ANCIENT HUNGERS ISSUE 3

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By: Kevin Tilsner

ISSUE 3:

YEONGNO HEARS THE WOLF’S CALL

Chapter 1: The Demotion

PandaMonium sat on a wooden crate in the old boiler room, watching a television balanced on the dead furnace.

A photograph of Jofrey Bozo filled the screen.

Dr. Joe “The Lamb” jogged behind him in blue medical scrubs, stepping over a loose pipe.

“Authorities have confirmed that Jofrey Bozo is missing,” the newsreader said. “The announcement follows the disappearance of the only man whose personal fortune exceeded his own. The whereabouts of both men remain unknown.”

Andy reached for the volume.

Joe passed behind him again.

“The two richest men in the world,” Joe said.

“Apparently.”

“Gone.”

Andy studied the photograph.

“They’ve checked space?”

The newsreader continued beneath footage of a gated estate.

Upstairs, Hunter Wentworth’s hooves rested on a crystal wastebasket.

His leather chair creaked when he leaned back, shifting the World Championship across his armored Minotaur frame. The Intercontinental Championship hung from the tip of his polished horn.

Across the mahogany desk, the Brahma Bull sprawled in a reinforced chair with a Tag Team Championship over his shoulder. His sunglasses reflected Christopher Patriot’s red, white, and blue jacket.

Christopher held a single sheet of paper.

Hunter tapped it. “Pyrotechnics. For your entrance.”

“It is a managerial entrance. A manager must establish authority before the talent appears. Basic arena psychology.”

“Your fireworks set off the smoke alarms.”

“The smoke alarms lacked vision.”

“The smoke alarms had a budget,” Brahma rumbled.

Christopher tightened his grip on the paper. “I still have a budget.”

Hunter pushed a second sheet across the desk.

Christopher read it. He brought it closer, then laid it flat.

“Where did the rest go?”

“The Bulls’ luxury buses,” Hunter said. “The new buses have leather bunks. The old buses had fabric.”

“Fabric is a proven transportation material.”

“And pyro. The tour requires pyro.”

“The tour requires food, medical supplies, ring transport, and a crew that can sleep somewhere besides the equipment truck.”

Hunter stood. The Intercontinental belt swung from his horn.

Christopher pointed at it. “That is the Bull’s title.”

“It is my title.”

“It is mine,” Brahma said. “He’s wearing it as a courtesy.”

“I’m wearing it because I own it.”

“You own the World belt. I own the World belt. We both own both.”

Hunter nodded. “Nobody can beat either of us, so who holds what is paperwork.”

“Paperwork is for losers,” Brahma added.

Christopher looked between them.

“That is the sentence I plan to read at your funeral.”

Hunter pointed toward the door. “You have been promoted to a smaller responsibility. You will manage the new women’s team. You will train them. You will keep them out of my way.”

Christopher paused and said, “This demotion changes my charter ranking.”

“Your crew can use the old boiler room,” Hunter said. “It is technically indoors.”

Christopher picked up the revised budget. The allowance for accommodation had disappeared. Medical supplies had become a handwritten question mark.

He raised his megaphone.

“Hunter Wentworth, you have just made the single greatest mistake in the history of managerial decision making!”

Hunter lifted his coffee. “That sentence costs money.”

Christopher lowered the megaphone.

“Fine. Give me the boiler room. Give me one Friday night. Then watch what this team can do.”

He switched on the megaphone as he turned toward the door. The feedback made Brahma pull off his sunglasses.

Christopher marched out.

Behind him, Brahma laughed.

“Was that an explanation?”

“No,” Hunter said. “That was a bill.”

Downstairs, the television had moved on to a commercial.

Andy switched it off and stood. He caught the handles of a crate of turnbuckles and began dragging it past the furnace.

One corner caught in a crack in the concrete.

He pulled harder.

The crate stayed where it was.

Joe jogged around him, stepping over the loose pipe for the thirty-first time.

“Lift the corner, Andy.”

