NPCW: Behind the Curtain – Episode 002: “Goodbyes and New Beginnings”

 

NPCW: Behind the Curtain – Episode 002: “Goodbyes and New Beginnings”

THESE EVENTS FOLLOW WRESTLEFEST 006 - BOXING DAY AND CONTAINS SPOILERS.  PLEASE READ AFTER THAT EPISODE.

Scene 1 – Siren’s Swan Song

The corridor outside the locker rooms is still buzzing with the echo of the crowd when Mean Jack Mason, Negropolis, Ace MacDougal, and Flippers come through the curtain. Sweat-soaked, bruised, and grinning, they move like a unit that knows it just survived a war—and won.

Ace claps Jack hard on the shoulder.
“Big men. Bigger fight. Hell of a night.”

Negropolis gives a quiet nod, his mask tilted slightly as if acknowledging something only he can feel. Flippers hops ahead, slapping the wall and pumping his flippers like a prizefighter, drawing a chuckle from the others.

They reach the dressing room and push the door open—

—and are met by Edie and Polly Mason.

Edie’s face lights up instantly. She rushes in, wrapping Jack in a tight hug before pulling back to inspect the fresh marks on his arms like a worried mother hen.
“You’re bleeding,” she says, already reaching for a towel. “Sit. Before I yell.”

Polly hangs back a step, smiling—soft, proud, and just a little sad. When Jack catches her eye, the smile deepens.

“You did it,” she says quietly. “All of you.”

For a moment, the room feels lighter. Someone cracks open a bottle of water. Ace raises it like a toast.
“To not being dead.”

Flippers salutes. Negropolis lets out a low, approving hum.

Jack laughs—really laughs—for the first time all night.

But then Polly gently touches Jack’s arm.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks.

Jack nods immediately. They step a few paces away, near the lockers, the noise of celebration fading behind them.

Polly doesn’t waste time.

“I’m leaving,” she says.

Jack’s smile fades—not into anger, not into control—but into concern.

“Leaving… where?” he asks carefully.

She exhales, steadying herself.
“I don’t know yet. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. I need time, Jack. Time to figure out who I am when I’m not running, or surviving, or being used.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, eyes dropping to the floor.
“With Moreau and Goodefellow still out there… Polly, that worries me.”

“I know,” she says gently. “That’s why I won’t be alone. Lady Molly is helping me. She’s already got arrangements in motion—places, names, layers of protection. I’ll disappear the right way.”

Jack looks up then, meeting her eyes. There’s pride there. And fear. And something like relief.

“If you need anything,” he says, voice low but firm, “anything at all—you call me. No questions. No hesitation.”

Polly smiles, and for the first time there are tears in her eyes.

“You already did,” she says. “You saved me, Jack. Not just tonight. From everything.”

She leans in and hugs him—tight, sincere, final.

Then she steps back, gives one last look around the room, and quietly slips out.

The door closes.

Silence settles in her wake.

Jack doesn’t move.

Edie crosses the room without a word and rests a hand on his shoulder.

“She’s strong,” Edie says softly. “And so are you. Sometimes the bravest thing we do… is let someone go.”

Jack nods slowly, swallowing hard.

Outside, the crowd noise swells again—another match, another chapter.

Inside the locker room, a different kind of ending has just taken place.

Scene 2 – The Passing of the Torch

The roar of the arena fades into a distant echo as Santa Claus and Rudolph guide Kris Kringle down the narrow backstage corridor. Kris moves slower than usual—his shoulders heavy, his breath measured—not broken, but spent in the way only a long war can leave a man.

They reach the dressing room. Santa eases Kris onto the wooden bench, steadying him as Rudolph kneels briefly to unlace a boot, more out of habit than necessity.

Rudolph forces a hopeful smile.
“It’s okay, Kris. We’ll get them next time. When we get our Tag Title rematch against Trapp and Ruprecht—we’ll take those titles back.”

Kris looks up at him then. There’s warmth in his eyes… and something final beneath it.

“Sorry, kid,” he says gently. “But this was it for me.”

Rudolph blinks. “What do you mean… it?”

Kris exhales, long and slow.
“It’s time for me to go back to the Watchers.”

Rudolph straightens, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“You can’t leave now. Not like this. Not when we’re so close.”

Kris shakes his head, smiling sadly.
“I only came out of retirement temporarily. Sinister Klaus. Count Vlad. The Dark Dominion. That storm needed weathering—and it has been. Mostly.”

He looks between Rudolph and Santa.
“And between you, the Guiding Light, and Santa… NPCW is in good hands.”

Rudolph’s ears droop. His voice lowers.
“But… we make such a good team.”

Kris chuckles softly.
“Yes, we do. And that’s why it works. But my time in the ring is past. Yours isn’t.”

He leans forward slightly, earnest now.
“Go get back the North Pole Title. Guide the roster. Be what they need you to be.”

Santa places a steady hand on Rudolph’s shoulder, grounding him.
“It was good having you back, old timer,” Santa says to Kris with a fond smile. “But I know you have other obligations. We’ll take good care of NPCW.”

Kris nods.
“Thanks, Augustus. I always knew I made the right choice passing the mantle to you.”

He pauses, his expression darkening just a touch.
“I hate to leave… but there are odd things stirring in Transylvania. The Watchers need all hands on deck.”

Santa meets his gaze and nods once—understanding more than he says.

At that moment, the door opens and Ms. Sweetins (Kristine Kringle) steps inside. Santa gives her a gentle nod, guiding Rudolph out with him and closing the door behind them.

Kristine hesitates, then speaks softly.
“Did I overhear right? You’re leaving?”

Kris smiles at his daughter, the warrior fading back into the father.
“Yes. I was going to find you before I go. There are things we need to talk about.”

