Post by Ace King on Oct 23, 2024 22:30:12 GMT -6
October 20, 2024
Yankee Stadium
Bronx, New York
8:39 p.m.
“Do you hear them?”
Amidst a dark autumn evening, Ace King’s whisper cuts through and it’s not long before we see him sitting in the right-field bleachers.
“Even through hard times, the Bleacher Creatures make themselves heard,” he continues. “Even when they’re not at the mountaintop, they come calling, because they believe- no… they KNOW their legends will rise again. It’s been a minute, but goddamnit, I’m still here.”
‘The Gambler’ maintains a pensive expression as he scans the field.
“Seven years,” he says. “That’s how long it’s been since I outlasted everyone, when the Bronx was the Rumble’s home. I arrived then, but most of the EWC thinks my best days are gone despite nearly winning again last year. Alas, this isn’t horseshoes or hand grenades. I was far from a franchise player in 2017, but I had an inkling of what was coming.”
Ace unzips his jacket, revealing the shirt he wore the night he won the 2017 Rumble In The Bronx, styled after Yankee Stadium’s inhabitants right down to the pinstripes.
“It’s tighter now, but it still fits, just as I still fit as a force within EWC,” he affirms. “Last year’s Rumble winner knows it considering what went down in Detroit. As if the target on Xavier’s back wasn’t big enough as the reigning Rumble winner and a recent Undisputed Champion, his true colours re-emerged. Sure, it was legal, but there’s consolation in knowing he went there. Maybe I struck a nerve in suggesting someone outwitted him, I don’t know, but I do know the Rumble doesn’t reward going low as immortality is achieved by getting opponents up and over the top rope. Fair warning, Reid: We fought until the end last year, but this time? It’s on sight. One loss won’t make me unleash a Beast, but on my best day, YOU KNOW what I can become.”
Ace turns away from the field and walks through the otherwise empty concourse
“While I battled Reid at the end, there’s the matter of who I saw first,” he says with a tinge of bitterness. “Everybody remembers WrestleFest, Jack. Rehashing doesn’t help either of us, but the time away afforded me the clarity to admit you were better… HOWEVER, my overall demise was GREATLY exaggerated. While you converted your big moment into the Indy Championship, you couldn’t match the feat within the Insanity Cage, and then the thing I predicted in last year’s Rumble happened: The House was no longer your home. While part of me revels in that, the past has no influence. Any thought you have of me thinking you’re a mental barrier to overcome… Numerically and physically, sure, but psychologically? Nah. Time heals all; while that night in Philadelphia will sting occasionally, in the Bronx? Que sera sera.”
Ace approaches a sign for Monument Park, then goes down to the iconic shrine, pausing at the pinstripe-laden number 2 for Derek Jeter.
“I showed I can go bell to bell, and this venue holds those who lead off in high esteem,” he states as he moves between monuments for number 3 and 7. “Are you aspiring to that mantle, Mickey - sorry, Marcu$? You could become EWC’s Babe Ruth, but will you connect? Or will Dollar $ign Guy become Boy Who Cried Wolf Near Wall Street? You’ve beaten down the door of potential with all the title reigns, including being the first to hold the revived Television Championship… But you overlooked Lad, who quickly reached heights you’re still dreaming of. You have opportunities ahead, but I need to show I’m not coasting on a name, and to get there, it means your ambitions will amount to nothing, and yet again, you’ll be looking… Skyward? Or Skye-ward with an E?”
Ace shrugs as he settles into Monument Park, leaning against the center field rail.
“Either way, I’ll spell out their fates,” he says with a smirk. “We’ll start with the two E-Skyes, Chelsea and Sunny. Chelsea’s in her own bubble after admitting she doesn’t watch PARAMOUNT, home of the Undisputed Championship, so how seriously is she taking this? It might explain her nightmarish tenure. Also, I think there’s something in the Chi-Town water because Winterborn’s letting general malaise cloud his judgment again… ANYWAY, Sunny’s had her moments on NextGen, but like I said before Parabellum, the water’s deeper here, and the skies are stormier, meaning I’m not subscribing to her figuring things out in two months. The other Ace… Christ, he blames everything else for his woes except the defect between his ears. Maybe he’s embracing his heritage and moonlighting in Russian propaganda, who knows? You’d hope an industry veteran would have more self-awareness; maybe he did in his past life before he started complaining of glass ceilings, limits, insert trope here.”
