Before the War
Monday. State Farm Arena in Atlanta, Georgia.
This was one of those venues WWO always hit whenever the company rolled into Atlanta. They usually ran it at ten to fifteen thousand seats. Tonight, though, they had filled every spare inch of floor space and pushed the house all the way out to the arena’s absolute maximum—twenty-one thousand.
Even so, the plaza in front of the building was still packed tight enough to burst.
“Man, the crowd’s insane again. Max, nothing big on the card tonight besides the IC title match, right?”
“Nope. Just that. Probably the Net Market collab finally paying off. At least tickets were a little easier to snag this time.”
“Yeah. Last time it was only ten thousand seats and it was a nightmare.”
Max and Isaac were twenty-year-old best friends who had grown up watching wrestling but were only on their second live show. The anticipation was thick.
“Let’s get inside and grab good seats.”
“Yeah, hurry. I don’t want to be stuck in the last row like last time.”
“Deal.”
They clutched their handmade signs and pushed through the doors. Max’s sign bore the name of the current World Heavyweight Champion, Jess Rolex. Isaac’s carried the Smash Down WWO Champion, Nikola Carter.
Maybe they had rushed a little too hard—they ended up closer to the entrance ramp than ideal—but the ring was still close enough and the view was clean. They settled in just as the current champion, Jess Rolex, opened the show with a promo, and they were locked in from the first word.
The matches that followed featured a lot of the usual faces who had been working heavy TV schedules lately, but that was fine. Most of these guys they had only ever seen on television. Seeing them live was something else entirely.
“Dude! That frog splash just now—sick!”
“Mickey? That kid only knows how to splash. He’s not even half the wrestler his old man was. Just a cheap Rico Guerrero knockoff.”
“You really hate Mickey, huh?”
“He abandoned his own father. And he still steals the 619 like it’s nothing. Makes me hate him more.”
“Hah! You get way too invested. Just watch the damn show.”
One match ended and the big screens cut to a backstage shot. The camera caught two figures climbing out of a large SUV. Their faces stayed hidden—dark, distant framing, long black coats and hats. Even their builds were impossible to read. Nobody could tell who they were.
“Who the hell is that?”
Isaac wasn’t the only one wondering. The whole section started murmuring.
“No idea. Can’t even tell if they’re tall or short.”
“If they’re gonna tease it, at least show us something.”
“Right? Give us a better look.”
Another match came and went. The arena screens flipped backstage again. General Manager Aaron was talking to someone.
“Long time no see. What brings you here?”
“Can’t you tell from the outfit?”
Only the back of the figure was visible, but the clothes were unmistakable—black-striped referee gear.
“Which match you looking to call?”
“Bright and Yazan’s IC Championship, obviously. Nobody else can keep a No DQ match fair like I can.”
“Fair? You just want to beat the hell out of both of them. You guys hated each other.”
“That was five years ago. Still… I might count a little slow. Aaron, is that really such a hard ask?”
Aaron thought it over for a second, then stood and offered his hand.
“All right. A legend like you can make that request. And the fans are going to lose their minds seeing you again after all this time. Adolf—make it count.”
“Thanks, Aaron.”
The man shook hands, turned, and the camera finally caught his face.
“It’s Ziegler! Adolf Ziegler’s here!”
“Holy shit! I used to be such a huge fan—this is insane!”
The guys cheered, but the women’s section erupted even louder. Adolf Ziegler—the guy who had somehow charmed almost every female wrestler on the roster—had just walked back onto Law for the first time in years.
“Wait, weren’t there two people earlier?”
“Guess the parking-lot shot wasn’t Adolf.”
“Then who was it?”
A new entrance theme hit and Isaac and Max completely forgot the question. The show kept building heat until the main event finally arrived. Adolf Ziegler stepped out onto the stage.
The arena exploded.
“Adolf! Adolf!”
He climbed into the ring, clearly moved by the reception after so long away. Challenger Yazan Clark followed. The second Yazan hit the ring he locked eyes with Adolf. Adolf just grinned and offered his hand first.
Isaac and Max held their breath, half-expecting a cheap shot disguised as a handshake. Nothing came. After years apart the two men shook hands and then pulled each other into a full hug.
“Hell yeah.”
“Is Adolf thinking about retiring? That why he showed up on Law?”
“Could be. He’s what, fifty now?”
“Yeah, around there.”
IC Champion Bright Rondo entered next, climbed into the ring, and traded a smiling handshake with Adolf as well. Whatever bad blood had once existed looked buried.
The main event kicked off. Being a No DQ match, chairs, kendo sticks, and tables appeared almost immediately. Contrary to every fan’s worry, Adolf called a clean, professional match. When Yazan pulled out a rope and started choking Bright, Adolf was right there.
“Break it! Come on, break it!”
“Stop!”
Even in a no-disqualification bout a referee could still step in if a wrestler’s life was genuinely at risk. Adolf made those calls perfectly every time.
Then Yazan hit a low blow, followed by a spear that looked like it ended everything.
“Nice! That’s it!”
“Game over. Yazan’s got this.”
“New champion right here.”
Something was quietly rolling down the entrance ramp. Isaac, sitting closest to the aisle, spotted it first—a figure crouched low on a skateboard, black hood pulled tight over their head, gliding almost silently toward the ring.
“Max!”
“What?”
“Look—look at that!”
