Rain lashes sideways against the concrete awning. Flashing crimson and amber strobe lights slice through the dark downpour as a paramedic unit screeches into the bay, tires smoking against the wet pavement.
The rear doors fly open.
PARAMEDIC
Female, mid-forties, blunt-force cranial trauma, severe contusions to the ribs and cervical spine! GCS is eight, pressure’s dropping!
On the stretcher lies Beth Copeland.
Her blonde hair is matted with dark crimson, an oxygen mask fogging with shallow, ragged breaths. Her knuckles are swollen and split from fighting back, her face bearing the brutal purple roadmap of a five-on-one execution.
Bursting through the interior sliding doors are Lyric Rose and Ruby Ever, flanked by hospital security. Lyric lets out a blood curdling scream.
LYRIC
MOM! MOM!
Ruby’s knees buckle instantly. She hits the wet concrete floor, clutching her stomach, letting out a dry, gasping sob that tears her throat raw. Lyric lunges toward the gurney, but two security guards catch her under the arms, holding her back as the trauma team pushes the stretcher toward the red double doors.
RUBY
No... no, please, God, no…
From the adjoining elevator bank, the metallic clatter of crutches echoes down the hall.
Edge, his shattered left leg locked in a full titanium brace, face pale and gaunt, drags himself forward with furious, agonizing momentum. He casts the crutches aside, catching the doorframe with an iron grip, roaring through the tears streaming down his face.
ADAM
BETH! BETH, LOOK AT ME! BETH!
Hook steps into the bay from the stairwell.
He stops dead ten feet from the smear of blood left on the concrete by the stretcher wheels. His fists don't shake anymore. The anger in his chest has frozen over into a total, pitch-black abyss.
Beside him, the heavy front doors open again.
Samoa Joe and Shibata step into the light, their jackets soaked with rain from the arena. Behind them walks Rey Mysterio, his hands buried in his head, his shoulders trembling with the crushing realization of what Dominik has helped unleash.
Joe looks at the blood on the floor. He looks at Adam screaming against the wall. He looks at Ruby sobbing in the puddle of rain.
Shibata slowly pulls his marker from his pocket. He doesn't write a joke this time. He writes one word across the board in thick, permanent black ink.
[WAR.]
Joe doesn’t look at the board. He looks straight at Hook.
JOE
Next week, we burn the whole damn city down.
HOOK
With what? Our good looks?
SHIBATA
[WELL, WE ARE GOOD LOOKING.]
ISLA
TYLER! JOE! SHIBATA! COME QUICK!
HOOK, JOE AND SHIBATA IMMEDIATELY COME RUNNING INTO ISLA’S ROOM!
JOE
WHERE IS HE!? I’LL FUCKING KILL HIM! WHERE IS HE!?
ISLA
Calm down, Joe. He’s not here.
Joe lowers his fists, chest still heaving like an angry furnace. He glares around the room, aggressively checking behind the privacy curtain, ripping open the bathroom door, and even squinting under the hospital bed before turning back to Isla.
JOE
Then why the hell did you scream like the building was collapsing?! I almost tore the hinges off the door!
Shibata lowers his guard, wipes his forehead with his forearm, and quickly scribbles on his dry-erase board before turning it toward Isla.
[MY HEART.]
Hook doesn’t say anything. He steps straight to the side of Isla’s bed, his dark eyes scanning her from head to toe, checking her IV line, her bandage, her pulse, making sure she didn't pop another stitch.
HOOK
What happened?
Isla reaches over with her uninjured arm and taps the screen of her tablet propped against the rolling tray table.
ISLA
His phone. The one he used to call me while he was standing over Beth.
Joe steps in close, leaning his massive frame over the bed, his brow furrowing.
JOE
What about it?
ISLA
He didn't use a burner. In his arrogance, he used his private business line because he thought he was untouchable. And when you threw Blade Hart through that wall and made him run for his life, he left the call connected for three minutes before he realized it.
Hook’s head tilts slightly, his gaze sharpening.
HOOK
You tracked the audio.
ISLA
I didn't just track the audio. I recorded the whole thing. He was in the underground lot with Dominik, David, and Jade. They’re not staying at the company hotel in Miami. Christian chartered a private compound out in the Everglades, an off-the-grid estate. They’re meeting there tomorrow morning to plan how they’re going to handle Zari Mercer and lock down the next target.
Joe’s eyes widen. A slow, terrifying grin spreads across his face.
JOE
A private compound. No broadcast cameras. No network suits. No corporate security to pull us apart.
Shibata flips his board over, writes with furious speed, and holds it up.
[NO WITNESSES.]
ISLA
He thinks I’m trapped in this bed waiting to surrender. He thinks he’s running a psychological war and we’re just reacting to every body he drops.