‘The Gambler’ shrugs and turns his attention to the #1 monument for Billy Martin.
“Apparently being too short is grounds for rejection… Care to comment, five-foot-one Indy and former Undisputed Champion Candy?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure Mister Sky would loooooove to hear how you were limited, but you’ve had a hell of a run; score one for our generation. While Ace-ahuasca Rodgers is elsewhere, you’ve shown what’s possible when you’re in the moment. I may be biased after you threw Severn overboard, but your resurgence has been sweet. Of the seven champions competing, you’re dangerous because I don’t know which version I’ll see, but that can backfire. I’ve earned a full podium of Rumble finishes through consistency; if you don’t know which side of you is in control, how can you formulate the path forward, especially after getting so close at Parabellum? That would drive most mad, and discipline triumphs over division.”
Ace shakes his head as he remains perched over the #1 monument for the time being.
“Of course, you and Sky aren’t the only ones coming in with altered minds,” he says with a flared eyebrow. “There’s also Rick Rampage, whose backyard we’re inhibiting. Every match in EWC has make-or-break elements; in making my singles return to EWC, I broke the Golden Boy. He keeps saying things will be different, but he’s become the definition of insanity. The coveralls can’t cover all his pain, and no amount of home cooking can fix it, and it’s too early for 34th Street miracles.”
The former Undisputed Champion simply shrugs as he takes a seat on the bench.
“Speaking of miracles, how about Amis FUCKIN’ Shelton?” he exclaims with an exaggerated thumbs-up. “I’m not sure if Springfield uses Chicago’s hydro, but ol’ Make Him Famous Amis is back drinking his Kool-Aid, except there’s something a-miss. Yeah, he has the Television Championship, but how far has he fallen from being so close to the pinnacle? Seriously, he was a candidate to be The Next One! Alastor Gray would have pissed on peanuts to ditch Vin Havoc… and Jim Connors thought Amis was equal value! The Amis I remember would NEVER have accepted that. You’re on a high now, but the fall’s never far behind, and as you’ve always done on the biggest stages, you’ll revert to being a shell of yourself.”
‘The Gambler’ pauses briefly, then strides through the museum to mull over the Paul O’Neill #21 monument.
“By contrast, one guy you ALWAYS know what you’ll get from is Mercenary,” Ace says, a genuine smile crossing his face. “Mike, you know I admire you. You’ve fought through all kinds of mud and come out the best you’ve ever been, the embodiment of your Fighting Spirit Championship. You understand the concept of honour, which is why I’m proud to paraphrase parts of what you said when we went 1-on-1 two years ago: You’re one of the best, and I need to beat you. Watching your ascension helped me come back, because I always wanted you at your best. Whether or not I get that on account of the omnipresent ZERO remains to be seen since he can do damage, but if we square off… I know how to fight, and I know how to keep fighting. You know what I’m about, so you know I’ll dig as deep as needed to keep fighting for MY shot.”
The two-time Undisputed Champion stands a bit straighter as he walks over to the #15 Thurman Munson memorial.
“Alas, Mercer isn’t the only standard-setting champion occupying Friday nights, is he?” he asks with an approving nod. “Cosmo, I’m glad you’ve seen the light, and doubly glad it isn’t JoJo’s delusion. There’s a difference between having the ability to do something in a moment and figuring out the how and why. You’re clearly in the latter category, because nobody’s ever questioned the talent. For you, it was having your head straight; while confidence isn’t bad, arrogance is death. Now, I accidentally called you Rampage’s Brand Warfare captain, which wasn’t meant to disrespect Vin, but it was me expecting more from you. You’ve made me eat my words by reclaiming the United States Championship in a LEGENDARY bout with Lad, and I believe you’ll be Undisputed someday… but not yet. I could talk about eliminating you from last year’s Rumble, but that’s history, so here’s my how and why: The HOW is whatever it takes, and the WHY is because I still have something to prove. I’ve done A LOT in EWC, but it shouldn’t be mistaken for being DONE, far from it.”
Again, Ace looks around, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees the Yogi Berra #8 monument.
