Booking Evolution
by Lycanthrokeith

Sweat deluged from Frank Faraday’s face as the softened soles of his glittered lavender boots pounded the tile floor of the hallway. Four days from now, at the Evolution pay-per-view, he would step in front of 12,000+ screaming Baltimore wrestling fans as Reno Roulette, the high-rolling balls-to-the-wall gambler from Atlantic City, New Jersey who never feared taking a chance in the ring. Here and now, he was just Frank, and the only submission hold he could think to apply was a hammerlock on his bladder. He barreled through the plainly painted corridors of the redesigned gym that was home to Ultimate Power Wrestling, dodging the racks of steel chairs and overflowing plastic garbage cans strewn about the hallway. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the office of UPW owner and Head Promoter, Brendan Bolton, and began attempting to destroy the door. 

            “Jesus Christ, come in already!” Brendan despised interruptions, especially when they threatened the structural integrity of his office.

            The door burst open, the knob slamming itself into the white plaster of the adjacent wall. Frank propped himself against the door jam, gasping for breath.

            “Boss…you…gotta...”

            Brendan set up from his leather executive chair, eyes wide and focused on Frank. Okay, okay, just take a deep breath. Calm yourself down, all right? Now, what’s going on?”

            Frank guzzled air like it was going out of style. “Something bad…. happened to Greg…. during training,” he gasped. “You’d better come see for yourself.”

            Brendan strode quickly through the halls, his neatly polished wingtip shoes causing minor sonic booms to resonate throughout the hallway. His normally smooth face contorted into a nervous grimace at the thought of having one of his workers get hurt right before this federation’s big break. He’d had problems with wrestlers injuring each other because they couldn’t figure out how to pull a punch, or how to hit with the meat of the forearm instead of the bone. Working stiff, those inside the business called it, and Brendan had zero tolerance for it.

He had worked long and hard in the wrestling business, toiling behind the scenes of some of the dingiest backwater independent promotions before finally getting the capital to form the UPW five years ago. He’d poured his heart and soul into this federation, filling its ranks with the best developing talent he could find, nearly losing his shirt giving free tickets to anyone who would give his fledgling federation a little bit of promotion, and losing countless hours of sleep trying to get his federation a TV deal. World title status for his heavyweight title was a distinct possibility, according to inside sources at Pro Wrestling Illustrated magazine. Out of the one hundred or so independent promotions filling high school gyms and bingo halls throughout the country, Brendan’s UPW had a legitimate shot at joining the nationals. The Big Three—WWF, WCW, and ECW—could soon become the Big Four. In four short days, the efforts of his contracted wrestlers before a nationwide pay-per-view audience would determine if everything was worth it.

Brendan sternly tore away the rubber band holding his brown ponytail in place as he shoved open the double doors of the gym. Time to lay down the law, he thought.      

            “Would somebody like to tell me why the fuck Frank burst into my office looking like he saw a..”

            Brendan’s words choked in his throat, leaving him no different than all the other stunned human beings inside the gym. The impending pay-per-view was all but forgotten, replaced with a more pressing question: What the fuck is a werewolf doing in my wrestling ring?   

           For the first time in months, “Your Favorite Wrestler” Casey Bennett, the UPW Heavyweight Champion, couldn’t think of a single thing to do inside a wrestling ring.

In the five years he had been a professional wrestler, Casey Bennett had seen more than his share of strangeness. Hell, the wrestling business was famous for filling its ranks with spacemen, missing links, clowns, plumbers, and anything else that could possibly move $18 T-shirts out of a souvenir stand. One independent promotion in California even made him stare down a 340-pound lummox in an abominable snowman getup, and make the “match” look interesting. Luckily for Casey, he possessed enough God-given wrestling talent and crowd-riling charisma to pull it off. He had the expectant golden boy looks, with his slightly long blond hair and carefully shaven face. He had remained relatively gimmick-free since signing with the UPW two years ago, getting over with the crowd solely on talent and showmanship. He was always proud of that accomplishment.     

            “Greg, man, I’m sorry!” Casey pleaded, arms outstretched. “I twisted my arm wrong. I didn’t mean to make contact, honest!” Casey had peeled out this lawyer’s plea many times before. He was used to playing the role of the despised heel, cringing in fear from the popular face. He never expected to be doing it to save his life. He pushed his back into the corner turnbuckles opposite the monster, holding onto the ring ropes for dear life. Fear struck as he realized where he was in the ring.

            The heel gets his ass kicked when the face has him cornered.

        The massive beast that moments ago had been Greg Devin, aka beloved aerial specialist Lucas Lightning, snarled hungrily and edged closer. The remnants of the black and neon blue wrestling trunks slid off the monster’s massive thigh, flopping unceremoniously to the canvas.

Had Greg been thinking rationally, he would not be readying himself to make a meal out of the wrestler he would defeat for the UPW Heavyweight Championship in four days. Such an act would ruin the hard work he had done in working his way up the ladder, in paying his dues by losing in the matches too uninteresting for television. Plus, someone in the gym was bound to try and beat him to death with something heavy and blunt. He would slowly sit back on his haunches, take a few deep breaths, and let himself become human again. He’d feel himself shrink down from the 8 foot, 400-pound animal he had become to his normal streamlined 6’1, 219 pound cruiserweight build. He’d brush his long brown hair out of his face, wipe the sweat from his brow, and ask the Mexican wrestler in the skeleton getup Brendan had hired last week for the cruiserweight division to toss him a towel, por favor.