“I am lifting it spiritually.”

“Try physically.”

Christopher pushed through the swinging door.

“Good news. We have been entrusted with the future of this promotion.”

Andy let go of the crate. Water dripped from a pipe into an old paint bucket.

“The future has a leak.”

“Then we will tape it shut.”

Christopher stepped around the bucket and inspected the room. He tested a steel support post with one hand, looked up at its mounting, then moved to the next.

“Clear the center. We can anchor training ropes here and here. Keep the furnace side clear.”

Andy looked at the crate.

Christopher pointed at the opposite corner. “Together.”

They lifted. The crate came free.

Joe stopped jogging and helped them carry it to the wall.

“Medical inventory next,” Christopher told him. “Tell me what we have, what we need, and what should have been thrown away before I was born.”

Joe opened a cabinet. Something inside fell over.

“We’re building a training camp?” he asked.

“We are.”

“Out of what?”

Christopher rolled up his sleeves.

“Out of spite and sheer will to win.”

Chapter 2: The Arrival and Audition

Bibi Yeongno entered FURY World Wrestling through the employee door with a small case in one hand. She wore a dark coat over her travel clothes.

A cable crossed the corridor. She stepped over it and followed the sound of a ratchet into the arena.

At ringside, Vedren faced a camera. Her purple fur caught the work lights, and the rainbow forelock between her tall cat ears bounced when she turned.

“Vedren here. We are live in the arena, where the ring crew is assembling the canvas behind me and nobody has yet admitted who lost the wrench.”

“It was not me,” someone shouted beneath the apron.

Vedren noticed Bibi and extended the microphone.

“Name?”

“Bibi.”

“Experience?”

“Many kinds.”

“Wrestling experience?”

Bibi glanced at the ring.

“Some.”

Two crew members pulled the canvas taut while a third tightened a turnbuckle.

Vedren consulted her notes. “Why FWW?”

“I am looking for the Wentworth family.”

The notes lowered.

“That is not the usual answer.”

“No. Most people say championships.”

A small figure vaulted onto the apron.

Yum Yum rested one hand on the top rope. Her thorn-like nails tapped against it as she studied Bibi.

“Interview’s over. Let’s see if she can take a bump.”

“The ring is not cleared,” Vedren said.

“It is cleared enough.”

Bibi put her case beside the timekeeper’s table, removed her coat, and stepped through the ropes.

A referee hurried over, waving toward the crew members still on the opposite side.

Yum Yum was already climbing.

She crouched on the top turnbuckle and launched herself across the ring. Her crossbody struck Bibi square in the chest.

Bibi’s boots stayed planted.

Yum Yum slid down and landed on her feet. She looked at Bibi’s boots, then up at her face.

“Again.”

She drove a shoulder into Bibi’s midsection.

Bibi looked down.

Yum Yum wrapped both arms around her waist and tried to lift. Her feet dug against the canvas. Bibi shifted one boot, caught her wrist, and turned her toward the mat.

Yum Yum sprang with the turn. Her legs swung around Bibi’s neck, and she snapped her hips sideways.

Bibi dropped to one knee.

Before she could close her grip, Yum Yum released the headscissors, flipped backward, and landed beyond her reach.

At ringside, PandaMonium leaned against the apron.

“Did she just try to topple a mountain with a headlock?”

Christopher stood beside him on the arena floor.

“Quiet, Andy.”

Bibi rose.

Yum Yum shook out her hands. “You are heavy.”

“You are quick.”

Yum Yum grinned. She darted forward and raked her thorn nails across Bibi’s forearm.

Four shallow red lines appeared.

She retreated, watching.

Bibi examined the scratches. She flexed her fingers.

Yum Yum’s grin faded.

“Was that meant to hurt?” Bibi asked.

For a moment, neither moved.

Yum Yum looked directly into Bibi’s eyes. Bibi held her gaze.

The referee lowered his hands.

“WIDER BASE!”

Christopher’s megaphone broke the silence.

