Live from the Truist Arena | Highland Heights, KY | Crowd Size: 11,215
SEGMENT ONE
The broadcasts jolts to life with a jarring burst of static, followed by a low, guttural hum. Then—blackness. Not the absence of light, but something heavier.
Seconds pass.
The blackness dissolves as the camera fades in—not gently, but like a dying flame struggling for breath—onto the remains of a cathedral. The stone walls are split and strangled by ivy like veins across a corpse. Moonlight slithers through shattered stained glass, painting the floor in broken halos.
Candles line the ground in cruel symmetry, each flicker swaying as if caught in a breathless prayer. The camera moves with reverence, gliding over ash-covered tiles and bones of architecture, before arriving at the heart: a confessional booth, splintered and rotting.
Inside, we see two figures. One is the priest, gaunt and withered, draped in tattered robes. His voice creaks like an ancient floorboard.
Priest: Enter the light, child. Speak your sins unto me. Let your soul be wrung out and made clean.
Across from him, cloaked in a dark robe, a figure kneels—head bowed, unmoving. His silence is not ignorance. It is defiance.
Priest: [stern] Do you not hear the bell? Its toll is not for mercy. It calls for reckoning.
The man remains still. His hands rest on his lap—tattooed, fingers interlaced, stiff as dried vines. The silence deepens.
Priest: [sudden, venomous] Confess!
A whip cracks through the air like a lightning strike, landing across the man’s back. His shoulders twitch, but no sounds escape his lips.
Priest: You carry rot. Filth! Words not yet spoken become chains on the soul. Speak them, or be devoured by them!
The whip cracks again, and then a third time. The camera quivers as if the building itself recoils with each strike. Candles snuff out one by one.
Finally, the man lifts his head. Slowly. Deliberately. His hood slips just enough to reveal a sliver of face—tattooed cheek, a bruised eye beneath heavy shadow. It’s Malakai Black.
Malakai Black: [calm] You ask for sin… but I was woven from it. Not burn, but summoned. Not cradled, but bound.
Priest: Spill it, bleed the name.
Malakai Black: They plucked me from the void. They wrapped me in robes and called it destiny. They built me a House and called it sacred. But their House was hollow. Their faith was paper. And I was their idol of ash!
He clinches his fists, his body quivering slightly.
Malakai Black: [with venom] They gave me a name. A title. Malaki. A whisper sewn by cowards into the mouth of a beast.
The priest leans in. There’s no cruelty in him now—only grim understanding. He opens a decaying leather book. Its spine snaps like bone as he turns to a marked page.
Priest: [reading] “And I looked, and behold—a pale horse:
And he that sat upon him was Death…
And Hell followed close behind.”
He closes the book with a dull thud, echoing like a verdict.
Priest: What will you do, now that the mask has slipped?
Malakai inhales sharply as the candles flicker, their shadows crawling up the walls higher and high, as if they’re trying to flee.
Malakai Black: Malakai was their name for me. A weapon disguised as prophecy. But that name? It dies here.
There’s an intense silence, as the priest begins to speak again, his voice hoarse and reverent.
Malakai slowly lifts his hood, the pale moonlight finally illuminating his face.
Alistair Black: The darkness is not coming. It’s already here. And its name… is Alistair Black.
A cruel smirk washes over his face as he reaches for the priest’s whip.
Alistair Black: And I do not come in peace.
The camera pulls away along the same track that it entered the cathedral, and the sounds of the whip follow the camera. The cries of the priest echo, as if they’re escaping with the camera. The screen violently crackles to static, followed by that same deep hum… then silence. Then black.
In a small office, Ryback is hunched over a desk. It’s not clear if the desk is undersized, or if Ryback is just that big. He’s furiously scribbling into a notebook covered in unicorns. Nearby him is a half-drunk protein shake, a candle labeled “Musk of War,” and a framed photo of Ryback flexing alongside his old friend and companion, Doc Brown.
