The shot fades in from black, showing Bulk Logan in the Weekend Warfare locker room after his match last week, the TV Championship belt slung over his massive shoulder. There's a look of confusion on his face, mixed with a smirk. He speaks directly to the camera.

"Alright, alright, alright, Bulk-a-maniacs! You know who it is, THE NEW TV CHAMPION, THE ONE AND ONLY MAN WITH A PLAN TO GET THE JOB DONE... BULK LOGAN!"

Bulk pumps his fists into the air.

"And speaking of 'You know who it is,' it seems we've got ourselves a little mystery contender. Now, I've been in this business a long time, brother. And every now and then, there's a guy who thinks he's the bee's knees, that he's the talk of the town. But let me tell you something, Mister HAHA... Y'ALREADY KNOW WHO IT IS. No, brother. I genuinely don't!"

Bulk laughs heartily.

"But you know what? I respect your energy, man! Always smiling, always positive, thinking the entire world knows your story. But let's get one thing straight, Jack. This isn't some comedy show, this isn't open mic night at the local club. This is the XWF, where legends like ME run wild over silly pretenders like you, dude!"

Without standing up, Bulk flexes, showing off his massive biceps.

"Let's talk about your other 'talent', that entrance music. Listen, brother, I've heard some interesting beats in my time, but that crap you come out to?.. that trash is something else, dude. You're stepping into the wrestling world, already struggling to make a mark, to get your name out to the people, and fail miserably, brother, but now, what? You think you can rap too? Well, brother, I've heard cats in a bag with more rhythm than you!"

Laughs!

"I mean, really? Y'ALL KNOW WHO? No, brother, 'Y'ALL KNOW WHERE THIS SIZE 16 BOOT IS GOING'? I'll tell you where it's going, brother, straight into a pile of 'never should have tried THIS or THAT, dude!"

Bulk flexes one bicep mockingly.

"As far as your wrestling goes? Honestly, I've yet to witness you throw even a single punch, Mr. HAHA. But somehow, you've wiggled your way into a shot at the TV title. How'd you manage that? Find some loophole or shortcut? Because, let me set the record straight: every victory, every accolade I've earned in this ring came from blood, sweat, and sheer determination. Just recently, I had to claw my way past a seasoned veteran half my age and a fiery rookie whose ambition often clouded his judgment. But you? You just saunter in, expecting a title shot on a silver platter? I've got no time and no respect for pretenders who haven't grinded through the ranks, who believe they can just bypass the hard work and outshine the real stars. Listen closely, you nameless prankster: you're about to learn that shortcuts might get you a shot, but it takes real talent, grit, and heart to become a champion. And from where I'm standing, you're coming up real short in all those areas, brother!"

Bulk laughs heartily.

"You might want to consider a new career, brother. Maybe silent mime? Because whether it's rhyming or wrestling, you sure aren't making any hits in the XWF!"

Bulk pumps his fists in the air.

"But let's not forget why we're here. That TV Championship title gleaming over my shoulder! It's staying right here. I've been to the mountaintop, faced the toughest, and emerged victorious time and time again. And Mr. HAHA... let me lay down the challenge: our next match won't just be any match. We're taking it up a notch - a Death Row Rumble. From the holding cell to the electric chair. That's right, brother, the only way to win is to strap your opponent in that chair and give him a shocker of an ending! No pinfalls, no submissions, just pure electrifying action, brother!"

"And as we embark on this high-voltage journey, remember, it doesn't matter if the world knows you or not. Because when the dust settles and the lights come back up, they'll know one thing for sure... that stepping into a battle with Bulkamania means entering the eye of the storm. The kind of storm where lightning doesn't just strike once, but again and again, until all that's left is the echo of thunderous applause for the one and only BULKSTER, dude!"

Bulk flexes with an intensity that seems to send ripples through the very air.

"WHATCHA GONNA DO, MR. HAHA, WHEN THE STORM OF BULKAMANIA ELECTRIFIES AND WASHES OVER YOU?!"

The screen fades to black with the distant rumble of thunder echoing.

---

Bulk's agent, Larry Smith—the man who paved the way for his return to the sport after an absence of 14 years—is fuming. 