He pointed from the floor beside the apron.

“Bibi, move your left foot. You gave her your balance when she got around your neck.”

Bibi adjusted her stance.

“Yum Yum, test it again. Use the ropes.”

Yum Yum backed toward the far side without taking her eyes off Bibi.

She hit the ropes, sprang from the middle strand, and came at her sideways.

Bibi caught her across the body. This time her feet held. She turned with Yum Yum’s momentum and brought her down to the canvas.

Yum Yum rolled clear before Bibi could secure the cover.

“Again,” Christopher called. “Do not give her the same approach.”

Yum Yum circled. She feinted left, cut right, and slipped past Bibi’s reaching hand. Her foot hooked Bibi’s ankle.

Bibi stumbled into the ropes.

She caught the top strand, turned on the rebound, and intercepted Yum Yum’s next approach with a wristlock.

Yum Yum bent with the pressure, reached between Bibi’s hands, and began working her wrist free.

Christopher lowered the megaphone.

“Enough.”

Bibi released her.

Yum Yum straightened, rolling her shoulder.

Christopher looked up at Bibi. “You’re hired. Go suit up. There’s a partner I want you to meet in the boiler room.”

Yum Yum nodded once.

Bibi returned it.

As Bibi collected her coat and case, Andy nudged Joe.

“I think our new teammate just made a friend.”

Joe watched Yum Yum hop down from the apron.

“Or found a rival.”

Yum Yum caught up with Bibi at the corridor.

“Locker room’s this way.”

She pushed through a swinging door and held it open with her boot.

“Welcome to the Carnival.”

Inside, an open gear bag occupied one bench. Boots stood beneath it. Someone had hung a feathered cape from a locker door, and a small electric fan rattled beside the showers.

Bibi set her case on an empty bench.

Yum Yum leaned against the lockers.

“You should be on the floor by now.”

Bibi looked at the scratches on her arm.

“How long does it usually take?”

“Less time than that.”

Bibi opened her case.

Yum Yum waited until she looked up.

“What are you?”

“Yeongno.”

Yum Yum mouthed the name once.

“Never met one.”

“You have now.”

“Is this how you usually look?”

“Some of the time.”

“How big?”

Bibi glanced at the ceiling.

Yum Yum followed her gaze.

“Oh, we are going to have fun.”

Bibi laid her red, yellow, and orange wrestling gear across the bench.

“And you?”

Yum Yum held out her hand. A bead of moisture gathered at the tip of one thorn nail.

“Flower.”

“A poisonous one.”

“You noticed.”

“I noticed you waiting.”

Yum Yum examined the nail, then curled her fingers into her palm.

“I’ve dropped men twice your size with less.”

“You were very confident.”

“I’m still confident. I’m just asking questions now.”

Bibi smiled.

From the corridor came the crash of something heavy, followed by a muffled argument about who had been holding it.

Bibi glanced toward the door.

“How many?”

“Here?” Yum Yum shrugged. “Depends who’s working tonight.”

“They know about one another?”

“Some do. Some think they’re the only interesting thing in the building.”

“The Wentworths?”

Yum Yum rolled her eyes.

“They would think that without the horns.”

“And the wolves?”

That brought her attention back.

“You’ve met them?”

“I’ve seen the posters.”

“Keep watching.”

Bibi waited.

Yum Yum crossed to the mirror and adjusted a flower in her hair.

“There are others. You’ll work some of them out. Some will come and ask you rude questions in the locker room.”

“Are they all here to eat?”

Yum Yum looked at Bibi’s reflection.

“I came here to wrestle.”

She lifted her hand between them, spreading the thorn nails.

“And I still get hungry.”

“So do I.”

“Then we’ll understand each other.”

Bibi took off her travel shoes and set them beneath the bench.

“No one minds?”

“Oh, plenty of people mind. Usually after they lose.”

“Your hands. Your weight. What you are.”

Yum Yum turned from the mirror.

“Did you hear anybody ask me to put gloves on?”