Ryback: [muttering to himself as he scribbles] “Meat is strength. Meat is power. I devour protein every hour… They mock my hunger, say I’m vain… but none can match my triceps’ vein…”
Ryback grins wildly, nodding his head as if he’s just struck gold.
Ryback: Yes! That’s it. That’s raw. That’s primal. That’s Pulitzer Prize worthy!
Ryback’s self-praise is interrupted as the door swings open, as R-Truth pokes his head in, confused but excited, and wearing a lanyard with no ID in it.
R-Truth: Oh snap—hey! My bad, my bad! Paul? There you are!
Ryback: [peering up as Truth enters, confused] Huh? I’m not—
R-Truth: Listen Paul, I been lookin’ all over for you! They moved catering next to the pyro truck. I got BBQ’d and fed at the same time! Anyway, I’m here now. Let’s make this magic happen!
Ryback: [an idea suddenly coming to him] Yes. Yes, Truth. It is I… Paul. “Triple H.” “The Game.” “The King of Kings.” “The… Cerebral Ass—”
R-Truth: [nodding furiously] That’s right! The Whole Triple H! Hey, by the way—your hairline grew back nice, playa. Is that chia?
Ryback: [clearing his throat with authority, sitting taller] I wanted to talk with you about the Dual Dominion Championship Tournament.
R-Truth: [eyes go wide] Ohhhhhhhhhh SNAP! You talkin’ ‘bout that interdimensional AEW vs WWE thing?! I read about that on TikTok!
Ryback: It’s real, and it’s dangerous. And it’s happening. And YOU are in it!
R-Truth: [spinning around, ready to dance] Say less! You want me to ring announce? Commentate? I got voices, man. I do impressions! Wanna hear my Dewayne?
Ryback stands up dramatically, slapping the desk like an annoyed substitute teacher.
Ryback: No, Truth. You’re wrestling in it. In a qualifier match… against m— Ryback. This Friday on the return of Chaos!
R-Truth: WHAT?! Paul, you wildin’! You mean… me and Ryback? One-on-one? For the fate of Earth and cable ratings?
Ryback: You represent WWE. You carry the banner. You fight for glory. And if you lose? You’re probably fired. I don’t know. I’ll check.
R-Truth: [saluting with both hands] Say no more, Paul! I got this! I’ma take the whole company on my back like a piggyback ride to destiny! I won’t let you down, man. I’ma make Murrery proud. And Santa. And Oprah.
R-Truth turns to exit, confidently walking face-first into the hinge side of the door. He bounces back, dusts off his shoulders, then finds the correct exit.
R-Truth: [off-screen] I’ll be ready, Paul! Tell Stephanie I said hi. And tell Ryback he better eat his vitamins! Wait—that’s Hulk Hogan. Never mind!
Ryback sighs contentedly, sitting back down. He lifts his glitter pen like a sword of vengeance and resumes writing
Ryback: [mutering poetically] “A haiku of muscle… suplexed my brain…
Rage curls deep… inside my gains.” …Damn. Ryback, you lyrical juggernaut!
The pyro explodes and Arn Anderson and Kevin Kelly welcome us back to Dynamite! Kelly apologizes for our absence, noting that Genesis: Chapter 2 has been pushed back til Easter Sunday as a result of the disruptions. That said, we’re here and we’ve got a great show planned, and we’re kicking things off with Dominik Mysterio’s first AEW Television Championship defense!
Match #1 | AEW Television Championship
Dominik Mysterio (c) w/ Rhea Ripley vs. Swerve Strickland
Dom and Rhea are out first, and they don’t have much time to wonder about who his opponent is as the crowd jolts to life as “Whose House? Swerve’s House!” blares over the speakers. Dominik’s smugness turns to fear as the former AEW Television Champion makes his way to the ring!
Kevin Kelly: Swerve Strickland hasn’t competed in a singles match since losing that championship at Cruel Summer. He was injured, and he made a return at Elite Warfare. Now, he’s right back in the hunt!
Arn Anderson: And he means business, Kevin! You can see it in his eyes. But Dominik… I gotta admit, the kid’s grown a spine under Rhea’s watch.