“Moving from my former home to my current one, I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve had my number here, Ito-san,” he acknowledges flatly. “You ended my first X-Division reign in Johannesburg, then my second one at StrangleMania the night I won my second Undisputed Championship, which you then took at WrestleFest after co-winning a Rumble. There are no secrets between us, Ito-san, and while it means I know how tough you are, there’s security in dealing with the Devil you know. I know you were miffed at me coming to PARAMOUNT for Brand Warfare, but that led to you becoming Dynasty Champion. Knowing the importance of dynasties in Japan, I’d suggest you’d cemented yours ages ago at my expense. The standard you set is as gold as your hair, but I’m out to re-establish mine, and you need to fall to make things right.”
With a nod, Ace quickly picks out the #23 monument belonging to Don Mattingly and walks over to it.
“Ito-san has my number, but nobody really knows me like El Pablo,” he says warmly. “This January marks seventeen years since you’ve been my ride or die, and I’ve never seen you better. You’ve been the constant all season, worth every ounce of the EWC’s weight in Skittles and gold. Water cooler conversation often comes to the topic of Best To Never Win The Big One… Actively, you’re that guy, and I’d also suggest you’re high in the all-time conversation. Now, I obviously revere you, but knowing you as I do means I shoot straighter with you, so I mean no malice when I say you’re spreading yourself too thin. The symptoms crept in against Apollo, but double duty with the Rumble’s unpredictable entries? It’s not impossible, but it’s a whole lot harder. You will be Undisputed Champion someday, and I’ll be the first to congratulate you, but this isn’t the path, not when I’ve got so much to fight for with a singular focus.”
There’s a steely determination to Ace’s words, but his body language shifts rather quickly.
“Alas, we shift from those who know me to someone who THINKS they know,” he growls, his inflection change noticeable. “I’ve felt like you never wanted to understand me, Narumi. You mocked how serious I took Legends of the Cage when I won, but that set me on the path to becoming the standard you’re trying to surpass. You’ve said I abandoned El Pablo while simultaneously saying the PRIME roster, featuring many of your Shinijoshi cohorts, has let you down for years. You pinned me at Parabellum, but only after I had the GALL to kick out of your first attempt; the NERVE, right? But no worries, because SURELY I was old news afterward…”
Ace reaches into his jacket to pull out the infamous Narumi-commissioned T-shirt denigrating 777.
“Except this suggests different, but I let it go because freedom of expression exists,” he says as he drops the t-shirt and digs a heel into it. “At least, it does for you, but not for me based on your reaction to how I spoke my truth in Monterrey. Hell, anyone who DARES make a salient point becomes irrelevant because it doesn’t serve you, but let me learn ya something, Decennium: A decade’s a long time. I’m still two years from being in EWC that long, yet I’m still relevant because people like you, Hardcore Champion of the Edgelords, can’t keep my name out of your fucking mouth. I’d love nothing more than to see Vin Havoc put you in the Rumble at #2 in a bodybag; forget a decade, I’ll take great pleasure knocking you into next week the first chance I get.”
Ace puts his hand on the side door to the Yankees bullpen, only to stop and scan the shrine before heading for one last number.
“Which leaves me, EWC’s Mr. October,” he declares as he stands before the pinstriped Reggie Jackson #44 monument. “This is when I’m at my best: Two days after the Rumble is the seventh anniversary of the 777 reign starting, and we’ve just passed the third anniversary of my last Undisputed Championship defence. That passage of time suggests the moment has passed me by… but I’m still MORE than capable of standing on business.”
Satisfied, ‘The Gambler’ turns back and heads through the door to the Yankees bullpen.
“As for the mystery folks? I’m fine with it because I just did it for Parabellum, it’s just a matter of being ready. If anything, I should still be a threat to both of them. Like Mariano Rivera with Enter Sandman, there’s no mystery about who’s coming when you hear Ace of Spades,” he states as he stands atop the bullpen steps, the field beckoning below. “I’m happy we’re here since I’m considered EWC’s Evil Empire by those yet to reach the summit, but much like these Yankees, I haven’t won enough when it matters lately. It’s time to change that. Put me in, Coach, because I’m ready to play hardball to solidify MY pathway to a third Undisputed Championship. BET ON IT.”
Ace wears a stern expression as he hurries down the steps and onto the field, the biggest stadium floodlights coming alive as he jogs toward the mound. As he toes the rubber, an AI-generated Bob Sheppard recording reverberates for all to hear:
“ACE KING… WINNER OF THE TWENTY-TWENTY-FOUR E-W-C RUMBLE IN THE BRONX… ACE KING.”
