A large meeting space shows a bevy of people sitting around a large table. On the wall, the letters BBG are seen. The folks here are dressed casually. Into the room walk Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, Them No Good Bastards.

“Good afternoon, everyone!”

Bobby glares throughout the room as TK saunters in behind him.

"Welcome to the ground floor of Barbarian Bastard Games, shitheads."





Someone seated in the room raises their hand. Bobby points at him.

“We’ll take your questions later after the meeting. We have assembled most of you here to help develop the greatest video game of all time. Bastard’s Quest. The most intense and immersive game of all time, ushering in the new era of gaming!”

"Take notes, virgins. I’m about to lay down the blueprint for the most alpha, most jacked, testicle-dragging video game of all time. This ain’t your sister's pixelated horse adventure or some elf dating sim. First off, character creation? Screw that shit. You start as US, Them No Good Bastards. Why? Because there’s no upgrade on perfection. You want to change my hair? Too goddamn bad, it’s a mullet, it’s glorious, and it’s non-fucking-negotiable."

"Second, weapons? We’re talking a bat with nails, a six-pack of dynamite, and a bald eagle that screams '’MERICA' every time you hit a combo. You don’t reload, you just chug a beer and throw the empty can through someone’s skull."

"Third, the soundtrack is 100% monster guitar riffs, jet engine noises, and occasional moans of your enemies’ girlfriends realizing you’re the real deal. Absolutely no dubstep. No chill lo-fi beats. This game is set to ‘dangerously erect’ at all damn times."

"Missions? You fight corrupt management, robot billionaires, and woke aliens who try to cancel Christmas. There’s no dialogue wheel, just one button: 'Talk Shit.'"

"Multiplayer? Yeah, sure, why not, but it’s local only. Couch co-op, two players, sorry nerds, you have to have real friends, and there's only one goal. Wreck. Everything. None of this online lobby bullshit with some squeaker 10 year old telling you what their mom made for dinner."

"And here’s the kicker, you're going to like this. Every time you win, your controller legit heats up and releases the scent of victory, a mix of burnt flesh, gunpowder, and cheeseburgers. The cheeseburger smell was Bobby’s idea and who the fuck am I to stop a good idea, ya know?"

“And it’s also going to be like Burgertime, my favorite game, but we can’t just pirate Burgertime, that's illegal.”

One of the engineers raises their hand.

“So, is there going to be like an XP or leveling system?”

TK shakes his head no.

"No dork shit."

“Yeah, what he said, like the chef in Burgertime, you have all the power you’ll ever need to make giant hamburgers only you’ll do it with all that cool shit TK said.”

TK points at the next engineer with his hand up.

"Whatcha got four-eyes?"

"What happens when you die?"

"We don’t die, we just respawn harder. But yeah, when you go down, the game insults you with a random TNGB quote like, ‘Guess you forgot you were born to fucking crush it, numbnuts.’"

“Let someone who isn't garbage have a turn, you will never make a hamburger.”

This time Bobby points to another engineer, who doesn’t have his hand up.

"Oh, uhhh, how are we going to make people's existing controllers heat up and make those smells?"

“We have a plan for that!”

"That’s right, Bobby, we sure the Hell do!"

Bobby pulls out brand-new custom-designed controllers for every current console, along with a keyboard.

“We sell our own, incorporated with state of the art SniffTec from BourbCo.”

"Goddamn right, only 90 bux!"

“Keyboards cost more.”

"Yeah, ‘cause PC gamers are used to paying more for shit."

“It's fair and reasonable.”

Only one more engineer has their hand up. Both Bastards point at her.

"Will there be any DLC?"

"Stupid fucking question. Next!"

"Every microtransaction in this game is 100% optional."

"Microtransactions, I was talking about DLC?"

"Bobby didn't stutter, you heard him right! Here's a few examples: more explosions, louder guitars, removal of the bikinis on the bikini models, alternate skins, and armor. That’s not pay-to-win, that’s pay-to-be goddamned epic."

"So, just a bunch of digital stuff?"

"It isn’t just digital stuff, tiny-tits. When you drop $4.99, you’re sponsoring an in-game fireworks show, narrated by Them No Good Bastards, while your enemies burst into flames."

“We'll also be releasing new condiments and toppings for the burger this way. Artisan buns. And armor.”

"Wait, did I hear you say that you pay for armor? You can't earn it in-game?"

"What?! No, you can't earn it in-game."

"So you have to buy armor?"

"Of course armor costs something, we go to battle without it. A steel chair is about sixteen dollars. Tables cost money. The guarantee, the ultimate, and the end, our finisher? We make money off of that."

TNGB turn away from the engineers and address the camera.

“First off, let's discuss the elephant in the room, and that's how we do what we can to protect Mr. Oz. When we were in Buffalo, that weasel Jake Borden layed a Sharpshooter in on Ozzy knowing Oz has a bad back after Larry Tact blatantly attacked me while I was not even the legal man. That's a Tact Fact. Since the opposition had to stoop so low and then pinpoint an injury, TK did the right thing and saved Ozzy's career.”

