The Mortuary Report Presents

The Terrordome Pre-Show

Welcome, my morbidly curious darlings, to another delightfully dreary edition of the Mortuary Report. I am your ever-elegant hostess, Charlotte O’Neil, and today we have a truly exquisite collection of fresh tragedies laid out upon the slab for our collective amusement.

Before the main event’s carnage officially begins, one must always take the time to appreciate the appetizer. Today, we turn our surgical lights toward the Terrordome Pre-Show—a beautiful, violent ballet of suffering featuring desperate veterans, dangerously naive debutantes, and cold-blooded predators hungrily stalking the canvas.

Within these upcoming files, we shall examine a fascinating clash of psychological warfare between the chaotic Miss Evermore and the clinical precision of Justice Cross. We will witness Mr. Kelly attempting a brutal dismemberment on the bubbliest of victims in Miss Phillips. We shall see if Hope Levitt’s sickeningly sweet optimism can survive a textbook evisceration by the manipulative Josslynn Spencer. And finally, we will explore a masterpiece of visceral horror as Evan Carmine brings his earnest ambition to a knife fight with the toxic sociopathy of Yuna Obsidian.

I promise you, the resulting screams were absolute music to my ears.

So, pour yourself a glass of something dark and crimson, adjust your safety goggles, and let us pull back the sheet. The bodies are perfectly chilled, the scalpels are freshly sharpened, and it is time for the autopsies to begin.

JUSTICE CROSS vs SKYE EVERMORE

Miss Evermore practically skipped to the ring, her unsettling, vacant smile serving as a stark contrast to Justice Cross, whose demeanor carried the heavy, lingering necrotic rot of her recent, rather tragic submission loss to Marilyn Matthews on UNLEASHED. The opening bell triggered a fascinating psychological clash. Skye attempted to unnerve the veteran immediately, freezing completely mid-step to stare deeply into her opponent’s soul. Justice, however, is not one to be easily spooked by children’s ghost stories. Cross responded to the theatricality with cold, clinical precision, securing a tight side headlock and grounding the chaotic debutante. The momentum shifted beautifully, however, when Skye utilized her eerie agility to slip free, delivering a sudden, awkward-angled Dollstep Lariat that nearly separated Justice’s head from her shoulders, painting the canvas with the first gorgeous strokes of true violence.

The middle stanza devolved into a torturous little murderplay. Skye pressed her advantage with bursts of erratic, high-octane offense, utilizing a rope-assisted springboard crossbody and a deeply satisfying Glass Smile Dropkick that kept the veteran reeling. Yet, Justice—demonstrating the survival instincts that make her such a fascinating specimen to dissect—absorbed the punishment with a sickening, knowing smirk. Cross systematically began dismantling Skye’s foundation, targeting the neck with snapping suplexes and employing the ropes to slowly choke the oxygen from the newcomer’s lungs. Evermore countered brilliantly with her Lost Signal maneuver, freezing just long enough to draw Justice into a false sense of security before exploding into a vicious running knee. The pacing became wonderfully desperate, a beautiful struggle for dominance as both women sought to inflict that fatal, match-ending blow.

As the ten-minute mark approached, the desperation in the air was palpable—a sweet perfume of sweat and suffering. Skye, perhaps intoxicated by the thrill of her own debut, sought to completely decapitate her prey, launching herself forward with the Whisper Snap Kick. But a corpse only twitches when prodded, and Justice was acutely aware of her surroundings. Cross evaded the strike by a mere fraction of an inch, slipping beneath the lethal limb with the grace of a surgeon avoiding an artery. In a flash of breathtaking brutality, Justice caught the off-balance Evermore out of nowhere, driving her skull face-first into the canvas with a devastatingly crisp Lights Out. It was a flawless execution, sudden and terminal, leading directly to the referee’s three-count as Evermore’s eyes glazed over.