The lavish office furnishings don't do much to dampen the flames of his anger as he paces behind his desk. Gary, still in his wheelchair, tries to catch his attention. Bulk, sensing the brewing storm, looks uneasy.

"Really, Logan? Brass knuckles? AND a cheap shot at Dio after the bell? What the hell were you thinking!? You're SUPPOSED to be the HERO!!!" He says slamming his fists into the table as he leans in searching for an answer.

Bulk, scratching the back of his head. "Look, dude, sometimes out there in the heat of the battle, you gotta throw a curveball. The Bulkamaniac's, they wanted fireworks, and I brought the whole dang Fourth of July, brother!"

Larry, jabbing a pointed finger at Bulk as he speaks. "Throwing a curveball is one thing. What you did? That's straight up dirty play. We've worked our asses off to repaint you as the golden boy, and you're out here acting like a thug!"

Gary, attempts to mediate. "Larry, I was scrolling through the tweets and comments after the match. A lot of the fans are vibing with this new, rawer side of Bulk. It's refreshing... it's edgy."

Bulk stands straight and begins pumping his pecs. "That's what I'm talking about, dude! Wrestling's evolved, man. It ain't about Rock & Roll and leg drops anymore, brother. The fans? They want their wrestling raw and gritty, dude, especially HERE in the XWF, brother! The knuckles, the aftershow with Dio? Pure entertainment, brother! Bulk's bringing the drama!"

Larry's voice drips with sarcasm. "Oh, a regular Shakespearean drama, no doubt. Do you get how fragile our situation is? We're tiptoeing around trying to rebuild your reputation, and you're out there playing demolition derby."

Gary leans in. "But think about it, Larry. Maybe we've been going about this the wrong way. Maybe Bulk doesn't need to be the poster boy of purity. Maybe he needs to be the hero who, once in a while, bends the rules. A hero for the modern era."

Larry exhales a heavy sigh. "It’s not just about giving some fans a kick. We've got sponsors, contracts, and brand image to think about. Plus, Bulk, think of the kids. The little Bulkamaniac's. What are you teaching them?"

Bulk spreads his arms wide. "I'm teaching them that sometimes, in life and the ring, you've gotta roll with the punches, even throw a few wild ones. Not everything's black and white, brother. Maybe it's time for Bulkamania to show its true colors."

Gary nods in agreement. "It might not have been by the book, but it got people's attention. It's caused a stir. Maybe that's the shakeup we've been looking for."

Larry sits down and leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Alright, listen, I'll consult with our sponsors and partners. I'll see how we can... maneuver around this new angle you're pulling." He shoots Bulk a stern look. "But listen and listen well, Logan. In the meantime, I need you to lay low. No more surprises. Got it?"


Bulk nods. "You got it, brother! No more wild cards from the Bulkster. Scouts honor, dude!"

Gary is eyeing Larry suspiciously as he asks: "You seem to have something else on your mind, Larry. Spill it."

Larry smirks, very much proud of himself. "Let's just say I've put a lot on the line for our upcoming promo. Made a hefty donation to a certain political campaign. In return, we've secured quite the voice for our next Bulk Logan hype video."

Bulk raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who'd ya get, brother? Someone as iconic as the Bulkster himself?"

Larry chuckles. "Oh, you could say that. How about the commander-in-chief himself?"

Gary's eyes widen. "No way! You didn't..."

Larry grins ear to ear. "Joe Biden will be narrating your promo, Logan. Nothing is more American than that. This is huge for us."

Bulk's face contorts with clear disapproval. "Biden? The guy they're calling a mob boss? Seriously, dude? And you're worried about me dusting the knucks, dude? After all the stories circulating about him and Hunter? You really think associating with 'Sleepy Joe' is gonna do wonders for the Bulkster’s image, brother?"

Larry, clearly irritated, fires back. "He's an American patriot, Logan. He saved this country from a mentally disturbed leader who seemed hell-bent on plunging us into World War 3."

Bulk scoffs loudly, crossing his arms defiantly. "Oh, yeah, brother? 'Saved us'? Seems to me we're closer to that World War 3 than ever with your 'patriot' in charge!"