            The euphoria of the transformation still rippled through his body. It started like always, with a tingling vertigo, then a feeling like liquid fire blazing through his frame. The prickling in his skin gave away his growing gray fur, the ache of his muscles subsiding once his bones finished reshaping and his skin and muscles finished stretching and thickening. The wrestlers in the gym with him stood awestruck as his jaws distended into a lupine muzzle, as his ears pointed and climbed up his skull, as he blinked and looked with amber lupine eyes at the blobs of hot and cold that made up the UPW’s locker room contingent. He growled at the top of his lungs, enjoying the sight of nervous prey and the sound of falling dumbbells as thick strands of saliva dripped from the ivory daggers filling his mouth.

            The cords that held the top turnbuckle in place, already worn from years of use, severed easily when he had slashed his three-inch thick claws through them. He had wanted to lash out at something while his ankles extended, pulling him up to stand on his toes, and his coccyx extended itself, stretching skin and furring into his tail. That part always hurt like hell, more than the stiff forearm shot which the meat across from him had planted into his forehead. Greg had been hyped up during the rehearsal session, more so than any other match he had wrestled in during his four-year career. The stiff hit pissed him off; there was too much adrenaline at one time to stave off the change.

            Greg’s rational mind knew he was throwing away the opportunity of a lifetime.

            But he was so hungry…

            In four days, Ashley Zimmerman’s alter ego, an unscrupulous piece of eye candy known simply as Megan, would abandon Casey Bennett the wrestler before a nationwide audience and join up with the new champion, Lucas Lightning. Here and now, she was more concerned about keeping Casey Bennett her boyfriend from becoming kibble.

            Deftly, she slid underneath the bottom rope, quickly jumping to her feet once she was in the ring. Her hazel eyes locked with the feral gaze of the werewolf across from her. A couple of the wrestlers outside the ring yelled at her to get out; she dismissed them with a wave of her hand.

Casey stared at the scene in shock. His girlfriend was standing between himself and certain death.

“Greg,” she whispered, her voice steady and angelic. “You have to calm down.”

The roster held its collective breath. Brendan was about six seconds away from cardiac arrest. Casey struggled with the urge to grab Ashley and hightail it out of the building. He probably would stop running somewhere around Connecticut.

Ashley walked casually toward the beast, never breaking eye contact. The air was saturated with fear, but she exuded none. Confused, Greg cocked his head.

The negotiator knelt down in front of the werewolf. “It was just an accident, Greg,” she said, reaching out to brush the gray fur on his head. “No one’s going to hurt you. Just relax, okay?”

Greg shot a quick glance in Casey’s direction, then at the other wrestlers in the gym. His gaze turned to Brendan, who gave him a shaky thumbs-up.

“U-P-W! U-P-W!” shouted one of the smaller wrestlers, a masked martial artist who called himself Dementia. Other wrestlers quickly followed suit, as if to remind Greg what he was here for.

Seconds passed in nervous jubilation, until a bizarre sound came from the beast’s muzzle.

“U-P-W. U-P-W,” Greg growled, feeling his human mind begin to reassert itself. The chants grew in intensity as his fur receded, his face began to retract, and his body regained its normal proportions. He lay naked in the ring, sweaty and exhausted, chanting “U-P-W” in his smooth baritone voice.

The audience exhaled at last. A few cheered and clapped. Casey dislodged himself from the corner and gently pulled Ashley to him, reassuring himself that she hadn’t been hurt. She smiled.

And Brendan felt his stomach become an ulcer farm.

Wrestlemaxx.com: UPW Evolution preview—Three days and counting!

 Everyone had taken the day off after the training room incident. What else could Brendan do? “All right, everyone, get back to work. Dawson, Frank, head on into the ring and try to tighten up that clothesline-with-the-bull-rope spot. Just work around the werewolf drool.”

Brendan had always tried to come off like “one of the boys,” or at least as much as he could in the position he held. Which is why Greg was now sitting in the uncomfortable silence of his function-not-form office, drinking decaffeinated Folgers, instead of standing in line at the unemployment office. He shifted in the worn office chair, the only seat in the office apart from Brendan’s worn leather executive chair.

Greg swallowed a gulp of black coffee. “Listen, I can usually control it.”

Brendan looked up from the clutter of dead trees on his desk. “So what was different this time?”

“I didn’t expect him to hit stiff. Caught me off guard.”

“You don’t have a shiner.”

Greg snickered. “I heal quick. Bruises are gone in about five minutes, tops. You could always promote me as a heavy-duty bump taker. I could do some back breaking stuff and walk away from it.”

“Remind me to cancel that Iron Man match.” Brendan finished off his second cup of coffee in ten minutes. He began eying the pot, wondering if he had enough sugar for a third.

“Boss?”

Brendan’s attention refocused on his future champion. Hopefully, wrestling gods willing, his future World Champion.

“There’s a couple of things I need to know. You and I have been building this fed up for a long time. I know you’ll be straight with me.”