Max finally saw the figure reach the end of the ramp. Everyone else was so locked on the match that the silent approach had gone completely unnoticed. The person stood up, stepped off the board, and the fans nearest the aisle nearly lost their minds.
“Is that… Charina?”
“It’s a skateboard. Has to be. Charina, here? Tonight’s already legendary.”
“Cool and all, but is she crashing another match?”
Charina’s NEXT invasion had stayed pinned to the top of the WWO website for weeks. Anyone who checked the site knew her name. Then came the TPA Emergency shows—plenty of people had seen those too. She still hadn’t officially debuted on the main roster, yet almost every WWO fan already knew exactly who Charina was.
The big screens still hadn’t picked her up. Inside the ring Yazan was lining up his finisher—the superkick—while Charina casually collected her board and began drifting toward his blind side.
The scenario I had rewritten using a low-tier scenario edit right from Paul Levesque was simple: I wanted to fire the opening shot of the Invasion. I had zero interest in crashing another men’s match. One women’s title match disruption and a short mic spot—that was the whole plan. One men’s invasion was enough; twice would have been pure overkill.
Then Jane joined John Michaels’ TF team and they tore the whole thing apart.
“First time’s the hard part. Second time’s easy. Do it again, Rina.”
“Excuse me?”
“Going solo looks weak, so this time you roll with Adolf.”
John didn’t even try to stop her. He pushed it further.
“Adolf’s got limited mobility on big moves? Fine—make him the referee. Problem solved.”
“Perfect. Call it fair, then stick the knife in at the end.”
“Okay, how is it that Jane, after one day, is already more in sync with me than the writers I’ve worked with for years?”
“Probably because she’s just as petty and underhanded as you are.”
“Heh. In this business that’s a compliment.”
John and Jane then floated an idea that genuinely surprised even me.
“Are we actually allowed to do that?”
“I planned it, Paul and Stacey signed off. Who’s gonna say no? It’s done.”
Fair enough. Who argues with the CEO and the CCO?
After that we shot the parking-lot scene at the Academy—Adolf and me climbing out of the car.
“Adolf. Thirty-year age gap. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Jane, even if I was completely gone for women I’d still have standards. Rina, why couldn’t you have been born ten years earlier?”
“Right? Then I could’ve kept you as my personal slave. Adolf on the left, Jack Morrison on the right.”
“Hahaha! Visually that would’ve been the greatest stable of all time.”
“Probably.”
Whatever Adolf had been like in the past, the current version was fine. Age just doesn’t lie.
Monday morning we slipped into State Farm Arena, found a quiet corner for a makeshift locker room, and waited. Adolf filmed his promo with Law’s GM Aaron ahead of time. Then Bright Rondo and Yazan Clark stopped by.
“Adolf. Didn’t think I’d see you here.”
“Been a long time, Adolf.”
“Long time for both of you. This is Charina.”
“Hi. Charina.”
“We know, we know. Watched the Emergency shows more than once. Looks like a doll, hits like a truck.”
“Yeah, you were impressive as hell. Good to meet you.”
The original script had the title changing hands tonight. My interference meant Yazan would walk out empty-handed. That should have left the challenger furious, but a firm guarantee that the belt was coming to him soon enough killed any complaints.
“You both got the new script?”
“Why the sudden change?”
“Yeah—and a TPA invasion of all things? Is this the Invasion?”
Yazan was sharp.
“No idea. They dragged me out of rehab and told me to do this. Free trip back to Law? I said yes immediately.”
The TPA roster still didn’t know whether the company would be absorbed or kept alive, so the merger hadn’t gone public yet. The weekend timing helped keep things quiet. Adolf had heard the rough outline, but a veteran like him knew exactly how to play dumb.
“Anyway, looks like some big collaboration’s coming.”
“What power do we have? Sigh. They say jump, we jump. But that spot’s safe, right?”
“Yes. Yazan, John Michaels checked it himself multiple times.”
“If John signed off, it’s solid. Still—be careful.”
“I’ll sell the grimace. Just get your hand up clean.”
“Got it.”
After Yazan left I ran through the same points with Bright. They both headed out.
Time passed. The show started. One by one the pre-taped segments we had shot hit the screens.
“Rina. Nervous?”
“Not even a little. After the hardcore match with Anne this is nothing.”
“True. After a match like that, what could scare you? I’m heading out.”
“Watch the knees.”
“I’m just refereeing. What’s going to happen? See you in the ring.”
“Yes, sir.”
We high-fived and Adolf left. I packed both our bags, checked the skateboard one last time, and waited for the main event to start.
Then it did.
Knock knock.
“Yes? Who is it?”
“It’s me. Aaron.”
Almost nobody on the Law side knew the real plan—just the GM and a handful of others—so Aaron had come personally.
“Charina. It’s time.”
“The GM himself? I’m honored.”
“Might as well become one of our stars instead of that low-rent Smash Down brand.”
“If they hear you say that you’re dead.”
“Heh. Me trash-talking Smash Down is established kayfabe. Everybody knows.”
“Even the GM does kayfabe. Didn’t realize.”
“Same as the talent. Ready?”
“Yes.”
I pulled the hood low over my face and followed him out. He didn’t take me to Gorilla Position. He took me straight to the stage entrance.
The match was winding down. A guaranteed-draw No DQ main event—the crowd was completely locked on Bright and Yazan.
But the lead role was about to change hands.
To me.