RPW: Rise of the Resistance - A 2003 (and beyond) Wrestling Odyssey

[Dubb]

They say power corrupts, and absolute power… well, that makes you Vince McMahon.

As for me...

Well, wrestling has been my life for as long as I can remember.

From a young age, I loved it. It was all I ever wanted to do in my life. I knew from the moment I watched Hulk Hogan bodyslam Andre The Giant - wrestling was gone to be my life.

It has been my life, but not quite the way I expected.

From wrestling in my living room with my friends to wrestling in the backyard - I thought I was going to be the next Ted DiBiase or Macho Man Randy Savage… (my friends always chose Hogan or Warrior… but that wasn’t my speed).

So much time spent training. So much hard work and dedication. I was going to make it to the big leagues.

And one day… the chance came. I was told the WWF was in town and they needed some locals to be enhancement talent (I mean they called it jobber, but I prefer the nicer term) for the “Fed” while they were in town. This was the opportunity I was looking for. Sure, I’d be fodder for a bigger name… but stepping into a WWF ring with one of the stars I looked up to? I couldn’t pass this up.

And the name I got to put over?

Yokozuna.

And there I was, standing across from Yokozuna, a mountain of a man whose shadow swallowed the light. The roar of the crowd was deafening, drowning out my pulse, every beat a reminder of what was at stake. I thought I’d get in a few moves, maybe even impress a scout or two. But fate, that cruel mistress, had other plans

The match started, and for a fleeting moment, I felt alive. I landed a couple of flashy moves, but Yokozuna just stared me down like I was a fly on his wall. Then came the moment that turned my dreams into a nightmare.

It was time to hit his finisher. The Bonzai Drop.
Now for those of you who don't know, which I imagine is a small minority of you, because if you took interest in my story, you probably are well versed in wrestling history... BUT... that being said, Yokozuna was not a small man. He was not an average size man. Hell, he wasn’t even a large man. This was a billed 600 pounds coming off the ropes and collapsing his mighty caboose down onto my chest.

The impact was more than just physical; it shattered my dreams. I awoke in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic choking me, gasping for breath. Broken ribs and a collapsed lung were the results of Yokozuna’s landing.

I had hit my marks perfectly. I was right where I was supposed to be. But still…

My dreams had been destroyed on that night.

I realized that perhaps being in the ring wasn’t for me.

But that wasn’t the only fallout from my little wrestling adventure. My injuries echoed through the WWF, reaching the ears of one of their biggest stars, Bret Hart. Suddenly, he refused to work with Yokozuna, putting their big WrestleMania main event in serious jeopardy.

I was visited in the hospital. Not by Vince McMahon, mind you. No, he had more important things to worry about, I’m sure. Or more important people to bribe or blackmail perhaps. Or far worse.

But no, he did send some corporate stooges to my bedside. They came crawling to me. They wanted me to lie. To spin a tale where I took the blame for my own injury. “Just tell Bret it was your fault,” they told me. And if I did, I was promised a job for life.

I was certainly conflicted. I knew I had done what I was suppose to do. This was the moment I had been waiting so long for. I made sure everything was right on my end. I wouldn’t want to mess up. Yokozuna landed wrong. But if I couldn’t go in the ring… there were other opportunities. And the WWF was still where I saw myself working.

So I did what I had to do. They sent Bret Hart to visit me. And while I had to act like I wasn’t star struck, I came up with a story. Luckily, I’ve always had a creative mindset and perhaps this was the first time I wrote a storyline… the story that got Bret to work with Yokozuna and made WrestleMania IX happen. Yeah… sorry about that.

Fast forward to two years ago, I was a cog in the machine. A creative guy with big ideas. Dreams, even. But you know what they say about dreams? In this business, they get bought and sold for a paycheck. And mine got cashed out the second I opened my mouth about the monopoly Vince was building. The ink hadn’t even dried on the WCW deal when I found myself sitting on the curb outside Titan Towers, severance check in hand, watching the empire expand while the competition fell like dominoes

You’d think I would’ve seen it coming. But I didn’t. Call it idealism, call it stupidity—hell, call it both. I just thought… I don’t know. Maybe competition meant something in this business. It used to, before Vince started buying up everything that even thought about challenging him. WCW, ECW—gone. And with them, any hope of the wrestling world being more than a one-man show.

But that’s the thing about power. Once someone has all of it, it’s hard to breathe. And Vince? He had his boot on the throat of professional wrestling, squeezing tighter by the day.