Larry's eyes flash with anger. "You want to talk about my guy!? Ha! Don't even get me started on the previous administration. Let's talk about January 6th then, shall we? The attack on our Capitol? The blatant disregard for democracy and our Constitution? You want to talk chaos? That's chaos! Not to mention that he's been convicted in New York! A bonafide CRIMINAL!"


Bulk, never one to back down, clenches his fists. "Convicted of bullshit, dude! Who's the injured party, brother!? And Jan 6th was a small group of extremists that the media has used to sell you a bad bill of goods, brother!"

Larry leans over his desk, his face inches from Bulk's. "It was an insurrection, Logan. Incited by a sitting president! That day will be forever remembered as a stain on our country's history. But right now, I am the one calling the shots for your career. And I've decided that having Biden's voice on our promo is a strategic move, so that's exactly what we're going to do. Period!"

Bulk grits his teeth, his frustration at an all-time high. "Alright, dude. You’re the boss. But remember, Bulkamania runs wild on its own terms, like an untamable beast, brother!"

Larry, trying to maintain his authority, straightens up and nods. "I have no idea what that means, Bulk, but try to remember that while you're playing in the ring, some of us are making the real moves outside of it. For your own sake, stick to what you know, and let me handle the rest."

---

A little later, Bulk and Gary make their way out of the grand office building. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows on the ground, and a sleek black limo awaits them by the curb. Gary struggles with his wheelchair, trying to maneuver himself into a position that will allow him to get into the vehicle. Bulk, however, is too wrapped up in his own grievances to be of much assistance.

"Can you believe Larry? First, he reprimands me for giving the fans what they want, and now, he's dragging 'Sleepy Joe' into this? What's next? Are we going to have Kamala Harris referee my matches?" 

Gary grunts, making a futile attempt to pull himself into the car. "Bulk, a little help here?"

Without much grace, Bulk, still fuming, grabs Gary under the arms and carelessly tosses him into the limo, causing Gary to wince. 

"Sorry, dude." A distracted Bulk mutters while not sounding apologetic at all.

"I get it, Logan. You're frustrated. But maybe Larry has a point. Maybe this promo with Biden could open some doors."

Bulk, now busy shoving the wheelchair into the trunk with unnecessary force, scoffs. "Doors? The only door I want to see is the one leading Larry out of my life. He's lost touch, Gaz. He thinks he's pulling all these mastermind moves, but he's just pushing the Bulkster to the edge."

Gary sighs. "Look, I may not agree with everything Larry does, but he did get you back into the XWF after that long hiatus. He might know what he's doing."

With a loud bang, Bulk slams the trunk shut. "Getting back in the ring wasn't a favor, brother. It was my right. And this whole Biden thing? It's just another way for Larry to control the narrative and put the Bulkster in a box."

Gary offers a weak smile, trying to find a silver lining. "Well, at least people will be talking. Controversy has its advantages."

Bulk grumbles, sliding into the limo next to Gary. "Yeah, well, I ain't looking to be controversial, dude. I just want to wrestle and give the Bulkamaniac's what they want."

Gary, taking a deep breath, eyes Bulk with curiosity. "So, what's the game plan then? Got any ideas to counteract this whole Biden narration debacle?"

Bulk leans back, a sly grin spreading across his face. "You bet I do, brother! You know how everyone's into online classes nowadays?"

Gary raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this. "Online classes? You're going to... what? Learn pottery? Take up knitting?"

Bulk chuckles, rubbing his palms together with anticipation. "No way, dude! I going to sign up for an online video editing class. If Larry wants to throw some Biden narration at the Bulkamaniac's, then maybe, just maybe, the Bulkster can sprinkle a little of his own magic on that promo vid. Give the people a message that resonates!"

Gary, blinking in surprise, starts to laugh. "You, hunched over a keyboard editing videos? Now that I'd pay to see."

Bulk winks. "Oh, just you wait, Gaz. By the time I'm done with it, that promo is going to be pure Bulkamania. A little twist here, a little tweak there, and voila! Larry and his 'Sleepy Joe' won't even know what hit 'em."

As the limo drives on, the two continue to banter as the scene fades to: