COLOSSUS NIGHT ONE

SHIELDS UP, SWORDS OUT

Shields up, swords out.

For the battle rages on.

A symphony of steel ringing from sheaths carries into the air. A collective of familiar faces, all clad in shining armor, standing on one end of the open field. Ready to defend. Prepared to charge into glorious battle as the violins of “Reign of Vengeance” by Dream Chasers opens the scene.

On the other side of the field, a battalion of darkness. Black-armored and grim. 

It’s a pregnant moment in the cool air. A dire stand-off between titans.

The heavy frame of Brandon Youngblood steps forward from the Army of Light, heavy warhammer tight in his grip, gleaming plates of metal glittering against the sun. He lifts that hammer high overhead.

FLAMBERGE steps forward from the opposition in response, dark leather tight to his lean body. He lifts a rapier, pointing it at the Tower of Babel’s throat. 

And as the drums crash and the orchestra lifts, the two armies bellow, and charge forward to meet in the middle of the field.

It’s a thunderous crash of steel against steel. Blade against blade. Spear against shield.

Sage Pontiff looks on from a distant hill, robes flowing in the wind. Fingers curling around a wooden staff.

From the melee, Ria Lockhart emerges to take a breath, tossing colored hair away from her eyes, and in doing so, catches the image of the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience in the distance. She pulls two daggers from her belt, grits her teeth, and climbs the hillside. Sage stands from his crouched position, readying himself.

Symbols crash, drum beats thunder, and the massive and towering frame of Ivan Stanislav bludgeons his opponents with his hammer in one hand, while slicing and splitting others with the sickle in his left, blood staining his heavy black armor, highlighted with red trim. Slobber flings into his beard before he takes a moment, looking down to spot Mortimer Knightengale…or Kjedelig, it doesn’t matter in this fantasy universe. Mortimer, without many options, winds up and throws a punch into Ivan’s “punching bag,” but is left with a fist smashing into metal. Knightengale shakes his fist in pain, but doesn’t have long to linger as the Russian Bear lifts him by the throat and hurls him into the fray.

Within said fray, Nova and Sonny Silver clash steel against one another, each gripping their greatswords and fighting for ground. Nova’s steel greaves dig into the dirt, fighting back the push from Silver’s rusted blade. He manages to pivot and send Sonny stumbling away, only to find a pile of bodies spilling over and tumbling his way in a mess of clambering metal. He uses his sword for defense as the careen over his head and into the dirt.

Those bodies? The Masters of the Multiverse B-Team, shaking their heads and looking far too…modern…for a medieval battle. Kenny and Randall stand, phasers in hand and nearby Mushigihara and David Fox, who use their spears to assist them to their feet. Fred Mayhew does his best to help Bobby Dean to an upright position. Mayhew, in sleek blue armor, barks at his partner, but Bobby, fresh from a bath house and still in his robe, has little to give. Once all three teams find their bearings and recognize each others’ presence, they charge in to the sound of a brilliant chorus.

Nate Colton, in magnificent gleaming armor, stands back-to-back with Brandon Youngblood, aach doing their best to fight off the opposition. FLAMBERGE strikes quickly with his rapier, looking for weak spots in Youngblood’s armor. The Tower of Babel struggles to keep up with that heavy hammer, but the armor does its job. Colton strikes an opponent down with a sweep of his sword, and in a moment of instinct catches a dark image flying in from the side, forcing him to lift his shield and deflecting the blow from a jagged axe. Rezin reveals himself to be the wielder of that axe, wild bloodshot eyes darting left and right. They land on Colton’s, and with a raspy howl, the Goat Bastard lifts his weapon over and leaps back in for more.

The uplifting chanting rings out as the battle rages. Powerful drums blast out.

And Jared Sykes slams against the dirt.

The Dragonslayer coughs as he stabs his blade into the earth, using it to bring himself to a knee. Mud and dirt cakes his face as he fights for breath. Eventually he turns his gaze to the side, finding the image of Paxton Ray, covered in jagged and rusted armor with a nasty, jagged sword in hand. Ray sneers as Jared finds his feet, and just when Sykes makes a motion to attack, Paxton grips his sword in both hands, blade aiming down…

…and he thrusts it into the earth.

And then, the quake. 

It steals the attention of everyone on the battlefield. 

The earth rumbles and shakes, forcing the combatants to find balance. But it’s short lived.

Because a gargantuan hand bursts through the ground.

Bodies fly through the air, crashing in a mess of weapons and steel. Those who remain upright back away, the combination of both armies creating a crude circle as the behemoth rises from the depths.

A giant. Born from stone. Its enormous body groaning and grinding as it emerges. As it stands upright, it slowly shifts its colossal face, gazing down at the tiny, mortal warriors below. 

From the shocked armies of light and darkness, a mustachioed warrior steps forward, clinging tightly to his shield, mace hanging limply in his hand, fighting through the exhaustion.

Hayes Hanlon looks up to the sky, squinting at the monster’s shoulders.

The shoulders where Cancer Jiles sits, blue and gold armor shining. His visage sneering down to the ground.

A decision to be made from those who call each other enemy.

Then, a crescendo from Dream Chasers rings out. 

Much like the battle cry from Jared Sykes, his sword held high overhead.

And then, as one, the armies rush forward in unison with a magnificent roar. The colossus rears back, and lifts a gigantic foot, stomping it downward onto the camera with a deafening thud, revealing the graphics.

PRIME.

COLOSSUS.

NIGHT ONE.

PLEASURE AND PAIN: A RECAP

A song for the deaf, that is for you 

A graphic showing the match up of Sage Pontiff vs Ria Lockhart is shown as the opening chords of Queens of the Stone Age’s “Song For The Deaf” drones on before getting heavy. 

Nobody’s coming down the hall
Nobody echoes in my head
Broken reflection, outta luck
Nobody ever needed it

Ria Lockhart is shown backstage at ReVival 16. Gear bag in hand, she’s on her way to exit the building. As she walks, she passes a meditating Sage Pontiff. Though her curiosity slows her, Lockhart keeps waking. It’s when Sage opens his mouth that Ria stops. She turns around and approaches him.

I got what was
I want to take what’s left
(Ready now)

Cut to two of them speaking, just out of each other’s personal space. Their mouths move wordlessly, the music filling the space. Sage closes the space, but does nothing more. Ria is animated in her movements, Sage calm. Ria gets particularly heated, but Sage meanders away before any violence takes place. A frustrated Ria stomps off in the other direction.

Beautiful senses are gone
Canary in a gilded cage
Singin’
Sweet, soft and low
I will poison you all
Come closer, racin’ to your tongue

We jump to ReVival 17. Ria is staring at a business card intently. She looks up and immediately shows annoyance before Sage Pontiff comes on screen. Sage speaks with silence as the agitated Ria stands by and humors him. She soon steps forward, words of venom spoken but not heard. Pontiff retorts, his body language as zen as ever. He moves in even closer to Lockhart.

I got what was
Want to take what’s left
No talk will cure
What’s lost, or save what’s left
(For the deaf)

Sage’s hand meets Ria’s cheek. Enraged, she launches forward and smashes him in the face with a headbutt! The blow staggers Pontiff, dropping him to one knee, blood pooling in the ground in front of him. He looks up at her, hair disheveled, eyes wild… And smiles. Ria’s face distorts into disgust, either at her own actions or the response given. She storms off with haste. Sage, left alone, gathers some trickling blood from his chin. With deft fingers, her paints a third eye on his forehead.

I got what was
Want to take what’s left
No talk will cure
What’s lost, or save what’s left
(For the deaf)

We see Ria Lockhart at ReVival 18. She’s alone, but it doesn’t last. Like a starving lion, Sage pounces the unsuspecting Lockhart with a wooden escrima stick! Cut to the wall assisted flying kick from Pontiff being caught by Lockhart. She throws him off, but takes a shot to the knee with the stick. He gets her in a full mount while Ria struggles valiantly to get free.

As the heavy instrumental plays, Sage rears back, his flexibility allowing him to contort to a less than natural angle. He fires forward like the hammer of a gun, plowing into Ria’s face with his forehead! Blood sprays out, as if a rock were dropped into a puddle. As the camera focuses on the destruction of Lockhart’s face, the screen pulsates from standard to red, standard to red. Ria lays broken as security drags the Buddha calm Sage away.

The blind can go get fucked
Lie beside the ditch
This halo ’round my neck
Has torn out every stitch

ReVival 20. Pontiff is in his makeshift sanctuary, absolutely beaming over his recent past. He talks, the camera focusing on his ruggedly handsome face. He drones on, eloquent words unheard. Though his message cannot be heard, there’s an obvious charisma to the Bodhisattva. A sound catches his attention as he cranes his body around to inspect the doorway.

Who are you hiding? Is it safe for the deaf?
Beautiful cancer, infiltrate then forget
Yeah, I saw you coming and I heard not a thing
A mistake not to listen
When I knew where you’d been

Sage starts inspecting further. The door is clear, but his eyes settle on a dimly lit corner. Pontiff slowly draws toward it, posture defensive, eyes unblinking. He whips back the tapestry to reveal… Nothing. His shoulders relax and air escapes his lungs in apparent relief. That relief is short-lived. He turns around, face overtaken by shock at he sees the sight of a black leather mask in front of him; Ria Lockhart’s black leather mask.

And I got what was
I want to take what’s left
No talk will cure
What’s lost, or save what’s left
(For the deaf)

Pontiff attempts to speak, but is quickly cut off by a headbutt to the mouth! He’s stunned, but recovers, throwing a wild right cross. Though it may be wild, Ria sees it coming and cuts his legs out with a brutal kick that sends Pontiff flipping. He tries to retreat, but as he struggles to the door, Sage is sent through it with a vicious shotgun dropkick!

No longer in the dimly lit personal nirvana created for him, Sage weakly attempts to rebound, his nose a bloody mess. Like a horror slasher, Ria steps out of the broken remnants of the door towards her prey. Before Pontiff can get any further, Lockhart pounces on him, a hyena looking to feast on a wounded beast. She swiftly grabs his arm and locks in a kimura, making a very real attempt at serious injury.

Security is quick to intervene, dragging Lockhart off the howling Sage. Two men pull her away while two act as guardians for the damaged Bodhisattva. This doesn’t last. An elbow to the diaphragm of one and smashing down on a foot with a stomp of the other frees Ria! She charges forward like a bowling ball. The poor other guards act as her 7-10 split, Ria demolishing one into the other! She gets to Sage and covers him with a blanket of violence, fists bartering him.

The music nears its end. Ria gets pulled away by the assaulted security while we close on one last scene. The brutalized Sage Pontiff, on the ground, bleeding and grievously harmed… With a smile that draws Buddha to mind. The music stops and we get one more shot of the matchup graphic.

RIA LOCKHART vs. SAGE PONTIFF

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION, SIGNS!

🎶 START SPREADING THE NEWS… 🎶

DOESN’T LOOK LIKE WE’RE IN VEGAS ANYMORE

DYAAHAAHAA!

I CHALLENGE RAY RAY FOR THE HONOR OF BEING TIMO’S KID

GIMME MY MONEY, DAD!

IVAN’S FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONG IS SILENT (BUT DEADLY) NIGHT

FU REUNION AT COOLOSSUS!