The bell sounds and Dominik shoots for a quick side headlock. He wrenches it in, grounding Swerve momentarily. Swerve rolls through, kips up, and sends the champion flying with a smooth armdrag off the ropes. They reset, but Dominik rolls out of the ring to regroup with Rhea, who shouts words of encouragement at him.
Swerve rolls out of the ring and follows behind Dom, giving way to a brief chase. Dominik turns to strike, but Swerve counters it with a sudden Code Red on the floor as the crowd pops.
Kevin Kelly: The former champ has come out swinging!
Arn Anderson: That’ll jar every vertebrae in your spine! Ask me how I know!
Swerve rolls Dom back into the ring and goes for a cover. He hooks the leg—one… two… Dominik kicks out! Dominik again retreats to the outside, but Swerve again gives him no breathing room. He throws him into the barricade, and then again, before slamming his face into the steel steps.
Swerve lines up for a running kick into the steps, but Dominik moves! Swerve crashes and Dom springs to life, jumping off the steps with a brutal side kick to Swerve’s temple.
He rolls him into the ring and goes for a slick inside cradle, but Swerve kicks out. Dominik tries for the Three Amigos, but Swerve counters the third suplex into a snap DDT!
Swerve attempts the Last Supper pin, twisting Dom into a tight cradle. One… two… Dom barely escapes!
Kevin Kelly: That was milliseconds away! Swerve nearly got his title back right there!
Arn Anderson: Dominik’s fighting like a man possessed. I don’t know if it’s pride, fear of Rhea, or both—but he’s hangin’ tough.
Dominik rolls to the apron to catch his breath. Swerve charges, hitting a lariat that sends both of them crashing to the floor. The ref checks on Dom, before heading to Swerve. As he tends to Swerve, Rhea rolls Dom back inside.
Rhea screams for the official to count Swerve out, and the ref gets to six before he’s back on his feet and ascending the top rope. He measures it, and as Dominik gets to his feet, Swerve nails him with a picture perfect Swerve Stomp!
He covers, as the official counts…
One…
Two…
The crowd is stunned yet impressed as Dominik somehow manages to get his shoulders up! Swerve looks caught off guard, as Rhea bangs on the mat, trying to will Dominik back to his feet.
Arn Anderson: Swerve just fired his best shot, Kevin! What’s he got left to put Dominik away?
Swerve drags Dominik to the corner, climbs up with him, looking for something nasty. Dominik fights back with wild elbows. He gets the upper hand—flipping stunner off the top! Dominik nearly takes Swerve’s head off!
Dominik climbs the ropes, but Swerve is up quicker than expected—he crotches Dom on the top buckle, then ascends the turnbuckle… jumps off the middle rope—DEATH VALLEY DRIVER ONTO THE APRON!
Swerve drags Dominik back inside and covers him.
One…
Two…
Thre—
Rhea Ripley grabs Dominik’s foot, placing it on the ropes! The ref admonishes her, but is forced to stop the count regardless. Furious, Swerve goes to the outside to confront Rhea.
She backs away, towards the audience. Just as it looks as if she’s cornered, there’s a man in the first row wearing a hoodie who jumps the barricade. He lurches behind Swerve before grabbing him from the back, sending him crashing to the outside mat with a German suplex!
Arn Anderson: What the hell is going on here? That fan just attacked Swerve Strickland!
The ref has no choice but to call for the bell, declaring Swerve the winner by disqualification as Rhea helps Dominik get his title and flee. As they make their way to safety, the man continues his assault on Swerve, throwing him head first into the steel steps!
Jane Mouse: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by disqualification… SWERVE STRICKLAND! But still your AEW Television Champion… Dominik Mysterio!
The man stands over Swerve’s fallen body, slowly removing his hood to reveal his face…
It’s Shelton Benjamin!
Kevin Kelly: That’s no fan! That’s Shelton Benjamin! What the hell is he doing here?
Arn Anderson: I don’t know, but he’s just dropped one of AEW’s best like a sack of potatoes. Swerve never saw it coming!