That’s how I ended up in Australia. Not exactly the land of opportunity, but it was far enough from Stamford and Vince’s all-seeing eye. Andrew McManus had this ragtag outfit called World Wrestling All Stars—WWA. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A few of the old WCW boys, some ECW hangovers, Attitude Era washouts, and guys who never got their shot in WWE. I helped out where I could. Booked a few shows. Came up with angles for guys like Jeff Jarrett, Scott Steiner—hell, even Mick Foley and Ken Shamrock got roped into it once or twice.

We had something, or at least we thought we did. But as the months dragged on, the dream started feeling less real. The crowds were good, the matches were solid, but we weren’t making any real waves. And the question kept gnawing at me—why? Why weren’t we pushing harder? Why were we tiptoeing around WWE like they owned the entire damn industry

Then I found out the truth.

Turns out, Vince wasn’t just watching us from afar. He was pulling the strings. WWA could run as many shows as we wanted in Australia, Europe, hell, even Japan. But the moment we tried to set foot on American soil? Forget it. Vince had made sure of that. McManus had cut a deal with the devil himself. We were allowed to exist—barely—but only as long as we stayed out of his yard.

I was livid. I stormed into Jeff Jarrett’s office that night, laid it all out. I expected him to be just as pissed off. Instead, he just looked at me. Tired, almost. He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and nodded.

“I know,” he said. “And I've known for quite a while, actually.”

I couldn’t believe it. Jeff Jarrett, of all people—Double J—knew about this and wasn’t doing anything? This was the guy who smashed guitars over heads in every promotion from here to Memphis. The guy who once told Vince McMahon to shove it.

“You knew?” I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

“Yeah,” he said, “but what can we do?”

“Fight back?! I’ve had about enough of the WWE.”

“It ain’t worth it, Jay. Trust me. I’ve tried.”

“What do you mean?”

“My old man tried starting something up in Tennessee last year. Vince found out. The next day, my father pulled the plug. Never seen him so damn scared in my life.”

I stood there, hands on my hips, trying to wrap my head around it. Jerry Jarrett—the Jerry Jarrett—scared? What the hell did Vince have on him? It wasn’t just business anymore; it was personal. It was a vendetta. Vince wasn’t just making sure he stayed on top—he was making sure no one even thought about challenging him.

I glanced at Jeff, hoping for some kind of answer, some spark of rebellion. But all I got was a shrug.

“If you want to do something about it,” Jeff said, his voice low, “you might have to try something yourself. Start small… see where it goes. We’ve seen what happens if you go too big too fast. Look at what happened with our ol’ pal Jimmy Hart. XWF barely had a chance to get off the ground. Heh, was funny seeing Hogan fail at somethin’ again though. And now where is he? Prolly tryin’ to crawl back to old man Vince for another nostalgia run or some shit. But… yeah… sorry, goin’ on a tangent there. Whatever you do, just be careful, okay?”

I walked out of his office that night with more questions than answers. What had wrestling become? Was there even a point in fighting back? The smart thing would’ve been to leave it alone. Take what I knew, keep my head down, and ride out whatever paycheck came next.

But I wasn’t built that way. Never have been.

So I did what any idiot with a grudge and a severance check would do. I packed up my bags, took the next flight out of Sydney, and headed back to the States.

My plan? Simple. Just like Jeff had suggested.

Start my own promotion.

Use the money Vince had handed me—ironic, isn’t it?—and build something small. Keep my head low, keep my hands clean, and maybe, just maybe, I could stay off Vince’s radar long enough to make a difference.

Or maybe I’d poke the bear just enough to get noticed.

Either way, the game was on. The first move had been made. And if there’s one thing I knew for certain, it’s that Vince McMahon doesn’t like losing—not even in a game of Monopoly.

But this time? This time he wasn’t the only one playing.

 

[Dubb]

You ever sit in an empty office, staring at the phone, hoping it’ll ring, but knowing deep down it won’t?

That was me, day one.

I had rented out this sad little corner in a half-abandoned strip mall. The kind of place where the only customers are the ghosts of businesses long since gone belly up. It smelled like mildew and regret, but it was cheap, and that’s all that mattered

I’d put out an ad, hoping to find someone with enough brains to handle the business side of things. I could write a storyline, script a match, hell, I could book a feud that would make grown men cry. But numbers? Spreadsheets? P&L statements? That was another language, and I was never good with foreign tongues.