Greg nodded. “Fire away.”

“When?”

“About a month and a half ago. I’d stayed away from practice on the last full moon.”

Brendan seized the steaming pot and poured himself a fresh cup of java. “Is it transmittable?”

Greg’s face lost its normal amicable nature. “Yes, it is.”

“How?” the boss asked, stirring in enough creamer to turn the coffee clear.

“Saliva. It’d have to get into the bloodstream, though. Basically, anyone I bite gets it. Sex, too.”

“But not sweat? What if that gets in the blood? Or on skin?”

Greg shook his head. “Not potent enough. The other guy can bleed like an extra in a Wes Craven movie if he wants. As long as I’m not bleeding too or licking the wound, they’re fine.”

Brendan sighed a little. It might not be as bad as he thought. “Okay. From this moment forward, you’re forbidden from biting anyone in a match. No spitting on them, either. Seeing as you’re a face, that really shouldn’t be an issue.” Brendan sipped his coffee, and then smirked. “And no giving the referee head.”

Greg laughed. “Aww, Brendan, you never let me have any fun!”

The boss laughed along with his employee. Like one of the boys, Brendan thought.

“One more thing,” he said, setting the mug down. “No blading. You intentionally juice, and you’re history.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not about to argue that.” Greg had bladed a couple of times in his career, during street fight matches. He hated keeping the wrapped sliver of razor in his trunks, trying to make the cut out of camera view, worrying that it was too deep or not deep enough. A bloodied face helped sell the more vicious moves, but it made seeing what was happening in the match difficult and usually ruined whatever set of ring tights he wore that match. It was a controversial practice in the business anyway. He was the subject of enough debate as is.

“So I know, what causes that change?”

Greg shrugged. “Usually, I just decide I want to. Sometimes really bad pain makes it happen, like broken bones or something like that. Oh, and the full moon makes it almost impossible to resist.”

Brendan’s eyebrow shot up. “Almost?” Greg nodded.

“Okay. You just won’t headline the evening cards those nights. It’ll work okay.”

“So I’m not being released?”

Brendan shook his head. “You’re too good a worker. You’ve got just as much invested in this fed as I do. Besides, I couldn’t fire you anyway. I don’t feel like paying out a discrimination suit.”

Greg cocked his head. “Come again?”

“That disease. What’s that called, ly-canopy?”

“Lycanthropy,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. Thousands of books and movies on werewolves, and people still couldn’t get the name right.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, bowing his head in apology. “Anyway, it’s a blood disease, right? I can’t fire you for that.”

“You know, I could always end up bleeding hardway. All it’d take is one shot with enough force.”

“Yeah, I know. Fortunately, we’re not known for a lot of gratuitous chair swinging. We’ve got old-school fans, and most of the moves we do don’t cause juice. We’ll just have to watch the gimmick matches.”

Greg nodded. “How about the guys?”

“A few are nervous about it, sure, but nobody’s come forward and said, ‘I’m not getting in the ring with him.’ Just give ‘em time. Most of the boys are cool with you. As much as can be expected, at least.”

A minute passed in silence. Brendan folded his arms and leaned over the desk blotter. “What’s it like?”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “What, being a werewolf?”

“No, being a future UPW champion. Yeah, being a werewolf.”

“Well, I feel really strong and damn near invulnerable. I get really hungry, and most of the time I just want to run and howl. Changing doesn’t really hurt much, unless I lose control. It only hurts when I try and fight it. Why, you interested?”

“No, no, just curious.” Casting a quick glance around, he continued in a hushed whisper. “You haven’t, you know, killed anyone, right?”

“NO, I HAVEN’T!” Greg shouted, knocking his mug over. “AND I HAVE ENOUGH SELF-CONTROL NOT TO!!”

Brendan rose from the leather chair. He gripped Greg by his chiseled shoulders, as much as a gesture of friendship as to steady himself. “Look, I’m sorry. I just needed to know. Sorry, okay? Won’t bring it up again.”

Greg had felt his bestial side stirring, but quickly took several deep breaths and pushed it away. “No harm done,” he panted.

Silence invaded the office again. “What happens after Evolution?”

Brendan smiled. “We’ll see how the match goes. I still have to talk to Casey about it. Maybe the feud’ll go on, maybe it won’t.”

“Is Ashley still making the face turn?”

Brendan nodded. “It’s time. We’ve been playing out the tension between Megan and Casey for almost two months now. She’ll start managing Lucas after Evolution.”

Greg nodded, relieved that his lycanthropy wasn’t going to cost him his lifelong dream. He was going to be a federation champion. Standing up to leave, he extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me.”

Brendan almost passed on the handshake, but remembered the disease couldn’t pass that way. He took his charge’s hand and shook it firmly. “You’re welcome,” he said with his trademark smile. “Champ.”

Greg left the humble office with a broad grin on his face. Brendan smiled and downed another sip of his coffee, flopping casually down in his leather executive chair. You’ve got it well in hand, big time, he thought to himself, glancing at his calendar desk blotter. Sunday, July 24^th was circled twice in black magic marker and marked with large letters proclaiming it THE DAY, highlighted well enough to catch his attention every time. Surprisingly, every time he looked at that square, he had missed the small print at the bottom:

            Moon Phase: O

Spewed coffee stained his $300 wooden desk.