Winner: Justice Cross at 10:00 via Pinfall

Charlotte’s Take: Let us pull back the sheet and examine the remains of this rather magnificent little clash. Miss Evermore is a truly fascinating specimen. Her penchant for psychological warfare and erratic violence is a lovely splash of color on an otherwise terribly bland landscape of generic competitors. However, one simply cannot bring mere parlor tricks to a vivisection and expect to survive against a professional as seasoned as Justice Cross. Skye became too enamored with her own madness, leaving a fatal opening. As for Justice, her recovery from that dreadful tapping incident against Miss Matthews is highly commendable. She didn’t panic or rely on some tedious wellspring of emotional fire; she merely waited for the moment the debutante overplayed her hand, and then she snapped her neck with absolute, magnificent apathy. A spectacular failure on Evermore’s part, but a beautiful reminder that Justice possesses a killer instinct that simply refuses to stay buried.

MARK KELLY vs CHERRY PHILLIPS

The bell rings, and the atmosphere immediately shifts into something delightfully grim. Mark Kelly, fresh off a tragic showing at the Iron Gauntlet, entered the Terrordome with a singular, malevolent intent: to hurt someone. Cherry Phillips, our doomed little casualty in neon, attempted to establish early control by weaponizing her bubbly momentum, flashing a desperate smile to the crowd for emotional validation. Kelly simply spat at the front row, entirely indifferent to their boos. He cut off her initial flurry with a swift, brutal kick to the midsection, dragging her to the mat where he expertly pinned her left wrist flat against the canvas with his boot—anchoring her securely so she could not squirm away—before applying a sickening torque to her shoulder.

The middle act was a beautiful study in psychological torture. Kelly methodically disassembled the “Firecracker,” utilizing his skilled mat wrestling to bend her joints into entirely unnatural angles. Yet, the Southern Pin-Up is nothing if not stubbornly resilient. Feeding off the desperate cheers of the audience, Cherry slapped the mat to rally herself, launching into a sudden, chaotic comeback. She trapped the Australian Ace in the corner for her Firecracker Rush, raining down rapid-fire forearm strikes while the crowd counted along like obedient sheep. A momentary lapse in Kelly’s aggressive pacing allowed Cherry to connect with the Southern Hospitality flying crossbody, causing a dramatic momentum swing that briefly convinced the audience a miracle was possible.

Alas, miracles have no place on my embalming table. As Cherry charged forward, desperate to connect with her Sweet As Sin bulldog, Kelly masterfully countered the attempt. He shoved her off, sending her stumbling back into his grasp. With a venomous smirk, he hooked both of her arms and delivered the Thunder Struck double underhook piledriver, planting her skull directly into the mat. Rather than covering her immediately, Kelly indulged in his sadistic urges; he dragged her up to her knees, held her wrists apart to expose her jaw, and delivered his Such Is Life bicycle knee strike with the meticulous care of a surgeon. Her lights went out instantly, and he draped an arm over her ruined frame for the definitive three-count.

Winner: Mark Kelly at 12:00 via Pinfall

Charlotte’s Take: Let us snap on our latex gloves and conduct a post-mortem on this little clash. Mr. Kelly came into this bout starved for his first PCW victory, and the resulting desperation suited him wonderfully. He targeted his opponent’s limbs with immaculate cruelty, proving that his recent setbacks have only sharpened his fangs. Miss Phillips, on the other hand, was a tragic casualty of her own terminal naivety. She continues to suffer from the terminal delusion that the audience’s applause can somehow shield her from blunt force trauma. One simply cannot bring a moral compass and a bright smile to a bloodletting and expect to survive. Until she learns to harness actual malice, she will remain nothing more than a decorative smear of crimson on my mortuary floor.

Before we cast our eyes upon the upcoming encounter between Josslynn Spencer and Hope Levitt, we simply must examine a bit of the pre-match pathology.

It seems Miss Spencer was feeling rather prickly backstage before the opening bell, thoroughly annoyed that the local media was already preparing her post-mortem after just one unpinned setback. But as I always say, a true predator does not panic over a missed meal; she simply sharpens her fangs for the next piece of passing prey.