Yankee Stadium
Bronx, New York
8:39 p.m.
“Do you hear them?”
Amidst a dark autumn evening, Ace King’s whisper cuts through and it’s not long before we see him sitting in the right-field bleachers.
“Even through hard times, the Bleacher Creatures make themselves heard,” he continues. “Even when they’re not at the mountaintop, they come calling, because they believe- no… they KNOW their legends will rise again. It’s been a minute, but goddamnit, I’m still here.”
‘The Gambler’ maintains a pensive expression as he scans the field.
“Seven years,” he says. “That’s how long it’s been since I outlasted everyone, when the Bronx was the Rumble’s home. I arrived then, but most of the EWC thinks my best days are gone despite nearly winning again last year. Alas, this isn’t horseshoes or hand grenades. I was far from a franchise player in 2017, but I had an inkling of what was coming.”
Ace unzips his jacket, revealing the shirt he wore the night he won the 2017 Rumble In The Bronx, styled after Yankee Stadium’s inhabitants right down to the pinstripes.
“It’s tighter now, but it still fits, just as I still fit as a force within EWC,” he affirms. “Last year’s Rumble winner knows it considering what went down in Detroit. As if the target on Xavier’s back wasn’t big enough as the reigning Rumble winner and a recent Undisputed Champion, his true colours re-emerged. Sure, it was legal, but there’s consolation in knowing he went there. Maybe I struck a nerve in suggesting someone outwitted him, I don’t know, but I do know the Rumble doesn’t reward going low as immortality is achieved by getting opponents up and over the top rope. Fair warning, Reid: We fought until the end last year, but this time? It’s on sight. One loss won’t make me unleash a Beast, but on my best day, YOU KNOW what I can become.”
Ace turns away from the field and walks through the otherwise empty concourse
“While I battled Reid at the end, there’s the matter of who I saw first,” he says with a tinge of bitterness. “Everybody remembers WrestleFest, Jack. Rehashing doesn’t help either of us, but the time away afforded me the clarity to admit you were better… HOWEVER, my overall demise was GREATLY exaggerated. While you converted your big moment into the Indy Championship, you couldn’t match the feat within the Insanity Cage, and then the thing I predicted in last year’s Rumble happened: The House was no longer your home. While part of me revels in that, the past has no influence. Any thought you have of me thinking you’re a mental barrier to overcome… Numerically and physically, sure, but psychologically? Nah. Time heals all; while that night in Philadelphia will sting occasionally, in the Bronx? Que sera sera.”
Ace approaches a sign for Monument Park, then goes down to the iconic shrine, pausing at the pinstripe-laden number 2 for Derek Jeter.
“I showed I can go bell to bell, and this venue holds those who lead off in high esteem,” he states as he moves between monuments for number 3 and 7. “Are you aspiring to that mantle, Mickey - sorry, Marcu$? You could become EWC’s Babe Ruth, but will you connect? Or will Dollar $ign Guy become Boy Who Cried Wolf Near Wall Street? You’ve beaten down the door of potential with all the title reigns, including being the first to hold the revived Television Championship… But you overlooked Lad, who quickly reached heights you’re still dreaming of. You have opportunities ahead, but I need to show I’m not coasting on a name, and to get there, it means your ambitions will amount to nothing, and yet again, you’ll be looking… Skyward? Or Skye-ward with an E?”
Ace shrugs as he settles into Monument Park, leaning against the center field rail.
“Either way, I’ll spell out their fates,” he says with a smirk. “We’ll start with the two E-Skyes, Chelsea and Sunny. Chelsea’s in her own bubble after admitting she doesn’t watch PARAMOUNT, home of the Undisputed Championship, so how seriously is she taking this? It might explain her nightmarish tenure. Also, I think there’s something in the Chi-Town water because Winterborn’s letting general malaise cloud his judgment again… ANYWAY, Sunny’s had her moments on NextGen, but like I said before Parabellum, the water’s deeper here, and the skies are stormier, meaning I’m not subscribing to her figuring things out in two months. The other Ace… Christ, he blames everything else for his woes except the defect between his ears. Maybe he’s embracing his heritage and moonlighting in Russian propaganda, who knows? You’d hope an industry veteran would have more self-awareness; maybe he did in his past life before he started complaining of glass ceilings, limits, insert trope here.”