Isla grips the edge of the mattress, pulling herself up straight against the pillows despite the blinding pain in her fractured ribs. Her bruised throat tightens, her dark eyes flashing with pure, unyielding venom.
ISLA
He wants a consequence? Give him one. Don't wait for next week’s television show. Go to that compound tomorrow morning. Break the gate. And leave David Benoit and Dominik crawling through the swamp.
Hook pulls his hood up over his messy hair, his split knuckles curling tight into his jacket pockets.
HOOK
Consider it done.
Joe looks at Hook, then at Shibata, cracking his knuckles with a sound like snapping wood.
JOE
Looks like we’re taking a little field trip to the Glades, boys.
Joe leans down, looking Isla dead in the eye.
JOE
You rest up, kid. When you wake up tomorrow, your deadbeat won't have an army left.
Shibata erases his board with one swipe, writes two final words, and taps it hard against the bedpost.
[HUNTING TIME.]
The humid Florida swamp air is thick enough to chew. Spanish moss hangs from twisted cypress trees like rotting curtains. The buzzing of a million mosquitoes sounds like a revving chainsaw.
A thick palm frond pulls back with a wet snap.
Rey Mysterio pushes through the brush. He’s wearing dark cargo pants, tactical boots, and his wrestling mask, which is already completely soaked through with sweat. He swats furiously at the air around his ears.
REY
There are alligators out here, Joe. Real, actual alligators.
Right behind him, completely unfazed, walks Samoa Joe. Joe is wearing a chopped-off black hoodie, dark aviator sunglasses, and a pair of binoculars strapped across his massive chest like an action hero in a budget war movie.
JOE
Alligators don’t know how to defend a Coquina Clutch, Rey. Keep moving.
Behind Joe, Aalyah Mysterio trudges through the mud, her boots sinking three inches into the swamp muck with every step. She is wearing a full ghillie suit camo over her black training tank top, looking around in utter disbelief.
AALYAH
Why am I the only one wearing bush foliage?! Tyler is literally just wearing a black hoodie!
Hook walks three paces ahead. He hasn’t broken stride once. A twig snaps beneath his boots; his hands remain shoved casually into his jacket pockets.
HOOK
You asked to be tough.
AALYAH
This isn't tough, Tyler! I have moss in my sports bra!
Shibata steps out from behind a bald cypress tree. He is wearing dark shades, a bucket hat, and holds his familiar dry-erase board tucked beneath his arm.
Without breaking his stone-cold expression, Shibata clicks a dry-erase marker, scribbles rapidly, and holds the board up to Aalyah’s face.
[BLENDS IN.]
Aalyah blinks.
AALYAH
I’m a walking pile of Spanish moss, Shibata!
Joe stops, holding up a closed fist.
JOE
Hold perimeter!
Rey almost trips over a cypress knee.
REY
Joe, what perimeter? We’ve been circling the same swamp ditch for forty-five minutes. My GPS says we’re two miles away from the main highway.
JOE (lowering sunglasses, glaring at Rey)
Are you questioning my tactical navigation, Rey? I spent three weeks studying the terrain of South Florida on Google Earth. The compound is right through these trees.
Joe points dramatically toward a decrepit, rusted metal airboat shed sitting on the edge of a stagnant, green-scum canal.
JOE
There it is. The fortress of The Patriarchy.
Rey stares at the shed. It has no doors, half the tin roof is caved in, and an abandoned rusted lawnmower sits in the weeds.
REY
Joe... Christian Cage drinks fifty-year-old scotch from crystal tumblers. He wears three-thousand-dollar tailored suits. You honestly believe he’s hiding in a rusted tool shed that smells like dead catfish?
JOE
A guilty man with a fractured psyche seeks squalor, Rey. It’s psychology.
Shibata immediately writes on his board.
[HE’S BROKE.]
Joe nods firmly.
JOE
See? Shibata agrees with me.
Joe turns to Aalyah, pointing a massive finger at the dilapidated shed.
JOE
Aalyah. You’re our point woman. Operation Decoy Daughter is a go.
AALYAH
Wait, what?! Operation what?!
JOE
You walk in there, drawing the fire. When Dominik tries to give you a speech about father figures and emotional neglect, Hook and I flank from the canal side and neutralize the perimeter.
AALYAH
You want me to walk into a dark, spider-infested shack alone while covered in leaves?!
JOE
You’re five-foot-seven and fast. If Christian swings a steel chair, you duck. If Benoit jumps out with an iron pipe, you hit the dragon screw.
AALYAH
No! I am not going in there first!
JOE
Fine! Then I’ll go in! But if Christian jumps out from behind a wall, I’m taking his neck!... and his watch!