She sighs, conflicted.
“I was hoping you’d stay longer. Especially with… all the changes coming.”

“I know,” he says kindly. “But you’ll have everything in hand. You won’t need me.”

He reaches into his coat and hands her a folded document.

Kristine unfolds it, eyes widening.
“This is… the proxy for your ownership share of NPCW?”

Kris nods.
“There’s no one better to ensure NPCW stays safe—and keeps growing.”

Kristine blushes despite herself and steps forward, hugging him tightly. For a moment, neither speaks.

“Let’s meet later tonight,” Kris says softly. “There’s more to discuss before I leave.”

She pulls back and nods, composed but clearly moved.
“Okay.”

Kris smiles, pride clear in his eyes.

End Scene.

Scene 3 – “When One Door Closes…”

The bell has barely stopped echoing when Selena Blackfang slides under the bottom rope, her boots hitting the mat with venomous purpose. She doesn’t look back at first—she knows exactly what she’s done.

Then she turns.

Goldie Locks is still down, pushing herself up on shaking arms.

Selena smirks and saunters closer to the ropes, pointing down at her fallen opponent as a wave of boos crashes over her. The crowd rains venom—chants, jeers, insults—but Selena drinks it in, laughing as security rushes in to form a moving wall around her.

As she’s escorted up the ramp, she twists toward the hard camera, eyes blazing.

“I am a Legend Killer.”

She blows a mocking kiss and disappears backstage, the hatred following her like thunder.

---

Back in the ring, Goldie Locks finally stands.

She leans against the ropes, scanning the crowd—faces filled with heartbreak, admiration, and unwavering loyalty. The cheers swell, not polite applause but a full-throated roar. This isn’t pity.

It’s respect.

From opposite sides of the arena, Dorothy and Alice of the Blonde Bombshells push through the crowd, vaulting the barricade and sliding into the ring. They reach Goldie at the same time, wrapping her in a tight embrace.

Goldie exhales, eyes closed.

Dorothy takes one arm. Alice takes the other.

They lift Goldie’s hand high.

The crowd explodes.

Goldie doesn’t smile—but she nods, soaking it in, engraving the moment into memory.

Together, the three women exit the ring and head backstage, shoulders squared, united to the last step.

---

The dressing room door shuts behind them, sealing out the noise.

The silence inside is heavier than the crowd ever was.

Alice breaks first, tears spilling freely.
“This isn’t right. We should challenge it. Appeal it. Something.”

Goldie gently takes her hands.
“No,” she says calmly. “I agreed to the terms. I gave my word. And I’ll stand by it.”

Dorothy looks away, jaw clenched.

Goldie steps back and looks at both of them—really looks at them.

“I couldn’t be prouder of you,” she says. “Everything we built… everything you’ve become. You carry the Blonde Bombshells now. And you’ll carry the name with excellence.”

She pulls them into another embrace—longer this time, tighter, as if anchoring the future to the past.

A knock interrupts the moment.

The door opens and Ms. Sweetins enters alongside Victoria Deschamps.

Ms. Sweetins offers a sympathetic smile.
“Tough loss tonight, Goldie.”

Victoria nods, her tone warm but resolute.
“You fought with heart. And honor.”

Goldie straightens, wiping her eyes.
“Thank you.”

Ms. Sweetins steps forward, folding her hands thoughtfully.
“I might have something that interests you.”

Goldie tilts her head—curiosity flickering through the sadness.

“Oh?” she says.

Ms. Sweetins smiles knowingly.

Fade out.

END SCENE

Scene 4 – A Convergence of Champions

The arena is on its feet.

In the center of the ring, Van Helsing stands tall, chest heaving, eyes burning with purpose as he raises both championships high—the NPCW Northern Lights Title in one hand, the HCW Television Title in the other.

History hangs in the air.

The crowd roars louder as the realization sinks in: no one has ever done this before. Not here. Not anywhere in the shared lineage of NPCW and HCW. Two promotions. Two legacies. One man standing at the intersection.

Van Helsing slowly turns, giving each side of the arena its moment, the belts catching the light as camera flashes pop like distant lightning.

On the ramp, The Rich Athlete retreats with Ruth Heartless at his side. The bitterness is unmistakable. He sneers back toward the ring, jaw tight, eyes locked on Van Helsing.

“This isn’t over,” he mutters, more promise than complaint.
Ruth leans in close, venomously calm. “The cream always rises to the top.”

They disappear behind the curtain, resentment trailing them like smoke.

---

High above the arena floor, inside the Commissioner’s Box, Bob Cratchit watches quietly.

For once, there is no Scrooge beside him. No interruptions. No whispered calculations. Just the hum of the crowd and the glow of the ring below.

Cratchit folds his hands and exhales.

He thinks back over the year—the chaos, the gambles, the risks that nearly broke the company. The betrayals survived. The alliances forged. New partnerships. Old grudges buried… or sharpened.

NPCW didn’t just endure.

It grew.

And now, the year ends with a champion who belongs to more than one world.

Cratchit reaches for the phone.

He dials.

A beat.

The line connects.

“Hello, Donnie B. Yes… yes, we have a dual champion now.”

He glances back to the ring, where Van Helsing still stands, unbowed.

“I think it’s time to pull the trigger on the Convergent Title.”

A pause. Cratchit listens, nodding slowly.

“I agree. Let’s announce it in the new year.”

Another glance at the ring. A faint smile.

“Van Helsing… the first-ever joint NPCW/HCW Convergent Champion.”

One last pause.

“Yes. Happy Holidays to you too.”

He ends the call and sets the phone down gently.

Below him, history continues to be written.

And somewhere beyond the lights, a new era quietly begins.