring, Dash Diaz lies prone near the ropes, clutching his ribs. Jean Louis Duval, slick and smug as ever, struts over with his arms raised in triumph. HyperNova and Royce Lacroix flank him, grinning wickedly as they revel in their victory.
Duval lights a cigarette with a gold-plated lighter, inhales deeply, and exhales smoke toward the rafters before grabbing a mic. The boos rain down as he arrogantly steps over Diaz’s body.
Jean Louis Duval:
(voice dripping with disdain)
“Ladies and gentlemen of Atlantic City… you have just witnessed perfection.”
He smirks, flicking ash near Diaz’s face.
Jean Louis Duval:
“Look at this poor man… Dash Diaz, the so-called ‘Standard’? This is your standard? Pfft. Defeated. Humiliated. Flattened beneath the boots of superiority.”
The crowd jeers louder. HyperNova mockingly claps over Diaz, while Royce adjusts his jacket with smug satisfaction.
Jean Louis Duval:
(turning toward the hard camera)
“But I do not stand here only to gloat about this… minor victory. No, no. My true message tonight is for someone else. Someone who has spent the past few weeks screaming like a wild animal…”
He turns slowly toward the entrance ramp.
Jean Louis Duval:
“…Adam Garcia.”
The arena erupts with cheers at the mention of Garcia’s name.
Jean Louis Duval:
“‘The Mad Bull’… how poetic. A beast who charges with blind fury, thinking that rage alone can defeat precision, intelligence, elegance.”
He laughs cruelly, taking another drag from his cigarette.
Jean Louis Duval:
“Adam… your anger is your leash. I pull the chain, and you bark. I provoke you… and you come running. Predictable. You are not a threat, mon taureau—you are a fool. A foolish bull, destined to be slaughtered at Dance of the Damned.”
The boos now thunder throughout the arena—until—
[CRASH!]
Suddenly a steel chair flies into the ring from the side! The crowd explodes as Adam Garcia comes storming back towards the ring, a madman possessed. He grabs another chair, launches it toward the ring, and starts shoving past security guards pouring out from the back.
Zac Brindle (on commentary):
“Oh my God! That’s Garcia! That’s Garcia! He’s not waiting for Dance of the Damned—he wants Duval right now!”
Johnny Kaos:
“He’s unhinged! The bull’s seen red, and Duval’s wearing it!”
Garcia, roaring with fury, grabbing at anything not bolted down—chairs, ring steps, even a mic cable—desperate to tear into Duval. Several officials grab him, trying to hold him back. Garcia thrashes, curses in Spanish, screaming at Duval.
Adam Garcia:
“¡DUVAL! ¡VAMOS! GET IN THIS RING! I’LL KILL YOU! ¡CARA DE COBARDE!”
Duval, still in the ring, has backed off slightly… but not out of fear. He smirks through the cigarette still in his mouth.
Jean Louis Duval:
(shouting from the ring, taunting)
“Look at you! Un animal! This is why France will always be superior! See you at Dance of the Damned, taureau…”
HyperNova and Royce step in front of Duval protectively, but he doesn’t need the cover—Garcia is still being restrained at ringside, foaming with rage.
The camera zooms in on Duval’s smug face as he blows smoke into the camera lens. Behind him, Garcia is being dragged away by security, still screaming and kicking.
Zac Brindle:
“Duval may have won the battle tonight—but the war is coming, and when it gets here at Dance of the Damned… all bets are off!”
Johnny Kaos:
“Garcia wants blood—and Duval’s playing with fire.”
Fade out on the image of Duval, calmly smirking atop the turnbuckle, while Garcia is dragged up the ramp, eyes burning with revenge.
Project Violence TV Championship Match
Midas (c) vs. Teddy Rush
Backstage
The screen fades in from black to a shot of the backstage hallway just moments after Midas successfully retained his Project Violence TV Championship—with a very visible assist from his ever-scheming manager, Katya Roux. The mood is smug and celebratory.
Inside the champion’s private locker room, Katya Roux is front and center. She’s draping a black silk towel over the broad, glistening shoulders of the mute, masked Egyptian powerhouse. Midas stands stoically, as usual—still silent, still motionless, save for the slow heave of his chest.
Katya carefully wipes his arms down, then gently adjusts the TV Championship belt slung over his shoulder like it was crown jewels.
Katya Roux
(smirking, sultry and smug)
“Mmm… flawless, once again. And they said Teddy Rush had momentum.”