    In two days, Ultimate Power Wrestling will redefine professional wrestling in North America. Tired of lewd garbage wrestling? Check out the best technical, aerial, and just flat-out tough young wrestlers ever assembled on one roster. This Sunday on Pay-Per-View, at the low price of $14.95, join me, Ted Cavalera, in witnessing…. an Evolution.

Frank couldn’t believe his luck. Reno Roulette would have wished for as much of a blessing at the blackjack tables, were he a real person.

“I get to main event Evolution?”

Brendan smiled, folding his hands. “That’s right. It’s a last minute addition. You and Wayne Hawkins are part of a double main event. You two’ll cap off the night.”

Frank was speechless. He had been having a lot of fun in his program with Wayne, otherwise known as “Corporate Cowboy” Dawson McShane, and the Evolution match was to be the final battle. Frank and Wayne worked exceptionally well together, turning out smoothly paced, exciting matches. Although Dawson would lose the feud, Wayne had been looking forward to the deciding match. But this topped it all.

“That’s incredible! Mr. Bolton, thank you!”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Brendan chimed in, waving his index finger back and forth. “I haven’t told you the best part yet.”

Frank leaned forward in stark anticipation.

“It’s a steel cage match! The perfect match to top off a Pay-Per-View card and to end a feud! You like?”

Frank exhaled, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. “I don’t know, boss. I mean, Wayne’s done that before, but…”

“Exactly! That’s why he’ll coach you through it. We’ve got a cage setup here we can rig for you guys, you get a couple days practice in, and the match can be ad libbed, just the way you two like it.”

“Am I still booked to win?”

Brendan nodded. “Not only that, I’ve been thinking about who should take the TV belt from Heinrich Hast. Hell, I’ve been waiting for a good time to give you a push anyway. I’m figuring he’ll be your next feud, if all goes well. We’ll have him threaten to close down your favorite casino or something. Have him say,” he cleared his throat and went into his best broken German accent, “it represents all that is bad about filthy capitalistic Americans.”

Frank couldn’t help but laugh. Brendan’s German impression was only slightly better than the guy who played Heinrich.

“Well? What do you say?”

Frank thoughtfully stroked his chin, weighing the offer. He suddenly looked up. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Greg, would it?”

Brendan shifted in his seat a bit. “What makes you say that?”

Frank gave him a disbelieving look. “It’s a full moon on Sunday. Give me a little credit.”

Brendan lowered his eyes. “Does everyone know?”

Frank nodded. “Most of them figured you’d come up with something like this. The idea is to get the match out of the way before sunset, right?”

“Yup. I had Dan check the weather reports on the Web, in between surfing the wrestling sites.” Brendan mentally patted himself on the back for hiring one employee specifically for Web searching. Dan’s online vigilance made it so much easier to stay ahead of the smart wrestling sites. “Sundown is at 8:44 P.M. The card starts at 7. We just have to make sure nothing runs long before that. I want them to have at least a good fifteen minutes. Of course, I still need a second main event to top off the show.”

Frank nodded. “Deal,” he said, and rose to leave. He gripped the knob, pausing long enough to gather the courage he needed to ask the burning question. “Would you have given me this push otherwise?”

“Yes,” Brendan said, and he meant it. It may have come a little later had forces great, small, and supernatural not demanded it, but it would have come. He kept that truth to himself, though. It was enough for Frank to know that it would have happened regardless.

Frank left without another word and headed to the gym without delay. Along the way, he slipped into character as he arrogantly swaggered down the hall, flipping an imaginary silver dollar in the air. Reno Roulette had a main event cage match to train for.

UPW Insider: With only twenty-four hours left to go, UPW owner Brendan Bolton has shocked the growing legion of UPW fans again with his amazing announcement: Evolution is now a double main event! Click here for details!

The gym was roaring with activity, as the entire UPW roster was in attendance. Most of the wrestlers were working out or sparring on several mats. The Tag Team Champions, Brutal Glory, and their #1 contenders, Atilla and Ashe Storm, were involved in a pick-up poker game in an unused corner. Brendan strained his voice to make him heard to Greg, Casey, and Ashley over the din of clanking barbells and the booming groans of old mat springs.

The creaking from underneath the ring diverted their attention. Brendan stepped between his audience and the mat. “No big deal, nothing to worry about. We’ll have a brand new ring for the pay-per-view. Now, toward the end of the match, Casey, you and Greg will reverse a couple of Irish Whips. The last one will send Greg into the ref. That’ll put him down for a moment.”

“Check,” said Greg.

“Got it,” Casey sighed, arms folded. His attention drifted across the gym. A wide dolly near the ring held several large sections of chain link fencing, which would be assembled later in the card for the cage match. A cage, Casey thought, glancing over at his challenger. It’s being used for the wrong guy.

 Brendan gave him a suspicious look before returning his attention to business. “Ashley, you’ll get up on the apron with a chair. Try arguing with Casey a bit, play up the turn before it happens.” Ashley nodded. “Casey, you’ll…”

“…Whip Greg into the path of the chair, but it’ll get reversed and I’ll take it in the face,” he droned. “I know, Brendan, we’ve been over the ending a thousand times. She gets knocked off the apron, I go check on her, she clocks me one, I stumble back into the ring, finisher, pin, over. It’s not a tough thing to remember.”