"Scoops, good to see you again. Game Girl, lick a rotten asshole before sucking eight dicks before sucking twenty more you piece of garbage. My first Relentless, my first PPV, my first title match in the XWF, and you used a fucking distraction to beat me. Not your fault but definitely your fortune off of me getting fucked over. Now, and forever, I will crush what you desire before you can touch it. We’re the greatest tag champs in wrestling today, above any other company, any lineage, and the other champions in this here Xtreme Wrestling Federation. You name them, we'll beat them or already have. You imagine them? It's a fantasy. You hope to be them? You just signed on the dotted line to face the ultimate judgment in front of a wrestling crowd at Rebellion. Ruin. You face ruin. Sullied like a diaper, full of shit and fit to catch piss. Destruction. You face destruction. You see the end times before you, and we will end you. Champions. You face champions. The greatest tag team wrestling champions in this world or the fucking next."

"Game Girl is only fucking relevant every couple of years, and the most relevant you have ever been, GG, is facing Them No Good Bastards for tag team gold. You weren't a Universal Champion, like us. You weren't a Television Champion, like us. You were famous for a championship so pointless they dissolved, made again as the Supercontinental Championship, then fucking dissolved again because there has never been reason to celebrate someone who can't be in the main event. We took the Anarchy Tag Team Championships deeper into the card at Rebellion than the XWF Tag Team Champions tried to do while they think themselves to be destined for greatness. We sell tickets, we sell merchandise, we sell entire companies by kicking ass in them. Dyson and Dolly couldn't wipe our asses, you can't fucking sniff them."

"I wanna get one thing straight, right out of the gate, and Bobby’s right. This ain't 'Ready Player One,' it's 'Old Yeller', and it's time to take the shotgun out of the barn. Scoops is out here pretending to be relevant like it's 1987 and the XWF Tag Titles matter these days. Newsflash: they don’t, and neither does he. The only Tag Team Championships that matter in this company are the Anarchy Tag Team Championships."

"Scoops is out here talking about video game worlds and friendship like this is 'Kingdom Hearts'. Meanwhile, he’s yelling at a cameraman wearing a GoPro like a rejected MythBuster. His best talent? Getting carried by people half his age and ten times his worth, which says a lot, but more on that later. This dipshits only finisher is a goddamn heart attack."

"These two teaming up is sold like this is some golden age reunion, but these two ain't legends. They're XWF leftovers. One’s a godamned glitch in the system and the other is a corn-fed conspiracy theorist with a vendetta against toothpaste."

"So yeah, when they walk into Rebellion against Them No Good Bastards, they're not going against the second-rate Trump pumping propagandists, the MAGA Powers, or the ones who can barely call themselves American, Storm. They're going against the best Tag Team in the Universe."

"Scoops dumb ass is out here throwing bitch fits because he lost a tag match and can’t log into his social media? That’s the big crisis? That’s the drama? Bastardly Father above, I’ve seen toddlers lose crayons with more dignity."

TK gives his truly remarkable, jerking-off hand gesture.

“Old people aren’t great with technology, Scoops probably looks at his phone and yells ‘everything’s computer’ thinking it’s how he gets a hot dog on Uber Eats, because fuck a Doordash!”

Bobby looks legitimately mad at Doordash by the mention of it.

”Scoops McGee couldn’t lace our boots with good hands, and now he’s got arthritis and fucking liver spots. For fuck’s sake, we get it, old timer, you didn’t set up a 401k so now you gotta rely on Game Girl carrying your carcass around to actually make fucking ends meet.”

"Oooh, nooo, my password’s gone, it’s raining, my stitches itch, and my feelings hurt! Boo-fuckin’-hoo. Ain’t nobody wanna hear a grown-ass man cry about the weather while dressed like a human pussy pad."

"Then… like a soaked trash-panda crawling outta a dumpster, in waddles Game Girl. She walks in, leaves a trail of swamp water, and drops this wisdom bomb: ‘I think I hate storms now…’"

TK takes a deep breath and dramatically exhales.

"Wow. Thank you, Sucrates. Putting in the work, aren't ya? Real clutch partner you got there, Scoops. You two jack-off wannabes taken seriously? Next time, Scoops, instead of yelling at clouds, yell at a mirror, bro. Oh, and Game Girl? Dry off, level up, and figure out if you're a rassler or just the saddest blame umbrella."

"Yeah, I saw that little pixel princess tumble off a cliff like a broken Tamagotchi. Have you ever heard a Game Over so hard it echoes in real life? But she’s back from the dead? Wow. Big comeback story. You want a medal, or just another betrayal from one of your ‘friends’? Because judging by your track record, that sword in your chest was long overdue. She’s out here trying to win matches with video game logic, like a bandage is gonna save her from this ass-whooping. Girl, this ain’t ‘Final Fantasy’, this is ‘Frogger 2025’, and your dumb ass just walked into fucking traffic on expert mode."

"Them No Good Bastards? We’re the standard. We don’t need dramatic backstories, resurrection arcs, or nostalgia runs. We’re not playing a game, we’re stopping tag team careers. While Scoops is over there hoarding farm animals like he’s prepping for his sexual apocalypse and GG’s trying to mash the A-button on life, we’re busy doing what we always do as a team: destroy, defend, and do it all over again."

“We beat this game every day and you’re both getting played.”

"At Fennway Park, in the incestral land of Boston Mass, Scoops will be laid out flat on his back, in a puddle of his piss after taking the most devastating move in tag team history. Oh, and Game Girl is going to be wondering what cutscene just played when our music hits. That's when they’ll realize what everyone else already knows: You don’t step into the ring and mess with the Bastards unless you want your Continue screen to go black."