‘The Gambler’ shrugs and turns his attention to the #1 monument for Billy Martin.
“Apparently being too short is grounds for rejection… Care to comment, five-foot-one Indy and former Undisputed Champion Candy?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure Mister Sky would loooooove to hear how you were limited, but you’ve had a hell of a run; score one for our generation. While Ace-ahuasca Rodgers is elsewhere, you’ve shown what’s possible when you’re in the moment. I may be biased after you threw Severn overboard, but your resurgence has been sweet. Of the seven champions competing, you’re dangerous because I don’t know which version I’ll see, but that can backfire. I’ve earned a full podium of Rumble finishes through consistency; if you don’t know which side of you is in control, how can you formulate the path forward, especially after getting so close at Parabellum? That would drive most mad, and discipline triumphs over division.”
Ace shakes his head as he remains perched over the #1 monument for the time being.
“Of course, you and Sky aren’t the only ones coming in with altered minds,” he says with a flared eyebrow. “There’s also Rick Rampage, whose backyard we’re inhibiting. Every match in EWC has make-or-break elements; in making my singles return to EWC, I broke the Golden Boy. He keeps saying things will be different, but he’s become the definition of insanity. The coveralls can’t cover all his pain, and no amount of home cooking can fix it, and it’s too early for 34th Street miracles.”
The former Undisputed Champion simply shrugs as he takes a seat on the bench.
“Speaking of miracles, how about Amis FUCKIN’ Shelton?” he exclaims with an exaggerated thumbs-up. “I’m not sure if Springfield uses Chicago’s hydro, but ol’ Make Him Famous Amis is back drinking his Kool-Aid, except there’s something a-miss. Yeah, he has the Television Championship, but how far has he fallen from being so close to the pinnacle? Seriously, he was a candidate to be The Next One! Alastor Gray would have pissed on peanuts to ditch Vin Havoc… and Jim Connors thought Amis was equal value! The Amis I remember would NEVER have accepted that. You’re on a high now, but the fall’s never far behind, and as you’ve always done on the biggest stages, you’ll revert to being a shell of yourself.”
‘The Gambler’ pauses briefly, then strides through the museum to mull over the Paul O’Neill #21 monument.
“By contrast, one guy you ALWAYS know what you’ll get from is Mercenary,” Ace says, a genuine smile crossing his face. “Mike, you know I admire you. You’ve fought through all kinds of mud and come out the best you’ve ever been, the embodiment of your Fighting Spirit Championship. You understand the concept of honour, which is why I’m proud to paraphrase parts of what you said when we went 1-on-1 two years ago: You’re one of the best, and I need to beat you. Watching your ascension helped me come back, because I always wanted you at your best. Whether or not I get that on account of the omnipresent ZERO remains to be seen since he can do damage, but if we square off… I know how to fight, and I know how to keep fighting. You know what I’m about, so you know I’ll dig as deep as needed to keep fighting for MY shot.”
The two-time Undisputed Champion stands a bit straighter as he walks over to the #15 Thurman Munson memorial.
“Alas, Mercer isn’t the only standard-setting champion occupying Friday nights, is he?” he asks with an approving nod. “Cosmo, I’m glad you’ve seen the light, and doubly glad it isn’t JoJo’s delusion. There’s a difference between having the ability to do something in a moment and figuring out the how and why. You’re clearly in the latter category, because nobody’s ever questioned the talent. For you, it was having your head straight; while confidence isn’t bad, arrogance is death. Now, I accidentally called you Rampage’s Brand Warfare captain, which wasn’t meant to disrespect Vin, but it was me expecting more from you. You’ve made me eat my words by reclaiming the United States Championship in a LEGENDARY bout with Lad, and I believe you’ll be Undisputed someday… but not yet. I could talk about eliminating you from last year’s Rumble, but that’s history, so here’s my how and why: The HOW is whatever it takes, and the WHY is because I still have something to prove. I’ve done A LOT in EWC, but it shouldn’t be mistaken for being DONE, far from it.”
Again, Ace looks around, and he raises an eyebrow when he sees the Yogi Berra #8 monument.
