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Chapter 2 - --2-- (Rewritten)

The next morning, Vince Maston was in the middle of IRW's training facility, an old gym with peeling mats and an old ring with saggy ropes from years of use. In front of him were close to thirty individuals—wrestlers, trainers, production staff, and one man who looked like he would rather be anywhere else, the only booker that Lance kept on the payroll. The murmuring quieted down as Vince stepped in front, holding the mic that squealed for a moment then settled down.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Vince started, steady but commanding. "For those of you who don't know me, my name is Vince Maston. And as of yesterday, Maston Holdings is the official owner of Iron Ring Wrestling."

A wave of whispers rippled through the room. Some faces were inquisitive. Others were concerned. A few crossed arms and narrowed eyes expressed distrust. Vince raised his hand for silence.

"First things first," he continued. "I know what you're all thinking---new ownership typically means mass firings." He allowed this to hang for a bit before shaking his head. "I am not here to gut this place. There is not going to be a bloodbath. You guys have all busted your asses for IRW and I respect that. But..." He let the pause go for a beat too long enough to make them uncomfortable. "There will be changes."

The room was stone-cold silent now.

"We have one year remaining on the TV deal with Red TV," Vince said. "One year. If things don't improve, we will lose that too. No TV, means no sponsors, no exposure, no future. That is where we stand. I will not bullshit this."

He surveyed the crowd to see all their colouring fade from apprehension to absolute terror. Then he suddenly sat up straight and a little grin replaced the worry on his face.

"But the good news is: we are still alive. We have time. And if we make the right moves, there is no reason for us to not turn this around. I didn't buy IRW to let it drown, but because I see something in IRW. I see the something in you...

That drew a few careful nods. The tension among the wrestlers eased just a little. 

Vince started to move closer to the ropes of the ring. "But getting where I want to go, means we all have to change our thinking on wrestling. Right now, matches here are just... fights. Two people against each other in a ring. No story. No build. And the truth is it's pretty stale."

Everyone looked at each other awkwardly. 

"Let me introduce you to two words and two concepts you will be hearing a lot more about," Vince said. "Heels and babyfaces."

Blank stares. No one even had a flicker of recognition. 

"Heels," Vince explained while he paced, "are the bad guys. The villains. They cheat. They insult the audience. They run their mouths. They are the ones the audience loves to hate. Babyfaces are the inverse – the heroes. The ones the audience cheers for. They fight fair. They stand up to bullies. They make the audience believe."

"Some eyebrows raised. One of the wrestlers, a broad shouldered gentleman in his mid-thirties, raised a hand. "So... you're saying we can act like villains and heroes, right?"

"Indeed," Vince said. "This is not just wrestling anymore. It's a show. A spectacle. We're going to give the people stories that they can care about. Rivals they want to see soar. Drama that makes them want to come back every week to see what happens next. We're going to make them care."

Some of the people in the crowd nodded slowly. Others were doubtful. Vince raised his voice louder, growing more excited.

"I'm not saying it will be easy. Hell, it's going to be a long road ahead. But if we do this right? Not only will we keep our TV deal, but we'll build something that no one in this room has even fathomed. We'll become the best damn wrestling company in the world!"

A cheer arose—not loud—but enough. Vince smiled. He had at least a small of them.

"Alright," he said. "Lance, grab me your booker and your assistant. And call in your head trainer."

______

An hour later, Vince squeezed into the office next to Lance Dawson with Eddie Cole, the wiry, nervaous booker, and Mark Rivera, Lance's right-hand man and production and back stage coordinator. Across from them was Gus Bradley, the grizzled IRW head trainer, who sat with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he were waiting for someone to convince him not to walk out the door.

"Here is the roster," Eddie said, handing Vince a clipboard. "Twenty guys, eight women. Two titles—male, female. Weekly two hour show. Women usually get fifteen minutes, at most."

Vince raised his eyebrow. "Fifteen minutes?"

"That's just how it has been," Eddie mumbled out loud.

Vince sucked air sharply in but refrained from arguing—yet, before he did that, he placed the clipboard down. "Ok, first let's talk heels and babyfaces."

He went through it again, talking about the psychology of the crowd, the primacy of promos and mic skills, how whims and drama from outside the ring could make the in-ring results mean more to the audience. Gus didn't look that amused but Mark, while forever skeptical, listened with a certain curiosity, while Eddie had written several pages furiously, with something between confusion and cautious optimism on his face.

"I realize this is a lot to process," Vince said, "but just think of it. Wrestlers cutting hot speeches, fans booing heels out of the building, arenas exploding when the babyface finally gets over. That's what draws people in. That's why they leaving saying 'that was awesome... I want to see that again.'"

Lance tapped his bottom lip with his index finger in mock surrender. "Okay, if you need my approval, consider it done. You're running the show now. But you better know what you're doing, Vince."

"I do." Vince said plainly. Then he turned back to Gus. "Who's got mic skills on the roster? Who can talk, show some personality, maybe even act a little? Anyone?"

Gus scratched at his chin and replied, "Not many. They're fighters first, not actors. But..." He then began to name some wrestlers. Vince mentally placed a checkmark next to several names. They were destined to be his original ensemble.

After the meeting concluded, Eddie waited in the doorway with his notes. Facing Vince, he gave an anxious look. "This ... idea of yours. I mean, on paper it has... some merit. But do you really think people will go for it? Livestream, TV and all?"

Vince looked him squarely in the eye. "They'll go for it. Trust me. They just don't know it yet."

Eddie nodded slowly and left, clearly rattled.

Now alone, Vince reclined in the chair and attached the roster sheet. Twenty guys. Eight girls. A two-and-a-half-hour show that would barely tap into its female division. One man and one woman champion.

"Not much to work with," Vince thought, "but enough to get started."

He searched through the names and started crossing out the ones he thought could work as heroes, and marking the ones he thought could work as heels. It was going to be a long process; longer than anyone in this building thought - but this is how revolutions start!

As he stared at the roster sheet, Vince couldn't help but grin. He didn't know it yet, but today, in this dingy office, he had just laid the first brick in what would become the foundation of an empire that would change wrestling forever.

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