SONNY SILVER IS A FUCK

MIKE MCGEE DOESN’T REFILL THE COFFEE POT AFTER HE DRINKS THE LAST CUP

REPOSEZ EN PAIX, FLAMBERGE

DEAR DR. REFORM
SHOULD IT BEND THIS MUCH?

I NEED A TICKET FOR NIGHT TWO

IT HAS BEEN 14 DAYS SINCE OUR LAST ANNOUNCE TABLE DESTRUCTION!

Let’s kick it over to Nick and Richard!

Nick Stuart: Madison Square Garden. The most famous arena in the world. This is Colossus 2022. I am Nick Stuart. With me, as always, is my broadcast partner, Richard Parker. Rich, did you think we’d be here, right now?

Richard Parker: By the divine grace of Hoyt Williams, I did not, at least I didn’t 18 months ago. But as much of a crab as I can be at times, Nick, well, there’s no other place I’d rather be than right here, with you, calling the biggest wrestling show of the year.

The lights to the arena shut off suddenly, causing the crowd to buzz. A spotlight focuses on the top of the ramp, while many in the crowd raise their cell phones. The arena has been transformed into something resembling the dark night sky. “This is Me” begins to play, but it’s a different version, a piano cover. As the song twinkles along, the arena audience keeps their energy of anticipation high. When the chords of the chorus start, she finally makes her way out.

Ria Lockhart is here, and she’s ready for battle. She’s dressed in black from head to toe; black canvas boots, black leather pants with pink accents, black leather bra top with attached collar and pink accents, black mask with pink ivy design and a sleeveless leather jacket, deep hood covering most of Ria’s head. She stalks towards the ring, eyes laser focused forward as the crowd roars with approval.

She pauses a few feet from the ring, staring intensely at the battleground. She moves, methodically rounding the corner to climb the steps. In the ring she goes, much quicker than her walk had been. Ria rips her hood down, gaze locked on the opposite corner. Anger seems to radiate off her body as she waits for the opening bell.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 156 pounds, she is “Rainbow Rock…” Ria… LOCKHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAART!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

Nick Stuart: Ria looks like she’s ready to kick off Colossus with some violence.

Richard Parker: All because Sage Pontiff wanted to spread his peace and love. I think it’s a traveshamockery if you ask me.

Nick Stuart: Richard Parker, bringing us into 2004, everyone.

At first, darkness hits.  Every light in the arena goes out, causing a buzz among the crowd and a few cellphone camera lights.  The video screen shows a single glowing orb at the top of the screen.  Lavender.  Then another beneath it, blue.  Teal.  Green.  Yellow.  Orange.  Finally, red–and then around it, the shimmering outline of a human body in lotus position.  This hold on the screen as an almost marching drumbeat begins, pulsing throughout the arena.  

Lights come up, pink in tone, as what appear to be flower petals begin to rain down from the rafters, all in time with a psychedelic drone of distorted guitar noise.  As the solo of what could very well be an electric sitar begins, a figure walks out from the back.  More accurately, he damn near glides.  His neck is hanging with the weight of what seem to be many different strands of prayer beads.  He is barefoot, his calf length, baggy pants a frankly offensive patchwork of tie dye, paisley, and other patterns.  Hanging to the floor is a long, linen kimono in pure white.  

Sage Pontiff has arrived, and he throws his head back, practically bathing in the rain of flower petals.  

There is no up or down

Your truth is the only master

Death is made by the living

Pain is only intense to you…

He begins to slowly make his way down the ramp, occasionally twirling and oftentimes doing respectful bows to certain members of the audience, kissing his fingertips and then touching his forehead.  

Vince Howard: Introducing, from the High Desert, Joshua Tree, California…weighing two-hundred and one pounds…he is the Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience…SAAAAGE PONTIIIIF!!

Sage slides into the ring, kips to his feet fluidly, and then takes a running start and leaps flat footed, landing with a slight wobble on the top turnbuckle–but sticks the landing, and holds his arms out messianic-style, bathing in reactions.  Mostly negative, though there are a smattering of true believers that are making themselves known over the jeers. 

The Sun shines every day

The Sun shines every day

Freedom, freedom!

Freedom, freedom…

Sage executes a backflip from the top, landing on his feet, and bows to the crowd, Ria, and Elvis Nixon before removing his kimono and beads.  He begins to stretch, adopting the revolved crescent lunge, his fluidity and vascularity on full display as “Satori Part II” fades to nothing…

Elvis Nixon checks both competitors, and then he calls for the bell, officially getting Colossus underway.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we’re off and RIA LOCKHART IS WASTING NO TIME.

Richard Parker: She’s got the claws out! Someone hit her with a tranq dart! That man only wants to bring us love and peace!

As the commentators have pointed out, Ria has leapt upon Sage with a vicious Thesz press, attempting to club him as he gets his hands and arms up in self-defense. Elvis Nixon attempts to restore some order, but the Boddhisattva is able to shake off his assailant and roll out of the ring, creaking his neck and shaking the cobwebs out. Rainbow Rock divebombs the canvas and rolls out herself to give chase.

Richard Parker: My god, Ria is relentless. I don’t know what bug crawled up her ass.

Nick Stuart: Perhaps it’s the entire pay-per-view cycle of badgering ending with an assault that put her in the hospital?

Richard Parker: This is wrestling. That happens every day.

Just as Ria closes in on Sage, the guru turns around as if warned by a sixth sense and plants his boot right in Ria’s gut, sending her stumbling back.

Richard Parker: Namaste!

Ria plants, lifts her head up, and charges at a laughing Sage, who olés her, her momentum sending her into the guardrail, stomach first. Sage casually walks up behind her as she’s staggering again, mockingly paintbrushing the back of her head with open-hand slaps.

Nick Stuart: Starting to think this Sage Pontiff really has a humiliation fetish disguised as a study in self-enlightenment.

Richard Parker: Absolutely not! It’s just he finds the humor in it too.

Sage grabs the back of Ria’s head and in one swoop leaps into the air, vaulting off the ringpost, and driving it into the mat with a tornado reverse DDT.

Nick Stuart: AMAZING athleticism there by Pontiff. He’s almost toying with Ria to start the match. It’s almost like he wants to embarrass her into joining his outfit.

Richard Parker: Well, you know what they say. You have to hit rock bottom before you can climb back to the top. And I applaud Sage here for taking the initiative to throw potential followers down there himself.

The Boddhisattva rolls into the ring and demands Elvis Nixon start counting.

ONE!

TWO!

Ria stirs to her knees, rubbing the back of her head. Sage starts bounding on the balls of his feet, capoeira-style.

THREE!

FOUR!

Ria rolls over to the apron and pulls herself up to her feet.

FIVE!

SIX!

Ria beats the count with a few beats to spare. Sage plants his feet and beckons for Ria to throw at him, telling her “Let your chakras dip into the well of your anger!” She winds up wide, but her first haymaker misses as Sage dips back with ease. Her second haymaker whiffs high as Sage ducks low. He beckons for her to swing again. Ria feigns like she’s going to throw a straight right, but instead, she catches Sage with a kick from her left to his thigh when he drifts over to that direction.

Nick Stuart: Rainbow Rock Ria Lockhart outsmarted the grifter!

Richard Parker: That’s not a nice thing to say about someone offering inner peace and enlightenment, Nick.

Ria with haste charges into a one-footed Sage with a heavy elbow smash to the face. He drops to the canvas like his tunic after a hard day of violent meditation, but Ria follows up with a second, a third, and a fourth elbow to his face before making the emphatic cover…

ONE!

TWO!

But Sage kicks out.

Ria with the doggedness of a pitbull starts back in, yanking Sage up to his feet by his dreads. With a rush of adrenaline, she violently hoists the Boddhisattva in the air and crunches him across her knee with the uranage backbreaker.

Nick Stuart: Ria is wrestling like a woman possessed here, Richard! She’s giving up at least 45 pounds, but she’s manhandling Sage here like SHE’s the one with the size advantage!

Richard Parker: Poor Sage Pontiff, a delicate flower being thrown to this hyper-violent thug!

Nick Stuart: Do you recall what happened on our flagship show not one month ago?

Richard Parker: No, I got stoned with Solid Gold Rock ‘n Roll after we went off the air. The details on everything that happened that night are hazy.

Ria continues to go to work on Pontiff, chasing him down after impact to wrench his head with Painbow Road. She arches her back and legs up, nearly choking the life out of Sage with her calves.

Richard Parker: There are some people who would pay good money to be in that position right now.

Nick Stuart: I’m not even going to indulge you on that one. DO you see how hard she’s wrenching Sage’s neck there?

Richard Parker: Generation Z has an insatiable thirst for dying though, Nick. I follow Peach Backshots on Twitter. You should see some of the things she posts.

Nick Stuart: I’m sure that’s the main reason you follow her.

Richard Parker: It is! She is much too young for me. I prefer mature women.

Sage gets his foot onto the ropes in desperation, but Ria takes the entire five count before she lets go. She again hastily hops to her feet, lays in a couple of boots to the prone Boddhisattva, and grabs him in the uranage position again. This time, she hoists him in the air and lays him out to her side with a big sit-out slam, floating into the cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Sage kicks out again.

Nick Stuart: Ria smells blood here. Could she finally get her revenge?

Richard Parker: Revenge for what? Again, modern problems require modern solutions, and Sage Pontiff has modern solutions.

Nick Stuart: Have you gone down an early Aughts YouTube rabbit hole?

Richard Parker: I get bored on cross-country flights, okay?

Sage staggers to his feet, and Ria sizes him up, rushing forward to attempt a Lockjaw, but the Boddhisattva dodges at the last second. Ria gets caught up in the ropes, but before she can compose herself…

Nick Stuart: DEAR LORD! Sage Pontiff risking life and limb to hang Ria out the dry over the top rope!

That’s right, Sage gets mad air flipping over Ria and snapping her neck and throat on the top rope as he flies to the outside, landing ass-first on the apron and tumbling to the floor.

Nick Stuart: Rough landing for Pontiff there, but the damage on Ria is done here. I hope it was worth the future proctologist appointment.

Richard Parker: The lengths he will go to save a soul. *sniffles* This man truly is a miracle worker.

Sage gingerly climbs back into the ring and stands over a writhing Lockhart on the canvas, holding her throat and neck.

Sage Pontiff: I OFFERED YOU ENLIGHTENMENT. IF YOU WON’T TAKE IT, I WILL BREAK YOU!

He picks her up from the canvas, slips behind, and lands a brutal release dragon suplex. He repeats the process methodically, once more, twice more, a third time. After the fourth suplex, Elvis Nixon steps in, warning him that he cannot abuse an opponent he’s beating into senselessness. Out of sheer obligation, Sage makes a lax cover…

ONE!

TWO!

Ria kicks out.

Nick Stuart: Sage showing a darkness here, Richard. I have to wonder how many of his followers have seen this side of him.

Richard Parker: Probably only the ones who bogart the ayahuasca.

Sage gets up momentarily to collect himself before laying a boot to Ria’s face and mounting her and landing a headbutt to her forehead with a sickening thud. He raises his head with seething, blinding rage visible in his eyes and his sneer before going back to the well again and again until he himself is busted open. Again, Nixon has to step in to remind him the point of the match is to win. Pontiff shoots to his feet, raising his hands in protest and barking something unintelligible at the referee. He violently grabs Ria to her feet and whips her into the corner. He lurches back before charging at full speed into her with a spinning wheel kick that makes her body convulse while held up by the turnbuckles.

Nick Stuart: I’m starting to think this is less about winning for Sage Pontiff and more about some sick revenge fantasy.

Richard Parker: That oughtta teach everyone in PRIME. If someone as one with the universe takes a shine to you, reciprocate!

Continuing to stare a heat laser through Ria, Sage grabs her by her shoulder and rips her out of the corner. She staggers around, finally facing the corner as Sage ascends to the top rope, raising his arms as if to soak in the adulation of a wholly different crowd that isn’t booing him so far into the earth that the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are his upstairs neighbors. HE lines up his shot on Ria, leaping, somersaulting forward, but…

Nick Stuart: NO WATER IN THE POOL! NO WATER IN THE POOL! Sage Pontiff lands hard AGAIN on his rear end!

Richard Parker: How can this be? I thought he only tried this move because his third eye showed him success! She’s messing with his chakras!

Having sidestepped the attempt at a forward somersault hip attack, Ria collects herself just enough to see an opening for a Lockjaw that crushes Pontiff right in the temple. He collapses to the canvas, and she quickly covers…

ONE!

TWO!

But he kicks out!

She makes a point to yank Sage up by his dreadlocks into a rear chinlock before driving him with a little extra mustard back-first into her knee. She drives the point of her boot into his chest to make a point before going for another cover…

ONE!

TWO!

But another kickout, this time with less air between Nixon’s hand and the mat than before.

Nick Stuart: Ria might have Sage where she wants him! It might be time for the Lock Cutter!

Richard Parker: I can’t bear to watch such ungrateful behavior!

Ria goes to grab Sage again, but with a flick of his wrist, the Boddhisattva gouges her eye, right out of the sight of Nixon. Rainbow Rock stumbles back, and Nixon admonishes Sage, but he plays dumb. Pontiff gingerly gets to his feet, plants, and lands a spinning roundhouse kick to Ria’s bent-over head. She falls to one knee, and Pontiff puts her head between his legs.

Nick Stuart: Fortunes have turned but on such a cheap move! Sage Pontiff is looking for the Shamanic Dreamweaver!

Richard Parker: There are no cheap maneuvers, Nick! The path to enlightenment comes by any road necessary.

Sage gives one last preen to the crowd before turning his focus towards the move, but by that time, Ria has slipped out of his grasp. She deftly sneaks behind Sage and rolls him up with a DEEP school girl.

Nick Stuart: Oh my! She has that roll-up in DEEP! And Sage has already hurt his lower back tonight!

Nixon drops to the mat…

ONE!

TWO!

…

THREE!

Richard Parker: NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Ria Lockhart has stolen her revenge in the opening match of Colossus!

Ria pops to her feet to the utter adulation of the crowd while Sage gets up on his knees, looking into his hands with a shocked expression on his face.

Vince Howard: Your winner, Ria… LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOCKHAAAAAAAAAAART!

The fans roar their approval as Ria soaks in the biggest win of her career to date.

SANITY IS IN A SMALL BOX

The feed cuts to static, white noise bursting in with the lack of image. After a moment, the static and noise fade away, leaving us with a view of the New York City skyline from a distance. The glow of a fire shines from somewhere off camera before a familiar voice breaks the silence.

In my mind’s eye, my thoughts light fires in your cities.

The camera turns to find Jacob Mephisto sitting cross-legged in front of a fire. He’s clearly not in the city where the biggest event PRIME has to offer is taking place. Still, he’s somewhere in the surrounding area. There are no Family members with him, just The Patriarch.

Hello, PRIME. You know, I wanted more from all of this, I really did. See, I’m a man of focus. I’m a man of determination. But, those things eluded me this past year.

He bows his head for a moment, pausing with his thoughts. When he looks back up, his pale, gray eyes catch the firelight, the fire dancing across the irises.

There have been glimmers of greatness. I put Anna Daniels in her place. I showed the world that monsters can be beaten well before The Anglo Luchador defeated Balaam. Speaking of Tom, I ended his title defense against me on my own terms. Hell, I even delivered a measure of bloody punishment to Paxton Ray.

A light smirk plays at the All-Father’s face as he runs his tongue over his lips, remembering his tilt with the Bayou Butcher.

But, for what?

The smirk fades, his eye twitches… just once.

What have I accomplished in PRIME? I’ve been a champion multiple times over in the SHOOT Project. I’ve become the stuff of legend there. That should be enough for a man to hang his hat on. The SHOOT Project is a hallowed hall, after all.

Mephisto’s hands clench into fists before relaxing. He repeats the motion a few more times before taking a breath.

But… it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I’ve come to terms with that. I want more.

Pause. Twitch.

You see, I started my journey with PRIME against one of its beacons of light in the Almasy Invitational. That didn’t go as planned. You’re welcome for waking up your Risen Star, by the way. Go back and watch if you’ve forgotten.

Since that time, I’ve had a distinct lack of focus. My determination has been… barely present.

Deep breath. Pause. Twitch.

The Family has grown stagnant.

His voice hardens, an edge creeping into his words.

That ends. Now.

The Patriarch closes his eyes for a moment. When they open, one is the usual pale gray we’ve become accustomed to. The other is completely white, no iris or pupil present.

I’m not going to be at Colossus, which is fortunate for you, PRIME. But, understand this, you are not safe. None of you.

The scene begins to distort slightly at the edges as we begin to zoom in on Mephisto’s face.

When PRIME comes back from its break, so does The Family. This will not be the nearly nonexistent force you’ve seen over the last year.

The closer we get to The Patriarch’s face, the more the images distort.

So, tonight I want you to bask in the glory that is Colossus. Ride that emotional wave over these two nights. Then, rest well, PRIME. Because next year? Next year is going to be the year the Family rises. And when I rise, fire will reign as sovereign . Blood will flow in rivers. Fear will be a lesson learned in pain. And, in 2023, dear PRIME, we will grow. We will build. And, most importantly…

We.

Will.

Feast.

The scene bursts back to static before returning us to our regularly scheduled programming.

SAY MY NAME

Backstage, where the words live.

The words are commanded by Angelica Brooks, the undisputed Queen of PRIME Journalism. Armed with her microphone, she is standing next to one of tonight’s competitors, Nate Colton. As always, he is wearing his signature blue satin jacket with “NATE” written on the front.

Maybe you remember all the way back to ReV17, where we talked about how Nate brings a different energy right before a match. Even if you do remember that discussion, you might not be ready for the kind of energy he’s putting out right now. Colton is buzzing with excitement already; his hands are shaking and he’s almost jumping up and down next to Brooks. It’s like someone plugged a power cable right into the back of his head.

Welcome to the big time, kid.

Angelica Brooks: Hello, PRIME faithful! I’m here with Nate Colton, who will be getting his first shot at gold tonight when he takes on Rezin, Brandon Youngblood, and defending champion FLAMBERGE for the Five Star Title!

Nate Colton: Can you feel it, Angie? Can you FEEL it?! New York City! Madison Square Garden! TWENTY THOUSAND STRONG!

RRRAAAHHH!

Nate Colton: There’s an energy tonight and EVERYONE is feeling it! The biggest weekend of the year, and the biggest fight of my life! I feel like I say that every time I step in the ring, but I promise it’s going to be a LONG time before they top this one.

Angelica Brooks: I would have to agree. A champion would have his hands full with any one of tonight’s challengers, let alone all three.

Nate Colton: That’s right. Every single one of us is going in with something to prove. FLAMBO’s had a fire under his ass ever since UltraViolence, and maybe I don’t like the way he does it, but I can’t deny he takes care of business in the ring. Rezin? That dude is capable of anything…like getting a flamethrower to the roof of the Grand. I don’t think he brought it tonight–I HOPE he didn’t bring it tonight–but he doesn’t need it. He’s crafty, ruthless, and tough as nails. Last but not least, the damn Tower of Babel himself. Winner of the Almasy, first and best Universal Champion of the new era, and best Five Star Champion of the old one. And a guy who just signed a big damn contract, and no doubt he wants to prove he deserves it. Now, that’s a murderer’s row right there. Most wrestlers would make a mess in their tights if they saw themselves in a match like that.

Angelica Brooks: Something tells me that’s not the case for you tonight.

Nate Colton: No way! This is what Colossus is all about! You put the best in the world in that ring, raise the stakes up to the sky, and see who stands tallest at the end of the night! We are going to set Madison Square Garden on FIRE, and when we’re done there’s no question of what the Five Star Title means to the four of us.

Angelica Brooks: Any final words for your opponents? Maybe a prediction?

Nate Colton: Oh, I’ve got no idea what’s going to happen tonight. God willing, it’ll be me that gets to put the Five Star Title around my waist. But I promise you this! First, whoever wins that match is going to damn well deserve it. Second, if you go up to people tomorrow morning and ask who made their mark at Colossus, who cemented himself as the future of PRIME, who’s the real damn deal? There’s one thing that everyone’s gonna do.

He pauses her, and Angie gits a hint–just a hint–of a smirk, as she considers not feeding him a line. She decides not to follow that impulse, because she’s a professional…and besides, it’s obvious that he worked really hard on this.

Angelica Brooks: And what’s that?

Nate Colton: They are gonna say. My. Name.

He spins around to put his back toward the camera, calling attention to the back of his jacket. “COLTON” is written across the back, in much larger letters.

Nate Colton: Boom!

Brooks is working very hard to stifle a laugh now, as Colton turns and walks out of the shot.

Angelica Brooks: As you can see, the Next Diamond is very excited for his title match tonight. But will it be enough? That remains to be seen. Let’s go back to Nick and Richard at ringside.

The camera cuts back to our announce table, where Richard Parker is rolling his eyes like a champion.

Richard Parker: Oh my God, what a friggin’ dork.

IVAN STANISLAV vs. MORTIMER KNIGHTENGALE

The opening riffs of “You’re Nobody Til Somebody Loves You” by Dean Martin begins and the masked man emerges from the curtain as the lights dim and the spotlights shine on the ramp. 

Nick Stuart: We begin Colossus with a big… literally, BIG match up, as the Gamble Adoration Syndicate’s Mortimer Knightengale locks up against the Russian Bear Ivan Stanislav! This match was established when Knightengale attacked Stanislav with a steel chair during a tag team match between the Gamble Adoration Syndicate and the team of Stanislav and the Anglo Luchador, and this feud rages on to Colossus!

Richard Parker: Hate to say it, Nicky, but Mort might have his hands full against the giant Russian.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Making his way to the ring, from Horace, North Dakota…weighing in at 248 pounds…MOOOORTIIMEEEEERRRR KNIGHTENGALE!

Mortimer Kjedelig begins making his way down the ramp, pointing to the fans in attendance. As he walks by, he pays no attention to the fans, he’s there to a job and his gait shows it. He slides into the ring under the bottom rope, step up to the middle turnbuckle and raise his hands in the air as the spotlight shines upon him. He hops off the turnbuckle and readies himself for the match as the music fades.

The lights turn red as the PRIMEtron switches to a flowing, crimson flag of the U.S.S.R. The strong starting chord of the “Soviet National Anthem” explodes as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan emerge from backstage. Stanislav raises his arms high in the air and bellows at the crowd. There’s a smattering of cheers from the crowd, perhaps a holdover from his teaming with The Anglo Luchador, or perhaps he is perceived as the lesser of two evils versus Mortimer Knightingale. 