What I got in return wasn’t exactly inspiring. Most of the applicants were the walking dead. People down on their luck, desperate for a paycheck. A few tried to play the part, showing up in ill-fitting suits that screamed “I just found this at Goodwill.” The others were… well, less presentable. One guy spent the entire interview complaining about how he hadn’t eaten in days. I considered telling him the strip mall had a nice dumpster around the back, but I figured that wouldn’t go over too well.

But hey, I was desperate. They were desperate. Maybe we could’ve been desperate together.

But none of them had the spark I needed.

None of them felt right

Then she walked in.

Sophia.

It was like the air changed the second she stepped through the door. I heard the soft click of her heels on the cracked linoleum before I even looked up, and when I did, the world around me stopped.

She was tall ,long legs that went on for days, and her dark brown hair cascaded in loose waves down her back, just brushing her shoulders. She had a face that could’ve been carved from marble, with eyes that pierced right through you. There was a confidence in the way she carried herself, a quiet assurance that told me she wasn’t here because she was desperate.

No, this woman was here because she wanted to be.

“You must be Mr. Dubbois,” she said, her voice low, smooth, like whiskey on ice.

“I must be,” I said, clearing my throat. I stood, maybe a little too quickly. “And you are…?”

“Sophia,” she said, offering her hand. I took it—soft, but firm. No nonsense. “I saw your ad.”

“Yeah?” I leaned against the corner of my desk, trying to play it cool. “What’d you think?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Looked like someone in over their head.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t one of those laughs where you’re fully in control. More like the kind where you’re trying to cover up how right the other person is. “Well, you’re not wrong. This is kind of a start-up situation.”

“Isn’t everything?” she said, slipping into the chair across from me like she owned the room. “You mind if I sit?”

I waved a hand. “Be my guest.”

For a moment, there was silence. She crossed one leg over the other, taking her time. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was toying with me, letting the seconds stretch until the tension started to feel thick. But I wasn’t about to let her have all the fun.

“So…..,” I said, breaking the awkward silence, “you a wrestling fan, or are you just here because you’re looking for a paycheck?”

Sophia’s eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t have walked through that door if I wasn’t a fan, Mr. Dubbois. Grew up watching it. My brothers were obsessed. World Class Championship Wrestling, Mid-South… then the Attitude Era came along, and well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly glued to Friends on Thursday nights.”

I grinned. That’s the thing about wrestling fans. You can spot a phony a mile away. And she wasn’t one of them.

“Alright,” I said, intrigued. “But this isn’t just about knowing who bodyslammed who in 1998. I need someone who can run a business. Can you handle that?”

Sophia leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest, a small smile playing on her lips like she knew something I didn’t. “Oh sure,” she said, her voice casual, but with an edge. “I’ve run a few businesses myself—small, but successful. Managed a nightclub down in Tampa for a while. A little café after that. Even helped organize some events. I know how to keep the books balanced and the doors open, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It was everything I was asking. She had the confidence, the experience—and hell, if I’m being honest, she had something else, too.

That spark.

The one thing all those other applicants lacked.

I found myself nodding before I even realized it. “You think you can handle a wrestling promotion? Not exactly your run-of-the-mill business.”

She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward slightly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I can handle anything, Mr. Dubbois. Wrestling promotion, nightclub, café… it’s all the same. You need to put asses in seats and keep the money flowing. I’m good at that.”

I didn’t have to think twice. “Alright... You’re hired.”

Sophia smiled. One of those slow, knowing smiles that makes you wonder if you just made the best decision of your life, or the worst. Either way, I couldn’t help but feel like this was the start of something… beautiful.

Much like her.

 

[rant]

Alright Mr. Dubbois, youve got my attention. Maybe focus on this instead of that little “Showtime” nonsense lol

Love you buddy. Can’t wait to see where this goes! Seems interesting so far.

 

[Stojy]

Loving the early stages of this one. The writing style here is impeccable, and we're off to an interesting start. I can't wait for the all-powerful Vince to start trying to shut things down.

When Sophie uncrossed her legs, I marked. Wait, am I allowed to say that?

In all seriousness, enjoyable so far. Can't wait to see this develop more as the idea of getting to read these two traversing through the hard times of a startup pro wrestling company is appealing.

And an obligatory good luck, not that you need it.

 

[Dubb]

Wrestling was always a numbers game. Not just the numbers you see on the marquee or hear in the roar of the crowd. No, the real numbers. The ones that told you where the market stood, who was on top, and how far you were from the throne. During the Monday Night War it was always all about the ratings. Attendance numbers. PPV buys.

That wasn't really the type of numbers we were going to be worried about.

