When Lance closed his folder of numbers, he wore a rare smile as the glow of the Red TV logo still lingered on the large office screen. The report was good—and better than either of them had anticipated. All In had not only worked, it had slightly tipped IRW ahead of ACW for the week in viewership.
"I can't believe this," Lance said, shaking slightly as he set the folder down with his time-worn fingers. "We actually beat them. For once in my life, ACW is in second place."
Vince leaned back in his chair, laughing, the grin on his face stretching. "Not just once. This is only the beginning."
Before Vince could say much more, Lance reached behind him to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Setting two tumblers on the desk, he filled both with the golden liquid. "This," he said, lifting one tumbler into the air, and making eye contact with Vince, "is a toast-worthy moment."
They raised their glasses to cheers, Vince savoring the warmth in his throat while Lance took his time.
He looked unsettled, his gaze slipping to the old pictures that cased the office wall; pictures of wrestlers that had vacated a substantial amount of time ago, posters of events that no one could recall as well as programs from shows with crowds that were no more than two rows deep.
"My family..." Lance began almost in a whisper, his voice strained. "My family never wanted me to do this. They never wanted me to be involved in wrestling."
Vince blinked, surprised by the quick spectrum of tone. He knew Lance to be a hardened, obstinate man that never let anyone see the seams of vulnerability. But now, in the dull tint of the office lamp and the aroma of whiskey, Vince now witnessed Lance's shoulders had lost their rigidity.
"They laughed at me," Lance said. "My brother, my sister... hell, my old man even thought it was a joke. When I invested my savings into IRW, they promised to erase their association with me. I made something from practically nothing from dusty gyms and bingo halls to the point where we may actually be able to compete with ACW. For a moment, I thought that was it, when I sold my baby to you."
He dabbed at his eyes, his hands trembling. Vince had never seen an old man cry, and especially not Lance. For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say.
"But being in this with you over the past month…" Lance raised his eyes. They were glassy, but filled with fire. "What I've seen from you, and the vision you've instilled—I remembered why I got into this business. Who knows, maybe I'll last long enough to see IRW rise to be the number one wrestling promotion in the world, and if that happens…it will be because of you."
Vince stood from his chair, a tightening in his throat. He wanted to say something clever, something that was sure of itself, but words failed him. He could only manage a quiet, "Thank you, Lance."
"Don't thank me," Lance said, recovering from his emotion back to a calm, though not losing his composure. He finished the rest of his drink. "Just don't screw it up."
Vince was still unsure, but a rare feeling of gratitude was swelling inside of him. All of the talk of money and power, all of the shouting of, "this is a new revolution!" It was moments like that where Vince realized that he wasn't simply building a business, he was fulfilling his and now the old man's dream.
_______
The following week's IRW event opened to an expectant buzz. Luke and Tony were in their typical seats, hovering over the barricade with cheap sodas.
"What do you think happens tonight?" Tony asked, glancing toward the entrance ramp.
Luke was tapping his fingers on the cup. "Maya's not going to let Evelyn off easy. She cost her the title. If it were me? I'd make sure she regretted it."
Tony laughed. "For once you and I are in total agreement. Evelyn is about to get beaten up."
Before Luke could respond, the heavy guitar riff synonymous with the Steel Titans' entrance theme rattled the arena. The crowd responded, part cheering, part booing, as the two large brutes rushed down the ramp. The more immense of the two wrestlers, Brocke held the mic tightly in his massive grip.
The two titans paced around the ring, like caged animals. Brocke brought the mic to his mouth, his voice booming but rugged, as if he were forcing every word out of himself.
"Ladder match was cheating!" he yelled, tripping over the syllables. The fans reacted quickly — some booing, some giving thumbs up.
He tried again, his face bright red. "We...we no lose! We... should be the champs! We.... dominate!"
The fans roared. Despite stumbling over the words, Brocke's anger had the power of a giant opening up.
"They... stole! Ladder match fake! We... Titans! We... smash!" Brocke bellowed, bringing his fist down on his chest.
The place began shaking from the noise, while some fans laughed at Brocke's struggle, and others chanted **"TITANS! TITANS!"** in agreement. Luke leaned toward Tony and smirked, "The man talks like he's a caveman but at least we can understand what he's saying."
Just as Brocke was trying to continue his message, "We... want... belts..." the arena was hit by an entirely different sound. The pompous, regale theme music belonging to the Apex Predators.
The crowd turned instantly, boos showered down as Marcus and Cal walked out with smug grins on their faces. They did not hurry, they did not look angry, they looked amused, and did not hide it.
Marcus had a mic in hand, his voice smooth as silk. "Oh, Brocke, my poor giant friend. You think you got cheated? No, no. What happened at All In was survival of the fittest. And newsflash—you weren't the fittest."
The crowd booed loudly, but Marcus soaked it in, spreading his arms. "You can stumble, you can fumble, but the truth is—you don't have the brains to match your brawn. The Predators? We've got both."
Brocke's face twisted in rage as he tried to respond, raising his mic but stumbling. "You… you… shut up! You… not—"
Cal cut him off with a mocking laugh. "Not what? Not Titans? You're right. We're not. We're smarter."
The two teams stared each other down, the ring becoming a boiling pot of fury and arrogance. The crowd's noise swelled, sensing a fight ready to explode.
Luke slapped Tony on the arm. "This is about to get ugly."