Gunloc
Aleksey
Camera pans across a restless crowd. In the ring stand two men — GUNLOC and ALEKSEY. Both are visibly frustrated, mics in hand. Their ring gear is scuffed, showing the wear of fighters who’ve been idle too long.
Gunloc: (gritting his teeth)
“You know what’s funny? They call this place L.A.W... Big, shiny lights. Global reach. But for guys like us — the ones who actually wrestle — it’s been nothing but dust on our boots and silence from management!”
Crowd buzzes. Some agree; others boo. Gunloc paces.
Gunloc:
“I’ve been signed here for a year and wrestled what? Two matches? Two damn matches! Meanwhile, every other week there’s a new women’s tournament, a title showcase, a photo-op, a documentary. But the men? We’re ghosts — a punchline! There’s no men’s division. No titles. No opportunity!”
Aleksey: (calm but firm)
“He’s right. We train in the same gyms, we share the same ring, but when it’s time to book a card, we’re invisible. I didn’t come to Japan to sit backstage and clap for everyone else. I came to fight. To prove myself.”
He turns toward the crowd.
“And maybe that’s what L.A.W. is afraid of — that if they let us wrestle, they’ll see we can steal the show.”
Mixed cheers and boos. The two exchange a knowing nod — their frustration real.
Gunloc: (raising his mic again)
“We’re not asking for handouts. We’re asking for a chance. For a men’s division. For a stage where we can do what we were hired to do!”
Suddenly — “The Champ Is Here” blares through the speakers.
Blake's Entrance Music
Blake
“Well, well, well… looks like someone finally grew a spine. Took long enough. I’ve been saying this since the day I signed here two years ago!”
He slides into the ring, pacing around the two like a wolf.
Blake:
“Let’s get real. There isn’t a men’s division because L.A.W. doesn’t believe it sells. They only care about the women — the pretty faces, the merch, the ratings. Meanwhile, guys like us sit around begging for a match. You think I wanted to wrestle once every six months? Hell no! But you can’t find opponents when management acts like the men’s locker room doesn’t exist.”
Gunloc: (barking back)
“Don’t act like you’re one of us. You got your spotlight — remember? Your debut was against me!”
Blake: (grinning)
“And I beat you. Clean. Which makes me the only man here who earned that spotlight. But even I can’t find opponents anymore. You think I like sitting around doing nothing? No titles to chase, no belts to hold? I’m sick of it too.”
He stops, his tone suddenly serious.
“That’s why I’m here. We don’t need their permission to start something of our own. We could make the men’s division ourselves. Right here. Right now.”
The crowd perks up at that line.
Gunloc: (snapping)
“You want to use us for your ego trip, that’s what you want.”
Blake: (chuckling)
“You really think small, huh? Look around, man. Nobody in this company cares about us. But if we join forces — me, you, Aleksey — we could make them care. We could force L.A.W. to build that men’s division. To give us our place.”
Gunloc: (gritting his teeth)
“I’d rather rot on the sidelines than team with a snake like you.”
He turns to leave, but Aleksey stops him, holding up a hand.
Aleksey: (steady voice)
“Wait. He’s not wrong.”
Gunloc spins around, stunned.
Gunloc: “You can’t be serious!”
Aleksey:
“We want matches. He wants matches. Maybe we don’t have to like each other to fix the same problem.”
Blake smirks, stepping closer.
Blake:
“Exactly. You don’t have to trust me — just trust the goal. Think about it, boys.”
He drops the mic and leaves to his theme, the camera catching his smirk as the audience murmurs — curious, uncertain, intrigued. Gunloc glares after him while Aleksey folds his arms, thoughtful.
---
Scene: Backstage – Later That Night
Gunloc sits alone in the locker room, still fuming. His hands are wrapped tight, knuckles white from frustration. Aleksey leans against a wall, quiet.
Gunloc: (growling)
“I can’t believe you’re even considering it. That guy’s been trouble since day one.”
Aleksey:
“And yet he’s right. There’s no division for us. No titles, no matches, nothing. If we want to change that, maybe we stop fighting the wrong enemy.”
Gunloc sighs deeply, rubbing his face.
Gunloc: “I don’t know, man… teaming with him feels like selling out.”
Aleksey: (shrugs)
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s evolution. Think about it.”
He leaves, patting Gunloc’s shoulder on his way out. Gunloc sits in silence for a long moment, staring at the floor. Then — a faint click. The door opens slightly.
A silhouette leans in the doorway: a mystery woman approaches...