Let us roll the tape and observe Malibu’s Most Wanted right before she steps out to face the rookie…

JOSSLYNN SPENCER INTERVIEW

[VIDEO START]

Well her debut match didn’t exactly go the way she wanted it to. She lost.  But she was so close to walking away as the winner.  She was happy she wasn’t the one that was pinned or tapped out.   Marilyn wanted her comeback moment and she got it.  Joss on the other hand didn’t get the comeback moment she wanted.  Josslynn was backstage leaning against the wall and she was dressed in her wrestling attire.  Black Jean distressed shorts with a red cut up shirt that has the words ‘malibus most wanted’ on it on black writing.  Joss had her red bedazzled converse boots on.  She had her phone in her hand while adjusting her long curled hair.  She was more than ready for tonight.  She was tapping her boot on the wall, her eyes glued to her phone, when she heard a voice ask her softly for a few words.  Joss had a smirk on her face as she slowly looked up from her phone to pay attention.

Interviewer: Ms Spencer. Your debut match didn’t exactly go the way you wanted it to go. You lost.  Tonight you’re facing a 2nd generation superstar Hope Levitt.

JOSSLYN SPENCER – Jeez why is everyone acting like one little loss defines who I am.  Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? One bad night and suddenly people think that Malibu Most Wanted is finished before she even gets started.

Joss would glare at the Interviewer.  Seeing they have already labeled Joss as a loser.  She didn’t like that.

JOSSLYNN SPENCER: Here’s the reality. I didn’t come here to have some feel-good underdog story. I didn’t come here to make friends. I came here to take over.

She points to herself.

JOSSLYNN SPENCER: And if anybody thinks one loss is going to stop me, they clearly don’t know who they’re dealing with.

The interviewer nods.

Interviewer: And what about Hope Levitt?

A smirk slowly creeps across Josslynn’s face. She didn’t forget about little hope. She’s done her research and knows all about what Hope is about in the ring. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at the thoughts she was having.

Josslynn Spencer:  The happy little second-generation sweetheart. Always smiling. Always wrestling in many different places.  Guess what Hope? Nobody hands out participation trophies in this business.  You can keep going around the world Hope to all these places to try and stand out from your last name.

Joss would step closer to the camera.

JOSSLYNN SPENCER: For Hope, this match is another chapter in her little journey. For me? This is redemption.  Last week was a mistake. This week, Hope Levitt is going to find out exactly why people should be afraid of Josslynn Spencer. And after I leave her laying in the middle of that ring, everybody can stop talking about my first loss and start talking about my first victory.

She smirks.

JOSSLYNN SPENCER: Trust me. That’s a conversation worth having.

Josslynn walks off as the camera fades OUT.

[VIDEO END]

HOPE LEVITT vs JOSSLYNN SPENCER

The contrast in this encounter was delightfully jarring from the very first bell. Hope Levitt bounded into the ring with that sickeningly sweet, bouncing optimism, eager to prove herself worthy of her new Tigress affiliation. Josslynn Spencer, fresh from a frustrating, albeit unpinned, outcome in a recent triple threat, simply watched her opponent with the cold, emotionless detachment of an executioner. Levitt’s strategy was akin to a human pinball, utilizing her speed to overwhelm Spencer with a flurry of Japanese arm drags and a rather breathless leaping forearm smash. However, Spencer’s calculated patience quickly turned the tide; she simply waited for the overeager rookie to make a mistake, calmly sidestepping a wild dive and allowing Levitt to crash violently into the turnbuckle with a sickening, yet satisfying, thud.