Either way, Vince Howard has a job to do.

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT! From Arkhangelsk, Russia, standing 7’1” tall and weighing in at 400 lbs, with Alexei Ruslan, IVAN STANISLAV!

Ivan turns to salute the PRIMEtron just in time for the lights to suddenly go back to their default white color. He stops mid-salute and the PRIMEtron turns off while his music is abruptly cut. Alexei looks back at the tron, and then over at Ivan. The two Russians frown angrily as it dawns on them why this is happening. 

They don’t complain, or freak out, or anything else. If anything, Stanislav uses this brazen injustice to fuel his intensity, and with both Russians clenching their fists, Ivan steps up onto the apron, into the ring, and seethes. Then, he points over at Nick Stuart threateningly, and waits for the match to begin.

Senior official Timo Bolamba snaps glances at both competitors, before signaling for the opening bell!

DINGDING!

Mortimer Knightengale and the massive Ivan Stanislav face off from their respective corners, with Knightengale jawjacking the giant Russian, who just nods, as if to challenge Knightengale to bring it.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav is clearly not afraid of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate member!

Nightingale cracks a smirk, before rushing full-bore at Stanislav, only to bounce off of him in the corner, and stumble onto the mat! Stanislav looks down on Knightengale, and lets loose a roaring…

“DYAAHAAHAA!”

…which, to his surprise, actually seems to inspire some copycats in the New York crowd.

Richard Parker: Ivan got himself a following now?! I know the young people have been warming up to Communism, but this is ridiculous!

The few people laughing with Ivan cause him to look around to see who was cheering him on for a second, before a rally Knightengale rushes in for a clothesline, which actually succeeds in rattling the Russian Bear into the corner! Knightengale unloads a right hand to the massive jaw of Stanislav, followed by another! Timo tries to warn Knightengale to lay off the closed fists, but Ivan manages to cut him off, getting his hands on Mort’s collar and tossing him back to the center of the mat!

YEET COUNT: 1

Nick Stuart: The power of Ivan Stanislav on display!

Richard Parker: Age hasn’t softened him up one bit!

Nightingale gets back to his feet, only to get knocked back down by an Ivan clothesline! Ivan gets back to the offensive, grabbing Mort by the hair, and scooping him up and over, before dropping him with a slam, following up with a HEAVY elbowdrop to the chest, which has Mortimer Knightengale flopping like a fish out of water!

The Russian Bear slowly rises to his feet and stops the masked enforcer by stepping on his chest and WAAAAAAALKING over him, making Knightengale yelp in pain!

Nick Stuart: Ivan hasn’t been much of a fan favorite since his return to professional wrestling, but the crowd seems to enjoy seeing him do some damage to Tony Gamble’s unwilling associate!

Richard Parker: What has the world come to, rooting for Communism over good old-fashioned American spirit and gumption?

Ivan seems to relish in the moment, smiling as he drives a boot into the now-turned-over back of Knightengale, who struggles to rise to his feet from his knees. The Russian Bear grabs Mort by the mask, up to his feet, and whips him into the ropes, but Mort ducks the clothesline, and on the rebound, he LEAPS and nails Ivan with a clothesline of his own, which rattles Stanislav, but fails to knock him off his feet! Knightengale bounces off the ropes for another one, and manages to visibly wobble the big man! Mortimer goes for a troika, and bounces off the ropes for the clothesline…

WHAM!

YEET COUNT: 2

Nick Stuart: IVAN STANISLAV WITH A *BIG* FLAPJACK SENDING MORTIMER KNIGHTENGALE TO THE MAT!

Ivan gloats over the crumpled up Knightengale, and grabs the masked man by the arms, driving a boot in between his shoulderblades and WRENCHING!

Richard Parker: Oooooh, having a man Ivan’s size posting on your body to try and make you give up is NOT a good position to be in, Nicky!

And it is a position the masked marauder tries to get himself out of, as he reaches his feet out to try and get the ropes, but the pressure from Ivan’s titanic frame makes it difficult! Meanwhile, Timo is leaning in, checking on Knightengale and waiting for a sign of submission! Mort furiously shakes his head, refusing to give up, and after a daring attempt, manages to scoot himself to a rope and put a foot on it!

Nick Stuart: Mortimer Knightengale manages to get out of that submission, but you have to imagine all that torque did him no favors!

Mortimer Knightengale is clearly feeling it as he slowly gets to his feet, crawling towards a gloating Stanislav… but Knightengale sees an opening and lunges with a knee clip! The Russian Bear staggers and falls to a knee, leaving him prone to Knightengale reaching out and locking on a front headlock…

WHAM!

Richard Parker: Now that’s what you call a DDT with panache!

Knightengale laughs in relief as he rushes in with a salvo of stomps to the Russian Bear’s back! Knightengale waits for Ivan to get on all fours, trying to get his footing, before he bounces off the ropes and drops an elbow across the back of his head to send him down to the mat! Knightengale gloats, pointing at his own head, before reaching down and grabbing another front headlock onto Ivan, before putting one of the bear’s gargantuan arms over his own head.

Richard Parker: No. Way. He’s not gonna try to do that, is he?

It’s a little hard at first. Ivan doesn’t initially go along with Mortimer’s snap, but Mort lines himself up and plants his feet in real deep, before going for the lift…

WHAM!

The crowd erupts in surprise, as Ivan lands on his back by way of a SUCCESSFUL Mortimer Knightengale snap suplex!

Nick Stuart: What a display of strength from the Gamble Adoration Syndicate member!

Ivan reels from the impact, trying to get his footing, but Mortimer is right there, grabbing the gargantuan Russian by the hair and planting a headbutt, while pulling him to his feet and pushing him into a corner! An uppercut or two later, and Knightengale presses into him, before WHIPPING HIM from corner-to-corner!

WHAM!

Ivan writhes in the corner, feeling the impact of the whip against the turnbuckles and wincing in pain, as Knightengale sprints towards the Russian Bear…

WHAP!

Nick Stuart: QUICK thinking by Ivan Stanislav!

Indeed, as Knightengale ran to the corner, Ivan managed to lift one of his long, strong legs, just in time for Mortimer Knightengale to run right into a massive boot! The impact sends Mort stumbling to the mat, as Ivan snaps his head around the MSG crowd, before slooooooowly climbing backwards up the ropes, until both feet are standing on the second turnbuckle…

Richard Parker: No way…

Nick Stuart: Is Ivan really going to go for…

The Enforcer of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate slowly gets back to his feet, and looks around until his eyes lock onto the corner where he got knocked silly, only to see that his opponent simply isn’t there…

Nick Stuart: THE HURRICA–

THUD!

As Mortimer Knightengale looked up, it was too late. Ivan Stanislav was in mid-air, leaping as far as he could, until those oak-like legs where on either side of Mort’s head, resting on his shoulders…

Richard Parker: RUSSIA!

…and riding Ivan’s weight down onto Mortimer Knightengale’s chest and neck, planting him firmly onto the mat. Ivan Stanislav slowly gets back to a standing position, looking down on his opponent, now squashed flat like a bug, and lets out that laugh for all of New York to hear…

“DYAAHAAHAA!”

Nick Stuart: The crowd here tonight is VERY pleased at the destruction of Mortimer Knightengale, and I think we may see the killing blow right here!

Now emboldened by the crowd, Ivan looks down once again as Mort struggles to catch his breath, much less get back up to fight. However, Ivan Stanislav gladly gives his opponent a hand, pulling him back to his feet, and getting a nice grip on him for…

Richard Parker: That’s gotta be about it! The Red Scare is just a DEADLY move on top of that HurricaRussia!

YEET COUNT: 3

Mortimer Knightengale shows very little in the way of signs of life, as Ivan stalks towards him and goes for the cover, with Timo Bolamba in perfect position.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEE!!!

DINGDINGDING!

The Soviet National Anthem plays once more, as Ivan rises triumphant, Alexi Ruslan ever jubilant as Timo raises his man’s hand.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… “THE RUSSIAN BEAR!” Ivan… STAAAAAAANISLAAAAAAAV!

Nick Stuart: A hard-fought win by Ivan tonight, and perhaps a new reputation among the fans here tonight?

Richard Parker: You might not agree with his ideologies, but you can’t argue his power and toughness.

COMMERCIAL: ICONIC

SMARTER THAN THAT

Bolts and boots.

Because a man’s got a code, right?

That’s what Nova told Hayes back in August, though the young challenger for PRIME’s greatest prize wasn’t quite to that level. While Nova laces up his boots, Hayes stands in the locker room in his usual; khaki slacks and a black button-down dress shirt, sleeves rolled up.

Another subscriber to “Bolts and Boots?” The Tower of Babel. Lacing up a pair of his wrestling shoes in preparation for the Five Star Title match later in the evening.

You’d normally expect Hayes to be bouncing off the walls in a moment like this, but no. He sits on a bench, fingers laced together, head bowed, and legs bouncing incessantly. The Risen Star and the ReVival’s Diamond allow the young ball of nerves to do so. 

But Hayes hasn’t quite caught on.

Hayes Hanlon: Jesus, will one of you say something?

A snort from Brandon Youngblood. A plume of smoke from Nova’s beard.

Hayes Hanlon: (frustrated and shoving himself to his feet) I can’t sit in this, man. You’re about to fight over whether or not you’re headed back to wrestling school!

Despite the outstretched arm aimed at the Starchild, Nova offers no response. Instead, Hayes turns that arm toward the Tower.

Hayes Hanlon: And you’re about to take a shot at your fourth Five Star Title!

Youngblood offers just as much.

Hayes Hanlon: And it’s that easy for you guys, huh? On the biggest stage in wrestling? After ten years?

Brandon Youngblood: Hayes…after all this time…you still haven’t learned. Your match is tomorrow.

Youngblood stands, all 270 pounds of him, and shifts toward the Universal Challenger.

Brandon Youngblood: Tonight’s our night.

Hayes freezes a moment, caught in the hard stare of the ReVival’s First Diamond.

Eventually, he relents with a nod.

Hayes Hanlon: Sorry…I just…it’s a lot, y’know?

Brandon Youngblood: Oh, we know. You have no idea just how…

Nova: (interrupting) You’re not thinking about Cancer’s offer, are you?

The burst from the Risen Star catches Youngblood and Hanlon slightly off-guard. Hayes looks between both veterans half a dozen times before finding the words to respond.

Hayes Hanlon: Wait…what? No! Seriously? 

Nova, in a rare moment, is deathly serious, drawing from his cigarette and standing from his bench. Hayes resets his posture and composure. 

Nova: (walking forward) Seriously. Really seriously.

BY steps back. Hayes looks around the locker room, rattled.

Hayes Hanlon: Yeah, man! You don’t really think…

Nova: I’m not sure…you tell me, Hayes…

Hayes Hanlon: (backing up) Nova…seriously…I wouldn’t…

Nova: Because I told myself that, once. Back in ‘06. When I won the Universal Title. When I told the world “Fuck You.” That was a mistake, Hayes. Are you gonna make the same mistake?

And at that comment, the Event Horizon stiffens up, shoulders back, chest out, with a hard glare to match the Starchild’s. The Tower of Babel watches Hanlon closely, arms folding across his chest.

Time to draw your line, kid.

Hayes Hanlon: No. I won’t. I learned from yours a long time ago.