I sat across from Sophie in our cramped office space, the flicker of a cheap desk lamp casting long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. She had the market report laid out in front of her, and as always, she looked like she owned the room.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she paced, reading aloud. "The wrestling market is at about 63% of its peak, Jay. It’s growing, heading towards what I’d call a boom period."

"Sixty-three percent," I muttered. "Feels more like thirty to me."

She smirked, "C'mon, don't be such a cynic. The numbers don't lie, the industry is alive, and Vince McMahon is still at the center of it all. But damn if it ain't itchin' for a change. For someone to rise up and challenge them."

She didn’t have to tell me twice. The WWF, now calling itself WWE, was an unstoppable force. With Austin, The Rock, Angle, and that punk Brock Lesnar tearing through opponents, Vince was sitting on top of a gold mine. And then there was Hogan, back under the bright lights, soaking in the glory once more. The world belonged to Vince. And of course there are fans wanting an alternative. But I also don't want this thing to get crushed before it even has a chance to get off the ground.

But beyond WWE’s empire, there was the World Wrestling All-Stars. A strange beast, really. Existing everywhere but here in the United States thanks to a shady deal between Andrew McManus and Vince McMahon. They had their own cast of characters. The older lot of guys like Randy Savage, Sting, Vader, and of course, Jeff Jarrett, doing what he always does. Bret Hart was even there, acting as commissioner, keeping his hands clean of the dirt. WWA had its place, sure, but they were just treading water. Their reach didn’t touch the homeland, and that kept them from being a real threat.

The problem was, below the WWA, there was a deep chasm. A gap wide enough to swallow anyone trying to climb out of obscurity. That's where the other names lived. Combat Zone Wrestling, Xtreme Pro Wrestling. Death match companies, blood and broken glass for the handful of diehards who still ate that stuff up. Vince let them exist because, to him, they weren’t even worth a second glance. Freak shows, he called them. And as far as the mainstream crowd went, he wasn’t wrong.

And then... there was us.

Sophie classified us as “"small."

That was generous.

She painted the picture with a nice, thick brush, but the truth was, we were barely a blip on the radar. If we played our cards right, maybe we’d grow to be “regional” one day. For now, we didn’t have the appeal to draw in big names, the ones that could sell tickets.

But I had a card to play.

A favor cashed in with just the right person.

And that favor was named AJ Styles.

Yeah, Styles. Former WWA Cruiserweight Champion, a kid who could fly higher than most people could dream of. And even better, I convinced him to bring along his old WCW tag partner, Air Paris. Together, they were Air Raid, and I had them reuniting for our first show. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was enough. I remembered their matches back in the dying days of WCW, how they’d lit up the ring with moves that Vince’s guys couldn’t even dream of pulling off. I had become an instant fan during the WCW Cruiserweight Tag Team tournament so getting them for my first show was a thrill.

Of course, when WCW folded, no one wanted them despite my own best efforts. "Too small," they said. "Not the look we need." Yeah, right. Those suits couldn’t see talent if it powerbombed them through a table. Joke was on them, though. AJ Styles had started to turn heads in WWA. Not everyone knew his name yet, but the ones that did? They were buzzing.

I was banking on that buzz.

Still, I wasn't blind to the fact that one act that just starting to garner some attention in other parts of the world wasn’t enough to carry a whole show. You needed depth, a roster that could fill out the card, even if it was just a bunch of guys hoping to use your company as a stepping stone. Fine by me. Everyone’s got to start somewhere, and if they wanted to leap from Resistance Pro to something bigger, I wasn’t going to stop them.

I pulled a few strings, found some of those old WCW midcarders, ok... lower midcarders... who hadn’t been scooped up by WWE or WWA. Guys like Evan Karagias and Kid Romeo. Yeah, laugh if you want, but hey, Romeo was one half of the first WCW Cruiserweight Tag Champs. And maybe I can bank on some 3-Count nostalgia? Too bad Shannon Moore and Shane Helms had both been claimed by WWE.

But... I'd take what I could get.

Meanwhile, Sophie worked her magic, securing local talent here in North Carolina and elsewhere. A couple of them might make it, others probably not.

I leaned back in my chair, watching Sophie sift through more papers. She was good at this, better than I could’ve hoped for. I had the creative vision, but the business side? That wasn't my strong suit. Lucky for me, she seemed to know exactly how to take care of that.

"We’ve still got a lot of work to do," I said, my voice low and gravelly. "This company isn’t gonna run on hope and nostalgia alone."

