The atmosphere inside the IRW Arena was electric, with everyone buzzing in anticipation of the night's main event. As the lights dimmed, the IRW Men's Champion, Mason Brooks, made his grand entrance. The championship belt sparkled around his waist, and while he usually exuded a tough exterior, tonight felt different—he wasn't here to throw punches; he was here to share his thoughts.
Mason stepped into the ring, microphone in hand, and glanced down at the title before lifting it high above his head, prompting a wave of cheers from the crowd. When he began to speak, his words carried a weight that felt more profound than usual.
"I've held this championship for nine months," Mason said, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "And let me tell you, those nine months weren't just given to me. They were earned through sweat, pain, and countless nights when I thought I couldn't push through. People often think that wearing this title makes everything easier. It doesn't. Every single night, there's a target on my back. I fight like I have nothing left to prove, yet somehow, I still do."
A gentle wave of applause began to ripple through the crowd, a sign of their empathy. Mason's expression softened as he continued, delivering the promo that Vince had crafted for him earlier that day.
"I came from nothing. No support. No guarantees of success. Just the sheer will to survive. That's what this belt represents to me—it's about survival. And I promise each and every one of you that I'll keep fighting until I can't anymore."
For a brief moment, the crowd responded with more than just polite applause—they offered him heartfelt appreciation.
Noah chimed in from ringside, "You can really feel this, Irvin. This isn't just Mason Brooks the champion speaking. This is Mason the man."
But before the moment could deepen, the arena lights flickered, and a new theme blared through the speakers.
Eddie Prince's entrance music.
The crowd's cheers quickly morphed into boos as Eddie Prince made his way out, microphone in hand, his expression dripping with disdain. He paused at the top of the ramp, locking eyes with Mason.
"Really, Mason?" Eddie started, his voice cutting. "You think you're the only one who's put in the work? You think you're the only one who's fought to get here?"
The audience jeered, but Eddie continued, moving closer to the ring.
"You're IRW's golden boy. Don't even try to deny it. You are Mark Rivera's sister's husband. Everything you've achieved came with an easier path. Lucky breaks, the right moments, and suddenly you're the champion. But me? I didn't have luck on my side. I didn't have anyone backing me. I fought tooth and nail for every single opportunity."
The boos intensified, though some sections of the crowd nodded in agreement.
In the stands, Tony leaned over to Luke. "He's got a point, though. Eddie's had it tougher. You've got to give him that."
Luke shook his head. "Sure, respect it. But Mason's earned his spot. He's not just some golden boy—he's put in the work. You saw his matches."
Noah chimed in from ringside, "You can really feel this, Irvin. This isn't just Mason Brooks the champion speaking. This is Mason the man."
But before the moment could deepen, the arena lights flickered, and a new theme blared through the speakers.
Eddie Prince's entrance music.
The crowd's cheers quickly morphed into boos as Eddie Prince made his way out, microphone in hand, his expression full of disdain. He paused at the top of the ramp, locking eyes with Mason.
"Seriously, Mason?" Eddie started, his voice cutting. "You really think you're the only one who's put in the work? You think you're the only one who's fought to get here?"
The audience jeered, but Eddie continued, moving closer to the ring.
"You're IRW's golden boy. Don't even try to deny it. Everything you've achieved came with an easier path. Lucky breaks, the right opportunities, and suddenly you're the champion. But me? I didn't have luck on my side. I didn't have anyone backing me. I fought tooth and nail for every single opportunity."
The boos intensified, though some sections of the crowd nodded in agreement.
In the stands, Tony leaned over to Luke. "He's got a point, though. Eddie's had it tougher. You've got to give him that."
Luke shook his head. "Sure, respect that. But Mason's earned his spot. He's not just some golden boy—he's put in the work. You saw his matches."
Eddie lifted Mason up for the powerbomb, but as Mason came crashing down, he landed awkwardly, his arm hitting the mat first.
The scream was immediate.
A raw, piercing cry of pain erupted from Mason's throat. He clutched his arm, writhing in agony. The crowd fell silent, completely stunned.
"Oh no…" Irvin's voice was heavy with concern. "Mason landed wrong. Something's not right—this isn't how it was supposed to go."
Eddie froze, his face going pale as the reality of the situation hit him. He dropped to his knees, eyes locked on Mason's twisted form as referees and officials rushed into the ring. The camera zoomed in for a moment on Mason's contorted face before pulling back, avoiding the worst of it.
The arena was in a state of shock. The chants faded away, replaced by whispers of worry.
Backstage, Mark Rivera turned to Lance, panic evident in his voice. "We need to stop the show. He didn't take the fall—he's hurt. We can't keep going like this."
Lance nodded, feeling torn, but before he could make the call, Vince Maston's voice rang out.
"No. Don't stop it."
Both men turned in surprise. "What?" Lance asked.
Vince's expression was sharp and composed. "If we end the show now, it'll look like total chaos. We can't send the fans home like that. Tell Eddie to pick up Mason's title and hold it high. Give the audience something—anything—that resembles an ending."
Mark blinked in disbelief. "You want Eddie to hold the belt? After this?"
Vince stood his ground. "Absolutely. This will get the crowd fired up for All In, even if Mason's out. We need to wrap this up. Go."
With a heavy heart, an official at ringside leaned in to whisper to Eddie. At first, Eddie shook his head in disbelief, but the directive was unmistakable. He took a deep breath, turned slowly, and walked over to the title belt lying on the canvas, picking it up.
The crowd erupted in a chorus of boos, furious at the turn of events.
"No…" Noah groaned, his voice filled with despair. "He can't do this. Not like this!"
Eddie raised the championship high above his head, his expression torn, glancing back and forth between the angry fans and Mason, who was still being attended to by medics. Despite the insults and trash being thrown his way, he held the belt up defiantly.
Backstage, Vince watched the scene unfold on the monitor, his jaw clenched. "It's not pretty, but it's something."
The cameras captured Eddie's strained face, the medics surrounding Mason, and the outrage of the fans. Then, without warning, the feed cut to commercials.
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In his apartment, Michael Myers sat in shock, glued to the screen. He had just witnessed Mason Brooks scream in agony and saw Eddie Prince awkwardly hoisting the title high amidst the crowd's jeers.
He let out a breath, shaking his head. "They'll edit that out. When it re-airs, it'll look polished."
But the live experience had rattled him. It wasn't the typical mundane production of the big promotions he was used to. It was raw, it was jarring, and it was entertaining.
Michael went to his room and opened Voogle his computer.
He typed in "IRW All In tickets" into the search bar. His heart was pounding.
"Screw it," he muttered. "I'm going. I need to see this live."
And with that, Harborview's most chaotic week in wrestling history pulled another believer into its orbit.