And that line almost sets Nova off course. Even Youngblood in the background fights back the “oh, shit” face. Regardless, Nova takes a rip from his cigarette, eyes matching Hanlon’s browns, before his stare transforms into a genuinely humored grin.

Nova: (slapping Hayes on the shoulder) Ah, I’m just fucking with ya. Sorry, bro.

Starchild turns his head over-shoulder toward Brandon with a wink, who pinches back a laugh behind his goatee. 

Nova: We both know you’re smarter than that!

With one more clap of the shoulder, Nova’s crow’s feet form around his eyes. Hayes, quite uncomfortably, smiles back. Nova then takes a quick look at his wrist, where a watch clearly doesn’t exist, before clapping his hands together.

Nova: Show time.

The Risen Star turns and exits the dressing room, leaving Hayes in a dumbstruck stance. Youngblood, still hiding a laugh behind a closed fist held to his lips, eventually takes a couple steps over to Hammerin’ Hanlon.

Brandon Youngblood: If I were you? 

BY wraps a hand around the back of Hayes’ neck, leaning in close.

Brandon Youngblood: …I’d damn well go and prove it.

With another clap from a big hand, Brandon turns away, exiting the locker room in kind and leaving Home Run Hayes on his own. 

After a quiet moment or two, the Event Horizon slaps his hands together, and slides off stage-left.

SHOULD OLD ACQUAINTANCES BE FORGOT? YES, PLEASE.

♫ Relaxing Jazz Christmas Music ♫

Voice Over: And now… a special holiday message from Doctor Ned Reform.

A cozy, Christmas study. In the corner stands a tall Christmas tree, expertly decorated with white lights, white trim, and a glowing star on top. A fireplace roars. In front of that fireplace is a cozy green chair, in which sits my hero and yours, DOCTOR Ned Reform. Reform is dressed in purple silk pajamas with a white “NR” embroidered on the breast. He wears his reading bifocals as he intently studies a book. The camera slowly zooms in until it apparently catches his attention, as he looks away from his book in surprise.

Ned Reform: OH! I did not see you there, children. Welcome!

He snaps the book shut and places it on a small table next to his chair. When he speaks, it’s dripping with pleasantness and good will.

Ned Reform: Now, I know all the good boys and girls out there are disappointed that their favorite wrestler, Dr. Ned Reform, is not booked for tonight’s event. Be not disheartened, friends: it is not a result of any wrongdoing on your part. You are not being punished. Oh, no! It is due to the fact that PRIME is run by simpletons who wouldn’t know true talent if it kicked them swiftly in the rectum!

Despite that last part sounding bitter, Reform’s tone remains pleasant. 

Ned Reform: But I would have been remiss if I did not make an appearance tonight to wish my fans all over the world a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. May your holidays be restful, rejuvenating, and reflective. Please, resist the urge to make frivolous new year’s resolutions like quitting a disgusting habit or losing weight or trying to reconnect with your children who hate you. Rather pointless, as we all know none of those things will ever come to pass, yes? Instead, I want you all to focus your energy on what matters: supporting me. 

A wide grin.

Ned Reform: Yes, children, The Sage on the Stage could use your support now more than ever. PRIME has redoubled their efforts to silence me. To hold me down. To prevent me from growing my platform and spreading the good word. But we will not let them! Together, we will usher in a new era of PRIME, an era in which you all no longer have to hide your fandom from your co-workers lest you be judged and immediately made into social pariahs. Imagine a world where you could openly discuss PRIME at the office watercooler without being afraid of looking like a Neanderthal? This is my wish for 2023, children, and I look forward to your thoughts and well wishes as I engage in this endeavor. 

Reform raises his arms wide as the camera begins to slowly pan away.

Ned Reform: And so, as Tiny Tim observed… actually, you know what? I’m fairly certain I know more than a Victorian era cripple with a first grade education. So… as DOCTOR NED REFORM observed… God bless… every one!

A smirk.

Ned Reform: But especially me. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Voice Over: This has been a special message from DOCTOR Ned Reform.

Fade elsewhere. 

NOVA vs. SONNY SILVER

Nick Stuart: Our next match tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is one that is sure to earn its place in the annals of Colossus history! The Risen Star NOVA! The former Chairman of PRIME SONNY SILVER! Two men who had a hand in making this monumental what it is over the years of PRIME’s storied history will be going head to head in the blue and white squared circle once again!

Richard Parker: I absolutely cannot wait, partner! Madison Square Garden is going to become a mini warzone! I hope the arena managers renewed their insurance!

Nick Stuart: There’s more at stake in this match than simple bragging rights. Sonny Silver returned to PRIME specifically to put the Starchild on notice, accusing him of not living up to his Hall of Famer status! 

Richard Parker: Them’s fightin’ words here in PRIME.

Nick Stuart: Well, if Silver can back up his claims tonight, Nova will be forced to enlist in his wrestling school! Likewise, should Nova best his longtime friendly rival, Silver will become his personal assistant! So even though they may be friends outside the ring, there’s plenty of reason for both of these men to give it their all, in a match I’m sure we’re all sure to enjoy!

Richard Parker: Don’t underestimate Nova’s hatred for school, Nick. I’d wager he’d sooner go back to prison than that place!

Max Cavalera and Sean Lennon’s famous collab “Son Song” hits the PA. The lights dim. Spotlights of stunning SILVER glide across the stage. The curtain rips aside, and SONNY SILVER steps out onto the stage to a divided but nevertheless raucous crowd.

The former Universal Champion and bonafide Surly S.O.B. has the smile of an arrogant bastard as he strides out to the head of the ramp and takes in the booming crowd reaction.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Seattle, Washington, and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty pounds… the former Universal Champion… the Hall of Famer… the Chairman of PRIME… 

SSSOOOOOONNNNNNYYYYYY SSSIIIIIILLLVVVEEEEEERRR!!!

Timed to the music, a wall of white fountain pyros appears behind the PRIME legend, posing at the head of the ramp. Moments later, he strides down the ramp with a confident smirk on his face, disparaging ringside PRIMEmates hanging on the barricade as he makes his way down the aisle.

Nick Stuart: There have been few figures as polarizing as “Mr. Sonshine” himself! Even being a PRIME Hall of Famer, these people can’t help but want to hate him!

Richard Parker: He is definitely not without his detractors, but none can deny that he’s got a list of credentials as long as your arm!

The lights cut out in the arena, and a stormy sky appears on the video screen.

As thunder booms over the speakers and lightning lights up the darkened clouds on-screen, George Clinton’s voice can be heard speaking in soft, reverberating tones.

“Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time…for y’all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe; but I was not offended, for I knew I had to rise above it all…or drown in my own shit.”

The stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the field of stars comes together to form the word “NOVA”…

…only rather than Eddie Hazel’s familiar arpeggiating dirge coming through the PA, the fans of PRIME are treated to gentle acoustic guitar of Peter, Paul, and Mary.

Nick Stuart: …oh boy, what’s this?

The curtain parts aside, and NOVA steps into Madison Square Garden. Only he’s not the first thing people notice.

Rather, it’s the giant inflatable dragon he’s mounted upon.

“Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea

“And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee

“Little Jackie Paper loved that rascal Puff

“And brought him strings, and sealing wax, and other fancy stuff”

A lit joint hangs from the mouth of the Risen Star as he rides out, fists pumped in the air, looking ready to party. Or wrestle, I guess. Or more than likely both. Expectedly, the capacity crowd is losing its collective shit.

Vince Howard: And the opponent, weighing in at two-hundred and forty pounds… the former Universal Champion… the Hall of Famer… the Risen Star…

NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

“Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea

“And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee

“Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea

“And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee”

Nick Stuart: Well… from what we learned earlier this week, there was something of a proposition bet that Nova would come out on the back of Puff the Magic Dragon… and tonight, the Risen Star has not disappointed!

Richard Parker: Certainly hasn’t disappointed me, cause I put money down on that bet! WOO-HOO!

Sonny is beside himself with bewilderment as Puff glides down the rampway, Nova puffing away on the giant dragon’s back while throwing horns up above his head. At ringside, rather than risk a Thanksgiving balloon disaster, the contested Hall of Famer puts out his joint in the back of Puff’s head to poke a hole into him and begin a slow deflation process.

Nova slowly descends as the inflatable dragon slowly loses air, until he touches down to ringside. His eyes lock with Silver’s, and the two stare each other down for several long moments while the crowd cheers loudly, Peter Paul & Mary still lilting over the PA. A moment later, Nova climbs the steps and enters the ring.

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe we’re being treated to this dream match here in the ReVival Era!

Richard Parker: Whatever happens, Nick, I doubt any of us will be the same afterwards!

Nick Stuart: Referee Ashley Barlow has made her final checks… and she’s ready to begin this as she gives the cue to the timekeeper!

DING DING

Both competitors meet at the center of the ring and spend a moment standing face to face. Nova and Silver… legends of PRIME. It’s an epic visual, and one that the crowd clearly approves of as they get louder and louder.

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: What a moment worth of an event like Colossus!

Richard Parker: I’ve got goosebumps, partner! And I assure you, it’s not the rash that’s causing it this time!

Sonny smirks and begins jaw-jacking the Rising Star. The camera can’t pick it up over the crowd noise, but considering the reputation of the former Chairman of PRIME, it can be surmised that he’s not complimenting his sharp and professional looking haircut.

Nova stands stoic and stone-like, taking one last puff off his joint before flicking it out of the ring and introducing his forearm into Sonny’s head.

Nick Stuart: And here we go, folks! Rights and lefts are being thrown every which way as two former champions tear into each other without mercy!

Richard Parker: For a pair of regular chums, they sure go at it when they fight!

The screaming fans reach a fever pitch as Nova makes gains in the fisticuffs, backing Sonny up into the ropes. Nova attempts to push him off and send him into motion, but Silver swiftly counters by yanking the Risen Star into a drop toe hold and floats over him to slap on a tight front facelock.

Nova, knowing Sonny and his dangerous ground game all too well, doesn’t linger on the mat, quickly working his way back to his feet. He snakes an arm into Silver’s clutch, takes his wrist, and frees himself from the hold while using the arm to wrangle Sonny into a side headlock of his own. The former Chairman knows the drill…

Nick Stuart: Nova into the headlock, but Silver’s got him by the waist… up goes the Risen Star into a Back Suplex–NO! Nova rolls through and lands on his feet! Now Nova from behind… but he walks into a snapmare from Sonny!

Richard Parker: It’s like these two can predict the other’s every move, they know each other so well!

Nick Stuart: Silver flops into the north-and-south before Nova can make a move, and shoulders are down!

One!

Two!

Nova BRIDGES off the mat!

Nova twists through and reverses Sonny into an inverted facelock. He takes ahold of Sonny’s waistband to prep him for a suplex, but the former Chairman smoothly rolls out of the hold and takes the Risen Star’s arm with him, wrapping it into a waki gatame.

The face of Nova winces deeply as Sonny cinches the armbar and tries to force him to the mat. Thinking quickly, tucks his head and rolls through to his feet and reverses the torsion on his shoulder. A quick hiptoss rolls Sonny over the hip and onto his back, and as soon as he’s on his feet, Nova goes for the bulldog.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Nova from behind… Dying Star Drop?! NO! Silver slips free and takes Nova to the mat with a chop block!