She looked up from her papers, flashing me a smile. "No, it’s not. But we’ll get there, Jay. We’ll make it happen."

I nodded, though the weight of everything still pressed down on my shoulders. We were small. Maybe we'd stay small. But maybe, just maybe, we’d be the outliers, the ones who slipped through the cracks and made something of ourselves.

We were the misfits, the outcasts, the ones Vince McMahon didn't want.

And that was just fine by me.

 

[Stojy]

More really good stuff here. The way you're working in the stats on your game to fit into the backstory is a lot of fun. Filling up with some of the discards from the WCW Cruiserweight division, and AJ Styles is a solid way to start for sure. Solid update to reveal some of the roster, and the potential for it to be light on names, but that's fine and realistic. Continuing to really dig the overall narrative and writing of the backstory as well. Looking forward to more.

 

[DTP]

Pretty strong foundation here with the narrative outlining the story of the predicament of the wrestling business in 2003. It's clear that this will lead to the beginning of a new company. 2003 was a pretty decent time to be a wrestling fan, with so many different companies all kind of working with what was left after the Monday Night Wars came to an ultimate end. With WCW and ECW gone, as outlined, you were left with no established organization but a plethora of talented young names ready to burst through the ground.

A lot of money marks around this time as well - look no further to the XWF and WWA. You had MLW somewhat functioning as an alternative, and NWA-TNA with the Jarretts at the helm, now funded by Panda Energy. ROH, CZW and FWA kind of covered the indy darling bases, whilst you had IWA-Mid South, XPW and 3PW all catering to the old ECW hardcores. Plus, I feel like Japanese wrestling was gaining in exposure for the first time in the western world, as we'd soon see with New Japan's LA Dojo; NOAH's stars beginning to tour; AJPW's Satoshi Kojima coming in to MLW. Also consider the emergence of MMA in popularity with UFC and PRIDE, and the industry looks a lot healthier than it did on the surface.

I'm holding out for more information before I speculate, as there are many different ways to consider how this starts, goes and lasts. Limitless avenues to approach.

 

[Dubb]

In a dingy little gym on the south side of town, under flickering lights and the faint smell of stale popcorn, Resistance Pro’s inaugural show, Rise of the Resistance, was about to begin. It was certainly a far cry from Madison Square Garden. The crowd was small... like, real small. Maybe hundred or so fans... if you squinted hard enough anyway, and half of them looked like they’d wandered in because the bar down the street was too packed. A few kids were gnawing on candy while the adults sipped on plastic cups of cheap beer. But it didn't matter much to me. People had shown up. I had built something and people were actually willing to come see it. It could've been ten people and I would've been happy.

"You did it," said, a grin splitting her face.

"I mean, I couldn't have done it without you," I replied, "but let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll see how many stick around for the entire show."

She elbowed me. “Oh hush. You know you're just as giddy as me to see this many people here for our first show."

"You're right. I thought we'd get... maybe twenty folks."

"See! I know you're as excited as me."

I looked around, soaking it all in. “Sure, I’m excited. Just hoping I don’t get tetanus from this place while I’m at it.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Fine, next show we'll book from your basement if you'd like."

With a shake of her head, she went off to check on the talent. I stayed, leaning against the back wall, taking it all in. The crowd was buzzing... no wait, that's just the fluorescent lights.

But either way... the show was about to begin.

---

The lights dimmed, and out strolled Evan Karagias, former member of 3-Count in WCW, now turned solo artist... at least in his mind. He stepped to the microphone stand in glittering shades, his jacket an explosion of rhinestones, and posed like he was about to drop the hottest track of the year.

BOOOO!

The handful of fans in attendance let Karagias have it before he could even open his mouth. This is why I kicked off the show with someone they might recognize. Someone with a gimmick that could immediately recognize and generate some heat.

“You know what?” Karagias sniffed. “You’re not worthy of hearing me sing tonight. I only perform for true fans.”

As the crowd booed even louder, out popped Kid Romeo, bouncing in with a grin plastered across his face. He grabbed the mic and gushed about how much he loved 3-Count, how Karagias was his idol, and how he totally understood if going solo was too hard on the guy.

Karagias seemed offended, but Romeo wasn't done. He had a possible solution to help Karagias out. Maybe he needed a new partner. Romeo pointed out he has all the makings of a pop star himself. He has the look. He has the personality. The ladies love him. Oh, and he's a pretty good wingman.

"Hmmm," Karagias seemed to be giving it some consideration. "I suppose I could use... a backup singer."