Bibi shook her head.

“The first time I walked down that ramp, they put a spotlight on me. I thought somebody had spotted something.”

“Had they?”

“They’d spotted me.”

Yum Yum grinned at the memory.

“My music came on. People were holding signs with my name on them. I got into the ring, and the woman across from me took one look at my hands and told the referee to check them.”

“What did he do?”

“Checked them. Told her they were attached.”

Bibi laughed.

“Then she hit me in the mouth.”

“What did you do?”

“Hit her back. I won.”

Yum Yum sat on the opposite bench.

“I went back out after the match because I’d left something at ringside. There was a little girl by the barricade. Flowers in her hair, green paint all over her fingers.”

She held up her own hands.

“She wanted hers to look like mine.”

Bibi’s fingers rested on the lid of her case.

“What did you say?”

“Told her to keep them away from her eyes. Then I signed her poster.”

Outside, somebody called for a ring technician. The fan rattled on.

Yum Yum nodded toward Bibi’s gear.

“What’s on yours?”

Bibi unfolded the top so she could see the Yeongno emblem.

Yum Yum leaned closer.

“That you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let them get a look before you come out.”

Bibi ran her thumb along the edge of the design.

“You like being watched.”

“By people who bought tickets? Absolutely.”

“And when they see more?”

“Let them cheer louder.”

Bibi looked at her.

Yum Yum’s grin softened.

“You held back out there.”

“So did you.”

“Of course. The ring crew was still in it.”

Bibi laughed again and reached for her boots.

Yum Yum stood.

“I’ll let you change. Boiler room’s downstairs. Follow the shouting.”

She reached the door, then looked back.

“Bibi?”

“Yes?”

“Next time, I’m getting you off your feet.”

“You can try.”

Yum Yum tapped two thorn nails against the doorframe.

“Oh, I’m going to.”

Chapter 3: Boiler-Room Training

By the time Bibi reached the boiler room, the crate was against the wall and the floor had been swept.

Thick climbing ropes stretched between the steel support posts. Folded canvas and padding covered the practice area. A low platform of secured crates stood beside a crash mat.

Blue “The Macha Woman” Heron waited inside the roped square.

She was a lean blonde woman in bird-themed wrestling gear. She bounced on the balls of her feet, watching Bibi approach.

“You’re the new partner?”

“Bibi.”

“Heron.”

They shook hands.

Christopher took his place outside the ropes with a stopwatch.

“Start with standing control. I want to see where you leave openings.”

Across the room, Andy climbed onto the low platform. Joe crouched on the crash mat below him.

Andy settled his feet.

Joe waited.

Andy bent his knees.

Joe waited some more.

Then Joe stood and signaled a reset.

“You were late.”

“I was building anticipation.”

“You built a vacancy.”

Andy checked that Joe had moved clear and made a short practice jump onto the mat.

Christopher kept his attention on the women.

“Heron, get behind her. Bibi, hold your position.”

Heron slipped around Bibi’s side and reached for a rear waist lock.

Bibi caught her arm, shifted her hips, and turned into standing wrist control.

Heron bent backward, rolled through, and came up in a crouch.

“Reset,” Christopher said. “Bibi, give her somewhere to go. See if she takes it.”

On the next approach, Bibi left her right side open.

Heron changed levels, brushed past the offered arm, and spun behind her.

Bibi reached too high. Heron ducked under the hand and escaped.

“Shoulder,” Christopher called. “You had it before you went looking for her head.”

Bibi nodded.

They reset.

Heron came in low again. Bibi caught the arm, controlled the shoulder, and turned her onto the mat.

Heron slapped the canvas, rolled, and got up laughing.

“All right. Show me that.”

Bibi stepped beside her.

She demonstrated the underhook first, then the position of her head and knee. Heron repeated the movement without completing the throw.

Bibi tapped her shoulder.

“Lower.”

Heron bent.

“Keep that space closed.”

They worked through it again.