Richard Parker: Perfect execution! Sonny’s takin’ him to school in there!

Nick Stuart: Well, should he come out on top in this contest, that will most definitely be the case! Nova, favoring the knee as he gets up now… here comes Sonny from behind–NO!! Nova dips low and has Sonny up on the shoulders–BOURBON FOR BREAKFAST–

Not quite. Silver, knowing his exact predicament, instinctively reaches out and snags the top rope to pull himself off of Nova’s shoulders before scrambling down the apron to the floor.

“BOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Richard Parker: Too early for any of that nonsense…

Nick Stuart: Silver takes a powder, moments away from feeling the wrath of that Death Valley Driver! For someone who is supposedly rusty, Nova is showing tonight that he can still hang with the technical mastermind move for move!

At some point during the tussle, another lit joint found its way into Nova’s mouth. He pitches it before running himself into the ropes and streaking back across the ring…

Nick Stuart: Hang on, NOVA–

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: SUICIDE DIVE THROUGH THE ROPES just absolutely LAYS OUT Silver! This battle is spilling outside of the ring now!

Richard Parker: The perfect place for these two to do some damage!

Nova rises to his feet and takes a moment to stare into the crowd and bask in the deafening roar. Something calls to him. Instinctively, his hand grasps the ring curtain…

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

…and the Risen Star throws it aside to dig under the ring.

Richard Parker: HERE we go!

Nick Stuart: Nova could be rustling up some trouble here as he searches beneath the ring! What madness is going to ensue here? Tables? Chairs?

Nova emerges with two brown leathery things suddenly wrapped around his hands. He pumps his fists into the air to show them off to the wildly popping PRIME faithful.

Nick Stuart: Boxing gloves?! 

Richard Parker: Not just any gloves, Nick! THE gloves won by Ali fifty years ago in The Fight of the Century, in this very building we’re sitting in!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nova climbs back into the ring. Presiding official Ashley Barlow is perhaps too dumbstruck by the fact that he’s wearing the gloves worn by “The Greatest” to tell him to get rid of them. Is this grounds for disqualification? Are these illegal objects? I mean, technically, they’re made with protection in mind.

Nick Stuart: …and they were just stowed away under the ring?

Richard Parker: Crazy, huh? I bet there’s all sorts of Madison Square Garden memorabilia just lying around here! Pretty sure I spotted one of Bob Hope’s golf clubs from the 1968 USO show while I was in the john earlier!

Sonny is only now getting to his feet, spotting the Rising Star with gloves on his hands, calling him back into the squared circle. Not one to be left out, Silver pulls up the apron and searches for something of his own.

Nick Stuart: And now Silver has a set of gloves!

Richard Parker: Those belonged to Smokin’ Joe!

Nick Stuart: Well, I think we’re about to have our own Fight of the Century here tonight! Sonny Silver is climbing back into the ring, and Nova already has his fists up, ready to box! Two wrestling legends, up and changing vocations halfway through a match!

Richard Parker: Stranger things have happened, partner!

Nova dances. Sonny jukes. Nova feints. Sonny ducks. Nova shifts hands. Sonny covers his face. And then they just start hauling off on each other in the sloppiest boxing match anyone has seen.

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Richard Parker: Well, maybe not the Fight of the Century, but 

Perhaps taking more punishment than their faces in this exchange are the gloves themselves, having deteriorated from fifty years of aging. Scraps of leather and padding fly through the air and littler the ring with every pawing strike.

Nick Stuart: I don’t believe it! They just destroyed priceless sports memorabilia!

Richard Parker: Oh, I’d say they were hardly priceless. Those gloves were maybe worth ten, fifteen grand apiece.

Nick Stuart: Wait, how would you know that?

With nothing left on their hands but scraps and laces, Nova and Silver wobble around the ring on rubber legs. In a stupor, the Risen Star throws a wild haymaker, but Sonny’s muscle memory kicks in as he counters with a back body drop to send him over the ropes.

With the ring to himself, the former Chairman of PRIME takes a moment to regain his bearings. Nova, waking up on the ringside floor, uses the opportunity to crawl under the ring apron yet again.

Nick Stuart: Now Nova is going BACK under the ring! Things are really getting off the rails here! What is this he has now…?

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Richard Parker: Oh wow… that’s Mark Messier’s hockey puck from his game-winning goal in the ‘94 Stanley Cup Finals!

Nick Stuart: …what the heck is THAT doing down there?! I am so confused!

Richard Parker: Maybe you just need to turn your brain off and enjoy yourself, Nick!

Nova rolls back into the ring and pops to his feet. Sonny advances, but halts in his tracks when the Starchild holds up the puck. Somehow, another lit joint is in Nova’s mouth. He flicks it away before dropping the puck and slap-shotting with the edge of his boot.

THWOCK!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD, RIGHT IN THE THROAT!

Silver’s hands go to his neck and his mouth goes agape as he suddenly finds his windpipe not working like it should. He looks around in desperation, and the first thing he sees is the hockey puck that hit him. Angrily, he kicks it back…

THWOCK!

“BOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Richard Parker: LORD, NO!! NOT IN THE JEWELS!

Nova’s face fills with agony as his hands grab onto his groin region. Both legends collapse, blue in the face and struggling to breathe. Madison Square Garden thunders with cheering PRIMEates.

Ashley Barlow goes to remove the foreign object… but is shocked to see it fall to pieces the minute she touches it.

Richard Parker: YES! Wait, I mean… OH NO! That puck was easily worth five-thousand dollars!

Nick Stuart: How do you know all these dollar amounts to these random historic objects?

Silver crawls for the ropes. Determined not to let him get away, Nova crawls after him. Sonny reaches the ring edge first and drops out to the floor. Nova falls out after him. Both men stuff themselves beneath the ring apron.

Nick Stuart: I dread to think of what’s next…

Sonny emerges first, wielding none other than…

Richard Parker: John Lennon’s microphone from his final performance in 1974!

Nick Stuart: HOW–?!

Nova comes out next, brandishing what else but…

Richard Parker: Pope Francis’s Fleshlight from his visit in 2015!

Nick Stuart: …WHY?!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Silver and Nova spend a beat looking questionably at the orifice at the end of the Risen Star’s choice of sword-hilt. Then their eyes lock, and they lunge back into the fray, filling the arena with the clashing sounds of foam and rubber.

To their credit, the PRIME Hall of Famers are much better swordsmen than they are boxers. They fence back and forth at ringside in an elaborate dance of slashes and thrusts and parries that carries around the ring, up steps, and onto the apron. 

They continue exchanging strikes, precariously perched on the edge of the ring as if they were fighting over a bottomless pit. Nova hops a microphone nearly slashing at his calf. Silver narrowly ducks a labia swinging for his ear.

Richard Parker: Hell yeah, now THIS is swashbuckling! Eat your heart out, Errol Flynn!

Nick Stuart: How is any of this legal right now?!

An impeccably great question, one that is as of right now shared by the official who looks between the carnage in the ring and the timekeeper. Barlow’s clearly wondering if he should give the signal now and just call this a no contest… 

…but she’s also no idiot. Given the otherwordly demand to see a match between legends like fucking NOVA and fucking SONNY fucking SILVER, throwing this one out is liable to get him hung, drawn, and quartered by the New York PRIME faithful.

Then… SOMETHING… happens…

“prm tht sht… prm tht shit… prm tht sht…”

A murmur grows deep within the sea of New York faithful. Three words, chanted in sequences, growing ever louder with each repetition.

Nick Stuart: Oh God in Heaven… are those people saying what I think they’re saying?

Richard Parker: Uhhhh, NO, partner! Clearly those people are saying “Dime That Brit!” It’s a very popular saying in New York, so I hear!

Barlow holds a finger up to her ear as a transmission from the team backstage comes through. Simultaneously, Nick gets something of his own.

Nick Stuart: Uhhh, ladies and gentlemen, I’m being informed that management is sanctioning this contest from here on out as a No Disqualifications Match, and anything goes from here on out!

Richard Parker: YES! YYYEEESSS!! OH THANK YOU, JESUS! 

Nick Stuart: …um, you appear to be oddly overjoyed by this turn of events.

Richard Parker: You’re all clear, boys! Now let’s blow this thing and go home!

Nick Stuart: What?!

Nova and Silver continue fencing, unaware of such developments, and presumably also uninterested. Then, both competitors stumble across the idea of going for a middle thrust at the exact same time, and…

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: JOHN LENNON’S MICROPHONE JUST GOT STUCK IN POPE FRANCIS’S FLESHLIGHT!! MY GOD, DID I JUST SAY THOSE WORDS ALOUD?!

Richard Parker: I’ll tell you one thing, partner! Something is being conceived here tonight!

Nick Stuart: This is INSANITY!

With the weapons unequivocally stuck together, Nova grips the handle of the fleshlight and disarms Silver by pulling the mic from his hand. But rather than yield, Sonny pitches out to the ringside floor yet again in search of another equalizer.

He has to move fast, because the Risen Star is in hot pursuit. Sonny reaches under the ring without looking and procures the first thing his hand finds: a nondescript glass vial full of clear liquid. Nova touches the floor and runs at him. Without a second to think, Silver throws the vial into his face.

CRACK!

Richard Parker: Uh oh…

Nick Stuart: Good Lord, what was that now?

Nova briefly recoils as shards of glass litter his face and liquid gets into his eyes… and he then straightens up completely. His pupils become noticeably dilated.

Richard Parker: That was the vial of LSD that Phish took from their 1995 New Year’s Eve concert!

Nick Stuart: …okay, seriously, what is THAT doing under a wrestling ring?!

It finally dawns on Sonny what has just happened. He’s seen the acid face on Nova before, and he knows exactly what it means.

It means he’s fucked.

Somehow, another lit joint has found its way into Nova’s mouth. He tosses it aside, before charging down the former Chairman of PRIME.

Nick Stuart: Nova coming in with a diving boWHOOAAAAGAAAAWWDD–WHATTHEHELLWHUZZAT?! Sonny Silver just got laid out by a… by a… a SHOOTING STAR BACK ELBOW STRIKE!?

Richard Parker: I didn’t even think that was physically possible!

Nick Stuart: Silver has no idea what just hit him, as he flounders back to his feet… wait, Nova on the apron–HOLY GOD, THAT’S A SEVEN-HUNDRED AND TWENTY DEGREE DRAGONRANA!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH NOVA RIGHT NOW!?

Richard Parker: He’s clearly transcended to a new state of professional wrestling existence, Nick!

The fans are on their feet, screaming ecstatically as Nova does a few cartwheels at ringside just for the hell of it. It doesn’t take long before he sticks his head under the ring yet again…

Richard Parker: It’s CHER’S DIAMOND-THONG FROM THE BELIEVE TOUR IN 1999!! That this is valued at TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick doesn’t say anything. The absurdity of the action has put him into a comatose state.

Nova, meanwhile, wraps the undergarments once belonging to the Queen of Comebacks around the neck of Sonny Silver and coils him straight into the No Value on the ringside floor. The Risen Star immediately kips up to his feet like a man who has magically de-aged twenty years in the course of a single night.

Of course, he’s not finished. Nova goes back under the ring and pulls out a tupperware bowl…

Richard Parker: My stars, it’s FRANK SINATRA’S SPAGHETTI FROM THE NIGHT HE SLEPT IN A HOLDING CELL FOR DRUNK AND DISORDERLY!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

If you listen close enough you can almost hear the sound of Nick Stuart’s mind collapsing in on itself.