With the prey properly tenderized, Spencer began her surgical procedures. She slowed the pace to an agonizing crawl, applying snap armbars and grinding Levitt down with a beautifully vicious tilt-a-whirl DDT that nearly severed the poor girl’s spinal column. Levitt, unfortunately cursed with an abundance of ‘heart’ and resilience, refused to succumb to the inevitable. The little Star Dragon mounted a brief, desperate resurrection, landing a swift step-up enziguri followed by her Toothless Twist signature, driving Spencer face-first into the canvas. For a fleeting moment, the rookie believed her own fairy tale.

The climax arrived with all the tragic predictability I so adore. Hoping to secure her debut victory, Levitt scaled the ropes for her Geronimo Splash. But in a spectacular display of naivety, she paused to cup her hands and scream her little “GERONIMOOOOOO!!” battle cry—a wasted second that was all the manipulative Spencer needed. Spencer rolled out of the impact zone, leaving Levitt to plummet into the unforgiving mat. Before the body even had time to turn cold, Spencer calmly collected the remains, utilizing the ropes to deliver her Zodiac Killer springboard flatliner for the beautifully decisive, fatal blow.

Winner: Josslynn Spencer at 11:00 via Pinfall

Charlotte’s Take: Let us power up the bone saw and delve into the marrow of this rather lovely little autopsy. Josslynn Spencer executed a textbook flaying today. She understands that in this glorious theater of agony, one does not need to outrun a faster opponent; one merely needs to hand them the shovel and wait for them to dig their own grave. Her patience and cruelty were divine. As for poor Miss Levitt, her efforts were a delightfully futile exercise in martyrdom.She brought sunshine, a bubbly smile, and a childish catchphrase to an absolute slaughter. Her agonizing defeat serves as a delightful reminder that heart and resilience are merely prolonged symptoms before the inevitable flatline. Spencer rights her ship and steps back into the win column, leaving Levitt as just another toe-tagged casualty in the morgue.

EVAN CARMINE vs YUNA OBSIDIAN

The bell rang, and the butchery commenced with a surprising velocity for a pre-show exhibition. Evan Carmine, desperate to wash the stench of his recent loss to Sam Tolson from his skin and reclaim his Iron Gauntlet momentum, surged forward with calculated aggression. However, Yuna Obsidian did not meet his fire with panic; she simply observed him with the cold, unblinking focus of a predator. When Evan attempted a snap vertical suplex, Yuna slipped through his grasp like toxic vapor, countering with a sudden snap roundhouse kick that rattled the New Jersey native’s jaw. She immediately established a grueling pace, slowly circling her prey and whispering sweet, unsettling promises of pain before locking him into a standing arm trap stretch.

What followed was a beautifully visceral symphony of escalating violence. Evan, ever the persistent student of the mat, fought through the psychological warfare, using his athletic prowess to transition a desperate judo throw into a beautifully timed shining wizard that nearly decapitated the Obsidian Spider. A near fall at a breathless two-count. Yuna merely smiled, finding undeniable joy in the pressure. The momentum swung like a pendulum in a slaughterhouse. Yuna unleashed a flurry of rapid-fire strikes—palm strikes, a spinning back elbow, and a vicious running knee strike, affectionately dubbed the Toxic Trigger, which folded Carmine in half. Yet, Evan refused to flatline, stringing together a breathtaking sequence: a northern lights suplex rolling seamlessly into an Angle Slam he calls the Garden State Slam. The audience, initially expecting a simple appetizer, was completely captivated by the mutual destruction.

The final stanza was a masterclass in fatal miscalculations. Breathing heavily, Carmine dragged Yuna toward the corner, ascending the turnbuckles with the intent of delivering his Moonlight Sonata frog splash. But Yuna rolled away at the absolute last microsecond, leaving Evan to crash spectacularly into the unforgiving canvas. As a breathless, aching Evan forced himself back to his feet, fighting through the stiffness of the grave setting into his muscles, Yuna was already waiting. She spun forward with terrifying velocity, obliterating his jaw with the Venom Protocol rolling elbow strike. Carmine collapsed, lifeless. Yuna draped herself over his remains, anchoring her physical weight down upon him like a thumbtack pinning a specimen to a corkboard, securing the inevitable three-count.