“You’re forgetting the chair,” Brendan said, impatience creeping into his voice. “Ashley still has the chair when she’s on the floor. The chair shot takes you off your feet, you do your usual quick blade job, and…”

“DAMMIT, I SAID NO!!!!!” Casey bellowed, stopping most of the activity in the gym. Many of the wrestlers went about their business when they saw who made the outburst. Casey had not been an overly demanding champion, though he was prone to the occasional temper tantrum. It would undoubtedly cause more trouble later in his career.

Brendan rested his head in his sweating palm. “Casey, we went over this already. Greg made it clear that you weren’t in danger as long as he doesn’t bleed too. Besides, everybody expects blood from you. It’s part of your gimmick. When “Your Favorite Wrestler” Casey Bennett is in the ring, everyone knows you’re going to bleed. You juice every freakin’ match!”

“I don’t juice every match! And I’m not doing it in this one!”

“You do it enough,” Greg chimed in.

Casey shot him a venomous look. “You’re lucky I’m even doing this match!” He turned his attention back to the boss. “I am not bleeding around that…that…no way. Not happening. I don’t mind dropping the title. I’ll put him over for you. I’ll let Ash turn face. That’s all cool. But no blading.”

“Excuse me?” said Ashley, hands on her hips and anger on her face. “You’ll let me turn face? Last I heard, it was Brendan’s choice. Or are you booking the matches now?”

Casey’s anger slowly dissolved. “Ash, I just meant…”

“Save it for the show,” she hissed, brushing his hand away. She turned and walked out of the gym.

“Ash! C’mon, baby! I’m sorry!”

Greg called out to her. “Ashley! Come on back. Everything’s cool. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Casey watched her leave, feeling his anger start boiling again. “This is your fault!” he shouted, jamming his finger in Greg’s face. “I’ll put you over, you sack of shit, because I promised him I would. But after that match is over, you’d better stay away from her, and me. Got me?”

Greg smiled a bit, raising his arms in mock surrender. “Damn, Case, somebody might think you were jealous.”

Casey squinted in anger, then backed up a step. He smirked, and for just a second, Brendan had trouble figuring out which Casey Bennett was standing before him.

A second later, Casey’s boot shot straight up into Greg’s nuts.

Greg’s eyes bulged as he doubled over and grabbed his jewels, cursing himself for not wearing a cup. Half the wrestlers in attendance stopped what they were doing long enough to check out the shootfight. Through a haze of pain and a familiar tingling, Greg heard someone start a chant of “Fight! Fight!”

Brendan pushed Casey away, yelling at the top of his lungs. “You bastard! I should fire your ass right now!”

Casey let out his broadest shit-eating grin. It was the first time he had used his persona’s famous self-assured smile outside of a match. He held his arms to the side and backed slowly away from the scene of the crime. 

Greg glanced up at him, lupine eyes wild with hate. He snarled at him, his canines slightly larger than before. The UPW security team was between them in seconds. Several of the larger wrestlers moved to restrain Greg as the tag teams dropped their cards and moved to help security herd Casey toward the exit.

“Keep your disease to yourself, freak!” The UPW heavyweight champion walked out the doors of the training gym. Greg struggled with the urge to give chase before willing himself back to full human form.

Brendan refocused on Greg, his unshaven face flush with rage. “You okay?” Greg nodded.

The wrestlers restraining him loosened their grips. Greg recognized the never-unmasked Dementia holding his arm. “Going to be a fun match, si?”

        Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Baltimore Arena! My name is Ted Cavalera, and I will be your host for this evening’s festivities! In mere moments, you will see the best that Ultimate Power Wrestling has to offer! You will see the best young talent in this industry! And, you will see a double main event here tonight! We thank you, the loyal fans of the UPW, for bringing us here! Now, let’s show the world what we’re made of! It’s time to bring the wrestling world…an Evolution!

        The Baltimore Arena was packed with wrestling fans. Every wrestler in attendance was in full gear and in character. Brendan looked pleased at the talent he had assembled, and at the backstage crew he had running the show. Dan had set up his laptop and digital modem, ready to report on the online recaps. All the referees rehearsed their instructions. Commentator Ted Cavalera and Color Commentator Rob Tarter had headsets on and notes in hand. Ring announcer Sheila Addison stepped into the ring to begin her stirring rendition of The Star Spangled Banner.

Brendan could not relax. In less than a minute, Ultimate Power Wrestling would debut in grand fashion. Every wrestler in the locker room tensed. Frank and Atilla took turns trying not to vomit. Casey gripped Ashley’s hand, all the while staring daggers at Greg. Greg growled under his breath, tugging at his black spandex weightlifter tights. An airbrushed werewolf in a lightning storm underneath a full moon adorned the front; the design threatened to lunge at Casey at any minute. Frank had commissioned it for Greg two days ago as a thank you for his main event push. Greg wore them to torment the champion.

“I won’t waste too much time talking,” Brendan began, bringing the locker room to a hush, “because now is the time for action. After tonight, the world at large will never forget the UPW. Because you all are the greatest collection of young talent I have ever had the pleasure to promote, and I know each and every one of you here tonight wants the world, and the Big Three, to know it too. Now’s the time, gentlemen and ladies. You are the next wave of professional wrestling. The UPW is here to stay. Tonight, we step in front of the world, and show them why.”

Applause rippled through the locker room. Sheila bowed to the appreciative crowd and exited the ring. “All right, let’s do it!” Brendan nodded to Marsha, his backstage coordinator.

Marsha nodded, motioning to two tag teams nearby. “Okay, Preston Sterling and Dementia out first, followed by the Lethal Enforcers.” Heavy metal music streamed from the arena sound system as the first team stepped through the curtain.

Brendan walked over to the players for the UPW title match. “It’s 7:04 now. Greg and Casey will go on by 8:05. Figuring about six minutes for entrances and exits, that’ll give you a good twenty minutes of ring time. I’ll be monitoring in the back if things start running long. Greg, if you start losing it out there, duck out and take some deep breaths. If things get really bad, don’t be afraid to wrap things up early. Questions?”

Greg shook his head. He would have been nervous even without the threat of a full moon.

Brendan turned his attention to Ashley. “You know what you need to do. Just try and relax.” Ashley nodded, her black strapless dress threatening to crush her like a boa constrictor.

The smile faded from the promoter’s face as he turned to Casey. “I let off on the blading,” he fumed. “You work stiff tonight, and it’s your ass. You know what to do. How you get there is all up to you. Tomorrow, you can do whatever you want, but don’t fuck this up tonight. You got that?”

The champion shifted the weight of the gold title belt to his right shoulder. “Yeah, boss, I got it.” He looked over at Greg, smirking. “Got your cup on tonight, Lassie? You know how the bad guys like kicking below the belt.”

Ashley gave Greg a worried glance. The future champ returned it.

        “The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the UPW Heavyweight Championship!”

Energetic alternative rock filled the arena. The lights went down, a series of laser beams provided the only illumination. Greg took one last deep breath and focused his mind on being Lucas, then stepped through the curtain.

Cheers poured from the crowd, many of whom had seen and enjoyed Lucas Lightning’s dazzling aerial work in the past. He slid inside the ring at top speed, and then deftly leapt onto a turnbuckle to soak in adoration.

“In the ring at this time, is the challenger. Hailing from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing 238 pounds, Lucas Lightning!”

Greg pushed the last of his nervousness away after he sprang up to the opposite corner. The arena clock read 8:09. Brendan had checked it for accuracy. Greg smiled, knowing that there would be no accidents.

The lights dimmed again, this time replaced by a single spotlight. Tympani-laden classical music filled the arena.

“Showtime,” Casey said, kissing Ashley on the cheek for good luck. She winced a bit. Casey gave a look of surprise.

“I’m in character,” she said, and began walking. 

“And his opponent, accompanied tonight by Megan, from Roanoke, Virginia, weighing in at 248 pounds, he is the UPW Heavyweight Champion, “Your Favorite Wrestler,” Casey Bennett!”

Spotlights lit in sequence as champion and valet walked down the aisle. Casey hit his arrogant stride, carrying the belt and him with an air that told everyone in attendance he was the best thing in that arena. Jeers and booing let him know that the fans didn’t see it that way. Casey certainly didn’t believe he was better than anyone else, with the exception of the man standing in the ring.

Megan climbed the stairs, to several whistles from men in the front row. As she held the ropes open for her man, she smiled at a sign in the crowd: Marry Me, Megan!

The announcers worked overtime hyping up the competitors. Ted noted that each wrestler had felt the force of the other’s finisher, and declared that it would come down to which man could hit their finisher first. He decided that Lucas’ Michinoku Driver, known as Lightning Crashes, was the move that would end it. Rob disagreed, saying that Casey’s reverse power bomb, Case Closed, would get the job done.

In the locker room, Brendan smiled to himself as he looked at his watch. He had plenty of time for this match, and two proven workers in the ring to pull it off. Dan had reported good news from online; so far, most of the big sites had voiced their approval. Brendan watched on his 20” Trinitron as his charges stood face to face and trash talked each other.

In the ring, Greg and Casey went into background talk mode, making the causal observer see two rivals in a heated argument. The timekeeper struck the ring bell three times, signifying the start of the match.

Casey suddenly clammed up, the smiled. “Maybe I’ll crotch you on the top rope tonight. Get you spayed.”

Greg’s face contorted in anger. “Dickhead,” he whispered, and began the first of five forearm shots that would get things underway. Greg went into full Lucas mode, hitting jumping spin kicks and swinging clotheslines that sent the heel packing from the ring. They did a quick sequence outside, finishing off with Casey hiding behind Megan to avoid more punishment. Ashley looked terrified and saddened at becoming a human shield.

“Yes! That’s perfect!” Brendan cheered. “Continuity, the face turn’s getting set up perfectly.”