REY
You already have his ex-wife, you really need the rest of that?
JOE
What? A man can’t have a nice watch?
Hook lets out a quiet sigh, pulls his hands from his pockets, and simply walks straight past Joe toward the shed.
JOE
Tyler! Wait! You don't have tactical clearance!
Hook ignores him completely. He kicks open the rusted sheet-metal panel.
CLANG!
The sunlight slants through rusted holes in the roof.
Hook steps inside.
Sitting on an old overturned plastic cooler in the center of the dust is an empty bag of beef jerky, three crumpled energy drink cans, and a pristine, folded dry-cleaning bag labeled: CAGE, C. – CHARCOAL BESPOKE BLAZER.
Joe bursts into the shed, eyes wild, fists raised in an orthodox boxing guard.
JOE
CHRISTIAN! COME MEET YOUR DAUGHTER’S NEW DAD!
Silence.
Only the faint buzzing of a hornet’s nest in the rafters.
Joe drops his fists, looking around at the empty dirt floor.
JOE
...Well. He’s not here.
Rey walks in, ducking his masked head under a low beam, shaking his head.
REY
He was here. Look at the dry-cleaning ticket. He changed out of his suit and left before we landed.
Hook walks over to the wooden workbench in the back. Lying on the stained timber is a single white envelope addressed in clean, elegant handwriting.
TO: ISLA & THE STRAYS.
Hook picks it up, tearing the seal open with his thumb.
Inside is a single printed VIP parking pass for next week’s arena, stamped in bold crimson.
WEEK 5: THE NEXT CONSEQUENCE.
Hook crushes the paper in his fist until his knuckles turn white.
Joe leans over Hook’s shoulder, his eyes narrowing into cold, murderous slits.
JOE
He left us a ticket.
Shibata steps into the shed, looks at the torn envelope, pulls off his bucket hat, and slowly writes across his board.
[WE ARE NOT BUYING POPCORN.]
Joe turns toward the open doorway, staring out across the sun-bleached swamp, his voice dropping into that terrifying, low hum.
JOE
He thinks this is a game. He thinks because he left a note, he’s in control of the board.
Hook turns around, his dark fringe falling over eyes that look completely stripped of mercy. He drops the crushed pass onto the dirt floor and grinds it into the mud beneath his boot heel. He then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter.
HOOK
Run.
Hook flicks the flint.
A sharp yellow flame dances in the dim light. Without blinking, he drops the lighter directly onto the dry-cleaning plastic and the dry cardboard cartons beneath the workbench.
FWOOOOOOSH!
The chemical-soaked plastic catches instantly, a wall of orange fire roaring up the wooden partition toward the dry wooden ceiling!
AALYAH
TYLER! I AM WEARING DRY BUSHES! I AM LITERALLY A WALKING CAMPFIRE!
JOE
TACTICAL EVACUATION! MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!
Joe grabs Rey by the scruff of his collar, practically hoisting the legendary luchador off his feet as they scramble through the rusted doorway. Aalyah tears through the exit at a full sprint, shedding clumps of burning Spanish moss into the mud.
Shibata casually steps over the threshold, not breaking his stride for a second. He clicks his dry-erase marker, writes calmly, and holds the board over his shoulder toward the blaze.
[CONTROLLED BURN.]
Behind them, Hook walks out into the sunlight at a steady, unhurried pace. Behind his back, the dilapidated shed collapses into a roaring pillar of black smoke and crackling flame against the Florida sky.
Hook doesn't look back once.
The hum of the air conditioner cools the sterile hospital room.
Isla sits upright in bed, a fresh ice pack resting against her shoulder. Sitting in the leather armchair beside her, holding Isla’s hand, is Denise.
Dressed in an elegant cream silk blouse, designer sunglasses pushed into her perfectly styled hair, Denise exudes the composed, effortless poise of a woman who spent decades dealing with Christian Cage's ego, and survived it with her dignity, assets, and sanity intact.
DENISE
When I saw the news about Beth... and what he tried to do to you... I swear to God, Isla, your father has completely lost what little was left of his mind.
ISLA
He thinks he can force me to come home if he hurts everyone around me.
DENISE
Over my dead body. He doesn’t own you, sweetheart. He doesn’t own anything. In fact, after my lawyers finish filing the latest property injunctions tomorrow morning, he won’t even own that convertible he loves so much.
“HOUSE REAL BIG! CARS REAL BIG! DICK REAL BIG! EVERYTHING REAL BIG! RIMS REAL BIG! POCKETS REAL BIG! RINGS REAL BIG, LET ME TELL YOU HOW I LIVE!”
The heavy door swings open.
Isla and Denise look up.