The show heads to commercial as Benjamin stands tall, delighted at his destruction of Swerve Strickland.
Winner by DQ: Swerve Stickland
Match Time: 12:07
SEGMENT TWO
In High Minded’s locker room, the faint traces of cannabis smoke fill the air as the members of the group sit around slouched across various bean bags and futons. Kevin Nash scrolls through his phone as Randy Savage counts his vitamins out like poker chips. Scott Hall is napping, as Matt Riddle is doing yoga. Hulk Hogan is icing his ankle in a bucket of CBD water as Midget Hogan paces back and forth nervously, pulling at his hair.
Midget Hogan: I’m tellin’ ya guys, I’m not sure I’m ready to be a dad! I didn’t sign up for this! Had I known Lady Love had kids, I would’ve at least… Googled parenting hacks or something!
Kevin Nash: [deadpan] You did marry a 12-foot global icon without reading the fine print, little dude.
Matt Riddle: [doing a headstand] Bro, being a dad’s easy. Just teach him jiu-jitsu and how to hide a vape pen in a sock. That’s love, man.
Randy Savage: Children are the madness! The future! I planted six in Amarillo alone. Or was it Albuquerque? OH YEAH.
Scott Hall: [eyes opening from his nap] Just don’t let him borrow your car, Chico. I made that mistake once. Kid still lives in!
Suddenly, the door bursts open and Lady Love enters, looking both eloquent and nervous about what is about to happen.
Lady Love: [voice low, and booming] Gentlemen! And my sweet, nervous little husband. We have arrived!
Midget Hogan: [panicking] L-L-Lady Love! I—I’m not sayin’ I regret marryin’ ya, but had I known you had a son—
Lady Love presses her large finger to his lips, as if to quiet him down.
Matt Riddle: So, where is the little guy?
Lady Love: You see, it all began in 2003…
The group groans collective, as Kevin Nash rolls his eyes.
Lady Love: I had just lost everything in a tragic string of investments—Juggalo Coin, MySpace TV, and a line of scented neck braces endorsed by Buff Bagwell.
Scott Hall: Those things smelled like regret.
Lady Love: I was hurting. Broke. Hair extensions on layaway. That’s when a couple I worked with in UWA approached me—Jill Woodstrum… and her husband…
Lady Love lets her words hang in the air a moment before whispering.
Lady Love: …The Crock.
The room collectively gasps. Scott Hall’s toothpick hits the floor like a dropped mic.
Randy Savage: Snap into that origin story!
Lady Love: They couldn’t have a child, and I… I still had my seed. Frozen. Preserved. Like a majestic glacier of potential. We made a deal. They’d mix our DNA. Implant it in Jill. And from that glorious science emerged a boy… who now calls me Mom.
Midget Hogan’s face is solemn, as if a million revelations are hitting him all at once.
Midget Hogan: So, you’re saying… you and The Crock are maybe… co-fathers?
Lady Love: [holding back emotion] Biologically, perhaps.
Suddenly, the locker room lights dim and the tinny sound of “Maniac” by Michael Sembello blares from a Bluetooth speaker just outside. The door swings open…
In walks a spitting image of The Crock, only younger and more fashionable. He’s live streaming himself with his phone as he enters the locker room.
Young Crock: [talking into his phone] What up, fam? It’s your boy here, Young Crock! The remix. The legacy. The algorithm come to life. I’m two scoops of Crock with a side of fabulous. My DMs have a velvet rope. You wanna talk to me? Book a cameo.
Randy Savage: [whispering to Riddle] I hate how much I love him!
Lady Love: [beaming] Isn’t he glorious?
Midget Hogan: [in disbelief] Glorious? He’s like if Toy Story was written by Logan Paul!
Young Crock: [checking himself in his phone camera] Jealousy’s a disease… get well soon!
Midget Hogan: [enraged] Oh now it makes sense! The Crock’s obsession with Lilo, the speeches to the Manly Men… he was tryin’ to get his baby mama back!
Lady Love: [protesting] We were never even together, Midgey! It was just science and a tupperware container!