Of course the lid off of the fifty-something-year-old pasta comes off. Of course it comes down over the head of the staggering Sonny Silver. Of course Nova follows it up with the Novacaine, sending Sonny sprawling out of control across the ringside floor.

Richard Parker: This is PHENOMENAL! If I’ve been keeping track correctly, they should be WELL over a hundred thousand in property damage!

Nick Stuart suddenly blinks awake. He’s now putting two and two together.

Nick Stuart: Wait a minute… a hundred thousand in property damage? Does this have to do with that proposition bet announced earlier this week?

Richard Parker: Uhhh…

Nick Stuart: I thought that was a joke! And then there was that report about Madison Square Garden memorabilia being vandalized… as in, STOLEN.

Richard Parker: Hmmm…

Nick Stuart: All of which somehow magically appears under the wrestling ring. Richard, is there something you’re not telling me here?

Richard Parker: Uhhh, I mean, Sonny mighta tipped me to putting some money down. Said ‘the odds were heavily in our favor’.

Nick Stuart: Rich…

Richard Parker: Hey, judge me all you want! As of tonight, I’m RICH, BEE-YITCH!

Meanwhile, Nova has taken a seat on the ring apron, puffing away on another joint that has somehow materialized in his mouth. Seriously, where does he keep getting those?

While the thousands of PRIMEates filling the storied Madison Square Garden roar at a volume that shakes the arena, the Risen Star is a picture of serenity. A warrior surveying the battlefield at his feet. 

He looks silently over the chaos at ringside. The old spaghetti. The shredded boxing gloves. The pulverized hockey puck. The imitation diamonds that clearly do NOT believe in life after love, given the places they’ve been.

Then something catches his eye: the copulating Lennon microphone and the Pope’s fleshlight, discarded through the chaos from earlier. He pulls the priceless piece of music history out from the most sacred of holy relics belonging to the Catholic Church, and taps it a couple times to see if it’s coming through.

BOP BOP

Well shit, what do you know?

Commentary maintains radio silence, letting the much-deserved PRIME Hall of Famer soak up the moment as he raises the mic and clears his throat.

Nova: It’s nine o’clock… on a Saturday…

Nova hops off the apron, rubbing the feeling back into his sore neck as he strides over to where Sonny Silver is lying propped up against the barricade. 

Nova: The regular crowd shuffles in…

Nova drops in next to him and rests his arm on his friend’s shoulder.

Nova: There’s an old man, sittin’ next to me…

Silver smiles endearingly. Then Nova winks devilishly.

Nova: Makin’ love to his tonic and gin!

Dread crosses Sonny’s face as Nova suddenly yanks him back to his feet by the head and sends him careening across ringside. Inside the mind of every fan in the crowd, a familiar harmonica melody plays.

Richard Parker: Looks like they’re going for the Esperanto commentary team’s table!

Nick Stuart: …wait a sec… PRIME doesn’t broadcast in Esperanto?!

No, they do not. Which is why Nova easily discards the tuxedo-clad mannequins behind the “table” aside and throws off the black velvet sheet, revealing it’s true form.

Richard Parker: It’s BILLY JOEL’S GRAND PIANO FROM HIS RECORD SIXTY-FIFTH MADISON SQUARE GARDEN PERFORMANCE IN 2015!!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: …OH COME ON!! HOW WAS THERE A GRAND PIANO HIDDEN AT RINGSIDE THIS WHOLE TIME?!

Nova grabs Silver by the hair and pounds his face repeatedly into the keys, sending sour notes into the air. He continues to croon into the microphone.

Nova: HE SAYS, SONNY, CAN YA PLAY ME A MEMORY? I’M NOT REALLY SURE HOW IT GOES!

Sonny gets thrown into the piano and Nova brings the lid crashing down across his back, splintering the wood to pieces.

Nova: BUT IT’S SAD AND IT’S SWEET AND I KNEW IT COMPLETE WHEN I WORE A YOUNGER MAN’S CLOTHES!

Nova pulls Sonny out for a moment to set the lid down before rolling his friend on top of the piano, and climbing up there with him.

Nova: LAAA LA-LAAA DEE-DEE-DAAA!! LA-LAAA DEE-DEE-DAAA DA-DAAA!!

Nova pulls Silver up onto his shoulders.

The Starchild pitches the mic one way, flicks his joint in other, and…

KRRBBLLUUNNGGKK!!

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Nick Stuart: BOURBON FOR BREAKFAST THROUGH A FREAKING GRAND PIANO!!

Richard Parker: CHA-CHING!!

There is devastation at ringside. Broken wood, spools of snapped piano wire, and shattered ivory lie spread out across a ringside floor that’s already been littered with the tattered remains of Madison Square Garden’s most cherished keepsakes.

On top of the mess are two blood-spattered certified PRIME legends, barely alive but still kicking for the love of the battle.

All through Madison Square Garden, the PRIMEates sing…

“SING US A SONG, YOU’RE THE PIANO MAN!

“SING US A SONG TONIGHT!

“WELL WE’RE ALL IN THE MOOD FOR A MELODY!

“AND YOU’VE GOT US FEELIN’ ALRIGHT!”

As if raised from the dead, Nova sits right up.

“RRRAAAAAAHHH!!!”

His eyes are dead and unfocused. But something deep inside is telling him that there’s still a job to do. One hand finds the ankle of Sonny Silver, and thus begins the laborious task of dragging his felled opponent back to the ring.

Official Ashley Barlow hops out of the ring to assist Nova in getting Silver back into the ring. Whatever gets this acid trip trainwreck of a match over with at this point.

The Risen Star rolls Sonny back onto the mat and nudges him away from the ropes, before crawling back in himself. With what strength he has left, he flops face-first into Silver’s chest.

Nick Stuart: Barlow with the count!

ONE!!

TWO!!

THREE!!

DING DING DING

Nova rolls off of Sonny’s chest. Both men lie on their backs, breathing heavily. Over the PA, Peter Paul & Mary begins to play yet again.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, by pinfall…

NNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOVVVVVVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

By this point, the PRIME faithful, having found their musical groove, are singing along to the music.

“Oh, Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea

“And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee

“Puff, the magic dragon, lived by the sea

“And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honah Lee”

Nick Stuart: Folks… history was destroyed here tonight… but history was also made! If there were any lingering doubts to the Risen Star Nova belonging in the PRIME Hall of Fame, I can confidently say they were dashed here tonight! What a wild, unprecedented battle we just witnessed!

Richard Parker: Bout lost you back there, buddy! 

Nick Stuart: I’m a changed man, I can tell you that…

Richard Parker: I’m changed, too! Pretty sure Nova, Sonny, and I all just entered a new tax bracket tonight!

Nick Stuart: Nova avoids a semester in Sonny’s school of hard knocks… and it looks like the former Chairman will now be bound to the whims of the Risen Star! Sonny is no saint, but the humanitarian in me pities that poor man’s sanity from here on out!

By now, the victor has recovered, and pulls the defeated off the mat. With Silver’s arm slung across his neck, Nova leads his friendly rival out of the ring and back up the rampway to a standing ovation of people singing along to Peter Paul & Mary.

COMMERCIAL: 24 HOUR RULE

TWENTY-ONE GUNZ SALUTE

We cut to the great outdoors, because that’s what we think of when we think of “PRIME’s Biggest Supershow”. Specifically, we’re at the side of a lake, with the words “somewhere in America, earlier today” written at the bottom left of the screen.

The camera pans to the left.

Simon Tillier stands there with a microphone. He’s wearing a coat over his usual suit and bowtie, and he looks very uncomfortable to be there.

Simon Tillier: Hello, PRIME fans, uh… I’m here in…

Simon talks, but there is static as he attempts to say the name of the place he’s in.

Simon Tillier: And, well… this is happening, I guess.

He steps aside after his less-than-professional introduction. He’s had a tough go of it since Rev 20, between the peace summit, Rezin teleporting him all over the place, and now this. He wants nothing more to be in a warm bed and to sleep off this whole year of PRIME over an entirely-too-short Christmas break.

A few people gathered around an open, simplistic wooden casket. The kind you built in your backyard because your dad runs a carpentry company and might have scraps of wood lying around. The kind that you might build on the cheap. The kind you might build when you’re planning to set it on fire in the middle of a lake and probably put a lot of toxic fumes into the air.

There is a makeshift stage built from two overturned rowboats and a long wooden plank balanced between them. A podium is placed in the center of this stage where a man stands ready to begin the eulogy. We’ll get to him. The crowd is full of people wearing black suits, many of them familiar. Some of those people aren’t exactly welcome in a building holding a PRIME show, but then again – this isn’t a building where a PRIME show is being held.

There are the three members of Mega Job – Beef, El Janito, and Steve. All three of them look exactly as they usually do, except in suits. Steve, who is just under four feet tall, is obviously the coolest and most menacing person here. The Jimmy Bonafide Dancers – that’s Charlene, Misty, Noelle, Carle, Janelle, Cinnamon, and Biff – are here as well. 

And then there’s Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips. 

Joe is wearing a funerary veil. Because of course he is. Sid is wearing a black version of his singlet and a necktie. Because of course he is. At least Sid had the decency of getting help tying it on correctly this time.

And then there’s the brickhouse of a man standing at the podium. 

His massive frame is contained within a suit for the occasion. His star-spangled necktie stands in stark contrast to the rest of the ensemble, though, like he doesn’t own any other ties except the American-themed one. Of course, the other thing that stands in contrast to everyone else is the American flag luchador mask he wears. 

Captain Justice, the former protégé of Mr. Silver, Chairman of PRIME, stands there with an impatient frown on his masked face. Based on his body language, he isn’t very happy to be there.

Captain Justice: Sit down and shut up.

Nobody sits down. And considering some of the personalities here, are you really expecting any of them to shut up?

Joe Fontaine: Hey, now, where’s your decorum? This is a funeral.

Captain Justice: By the stars and garters of George Washington, man! We are having a funeral for a mannequin! And he’s from Tijuana! You’re lucky I had nothing better to do – and that I’m being paid very well for this – or else I would’ve told you to !@#$% right off.

Joe Fontaine: Whoa! What’s with all those symbols?

Captain Justice: I’m an American, son. A SUPER American, even. When we curse, no letters of the alphabet can possibly express it.

Beef nods sagely.

Beef: It’s true. 

Sid Phillips: Man’s got a point.

El Janito: Super Americans always gotta be extra.

Steve: INDEED.

The Captain sighs.

Captain Justice: I have long suffered the indignity of being associated with you buffoons. And now you’ve added new buffoons to associate me with. Some of these buffoons I don’t even recognize. What the hell is a Jimmy Bonafide, and why does it have dancers?

The seven Jimmy Bonafide Dancers exchange looks, and all of them offer Captain Justice a shrug. Biff’s shrug comes out about five seconds after the others, because his arthritis is like a mega arthritis. The arthritis to end all arthritises. 

None of them speak, of course. 

Joe Fontaine: Look. This has to be done, okay?

Captain Justice: I mean, you’re paying me and Miranda said it was alright, so whatever.

He shrugs his broad shoulders, then reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a case for a pair of glasses. The Captain puts them on his masked face, and then reads from his paper. As he does, a number of the participants finally do sit down, minutes after being instructed to “sit down and shut up”.