Back in the ring, Casey had already used the distraction to get in some cheap shots. He started his own offense, a series of amateur wrestling throws coupled with lifting and dropping maneuvers. Eight minutes into the match, Lucas reversed an attempted body slam into a pinning attempt, which touched off a chain wrestling sequence of six consecutive two-counts. The crowd applauded its approval as Lucas performed a standing leap up onto the shoulders of his standing opponent.

“Remember what I said?” Casey whispered, grabbing and heaving his opponent vertically parallel in the air before dropping him unceremoniously onto the top rope. Crotch first.

The sound of sympathy groaning from the crowd coming through the TV speakers was drowned out by Brendan’s pounding fist. “God Dammit! I told him to pull his shots!”

Ashley shot a look of anger at the celebrating Casey. She was mad about that move, and it wasn’t all in character.

Greg winced in pain, even with the cup. He slumped over the top turnbuckle, still straddled over the ropes. Casey had dropped him with bad intentions. Anger welled up within him, searing his guts like magma. He wanted to unleash his fury right then, and ran his tongue over sharpening teeth. He cut his tongue, and the sharp pain snapped him back to reality. He saw small tears in the turnbuckle padding, and quickly inspected his nails. They were blunt, for now.

The referee backed Casey away from his opponent and threatened to disqualify him. For a moment, the real Casey considered it. If he did a blatant disqualification, they couldn’t make him lose the belt. More importantly, that monster in the ring with him wouldn’t get over at his expense. He dismissed the idea, knowing that he’d likely never work for any major federation in North America again if he got a rep as a troublemaker.

Greg was thankful for the few seconds of recovery time as Casey went into beat-down mode for a few minutes. The crowd began rallying behind the challenger, and soon Greg peeled out some of his trademark aerial offense, including his crowd-pleasing swan dive from the top rope onto his sprawled opponent.

Just after landing, he reached down and grabbed Casey’s hair. “Now,” he hissed, yanking him up and giving the crowd the thumbs-up, then turned it into thumbs down. The crowd knew it as his call for Lightning Crashes, his finisher of choice. The referee knew the signal also, and started casually stepping around them, placing his back to the corner. Greg hefted the champion up, attempting to forcibly drive him shoulder and back first into the canvas. Casey slid around behind him, grabbed the challenger, and used momentum to sling him right into the referee. Official met turnbuckle, the crowd gasped, and the final sequence was set in motion.

Casey quickly bent Greg upside down and hooked his arms around his waist. Heaving him up, he flipped him over and threw his own weight forward, sending the upstart challenger face and chest first into the canvas.

“Case Closed! Case Closed! The champion nailed it!” Ted shouted, mirroring the capacity crowd’s excitement.

Ashley’s part was next, as Casey stood up and dragged the dazed challenger to his feet, yelling at her to get a chair. She quickly did so, hoping that Casey wasn’t about to do a stiff chair shot and hurt Greg again.

 Ashley held up the chair. Casey started the momentum into it. Greg spun around right on cue, sending Casey into the path of the chair.

Instinctively, Casey raised his arms and pushed the chair away. It smashed into Ashley’s face with a metallic crunching sound. The chair went sailing off to the right as Ashley fell off the apron. She twirled in mid air, landing face down on the mats outside the ring.

Brendan’s eyes shot out of their sockets. “Holy shit! She wasn’t supposed to take the chair!”

Casey clotheslined Greg down once more, reeling from what had just happened. Both sides of Casey Bennett leapt through he ropes to the floor.

Ashley was moving only slightly. She was huddled on the floor, shaking in pain.

Casey touched her shoulder, making sure no fans could hear him. “Babe? Are you okay?” He lightly gripped her chin and gently raised her head.

Ashley’s piercing amber eyes lanced through him as an angry growl escaped her throat. Casey gasped in shock, barely noticing the partially polished thumb claw scream through the air toward his head, one deadly part of a powerful fist. Her punch connected with the force of a freight train, as the claw slashed a deep cut in his forehead. The momentum of the blow sent him spiraling into the ring post, a collision he was barely able to cushion with his forearms. The crowd erupted into cheers. Casey felt blood pour from the gash. Ashley had done a better job of making him bleed hardway than he had ever done with a razor.

Brendan grinned from ear to ear. “He bladed. Pinch me, the little asshole bladed!”

Panic set in as Ashley felt herself changing. She ran at top speed from ringside to the locker room, shielding her face and arms as white fur began sprouting from her stretched skin. A “Megan!” chant rang through the crowd as Casey groggily staggered into the ring.

Ashley charged through the curtain, nearly tearing it down in the process. Brendan quickly took her into the back part of the locker room as Greg picked up a screaming Casey and hit Lightning Crashes dead center in the ring. Casey shouted incoherently, though Greg knew he was threatening his life. At times like this, he was glad that his finisher let him sit on his opponent and pull his legs up and back for the pin. It was about the only way to keep the struggling heel down as the dazed referee crawled into position and slapped the mat three times.

The ring bell sounded off, cementing the victory. Cheers burst through the crowd as Greg stood up, leaping and bellowing in triumph. Casey rolled out of the ring, his face a gory mask of crimson. He staggered to the locker room as the ring announcer rendered the official decision.

“The winner of this bout, and new UPW Heavyweight Champion, Lucas Lightning!”

Greg posed for the crowd, raising the championship belt high. The arena clock read 8:28. He had plenty of time to celebrate.