Winner: Yuna Obsidian at 14:12 via Pinfall

Charlotte’s Take: Let us unseal the body bag and inspect the trauma of this rather spectacular bloodbath. I must confess, I did not expect to find a masterpiece of psychological horror tucked away on a pre-show, but this was a delightfully agonizing post-mortem. Evan Carmine is a fatal casualty of his own earnest ambition; he brought an earnest sense of sportsmanship to a cage with a starved predator, and his desperation to rebound from the Tolson defeat made his risk-taking reckless. As for Miss Obsidian… breathtaking. She does not merely wrestle; she conducts a symphony of trauma. By anchoring her weight onto Carmine with such absolute, toxic finality, she sent a venomous love letter to the entire PCW locker room. The roster should be terrified; the Obsidian Spider is hungry, and I am salivating to see who she drags into her web next.

Before we zip the final body bag on this delightfully macabre Terrordome Pre-Show, we simply must linger a moment longer on the intoxicating toxicity of Miss Obsidian. It appears the exquisite violence she inflicted upon poor Evan Carmine was merely a stretching exercise.

As the rigor mortis was just beginning to settle into the ring, our cameras captured a rather delightful post-mortem declaration from the Obsidian Spider before she vanished back into the shadows. She is hunting, darlings, and it seems her eight eyes are fixed squarely on the Unleashed Championship.

Let us dim the lights and roll the footage…

YUNA OBSIDIAN POST-MATCH

[VIDEO START]

Yuna Obsidian is halfway up the ramp following her match when she suddenly stops. The crowd murmurs as she slowly turns around. A smirk crosses her face as she raises a microphone to her lips.

YUNA: Wait.

The crowd gives her a mixed reaction.

YUNA: I almost forgot something.

She laughs softly to herself before shaking her head.

YUNA: That’s embarrassing.

Yuna slowly begins pacing back and forth across the stage, looking out at the crowd. She rolls her eyes dramatically before speaking again.

YUNA: Championships. Championships. Championships. Honestly, they’re a little obsessive.

The crowd laughs as Yuna looks directly into the camera.

YUNA: But then I started watching PCW. And now I get it. I understand why people become obsessed with championships.

Yuna tilts her head slightly as the crowd gives another mixed reaction.

YUNA: Because that Unleashed Championship is being carried by two very interesting women.

The crowd cheers.

YUNA: Bia.

A smile crosses her face.

YUNA: Yelena Gorgo.

The crowd immediately boos as Yuna lifts the microphone slightly, encouraging the reaction. She places a hand over her heart.

YUNA: And suddenly… I found a hobby.

The crowd grows louder.

YUNA: You see, I don’t really care which one of you walks out with that championship. Because eventually, I’m going to ruin both of your days anyway.

Yuna laughs to herself as the crowd boos. Then she stops.

YUNA: Actually…

She raises a finger and wags it slightly.

YUNA: No. That’s a lie.

The crowd continues booing.

YUNA: It is personal.

Yuna looks around, taking in the reaction.

YUNA: Because while everyone else is chasing championships, I’m chasing the pressure that comes with them.

She points directly at the camera.

YUNA: And one of you is carrying a whole lot of it.

Yuna begins backing toward the curtain, waving casually.

YUNA: So congratulations. You officially have my attention.

The smile never leaves her face.

YUNA: And trust me…

She tilts her head slightly.

YUNA: That’s not a good thing.

Yuna drops the microphone and disappears backstage as “Edge” begins playing once more.

[VIDEO END]

What an delectable collection of impending tragedies we have waiting for us on the main card. If the pre-show was a delightful little appetizer of hemoglobin, the main course promises to be a spectacular banquet of absolute suffering.