Midget Hogan: [screaming] I don’t want to hear about it!
Midget Hogan storms off as Lady Love starts to chase after him, only for Young Crock to grab her arm, pulling her into the frame of his livestream.
Young Crock: [to the phone] I promised y’all a surprise—here she is! The legend herself! My bio-mom slash co-creator, Lady Love! This is what legacy looks like, people. Genetics never looked so glamorous. We’re taking this family drama viral, baby!
The camera lingers on them both—her towering and regal, him cocky and glittering—bathed in the glow of influencer infamy as the screen fades to black.
Back at ringside, Arn Anderson and Kevin Kelly react to what we’ve just witnessed with the introduction of Young Crock. Kelly says the nepo-babies in this industry are getting out of control as they transition to our main event, a qualifier match for the #1 Contender’s Massacre 6 Match at Genesis: Chapter 2.
Match #2 | Winner Gets a Spot in Massacre 6
‘The Ring General’ Gunther vs. ‘The American Nightmare’ Cody Rhodes
After the introductions are made, the bell sounds as the two circle, locking up in a tense grapple. Gunther quickly gains control, wrenching Cody’s arm and taking him down to the mat. Cody reverses it into an armbar, momentarily grounding the big man, but Gunther calmly transitions into a tight headlock.
Kevin Kelly: This is how Gunther breaks you down. One hold at a time. Nothing flashy, just fundamental destruction.
Arn Anderson: That’s the old-school way. But Cody’s no stranger to that style, and I’m sure he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve. Remember the family the American Nightmare comes from.
Cody fights up, breaking the hold and earning himself a pop from the crowd. The two circle again, and Cody fires off a few quick jabs, only for Gunther to respond with a brutal chop that instantly reddens Rhodes’ chest.
Cody shakes it off and lands the drop-down uppercut to shift the momentum. He tries to follow up, but Gunther catches him with a sleeper hold. Cody escapes and rolls to the outside. Gunther follows him, hitting him with another massive chop and slamming him onto the arena floor.
Gunther rolls him back into the ring and a slugfest ensues. Gunther is methodical, breaking Cody down with heavy strikes and calculated slams. Cody keeps getting up, only to be chopped back down.
Gunther slows things down and drags Cody to his feet—until Cody counters a slam attempt and stuns Gunther on the top rope. The fans rise to their feet as Cody scales the turnbuckles and connects with a massive top rope superplex. Both men crash to the mat and stay down.
Cody stirs first. He rallies with a Bionic Elbow. He hits the ropes and nails a Cody Cutter for a near fall.
Kevin Kelly: Cody’s dialing it up now. This is where the adrenaline kicks in!
Cody sets up for the Disaster Kick but Gunther catches him and drops him straight into a Boston crab. Cody struggles, claws toward the ropes, but Gunther transitions into a sleeper hold in the center of the ring.
Arn Anderson: This right here is Gunther’s world. He doesn’t just beat you. He squeezes the hope out of you.
Cody elbows his way out and hits a sudden Cross Rhodes, but both men are down again. The fans are all on their feet.
Gunther is up first and plants Cody with a vicious powerbomb for a two-count. Frustrated, Gunther hauls Cody into the corner and slaps him hard across the face.
That fires Cody up. He stares Gunther down and responds with a second Cross Rhodes for another near fall. He sets up for a third, but Gunther shoves him off. Cody springs off the ropes for a Cody Cutter—but Gunther snatches him mid-air and locks in the sleeper again.
As Cody begins to fade, he uses the corner to his advantage in a last ditch effort. He pushes himself backwards off the turnbuckles and flips over Gunther, who still has the hold locked on, but now Cody is covering Gunther!
One… two… three!
Kevin Kelly: He caught him! Cody with the counter of a lifetime!
Cody rolls out of the hold and raises a hand as the referee confirms the victory. Gunther sits up, stunned and staring. Cody can barely stand, but he’s done it. He’s going to Genesis.
Winner: Cody Rhodes
Match Time: 23:00
World Of Wrestling: Murrey Universe 