“Moving from my former home to my current one, I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve had my number here, Ito-san,” he acknowledges flatly. “You ended my first X-Division reign in Johannesburg, then my second one at StrangleMania the night I won my second Undisputed Championship, which you then took at WrestleFest after co-winning a Rumble. There are no secrets between us, Ito-san, and while it means I know how tough you are, there’s security in dealing with the Devil you know. I know you were miffed at me coming to PARAMOUNT for Brand Warfare, but that led to you becoming Dynasty Champion. Knowing the importance of dynasties in Japan, I’d suggest you’d cemented yours ages ago at my expense. The standard you set is as gold as your hair, but I’m out to re-establish mine, and you need to fall to make things right.”
With a nod, Ace quickly picks out the #23 monument belonging to Don Mattingly and walks over to it.
“Ito-san has my number, but nobody really knows me like El Pablo,” he says warmly. “This January marks seventeen years since you’ve been my ride or die, and I’ve never seen you better. You’ve been the constant all season, worth every ounce of the EWC’s weight in Skittles and gold. Water cooler conversation often comes to the topic of Best To Never Win The Big One… Actively, you’re that guy, and I’d also suggest you’re high in the all-time conversation. Now, I obviously revere you, but knowing you as I do means I shoot straighter with you, so I mean no malice when I say you’re spreading yourself too thin. The symptoms crept in against Apollo, but double duty with the Rumble’s unpredictable entries? It’s not impossible, but it’s a whole lot harder. You will be Undisputed Champion someday, and I’ll be the first to congratulate you, but this isn’t the path, not when I’ve got so much to fight for with a singular focus.”
There’s a steely determination to Ace’s words, but his body language shifts rather quickly.
“Alas, we shift from those who know me to someone who THINKS they know,” he growls, his inflection change noticeable. “I’ve felt like you never wanted to understand me, Narumi. You mocked how serious I took Legends of the Cage when I won, but that set me on the path to becoming the standard you’re trying to surpass. You’ve said I abandoned El Pablo while simultaneously saying the PRIME roster, featuring many of your Shinijoshi cohorts, has let you down for years. You pinned me at Parabellum, but only after I had the GALL to kick out of your first attempt; the NERVE, right? But no worries, because SURELY I was old news afterward…”
Ace reaches into his jacket to pull out the infamous Narumi-commissioned T-shirt denigrating 777.
“Except this suggests different, but I let it go because freedom of expression exists,” he says as he drops the t-shirt and digs a heel into it. “At least, it does for you, but not for me based on your reaction to how I spoke my truth in Monterrey. Hell, anyone who DARES make a salient point becomes irrelevant because it doesn’t serve you, but let me learn ya something, Decennium: A decade’s a long time. I’m still two years from being in EWC that long, yet I’m still relevant because people like you, Hardcore Champion of the Edgelords, can’t keep my name out of your fucking mouth. I’d love nothing more than to see Vin Havoc put you in the Rumble at #2 in a bodybag; forget a decade, I’ll take great pleasure knocking you into next week the first chance I get.”
Ace puts his hand on the side door to the Yankees bullpen, only to stop and scan the shrine before heading for one last number.
“Which leaves me, EWC’s Mr. October,” he declares as he stands before the pinstriped Reggie Jackson #44 monument. “This is when I’m at my best: Two days after the Rumble is the seventh anniversary of the 777 reign starting, and we’ve just passed the third anniversary of my last Undisputed Championship defence. That passage of time suggests the moment has passed me by… but I’m still MORE than capable of standing on business.”
Satisfied, ‘The Gambler’ turns back and heads through the door to the Yankees bullpen.
“As for the mystery folks? I’m fine with it because I just did it for Parabellum, it’s just a matter of being ready. If anything, I should still be a threat to both of them. Like Mariano Rivera with Enter Sandman, there’s no mystery about who’s coming when you hear Ace of Spades,” he states as he stands atop the bullpen steps, the field beckoning below. “I’m happy we’re here since I’m considered EWC’s Evil Empire by those yet to reach the summit, but much like these Yankees, I haven’t won enough when it matters lately. It’s time to change that. Put me in, Coach, because I’m ready to play hardball to solidify MY pathway to a third Undisputed Championship. BET ON IT.”
Ace wears a stern expression as he hurries down the steps and onto the field, the biggest stadium floodlights coming alive as he jogs toward the mound. As he toes the rubber, an AI-generated Bob Sheppard recording reverberates for all to hear:
“ACE KING… WINNER OF THE TWENTY-TWENTY-FOUR E-W-C RUMBLE IN THE BRONX… ACE KING.”