Dorian Knox · General Promo · Aug 15, 2026

Everything Has a Price

You know what they don't tell you about starting a wrestling promotion? The camera costs more than the ring.I lean against the back wall of the abandoned warehouse, my breath visible in the cold air, staring at my best friend Marcus holding an iPhone."Tell me again why we're shooting this on a phone?" Marcus asks, the camera shaking slightly in his hand."Because nobody gave us a fucking dime," I reply, running a hand through my dark hair. "And because every kid with a TikTok account is doing it better than ESPN these days."The warehouse echoes with our voices, empty except for the ring we assembled last night with borrowed tools and YouTube tutorials.The lens flares right into my face and I don't even blink. That's the whole point."Yo, pull it back a little, you're gonna burn my retinas out." I wave my hand at the phone, the one I bought refurbished off eBay for two hundred and forty-seven bucks, and Marcus tilts it down maybe half an inch. Good enough. We're not making Citizen Kane here. We're making something real."Alright. Episode one. Pulse." I lean into the frame, close enough that you can see the cilantro in my teeth I need to fish out, the five o'clock shadow I've been growing since Tuesday, the honest-to-God exhaustion behind my eyes.My hands are shaking. I hide it by adjusting my collar, but Marcus sees. He always sees."Alright, let me hit the bathroom real quick," I tell him.The bathroom door sticks, then gives with a whine that echoes through the empty warehouse. No lights, like I expected-just a jagged hole in the roof throwing down a column of gray afternoon. Enough to see my hands shaking while I pick cilantro from my teeth, enough to catch my reflection in a cracked mirror propped against the tile wall.I run water from the tap-cold, brown for three seconds, then clear-and splash my face. The nausea rolls through in waves, familiar, stupid. Just nerves. Just the same thing I got before every match back when I thought I'd be somebody in a real ring. I grip the sink, breathe through my nose, watch the water spiral down a drain clogged with leaves and plaster dust.Fix my hair. Wipe the sweat. Check my eyes in the mirror-still there, still mine.When I push back through the door, Marcus has the phone mounted on a cheap tripod, framing the shot. The ring light is shoddy, but it’ll be enough. He looks up, gives me that grin, the one that made me trust him with this whole insane idea."You good?""Yeah.""No, seriously. You look like you're about to puke into the lens.""I'm not gonna puke into the lens.""Because that would be amazing content, don't get me wrong, but maybe save it for episode two." He adjusts the angle, not looking at me. "You know this shit. You've done it a hundred times. Just-" he finally turns, points at me with his free hand, "-don't be perfect. Be you. That's what they don't have."I nod, roll my shoulders, feel the nausea settle into something manageable. Something useful."Rolling when you're ready," Marcus says.I step into frame.

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