She scoffs, waving a hand dismissively and tossing the towel aside.
Katya Roux
“That wasn’t momentum… that was wishful thinking. What you all witnessed out there tonight wasn’t just dominance—it was strategy. My strategy. You can call it interference if you like. I call it… smart managing.”
She walks slowly around Midas, admiring him like a sculptor would admire a statue.
Katya Roux
“While the rest of Project Violence swings wildly in chaos and emotion, we—we are precise. We are methodical. We are… inevitable.”
As Katya speaks, the camera slowly begins to pull back—just enough to reveal something ominous in the background. Slightly out of focus, but unmistakable, Rex Stone stands in the hallway, watching. He’s frozen in place, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on the champion and his manipulative manager.
The fire in Rex’s eyes says everything. He doesn’t need words—his clenched fists and hard stare speak volumes. He’s had enough. He’s coming.
Katya, still unaware, continues gloating—then just as the camera pans to show Rex a little clearer, she stops. Her eyes drift toward him, barely acknowledging his presence.
She offers the faintest smirk. A small, contemptuous nod.
Katya Roux
(dismissively)
“Oh look… the almost man is back. Again.”
She turns back to Midas and pats the belt affectionately.
Katya Roux
“Let him watch. It’ll be the closest he ever gets to this.”
Midas doesn’t react, doesn’t move. Just stands there, the silent juggernaut. Katya gently places her hand on his chest and leads him away—confident, controlled, unbothered.
The segment ends with a slow zoom on Rex Stone’s face—locked in a steely glare—burning with determination.
[FADE OUT.]
Single Match
Masafumi Satake vs. Brandon Snyder
Ringside
The crowd inside the Crimson Club Casino Arena is on their feet, roaring in appreciation as the victorious Masafumi Satake stands tall in the center of the ring. He bows respectfully to all four sides of the ring, both the Project Violence Heavyweight Championship and International Heavyweight Championship held high above his head—one in each hand. His chest rises and falls, sweat glistening under the arena lights after a hard-fought battle.
Zac Brindle (commentary):
“What a champion! Masafumi Satake has once again proven why he is the best in the world today!”
Johnny Kaos:
“He’s got the heart, he’s got the fight, he’s got the gold… but does he have enough to stop what’s coming?”
Suddenly, the lights flicker. The crowd’s cheers turn to murmurs of anticipation. Then—
BANG!
The arena is plunged into low red lighting. A harsh, industrial sound pierces through the speakers. The music of ‘Iron Heart’ Caleb Knox begins to play, slow and thunderous like the march of an oncoming storm.
The fans boo loudly, but some can’t help but be captivated by the cold presence emerging through the curtain.
Knox steps onto the stage in his ring gear, hoodie draped over his head, fists taped. He stares directly at Satake. No theatrics. No distractions. Just raw, focused intensity.
Zac Brindle:
“And there he is. The winner of the Ascension Tournament. The number one contender. The Iron Heart himself. Caleb Knox.”
Johnny Kaos:
“And he’s not wasting any time, Zac.”
Knox slowly begins to walk toward the ring, one deliberate step at a time. Satake doesn’t move. He stays rooted in the center of the ring, watching him approach with the eyes of a warrior ready to meet destiny.
Caleb Knox climbs the steel steps, ducks under the top rope, and steps into Satake’s world. The lights return to full brightness as Knox walks to the center of the ring, coming face to face with the double champion.
For several long seconds… silence.
Knox’s cold, unreadable face inches closer to Satake’s. His jaw tightens. Then… he raises one taped fist slowly, placing it right over his heart. The signal of intent. The signal of war.
Satake doesn’t flinch. Instead, he pulls the Heavyweight Championship from his shoulder and holds it up between them—never breaking eye contact. Then he lifts the International title as well.
The crowd roars with anticipation.
Zac Brindle:
“These are two of the most disciplined, most driven competitors in the world. And in three weeks, it all comes to a head at Dance of the Damned.”
Knox cracks the faintest smirk—just a flicker of sinister confidence. Satake, in response, steps forward until the two are nose-to-nose. The camera zooms in tight on their faces: one seething with icy certainty, the other burning with stoic fire.
No words are spoken. None needed.
The crowd is electric.
Johnny Kaos:
“Something’s gotta give. And it won’t be long now.”
The screen fades to black as the two warriors remain locked in their staredown, with the haunting graphic for Dance of the Damned: July 26th burning across the screen.
[END OF SHOW]
Leave a Reply Cancel reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.