But before Romeo could gladly accept the offer, the new pop sensation duo was interrupted as WWA up and comer and former Cruiserweight Champion AJ STYLES along with his WCW tag partner, AIR PARIS, came out from backstage.

"Okay... now I may be wrong..." Styles commented as he took the microphone, "but I don't think these people paid to hear the world's worst boy band... I'm pretty sure... these people paid to see... SOME WRESTLING!"

The crowd seemed to agree, much to the chagrin of Karagias and Romeo. But Styles wasn't done, stating that tonight he was reuniting with his old friend, Air Paris... bringing back the AIR RAID... but they still needed a couple opponents. So he suggested that Karagias and Romeo would be that team.

Karagias hesitated, but the ever eager Romeo grabbed the microphone. "WE ACCEPT!" he declared firmly, much to the surprise of Evan Karagias. "And WHEN we win, we'll give the crowd the concert they REALLY want!"

Styles and Paris shook their heads, while Romeo tried to calm down the quite upset Karagias.

---

Frat Pack (Brad Attitude & Joey Silvia) (w/Krissy Vaine) vs. The Breeze Brothers (Jason & Jay Breeze)

Our first match of the evening introduced our brand new fans to the proud members of the Alpha Sigma Sigma fraternity, Brad Attitude and Joey Silvia. The duo, accompanied by the "Head Cheerleader" Krissy Vaine, stumbled down to the ring... appearing... uh, slightly inebriated... bringing along a keg of beer with them while clinking their red Solo cups with the enthusiasm of a couple of spoiled rich kids who peaked in high school. Their opponents, a couple of non descript brothers, playing the role of the clean cut babyfaces here.
The match went back and forth, with the Breeze Brothers working the crowd with genuine babyface energy. But the Frat Pack took advantage at every corner, with Krissy providing distractions and even hopping onto the apron to pull a cheerleading routine that would make you question if you were at a wrestling show or an ill-conceived frat party.

In the end, Krissy’s distraction let Brad smash Jason Breeze over the head with the keg, securing the win for the pride of Alpha Sigma Sigma.. The frat boys celebrated like they’d just won the Superbowl, guzzling from their Solo cups and strutting back up the ramp while the Breeze Brothers rolled out of the ring in a daze.

---

The lights dimmed for a low-budget “infomercial” promo, introducing Xavier Steele, a self-proclaimed fitness guru with a body like a granite statue and all the charm of a late-night protein shake commercial. The video showed him pumping iron and flexing in front of some very unimpressed onlookers, as he barked about “The Steele System,” his revolutionary way to build muscle that was as easy as pushing yourself to the brink of collapse every day. The crowd booed lightly, but Steele was already in the ring, ready to showcase his “system” against his next opponent.

Xavier Steele vs. Dexter Poindexter

Enter Dexter Poindexter, a scrawny guy in suspenders and thick-rimmed glasses who looked more like he was heading to a library study session than a wrestling ring. Xavier Steele laughed, offering Poindexter one last chance to “become a real man” and start the Steele System. Poindexter shook his head and took the first swing.

Steele laughed off the attack from Poindexter, but was quickly surprised and overwhelmed by the speed and agility of the little nerd. This quickly turned into your typical David vs. Goliath match up, with Poindexter’s speed and resilience keeping him in it longer than anyone expected. But Steele’s sheer muscle finally overwhelmed Poindexter, who tapped out to Steele's Torture Rack submission.

Steele grabbed a mic post-match to tell the fans to “get on the Steele System or stay weak," a message met with more booing as he strutted back up the ramp.

---

Next out we got to meet Reverend Jordan who came out in a stark white suit while holding a Bible high above his head as he made his way down to the ring and took the microphone.

"Brothers and sisters!" he called out, pacing the ring like it was his personal pulpit. "I am here to cleanse this place, to purify it from the sinful plague of... disco!" He spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Yes, I said it... Disco! The devil's work in sequins and bass lines, designed to distract and to tempt the soul away from righteous living!"

The crowd let out a low murmur of amusement, a few catcalls peppering the gym as Reverend Jordan pointed a damning finger out over the audience.

"Tonight, I call upon each and every one of you to renounce dancing!" He clutched his Bible with both hands, raising it toward the rafters. "Yes, dancing! The root of sinful gyrations, the lure of the disco inferno, drawing you down to its depraved depths! From this day forward, dancing will be illegal in Resistance Pro!"