On the next attempt, Heron turned her hip and drove through the opening. Bibi went with the movement and landed on the crash mat.

Heron stayed kneeling beside her, holding the position.

Bibi tapped the mat.

“Better.”

Christopher stopped the watch.

“Keep that one. Now show her the platform.”

Heron climbed onto the crates. She set her boots, faced the practice area, and raised her head.

“Look where you’re going before you turn. You don’t want to find out in the air.”

She jumped, bent her knees on landing, and stepped clear.

Bibi climbed up.

Heron pointed at the mat.

“Same spot.”

Bibi jumped.

The impact rattled the nearby bucket. Her knees had barely bent.

Christopher slapped the megaphone against his palm.

“You are landing like you are trying to intimidate the floor.”

“The floor should be intimidated.”

Heron laughed.

“Bend with it,” she said. “Watch.”

She climbed up and demonstrated again. This time Bibi watched her legs through the landing.

Bibi took her place on the platform.

She jumped, folded through her knees, and came upright without the hard jolt.

Heron held out her hand.

Bibi slapped it.

“Again,” Christopher said.

They repeated the landing until Bibi no longer needed to look at her feet.

Then they practiced receiving a crossbody. Heron stood on the low platform while Bibi waited over the crash mat. On the first attempt, Bibi reached before Heron had jumped.

Heron straightened and stayed on the platform.

“Let me get there,” she said.

They tried again.

Heron jumped. Bibi caught her, absorbed the weight, and lowered them onto the padding.

Andy watched from beside Joe.

“Lovely. Can somebody teach my partner to stay down long enough for me to land?”

Joe took a drink of water.

“Can somebody teach mine to leave the platform?”

Chapter 4: The Wolves’ World and the Hunt

Across town, sunlight fell through the glass roof of the FURY Performance Center.

Three training rings occupied the main floor. Beyond them stood racks of weights, a recovery pool, and doors leading to private treatment rooms. The elevator opened onto marble instead of cracked concrete.

Ignacio and Morrgain had paid for it themselves.

Inside the boardroom, Ignacio slid a travel schedule across the table.

“Four cities in five nights.”

The board chair glanced at it. “Those dates are contracted.”

“The buses have broken air conditioning,” Morrgain said. “One of our drivers finished the last trip with his shirt wrapped around a bag of ice.”

“We’re arranging repairs.”

Ignacio placed another sheet beside the schedule.

“First choice on Friday and Sunday bookings. Guaranteed medical coverage. A percentage of the live gate.”

The chair sat back.

“You are asking for dominance.”

Morrgain put three attendance reports in front of him.

“No. We are documenting the dominance that already exists.”

He examined the figures.

“We cannot afford the medical coverage.”

Ignacio began gathering the papers.

“Then you cannot afford the Pack.”

Morrgain laid three business cards on the table. The chair recognized the competing promotions.

He looked toward the other board members.

They leaned together. Ignacio waited.

Finally, the chair pulled the proposed terms back toward him.

“Medical coverage. Gate percentage. Booking priority on the two nights. But the travel schedule stays.”

“For now,” Morrgain said.

The amended contract went around the table.

Outside, Lupin Fiasco leaned against the elevator doors in a black and silver mask.

“Well?”

“We have the dates,” Ignacio said. “And the gate percentage.”

Lupin pressed the elevator button.

“Then the wolves are eating well.”

On the training floor, Rayo and Trueno were arguing through their masks.

“You missed the tag,” Rayo said.

“You tagged the wrong hand.”

“It was the hand closest to you.”

“It was the hand closest to the referee.”

They ran the sequence again.

Rayo ducked. Trueno crossed behind him. Both sprang into dropkicks, landed, rolled, and came up facing one another.

“You were late,” Rayo said.

“You were early.”

Near the far wall, Fenrir threw a heavy hook.

Lycaon ducked beneath it, caught the arm, and turned into a joint lock. Fenrir lowered himself with the pressure and tapped twice.

Lycaon released him.

