The Intrusion
Charlie sank into the one-seater sofa, arms full of a six-pack of beer and an oversized bag of cheese balls.
Creak—
The sofa shrieked under his weight, but this was hardly the first or second time, so he paid it no mind at all. He set the beers on the side table, snatched up the remote, flipped the TV on, and started channel-surfing.
Commercials.
“Ten minutes left? Hmm.”
With one practiced hand he cracked a can open and parked the cheese-ball bag on his belly—bigger than most cushions.
“Charlie! The light in the storage room’s out. Change it for me.”
His wife’s voice from the kitchen. The damn woman always found something for him to do the second he sat down to rest. Would it have killed her to say so earlier?
“I’ll fix it in the morning.”
“And then you’ll just leave for work without doing it.”
“Remind me at breakfast so I don’t forget.”
Some grumbling. Probably cursing him out.
“Boring. Boring. Why the hell are these shitty commercials so long?”
He was cracking the second can when the familiar logo for NEXT filled the screen. The old thrill was long gone, but the routine had been the same for decades: Monday was Law, Tuesday was NEXT, Friday was Smash Down, and every so often a weekend PLE (PPV).
Still, tonight the wrestlers he actually liked were booked. Joshua’s men’s title defense, the New Powers’ shot at the men’s tag-team title contender spot, and a match for that charming women’s wrestler Mina Keynes.
“John Michaels, you washed-up bastard! A guy like Joshua could be carrying the Smash Down title already, and he’s still stuck in NEXT? When the hell are you calling him up? You don’t have a clue what the fans actually want. Right, Triple J?”
“Woof! Woof!”
The retriever came barreling over for cheese balls, tail spinning like a helicopter. Charlie dug a dog chew out of the side-table drawer and tossed it.
“Chew on that.”
“Woof.”
Satisfied, Triple J flopped at Charlie’s feet and got to work. Charlie smiled the same contented smile and locked in on the screen.
The first match already soured him. Mina—who’d been NEXT North American Champion until recently—had the match won until a manager’s interference cost her the pin. And to a mid-carder, no less.
“Goddamn it! You’re making our Mina job to a jobber? John, you son of a bitch!”
Sure, there was the female general manager Aiva, daughter of The Stone, but she was a twenty-six-year-old kid. Every NEXT fan knew she was just a face selling the GM title on her father’s coattails. Real power sat entirely with John Michaels—worse than when he’d shared it with the previous GM, Will Regal.
Crunch—
Charlie half-watched the rest of the undercard, more interested in the cheese balls. Then match five: the tag-team title contender bout. Frank draped himself across his opponent’s back, both hands cranking the face. Ten seconds later the guy tapped. Clean crossface, submission win.
“That’s it! Nice work, Frank!”
Exactly what Charlie wanted—New Powers had earned their shot.
Main event time. Men’s NEXT Championship defense: 185 cm, 100 kg Joshua versus 193 cm, 115 kg Ahmed. The cheers Charlie had been bellowing five minutes earlier turned into pure profanity almost as soon as the bell rang.
Joshua ate a power slam, then stole the momentum with a surprise knee. He hooked one of Ahmed’s arms for his signature backdrop—and Ahmed reversed it cold. Grabbed Joshua’s neck, charged forward, and sat down. Joshua’s face planted straight into the canvas.
Ahmed’s beautiful bulldog.
Ahmed really did his homework. He’s got Joshua’s patterns completely memorized.
Joshua got complacent after that easy win last time. Five minutes in and he still hasn’t landed a real offense.
Commentary that made Charlie’s blood boil.
“Joshua, you bastard, what the hell are you doing?”
Everyone knew Joshua struggled against bigger technicians. Against Ahmed, though, he’d always been solid—career 4-0. Tonight was supposed to be another easy night. Instead the match was going completely the other way. A brief flurry of offense later, and that was it.
Thud—
Ahmed’s dropkick caught Joshua flush in the face and drove him back into the referee. The ref tumbled out of the ring from the impact. Looking pleased with himself, Ahmed spread Joshua’s legs and dropped a double-foot stomp right between them. Joshua curled up, clutching his groin and screaming.
Oh!
That has got to hurt.
As if once wasn’t enough, Ahmed grabbed the legs again, ready for round two.
Zing. Zizzzing. Zizzing—
A theme song Charlie had never heard in his life blasted through the arena.
Booker, whose music is that?
Beats me. First time I’m hearing it.
A handful of fans—maybe ten—clapped hands over their mouths or threw their arms up cheering, but Charlie still had zero idea who it was. Ahmed glanced toward the entrance ramp just as something small shot down the aisle at ridiculous speed.
She’s coming in on a skateboard.
A woman?
The roughly fifteen-meter ramp disappeared under her in a blink. She hopped off the board and vaulted straight into the ring.
Who… who is that?
Only then did the camera finally lock onto the intruder: an Asian woman in a black sports-bra top and black triangle-cut gear, white backpack slung over one shoulder.