And right on cue, out shimmied Disco Machine, in fact dancing his way to the ring while holding his very own shimmering disco ball. The fans whooped and clapped along to the beat, and Disco Machine waltzed around the ring like he was born to do it, spinning the disco ball on one hand, grooving all the way up to the ropes.

Reverend Jordan’s mouth fell open, his hands dropping to his sides as he watched Disco Machine make his entrance. "Stop this!" he bellowed, pointing furiously as Disco Machine slid into the ring, snapping his fingers in rhythm. "I said STOP IT! You... you vessel of darkness! You agent of depravity!"

Disco Machine just grinned and kept dancing, throwing his hips in a series of moves that seemed to horrify the good Reverend to his core. He stepped up to Reverend Jordan, who instinctively recoiled, practically cringing at the sight of Disco Machine shimmying in his direction.

“I see you are possessed!” Reverend Jordan cried, clutching his Bible like a shield. “A lost soul, tormented by the seductive forces of rhythm!”

"Reverend," Disco Machine replied, leaning back on the ropes with a wink, "the only thing I’m possessed by is the groove. And I plan on spreading the good word of dance... all over Resistance Pro!" With that, he struck a classic disco pose, his finger pointing to the ceiling as the crowd cheered him on.

The Reverend clenched his jaw, his face twisting with righteous indignation. "Then it is my duty, my holy mission, to exorcise your... your dance demons, right here, right now!" He handed his Bible to the referee and squared up, ready to lay hands on Disco Machine...but not in the way that leads to salvation.

Reverend Jordan vs. Disco Machine

The crowd was solidly behind the Disco Machine, not that it would've taken much to get them on board after the solid pre-match promo from Jordan. The pair went back and forth, but every time Jordan got the upperhand, he would attempt to place his hand on Disco Machine's head in an attempt to "heal" him, but Disco would manage to escape. He showed off his own abilities as he spun, shimmied, and cha-cha'd his way out of Jordan's holds and in the end, he took the win with the Disco Bomb.

On this night, dancing reigned supreme and nobody put Disco Machine in the corner. Reverend Jordan sulked back up the ramp as Disco grooved his way out to the delight of the fans in attendance.

---

Wrestling has more than one royal family.

Meet the Coates family.

A crew that looked like they'd belong more in a "Married with Children" spinoff than a wrestling ring made their way out. At the head was Chuck Coates, the patriarch of the Coates family. All authority and short-tempered, Coates runs a strict household. He is joined by his much younger trophy wife, Jenny Coates, who was all smiled as she was arm in arm with her husband. Further behind are the younger Coates (well Jenny honestly is probably about the same age as them), Kirby and Lexi.

Once in the ring, Chuck gave a pep talk to Kirby who was about to be in action.

"Alright, listen up, son,” Chuck started, giving Kirby a hard look. "Tonight, you've got a shot to make me proud. You know, make yourself worth all those years I spent dragging you to wrestling practice while you were busy whining about 'how hard it was.'" He waved a dismissive hand, and Kirby’s face flushed. "Now, I want you to go out there and give it a hundred and ten percent. Not ninety-nine, not ninety-five... one hundred and ten. You understand me?"

Kirby nodded, clearly used to this routine, but Chuck didn’t let him off that easy. He jabbed a finger at Kirby's chest, giving him a look that was somehow both fierce and disappointed.

"And for the love of God, Kirby," Chuck continued, "try to keep your hands up this time, alright? Remember last time? When you forgot and got decked by that scrawny kid who couldn’t lift a feather if his life depended on it?"

Kirby opened his mouth, maybe to defend himself, but Chuck cut him off. "Because I'm not going out there to save you if you mess this up. And don’t expect your sister to, either," he scoffed, jerking a thumb at Lexi, who was rolling her eyes harder with every word. "She's here to observe, not babysit. Right, Lexi?”

Lexi shrugged nonchalantly, muttering, "I wouldn’t dream of it, Dad." The crowd chuckled as Chuck turned his attention back to Kirby.

"Now get out there, do what I told you, and try not to embarrass the family, alright? You've got one job. Don't trip over yourself, don't go soft, and for heaven's sake, Kirby, win," he emphasized, as if it were the simplest request in the world.

With one last pat on the shoulder, firm, but with just enough force to make Kirby wince, Chuck turned to the audience, lifting his arms in a self-satisfied gesture, as if he were the one stepping into the ring himself.

Kirby Coates (w/Chuck Coates, Jenny Coates & Lexi Coates) vs. Darryl Summers

Kirby stumbled into the ring with his dad’s disappointment hanging over him like a black cloud. Every time he got the upper hand, Chuck shouted for him to do more, drawing the ire of the overbearing dad. Darryl Summers proves to be a bit of a struggle for Kirby, but ultimately Kirby is able to score a roll up schoolboy pin to pick up the victory.