Let us peer into the immediate future, darlings, and examine the beautiful choreography of trauma that awaits us as we cross the threshold into the main card, starting from the very first incision:

The Opening Incisions

Alyssa Knight-Kekoa vs. Taylor Landry We begin with a wonderfully volatile affair. The bad blood here has practically boiled over, culminating in a rather campy concourse brawl involving extra-butter popcorn and a New York-style pizza pie to the face of Amethyst Caldwell. Thankfully, Ms. Caldwell has been banned from ringside, stripping away any protective layers. Without her bodyguard to hide behind, we shall see if Landry can survive the visceral wrath of a thoroughly provoked Knight-Kekoa.

Chris Mosh vs. Vance Isaac Parker (Street Fight) The honeymoon for the VIPs lasted a mere two weeks, and how delightfully brief it was. Given Mr. Parker’s predictable propensity for bending the rules, management has wisely stripped away the boundaries. A Street Fight. No rules, no sanctuary—just two men utilizing whatever blunt instruments they can find to accelerate the onset of their opponent’s expiration date.

The Black Rainbow vs. EVOLVE (Voodoo Pact Championship) A six-person specimen preview. After the Black Rainbow tasted their first tag team victory, Michael Shaw and Sam Steele executed a brutally satisfying post-match assault. Now, Uncle Sinister joins his EVOLVE disciples to clash with Datura, Lily Briar, and Selene Pyre. Six souls entering the ring, all clawing for the honor of becoming the inaugural Voodoo Pact Champions. It promises to be a beautifully chaotic funeral for one of these teams.

The Championship Autopsies

Gina Neon vs. Marisol Vilaro (Billion Dollar Championship) The dazzling diamond and gold belt is on the line. Gina Neon earned this opportunity by pinning the champion previously, a result the “Fitness Queen” has predictably dismissed as a “sham.” Miss Vilaro possesses a devastatingly clinical edge when she isn’t obsessing over her image, and I am quite eager to see if she dismantles Neon’s disgusting, fuchsia-lit optimism with the cold, sterile precision of a mortician.

Sam Tolson vs. Aleki Kekoa (PCW Asylum Championship) This is a delightfully unsettling experiment. Both wrestlers have spent the last month harvesting wrought-iron keys, yet the exact “Asylum Rules” parameters remain shrouded in darkness until the opening bell. All we know is that those keys are required to unlock the championship. The psychological warfare alone will be delicious, even before the physical dismantling begins.

Thaïs Empristikí vs. Marilyn Matthews (#1 Contendership) A high-stakes anatomical study. Miss Matthews is riding high on a wave of decisive momentum, looking to stake her claim at the ultimate prize. Standing in her way is the leader of Tigress, who is dragging their bruised frame into the ring following a brutal steel chair assault by their own cousin. Will Thaïs’s lingering trauma leave a fatal opening for Matthews to exploit, or will the Tigress display a lethal survival instinct?

The Ultimate Suffering

Helen Beck vs. Helena Handbasket (30-Minute Iron Man Match) Sibling rivalry elevated to a high art form. Thanks to a proxy war two weeks ago, the stipulation was earned: thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated rules. No shortcuts. Whichever twin can inflict the most pinfalls within half an hour wins this monumental clash. It will be an grueling marathon of exhaustion, agony, and escalating malice—an absolute masterpiece of prolonged trauma.

MAIN EVENT: Bia vs. Yelena Gorgo (PCW Unleashed Championship) And finally, the grand finale of fatal trauma. The UNLEASHED Championship will be ushered into a modern era of violence inside the monstrous architecture of The Terrordome. A ferocious mountain of steel, draped in black chains, invented by the champion’s own father. The rules are magnificently cruel: one must first score a pinfall on their opponent just to earn the right to climb twenty feet into the air and retrieve the title hanging from the ceiling.

It is the ultimate cage, darlings. A structure designed not just to keep the competitors in, but to ensure that whoever walks out with the gold leaves a massive piece of their soul behind on the canvas.

The scalpels are ready, the dome is locked, and the autopsy table is set. Let the carnage commence.