Charlie shot out of his chair and planted himself a meter from the screen.
I don’t know who she is, but she’s an absolute knockout. What the hell is going on?
I don’t know either. Hard to call what I can’t identify. Damn it, what’s the GM doing?
Booker, you go dig. I’m watching the match.
Ahmed’s muffled shouting—“Who are you? Why’d you come in?”—drifted through the speakers. The woman ignored him, eyes on the downed Joshua. She shrugged off the backpack and held it in one hand.
Is she with Joshua?
Cody, I already said I don’t know! Nobody told me a thing!
Ahmed charged. She whipped the bag straight at his face. He caught it on pure reflex—and she buried a kick in his gut.
Ugh—
Ahmed folded. She spun behind him, locked his waist, and dumped him with a German suplex.
Thud—
G-German suplex… with that frame?
The crowd roared on instinct.
Whoa—
She never even looked at them. One step onto the ropes, a backflip, and she crashed down in a perfect Lionsault.
And now a Lionsault?
“Who the hell is she? Start with that, you idiots!”
Charlie yelled at the screen. No one answered. The commentators sounded half-checked-out. She bounced up and dropped a jumping leg drop across Ahmed’s throat for good measure.
Tung—
Ahmed clutched his neck, gagging. Still not finished, she hauled him up and clamped his head between her pale thighs.
Haa… I’m jealous of Ahmed right now. That’s hot.
Booker! You can’t say that on air!
Cody, it’s just the truth that—uh-oh.
Mid-sentence she hoisted Ahmed clean off the mat and sat him down with a powerbomb.
Thud—
Power… bomb? Th-this… is… impossible!
Damn it, who is she?! GM! Hey, Aiva!
I… I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Ahmed’s over a hundred ten kilos… Wow. Even watching it I can’t believe it. She’s a complete mon—monster.
The second Cody finished, she sprang to the top rope in a single bound.
Wh-what’s she doing now?
This is driving me insane.
Ahmed looked completely out of it after the sudden powerbomb. Joshua, finally stirring, staggered to his feet.
Joshua needs to clear his head and get the ref back in the ring. This still hasn’t been ruled a no-contest.
Joshua turned just as she launched. Body flipping forward, she snared his neck and drove him down.
Eclipse?
Wait—why Joshua? Aren’t they on the same side?
Commentators, crowd, and Charlie—now practically kissing the screen—all shared the same blank confusion. Two male wrestlers, champion and challenger, lay sprawled on the mat. The one who had put them both there was a slender woman no one had ever seen in NEXT or even on Law.
Everyone down, she finally looked satisfied. A bright smile, then she scooped up the backpack that had landed on the canvas.
Is she… crazy?
NEXT taped at Full Sail University’s gym—less than five hundred seats. Small enough that she clearly heard Booker K’s commentary from the front row. She raised one index finger and wagged it: no.
Who are you? At least introduce yourself.
She answered Booker with a little wink, then turned her back.
Wow. Best day I’ve had in twenty years. Just got winked at by a total stranger.
Damn it, why not me?
She’s got taste. High standards.
Bullshit…
“Fuck… I still don’t know what the hell just happened, but she’s goddamn gorgeous.”
What even is tonight? Man, this is a rough one to call.
Haa. Booker, I’m giving up too. Oh—looks like she’s ready to introduce herself.
She finally motioned for the ring announcer’s mic and took it.
Hi!
A clear, bright voice rang out. The crowd exploded. She scanned them for a beat—then spotted Ahmed lurching back to his feet. Mic in one hand, bag in the other, she bounced off the ropes and smashed an S-kick into the back of his skull. Ahmed dropped again. Fresh roar from the stands.
S-Kick! That’s an S-Kick! That’s my move!
I know, Booker. Calm down. Let her talk.
The cheer seemed to please her. She smiled and spoke again.
Not sure if anyone here knows me yet. Hmm♡. I’m Charina from TPA. Nice to meet you, NEXT!
Whoa—
Charina! Charina!
She waited for the noise to settle.
Why am I here? Nothing big. I’ve only been debuted three weeks.
What?
The stands erupted in disbelief.
Shh!
Index finger to her lips. Somehow the entire crowd went silent on command.
Hmm. Good listeners. I like that. Anyway—three weeks since my debut. My teachers told me to swing by NEXT and say hello on behalf of the class. So here I am. Oh—my teachers? Bibi Dudley and The Bon Dudley. You know them?
The name Dudley alone detonated another massive cheer. That name still carried weight.
Oh! My teachers are popular. Of course they are! If you want to know what kind of wrestler I am, just watch next week’s Emergency. You’ll find out for sure. Got it?
Yes!
The whole arena answered as one. She liked that too—waved back with a grin.
Greeting’s done. I’m out. See you around, NEXT!
She hopped the ropes, hopped back on the skateboard, gave the crowd one last look, and shot out of the building the same way she’d come in. The referee finally climbed back through the ropes and called it a no-contest. Joshua kept his title by default—match voided by the intrusion.