Fenrir flexed his hand, nodded, and reset.

In the women’s ring, La Maestra held La Bestia’s wrist.

La Bestia pulled free and swung a forearm.

La Maestra ducked, hooked the leg, and swept it out from under her.

La Bestia hit the mat.

“You left your weight behind,” La Maestra said.

“I was trying to hit you.”

“I noticed.”

La Bestia got up.

Across the ring, La Flecha climbed the turnbuckle. La Bestia moved into the drill while La Maestra watched from the side.

La Flecha launched before La Bestia finished turning.

She landed on the clear crash mat and rolled to her feet.

“Early,” La Maestra said.

“I was adjusting.”

“Watch her. Again.”

That night, the Pack left in two black vans.

At a bar near the river, they took two tables beside the rear passage. The music rattled the glasses. Someone had spilled beer beneath Ignacio’s chair.

A man in a linen shirt sat alone at the bar, speaking into his phone.

“I don’t care what he promised. Tell him if he doesn’t like the hours, he can find another job.”

He paused to drink.

“We have a waiting list of people who need the work. Just make sure the shift is covered. And don’t pay the overtime. We don’t pay overtime.”

Ignacio set down his glass.

Morrgain glanced toward the rear exit.

Lupin approached the bar and ordered a drink.

“Friend,” he said, “you look like a man who understands the value of a good team.”

The businessman lowered his phone.

“Do I know you?”

“You will.”

Lupin gestured toward the tables.

“We’re hiring. Travel, publicity, hospitality. Room for someone who knows how to get ahead.”

The man looked at the masks, the expensive coats, and the bodies filling the chairs.

“Now that sounds like something I can use.”

Ignacio joined them with a leather contract folder under one arm.

“No paperwork tonight. Tonight is about trust.”

Morrgain raised her glass.

“And family.”

The businessman smiled.

“I like family.”

Lupin leaned closer.

“You’re part of the pack now.”

The man put his phone away.

They led him through the rear exit and down toward the river. He talked about expansion until the streetlights ended.

Then he stopped.

“Where are we going?”

“To the opportunity,” Lupin said.

Fenrir stepped into the path behind him.

The businessman looked toward the water, then back at the faces around him.

The wind carried his last gasp across the river.

When the Pack returned to the path, Rayo wiped his mouth.

Trueno glanced at him.

“Did you eat his watch?”

“I ate his left arm.”

“Cuz….”

“It’ll come out.”

“Cuz….”

“Ohh, did you ever see Pulp Fiction?”

“Cuz….”

Morrgain adjusted her gloves.

“The point is that people who treat workers as meat should remember they are made of it.”

Lupin looked toward the distant glow of the arena.

“The point is that Friday is coming.”

Chapter 5: The Fracture

Kumare Patel had three clipboards, two schedules, and a roll of fluorescent tape.

Vermina Dahli stood on his desk.

“You cannot put me after the mascot.”

“That is not the mascot. That is a sponsored entrance.”

“It has a tail.”

“It also has a contract.”

She wore a showy costume and a hat with distinctive rat ears. One of Kumare’s cue cards was pinched between her fingers.

She bent down, picked up his coffee, and took a sip.

“Move me.”

“No.”

She tore the top sheet from his clipboard.

Kumare stood.

Vermina ripped it in half.

He looked at the pieces.

“That was the only copy.”

“You can make another.”

“I can. That is not the point.”

She hopped down from the desk.

“You are always making points. You should try making a decision.”

He took the torn halves from her and placed them beside the schedule.

“I make decisions all day. Where people stand. When they enter. How they leave. You will not destroy my paperwork because you dislike the running order.”

“You are choosing them over me.”

“I am asking you not to behave like this.”

She laughed once.

“That is worse.”

She picked up the fluorescent tape, pulled out a strip, and wrapped it around his wrist.

The Clown Army roared somewhere in the corridor.

Vermina walked out, leaving the door open.

Kumare peeled off the tape.