Trudging into the room like a battered combat unit returning from a failed jungle expedition: Samoa Joe, Hook, Shibata, Rey, and Aalyah.
Aalyah looks completely disheveled, her ghillie suit is half-shredded, twigs are sticking out of her braids, and a single charred leaf is clinging to her collarbone. Rey is wiping swamp mud off his boots with a paper towel.
Hook’s hoodie is dusted with black soot, his face stone-cold as ever.
Joe takes one step into the room, stops dead, and immediately pulls off his aviator sunglasses.
Shibata writes on his dry erase board.
[JOE IS PLAYING A PLAYLIST THAT HE GOT FROM AARON SNYDER.]
JOE
Well, well, well. If it isn't the most radiant woman in the universe. Denise... you look sensational.
Denise turns in her chair, a knowing, amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as her eyes drift over Joe’s soot-stained clothes.
DENISE
Hello, Joe. Did you just fight a brushfire for me?
JOE
Just clearing some real estate, darling. Standard maintenance on the new estate.
Isla covers her bruised face with her good hand, groaning into her palm.
ISLA
Please, God, no. Not in front of me. I have broken ribs.
Shibata steps up beside the bed, taps his dry-erase marker with absolute clinical seriousness, and holds up the board.
[STEP-DAD ACTIVATED.]
Rey rubs the bridge of his nose through his damp mask, sighing deeply.
REY
I need to go check on Adam and Beth before I lose my mind.
Rey gives Isla a gentle pat on the foot and gives Denise a respectful nod before slipping out into the corridor.
Aalyah collapses into an empty vinyl chair in the corner, furiously picking a three-inch twig out of her sports bra.
AALYAH
I hate nature. I hate the Everglades. And I hate your ex-husband, Denise.
DENISE
Join the club, honey. It has millions of members.
Isla looks past Joe, locking eyes with Hook.
ISLA
Did you find him?
Hook reaches into his pocket and pulls out the crumpled, soot-stained VIP pass Christian left behind. He tosses it onto the bedside tray.
Isla picks it up. Her eyes harden as she reads the blood-red text.
WEEK 5: THE NEXT CONSEQUENCE.
DENISE
He’s coming back to the arena next week. He’s going to try to put another person in this ward.
ISLA
Let him try.
Isla reaches over to her sidetable, grabbing her cellphone. Everyone looks at her phone as she scrolls through the contact list.
HOOK
You have them under code names?
ISLA
Yeah, because my dad was never smart enough to figure out hints.
We see some of the contact names on the screen.
X-23.
Beans.
Burn In Her Light.
Feel The Heat.
Low Rider Passenger Princess.
Call Him Smooth.
The Original Terminator.
Park, Park & Park (Attorney at Law).
Beer Money (Minus the Beer).
Beer Money (Minus the Money).
Unlicensed Demolition Contractor.
OMG! Thought He Was Dead LOL!
Urban Cowboy.
Crow Boy #1.
Crow Boy #2.
Could Slap A Tornado.
A Twist of Fate I Wouldn’t Avoid.
HOOK
…
JOE
… HUH!?
EDGE (laughing from the other room)
They must’ve found out what Jeff’s contact name is in her phone.
HOOK
…
Hook slowly raises his head, his eyes shifting from the phone screen to Isla.
HOOK
Really?
EDGE (other room)
SHE HAS FOUR POSTERS ON HER WALL, TYLER! HE WROTE HER A BIRTHDAY CARD AND SHE FRAMED IT!
ISLA
SHUT IT, UNCLE ADAM!
SHIBATA
[Dom has Hello Kitty posters in his room. He also has a Hello Kitty flashlight.]
HOOK
…
JOE
That… doesn’t surprise me. Anyway…
AALYAH
Wait... Isla, are you actually calling those people? Because if Matt and Jeff Hardy roll up to Miami in a painted van…
DENISE
Let them come. Wiliam has spent years giving speeches about how he carried every tag team, every faction, and every company he ever touched. If he wants an army... show him what happens when the people he stepped on over the last three decades show up on his doorstep.
JOE
I love a woman in charge.
He smirks before his face turns serious once again.
JOE
He made a promise. One week. One body. He thinks that little piece of paper he left in the swamp gives him control of the board. He thinks next week in Miami is going to be his coronation.
Hook reaches down, picks up the charred VIP parking pass from the tray table, and rolls it between his fingers. He then looks over at Isla.
HOOK
Let’s make some calls.
Isla smirks as she looks over at Hook.
ISLA
You’re giving me the green light?
HOOK
When we burn down his patriarchy… when we break every single bone in his body for what he did to my future father and mother-in-law, for what he did to you… I want everybody he ever betrayed sitting in the front row.