The locker room was silenced by a howl of agony, as Ashley’s muzzle and tail finished forming. Her tattered dress fell from her transformed body, settling into a pile of rags on the floor. She whined in pain from the chair shot and the unexpected shift, though her agony was lessening by the second. Brendan searched for a robe for her as Dan tapped a few keys on his laptop.

“They love us, boss! We’ve already got two different recappers giving it four stars! We did it!”

Brendan paid little attention. He had other matters to attend to. Finally finding a spare ring robe, he gently draped it over Ashley’s furry body as Casey stumbled through the curtain.

The crimson mask he wore made his wide eyes all the more obvious. “Ash?” he gasped, reaching out to her. She snarled in response.

Casey blinked in disbelief, then felt his anger boil over again. “MOTHER FUCKER!!!” The buffet table took the brunt of his anger as he flipped it over, dumping the delicious spread all over the arena floor. Several of the UPW’s own security force talked Arena security out of coming into the room, assuring them that this was just part of the show.

“WHEN DID HE BITE YOU? WHEN?”

Ashley struggled to make her vocal chords work. Human speech was possible in this form, just not easy. “NO…BITE.”

Casey blinked, astonished. “No bite?” Realization shoulder blocked him in the face. “He FUCKED you?”

Ashley nodded, and then pointed a claw at the crotch of his bloodstained yellow tights. “HIS…BIGGER.”   

The wrestlers and crew backstage began to edge away from the scene as the new UPW champion stepped through the curtain.

Casey screamed like a berserker as he tackled the champ, sending him crashing into the broken table. The gold title belt flew from Greg’s hands. Casey’s shaking hands clenched around Greg’s throat. “YOU RAPED MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU GOD DAMN MONSTER! YOU TURNED MY GIRLFRIEND INTO A FUCKING WEREWOLF!”

Greg felt the burning inferno of imminent change, and could resist it only seconds longer. “No,” he gasped, feeling his throat tighten. “She…tuRN…ME…”

Casey continued to choke his enemy with all the strength he had, a strength that increased with each passing second of moonrise. Spandex tights tore as Casey and Greg grew in mass, fur, fangs, claws, and bad intentions as they thrashed about the room, biting and slashing at each other. Ashley lunged at the brown-furred werewolf that was Casey Bennett, as the locker room degenerated into chaos.

The beasts soon lost track of each other amidst the fracas, and anything moving was a viable target. The injured lycanthropes splashed tainted blood all about the room as they howled in moon-induced rage. Wrestlers and security and referees and production personnel screamed in agony as claws raked their flesh and fangs sunk into their extremities. Rob Tarter told fans “the UPW has the wildest action you’ll ever see” before the TV went flying through a window. Brendan had barely gotten Frank and Wayne to an alternate locker room when an errant leap by Ashley slammed both of them against the concrete wall, knocking her unconscious. The boss landed in a heap on the blood-soaked floor, crushing Dawson McShane’s black Stetson. He heard an animal whimpering in pain on the other side of the room. Seconds later, the carnage was over.

A glint of gold caught Brendan’s eye. The UPW Heavyweight Championship belt lay discarded in a pool of blood on the cold concrete floor. Greg scooped it up with a gore-soaked gray paw and raised it high. Brendan blinked through a haze of pain and saw that Casey was lying in a bloody pool on the ground, while Greg lifted his bloody muzzle and howled in triumph. Brendan somehow knew that Casey wasn’t dead. He was a werewolf now, and apparently had been for a while without realizing it; he would heal quickly enough. If werewolf society worked anything like nature, Greg just established himself as the alpha. Casey wouldn’t be any trouble to him anymore.

Groans of pain echoed throughout the locker room. Brendan grimaced as his skull throbbed. Forcing himself to look around, he saw lots of blood, many injured human beings, and a locker room that looked like a sound stage from an earthquake movie. Amazingly enough, no one seemed to be dead. Brendan’s business mind made a conservative estimate, figuring that a little over half the federation’s active roster had just been infected, along with all its security and most of the production and technical staff.

It was some consolation to him that Frank and Wayne had made it out, and the ring crew needed to assemble the cage was elsewhere in the building. He had saved his main event, and it was smooth sailing from here. Evolution was a success. The UPW would live on.

Groans of pain echoed through the locker room as he saw the infected people fall to all fours, yowling and snarling in pain as their legs reshaped and their faces begin pushing out into lupine muzzles. The transformed roster began searching for food amidst the carnage. Brendan looked on, feeling the pain in his head fade away as his body grew strangely warm.

Brendan briefly wondered if he could repackage the promotion’s image; the Lycanthropic Wrestling Federation had a nice ring to it.

He would have to look into it the next day. Right now, he was too busy tearing apart his favorite three-piece suit with his claws as his shifting body tore it apart at the seams. The boss threw back his wolf like head and joined his employees in a chorus of joyous howls, fulfilling his other longtime dream.

Brendan Bolton was finally one of the boys.

Author’s Note: This story is a work of fiction. It includes violence, foul language, and transformation. First North American Serial Rights are reserved. Permission is given to print or save, but this story may not be edited, redistributed, or posted anywhere on the web without proper consent.