After the match, Kirby doesn't even get to celebrate his win because Chuck Coates climbed into the ring and took out Darryl with a big running lariat to the back of the head. The Coates patriarch then pulls Summers back up and delivers a big piledriver in the center of the ring while Kirby watched on, unsure of how to respond.

Chuck pulled himself up, he lifted up his own arm in victory as Jenny comes in and hugs her man, giving him a kiss. While Chuck celebrated the win for himself, Kirby watches on, looking defeated despite being the actual victor.

---

The lights dimmed, and the screen above the ring flickered to life, pulling the crowd’s attention to the promo video. The camera panned across a smoky casino floor, where we found another familiar lower midcarder from WCW's past. It was Reno, decked out in a suit that really wanted to hint that he was a 'big spender.'

Reno leaned back in his chair, casually flicking a chip between his fingers with a smirk. As he rolled the chip over his knuckles, Reno looked into the camera with a confident grin. "You know, luck's a funny thing... Most people come in here, throw a few bucks on the table, and walk away losers. But not me. See, I’ve been a Natural Born Thriller... but now?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice, like he was letting the crowd in on a secret. "Now I’m the luckiest man in wrestling."

What followed was a montage of scenes of Reno winning big at the casino ending with a roulette wheel. The wheel slowed down, the ball bouncing along until it finally landed on a red slot. The crowd around him let out a cheer as the dealer pushed the mountain of chips his way, but Reno didn’t so much as blink, just shot the camera a cocky smirk.

"See that?" he said, raking in his winnings. "That’s not just luck... that's destiny. And when I step into the ring, that luck follows me, every single time. So, if anyone's feeling lucky enough to take me on... just remember...." He flicked a chip to the camera, and it bounced perfectly off the lens, landing back in his hand. "Lady Luck and I? We've got an understanding."

Glacier vs. Reno

Ah now here's some WCW nostalgia for you. Well maybe some WCW Saturday Night nostalgia for those of us who had that. Glacier made his entrance, stepping into the ring with his trademark martial arts poise, icy blue gear glistening under the dim gym lights. Unfortunately we couldn't afford all the special effects of his WCW entrance so no fake snow... maybe one day. Maybe one day.

Across the ring, Reno was in full "lucky streak" mode, flaunting a pair of dice he claimed were blessed by Lady Luck herself. From the start, Glacier's swift, calculated strikes kept Reno on his toes with his karate strikes. Reno weaved and dodged, often narrowly avoiding each hit, and made a show of blowing on his dice with every escape, milking his so-called luck for all it was worth.

As the pace picked up, it seemed Glacier might break through Reno’s streak, especially when he managed to back him into a corner with his relentless strikes. But the tables turned when Reno slipped out of Glacier’s grasp and, in a flash, countered him with the Roll of the Dice finisher. The fans watched in surprise as Reno scored the three-count, smirking as he celebrated his "luck" with a dramatic bow and a final blow on his dice.

---

Air Raid (AJ Styles & Air Paris) vs. Evan Karagias & Kid Romeo

The match started with Styles and Karagias squaring off, each man trying to one-up the other with fast-paced, agile offense. Styles set the tone early with a slick armdrag that threw Karagias off-balance, followed by a quick kip-up and a taunting gesture to bring the crowd to their feet. Karagias took a second to regroup, tagging in Romeo, who attempted a few technical moves of his own, only to get caught in a perfectly timed headscissors takedown by Air Paris.

The fast pace continued, with both teams using frequent tags and innovative double-team maneuvers, but it became clear that Styles and Paris’s fluid teamwork was outshining the chaotic, slightly out-of-sync tandem of Karagias and Romeo.

At one point, Karagias attempted a daring springboard attack, only to get caught mid-air by a missile dropkick from Styles. The crowd was in awe of AJ Styles while Karagias had to roll out of the ring for a breather. Romeo came to his aid but this just lead to stereo planchas from both Styles and Paris taking down Romeo and Karagias.

Romeo and Karagias would be able to take the upperhand by isolating Air Paris in the ring, but eventually the hot tag to AJ Styles allowed him to clear house and drop Karagias with the Styles Clash for the three count victory.

And with that, the first ever show in RPW history came to a close. The fans got to go home happy and no one had to hear a concert from Evan Karagias and Kid Romeo.