For a moment he held it between his fingers. Then he dropped it in the trash, sat down, and began reconstructing the running order.

Chapter 6: The Plan

After midnight, Ignacio spread Friday’s card across the lounge table.

Morrgain uncapped a red pen.

“The Bulls have the executive signatures,” Ignacio said. “They can delay a decision until the challengers have left the building.”

Lupin pulled a chair closer.

“Then we stay in the building.”

Morrgain tapped his match.

“First, the United States Championship.”

Lupin looked down at his name.

“I know.”

“The championship contract gives its holder consultation rights,” Ignacio said. “Use them. Ask the question where they have to answer it.”

“Into a microphone.”

“Preferably one that works.”

Rayo leaned forward.

“If we get Hunter and Brahma, we keep them away from our corner.”

“And watch the referee,” Trueno said. “They hide behind him.”

Fenrir studied the qualifying matches.

“No interference.”

Lycaon nodded.

“We qualify. They have nothing to invalidate.”

From the other end of the table, La Maestra pushed a photograph toward Rayo.

“The Television Champion keeps her right arm high in the clinch. I need that reach for the counter.”

Rayo held his arm beside the photograph.

“Close enough?”

“Close enough.”

La Bestia rubbed one shoulder.

“The National Champion needs the ropes for that clothesline. I need someone who can drive me back when I try to cut her off.”

Fenrir looked up.

“I can.”

Trueno grinned.

“He’s been waiting all evening for someone to ask.”

La Flecha turned toward him.

“The High Flyer Champion feints toward one corner and takes off from the other. I keep going with the feint.”

“I’ll give you both,” Trueno said.

“Make me wait.”

“I usually do.”

Rayo looked at him.

“You usually miss the tag.”

Morrgain put down her pen.

“Read every new clause before signing. Bring it to one of us. If they promise a match, get the date.”

Ignacio gathered the rankings and medical clearances into separate folders.

“I’ll keep these ready. Morrgain takes a copy of the signed booking agreement to the media office. If management blocks our opportunities, we let them explain publicly why they won’t honor it.”

Lupin rested a finger beside the Tag Team Championship line.

“And when the Bulls ask who gave us permission?”

Ignacio closed the folder.

“The Pack does not need permission to become the main event.”

At the same hour, Christopher stood outside the boiler-room ropes beneath a failing light.

Bibi and Heron waited in their corner.

Andy stood opposite them. Joe bounced on his toes behind him.

Christopher raised his stopwatch.

“Last sequence. Mat entry. Turn. Tag. Rope run. Aerial finish. Andy receives. Joe, stay in your corner until the reset.”

Andy looked at the platform.

“I would like the record to show that I was available for paperwork.”

“Go.”

Bibi caught Andy’s arm, lowered her weight, and turned him toward her corner.

Heron slapped her palm.

Bibi released and moved outside the practice ropes. Heron ran the marked route and climbed the platform while Andy stepped onto the crash mat.

Heron looked down to check her footing, then launched before Andy had settled into position. She pulled the crossbody short and landed beside him.

Christopher stopped the watch.

“Again. Check the platform before you start. Once you’re set, watch Andy.”

“I thought he was ready.”

“Make sure.”

Andy raised a paw.

“He would also appreciate that.”

They reset.

Bibi caught him, turned him, and brought him to the corner.

The tag cracked across the room.

Heron ran. Bibi cleared the square.

Andy reached the receiving position.

This time Heron watched his feet settle before she launched.

He caught her across the body, bent with the weight, and took them onto the crash mat.

Heron sat up.

“That was clean.”

Christopher checked the watch.

“Good. Again.”

Joe jogged over to help Andy rise.

“Anticipation,” Joe said.

Andy accepted his hand.

“I am glad somebody appreciates it.”

Bibi stepped back into the square.

“Again.”

Christopher reset the stopwatch. Water dripped into the bucket behind him.

He raised his megaphone.

“Friday night, we do not ask whether the room is ready. We make the room ready.”