In backstage, the din of production reverberated in the narrow hallway as Vince Maston and Lance Dawson remained glued to the monitor wall. The crowd's hollers still lingered in the concrete, based on their excitement and elation over Tracey's championship victory - and the energy extending to the random bursts over the always intense topical chatter about Evelyn Sharma's shocking return. On one of the monitors, the live ratings graph began tracking up as red lines climbed higher. Vince had his knuckles up against the desk, and while the professionalism he exuded had not disappeared his smile from the corner of his mouth was pronounced.
"They're with us," he whispered. "They really are with us."
Lance inhaled a loud breath as he began to calm down - after the 3-ring circus ordeal with the women's championship chaos. He smacked a crewman who was about to get something from the nearby storage shutter. "Alright, peoples. That is a win, now let's keep it that way. Prep the next one."
Toward the ring area, Mark Rivera was barking downly orders via his headset to the referees and floor crew. "Focus on cleanism, and tight camera angles. Focus on Vince's notes. "We cannot lose pacing." He scribbled on his clipboard, crossing cues off and writing new ones as he laughing, wondered promoted memories out of his brain.
The locker room door swung open, and Tracey Prince stumbled into the room. Her face was flushed and her hair wet with sweat, while her hands hung limply by her sides and confessed the women's title belt. She was tired but beaming. Vince was the first to greet her.
"Tracey!" he said with a wide smile. He raised his hand, and Tracey high-fived it weakly, letting out a laugh that barely contained her breathlessness.
"That was—" she gasped, exhaled, and let out a little quaver of excitement in her voice, "That was the best I've ever felt in that ring. The crowd… Vince, I felt like I was ten feet tall."
Lance entered then, concern all over his face. "Hey! Don't get carried away. Here, have Nick Bass check your ribs again."
Tracey nodded as she relaxed into a bench, still smiling as she hugged her new belt like it was a life raft.
And then Maya Hart came in behind Tracey. Her boos still faintly echoed in the room when she entered. Although her face was stoic and angry, her eyes betrayed a softening. Vince approached her cautiously, climbing to a crate and taking a towel and handing it to her.
An awkward silence filled the room as Maya dabbed her face. Vince asked gently, "How do you feel?"
She hesitated before speaking, her voice low. "Honestly? Terrified. When they started booing me like that, I almost lost it. My knees... they were shaking. I almost forgot my cues, almost lost everything."
Vince placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "That's how you know it's working. They hate you. And that's your job. You did it perfectly."
Maya offered a slightly nervous laugh, but before she could respond, Mark coughed loudly from the corner where he was standing with the clipboard. "No time for pep talks. Next match is up. Let's go."
As if on cue, the Flashpoint Brothers, Jett and Axel, dressed to the nines with their cocky grins, entered the locker room. The Steel Titans, Brock Steele and Hunter Locke, followed next, towering over everyone like giants. Lastly, came in the Apex Predators, Marcus Vane and Cal Bishop with their cold, focused looks.
Vince straightened up and shifted from comforter to commander. He stood up and looked at the six men. "Alright, listen, you are about to make history. The ladders have all been double-checked, they are safe and sturdy. They won't hurt you, Don't panic, don't freeze. Go out there and give them something they've never seen before."
In the arena, the ring announcer approached, a silver suitcase in his hand. The crowd quieted in anticipation.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he articulated, his voice buoyant in the speakers, "it is now time to crown the first-ever IRW Tag Team Champions!"
The arena erupted with cheers. The announcer placed the suitcase on the table in the middle of the ring, unlatched it, and pulled out the two shiny belts.
They weren't gaudy, not like other promotions' world titles; they were plain. They were traditional— massive round centers with engravings: Independent Regional Wrestling Tag Team Champions. They were leather and black, with smaller side plates, polished black leather. They looked heavy, they looked respectable.
The audience cheered as the announcer hoisted them above his head for all to see.
Luke Hart leaned over to Tony, sitting in the front row. "But... how are they even going to crown champions? No one has announced a regular match."
With a squint, Tony saw the announcer hang the belts on a silver hanger. Slowly, a cable started to lift the hanger, and the belts drifted upwards until they dangled above the ring.
The crowd gasped when they realized what was happening.
The announcer then said, "The rules are simple: first team to climb the ladder and retrieve the belts will become the first IRW tag team champions!"
The crowd erupted, thirty thousand fans gasping in disbelief and excitement.
Officials were walking down the ramp holding tall aluminum ladders, sliding them into the ring. A few fans caught onto what was happening seconds later, their cheers getting louder.
A few rows back, Michael Myers jumped up out of his seat shouting along with them. "Its a ladder match! Oh my god—the're doing a ladder match!"
The fever pitch excitement spread like a wildfire. Fans pointed, shouted, clapped, the "oohs" and "aahs" rolled in waves. Luke's jaw dropped as he watched them set the ladders in the corners.
"This... this is insane," Luke said, almost incredulously.
Tony grinned. "This is genius. Nobody's done this before."
As the belts swung high above the ring, gleaming under the lights, the arena's anticipation reached a fever pitch. Then, without warning, the harsh guitar riff of the Apex Predators' music blasted through the speakers.
The boos rained down instantly. Marcus Vane and Cal Bishop stormed out from the curtain, smirks plastered on their faces as they pointed to the belts above.
Noah's voice cut through commentary, excitement tinged with disbelief. "This is it, folks! The first-ever IRW Tag Team Championship match—and it's going to be decided in a ladder match! History is about to be made!"
The crowd was on its feet, chanting, screaming, and stomping, as the Apex Predators stalked toward the ring, ready to ignite chaos.