Captain Justice: Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebr-

Joe Fontaine (interrupting): No, no, no! Wrong one! That’s the wrong one!

The Captain stops and stares at the piece of paper for a moment, scanning the paper thoroughly. While we can’t entirely see his face, it’s almost as though the red, white, and blue of his mask is fading away to a gray.

Captain Justice: Who the !@#$% is “Charity”? 

He crumbles up the paper and casts it over his shoulder. Littering is the American way, after all.

Everyone waits patiently as the Captain digs through his pockets to find a second sheet of paper. After a quick glance through, mouthing some of the words that might make him say funny symbols, he proceeds.

Captain Justice: Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered together today to celebrate the life and times of El Hijo del Super Cool Guy, who was taken from us far too soon by the chain-wrapped hands of the Redneck Bayou Butcher Einstein and the supple flesh of his chosen murder weapon, the frail and broken body of King Blueberry. 

The Captain looks up at the camera.

Captain Justice: And though he may be dead, his legacy shall live on! And though he may be the first true casualty of the ReVival era of PRIME, because nobody misses math, his legacy shall be remembered for untold generations! We can’t be… we can’t be consumed by our petty differences anymore. We will be united in our common interests. Perhaps it is fate that today is Colossus Night One, and you will once again be fighting for our freedom. Not from tyranny, or oppression, or eGG Banditry… but from annihilation. We’re fighting for our right to live – to exist. And should we win the day, then Colossus Night One will no longer be known as a PRIME holiday, but as the day when the world declared with one voice: “We will not go quietly into the night! We will not vanish without a fight!” We are going to live on! We are going to survive! TODAY! WE CELEBRATE! OUR INDEPENDENCE DAY!

There’s raucous cheering.

Well, from the Bonafides.

Everyone else is dumbstruck beyond measure.

Joe Fontaine: Bro. That isn’t the speech I wrote.

Beef: Wasn’t that just the speech from Independence Day?

Sid Phillips: It was.

Beef: God dammit.

El Janito: We are definitely going to get in trouble for this.

The Captain slams his fists down on the podium, which is clearly made of a non-American material (in his estimation) because it leaves small fist-shaped craters on it.

Captain Justice: Philistines! Independence Day is a perfect American film and I will hear no slander against it!

Beef: Okay, sooo… just to keep that same energy, what are some other perfect American films?

Captain Justice: You know… American Pie, American Psycho, American Beauty, American Movie, American Sniper, Coming to America, Team America: World Police, Air America, Once Upon a Time in America, An American Werewolf in London, An American Tail, An American Tail: Fievel Goes West, and Hannah Montana: The Movie.

Simon Tillier: Um, not all of those are about America…

Captain Justice: That sounds like un-American talk to me. Are you a filthy un-American coward, Tillier? Actually, come to think of it, Tillier doesn’t sound like an American name. And neither does Simon. 

Joe Fontaine: But Cap, you have a brother named Simon. He’s my uncle.

Captain Justice: !@#$%!!! 

Joe Fontaine: I mean, I guess technically, that would make you my uncle, too, huh?

This actually takes Captain Justice aback a bit. Clearly, it’s not something he’s considered.

Captain Justice: I… wait, what?

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, my family’s pretty crazy. A lot of really scary wrestler mans married into it, you know. Like, I think Brandon Youngblood might be like a brother-in-law of mine. Never really asked him. He’s super scary. He sometimes looks like he wants to invite everyone to his entire extended suplex family reunion, and they’re all hopped up on Puerto Rican coffee and looking to steal some airships.

There is a long pause.

Silently, everyone there, from Mega Job to the Bonafides to even Sid and Captain Justice, all silently agree amongst themselves that absolutely none of them should ever go up to Brandon Youngblood and confirm if any of that statement is true.

Sid Phillips: So, who’s giving the first speech?

There is silence before Joe speaks up.

Joe Fontaine: Well, I guess it has to be me.

Joe hops up on the platform in a very funeral inappropriate kind of way, with an unnecessary flip involved. He actually lost the veil doing it, and he didn’t care much about picking it back up again.

Joe stands at the podium for a few moments, digging through his suit until he finds a speech he’d prepared for the occasion. He clears his throat, and speaks.

Joe Fontaine: I first met El Hijo del Super Cool Guy out on the Las Vegas Strip. You know, where I also met our mutual good friends, the Jimmy Bonafide Dancers. And, you know… we’re just out there living our best and most beautiful life, really. Sid’s powerbombing an Enemigo half to death against a boulder to make it go faster. Jonathan Rhine was still walking among us. Mushigihara could still only speak in his native language of “OSU” before an English fairy kissed him. I already forgot who the fourth team in our tribe was. 

Joe tries to restrain his anger for the next part.

Joe Fontaine: And, you know, this is all before Paxton Ray didn’t reveal himself to be an asshole golem built from an entire tribe of asshole golemmancers who got together one day and decided that they would build an asshole golem to end all asshole golems. They forged that prick from the very assholes of the worst assholes in professional wrestling history. It’s why Foster Nackedy can’t poop any more. Fuck that dude with a flute. May it sing the carrion song of his doom. Can I get an amen!?

Everyone: Amen!

Joe pumps his fist into the air.

Joe Fontaine: Hell yeah!

He turns to walk away. And then he remembers that he didn’t actually finish his point, so he turns around and gets behind the podium again.

Joe Fontaine: Anyway. We met under interesting circumstances. He was in midair. I was practicing my jujutsu and expanding my domain to include all the boulders we had to push. And then one thing led to another and I was on the ground, destroyed in a Canadian manner. From that point forward, that was the relationship. A man in midair, about to take another man on a Canadian journey of self-discovery. Also, self-destruction. 

He sighed. He leans hard against the podium, looking down at it for a long moment.

Joe Fontaine: You know, a lot of people… a lot of people think I’m crazy, wanting to do something like this for a mannequin. An inanimate object. Just something you throw clothes on at a Tijuana Macy’s. Technically speaking, we’re all just pretending that he’s really people out here. I know that. I think we all know.

Beef: Wait, he’s not real!?

El Janito: Dammit, not again!

Joe Fontaine: Okay, so most of us know.

Joe sighs.

Joe Fontaine: It’s just… he’s more than that. He’s more than that for all of us. Not just those of us in attendance here at our service today, either. El Hijo del Super Cool Guy is more than just a mannequin that came from a Macy’s in Tijuana that somehow learned to embody the Canadian Destroyer and all that it stands for. 

He looks straight at the camera.

Joe Fontaine: He’s a symbol.

Then Joe walks to his right, but keeps his head turned towards the audience as he continues to speak.

Joe Fontaine: He represents what PRIME can be. He is who we are. Immutable. Iconic. Surprisingly flexible when involved with flip piledrivers. When you tuned into the ACE Network, he would be there. Sometimes he had vampire teeth. Who in PRIME hasn’t had vampire teeth at least once, really?

Captain Justice: I didn’t.

Steve: LAME.

Beef: Yeah, that’s kind of lame.

El Janito: Vampires are super played out.

Sid Phillips: Yeah, gonna say “no” on that one, buddy.

Even all of the Bonafides nod in agreement. Simon… we know Simon’s opinion by now: a lot of confusion and maybe a little existential crisis.

Joe Fontaine: …Okay, you’re all right. But still. Think about it. 

He turns and walks the other way, keeping his head pointed at the camera as he speaks.

Joe Fontaine: If it weren’t for SCG, Sid and I wouldn’t have met you guys. Wouldn’t have met Jared, for better and for worse. Wouldn’t have met Justine, even if she dropped me on my head at the last pay-per-view. Wouldn’t have met Ria, or Jon, or Nova, or Johnny, or any of those guys. Maybe we’re just flashes in the pan. Maybe Sid and I would’ve just been one-note jokes that go away after a couple of months, like the Hollywood Bruvs. Did you know they were in PRIME once?

Sid Phillips: No.

Joe Fontaine: Me either. My point is… the Winds of Change wouldn’t be where we are without this stupid mannequin we’ve got lying in this coffin. So that’s why we’re giving him a funeral. Thank you, everyone, for coming.

Captain Justice: I’m getting paid by the minute for this, right?

Beef: In waffles?

El Janito: Dude, we haven’t been paid in waffles since the last time we were in PRIME. That’s actually kind of exciting to get that kind of payment again.

Steve: WAFFLES.

Captain Justice: You guys are idiots. It’s all about the American dollar, the most powerful of all dollars.

Beef: In this economy?

Captain Justice: Yes. Problem?

El Janito: I mean, in our experience, waffles always spend the same. In our stomachs. With the dollar, you gotta worry about market fluctuations or which direction your market chairperson farts on that particular Friday and whether he saw his own shadow or not. There’s too many variables, but the waffle remains true.

As Mega Job and Captain Justice squabble, Joe takes his leave from the podium.

Steve takes his place, carrying a stepladder with him. He climbs up the stepladder so that he can appear above it. Lording over it, as Steve does.

Steve clears his throat, and then makes his epic speech.

Steve: …

Well, he has to pause meaningfully first. Give him a second.

Steve: LAMENTATIONS.

Steve climbs down off of his stepladder and walks away, and everyone (except Simon Tillier) stands and claps as though Steve’s made the most poignant speech in the whole thing. There are tears, and hugs all around. Steve had said so much. 

It’s just so… beautiful.

Then, wordlessly, Misty of the Bonafides stands. 

The tears and hugs stop instantly. 

Everyone gathered watches in stunned silence as she silently walks up the bricks that serve as the steps up to the platform, and gets behind the podium. No one expected a Bonafide Dancer to stand up in front of a podium and be expected to deliver a speech. No one expected any of them to be capable of speaking. Yet, here Misty stands. Even the other Bonafides are shocked.

Misty speaks with the clear and beautiful voice of a woman who might have been mainlining cigarettes since her fifth birthday.

Misty: Blessed be we, for we brought DA HEAT for the occasion.

Misty pulls out her guns.

Sorry, GUNZ.

We’d insert some sweet GUNZ GIFs here, but we try to keep our owlings to a company mandated minimum of about seven around here, and even suggesting it could merit an eleven owl alarm fire.

A lot of people duck and cover, since Misty has clearly never heard of the term “trigger discipline” and chooses this day to prove this to all attending. 

Misty: An’ though this one Super Cool Guy done died, ain’t no way he goin’ quietly in that Macy’s in the sky! Ain’t no way! When Jimmy done left us via a straight fuckin’ mysterious circumstance that may or may not gots to do with a monster truck drivin’ by somebody that ain’t got no business behind the wheel of a machine what crushes cars like ‘ol Janelle used to crush beer cans with them sweet cheekz, all of us done lost our purpose! How can we be “the Jimmy Bonafide Dancers” if we ain’t got no Jimmy Bonafide to dance for?

The Bonafides all exchange glances and nods. Biff is, obviously, a little slower glancing and nodding than the rest, what with the mega arthritis (megarthritis?). Meanwhile, Simon has his head in his hands.

Simon Tillier: I have no idea what’s going on any more. I thought I did. I really did. Oh god, is this what an existential crisis feels like?

Misty continues, slamming the butts of her GUNZ onto the top of the already-cratered podium where she’s standing. Fortunately for everyone attending, neither go off.

Misty: So you know what? Fuck the fire! Fuck it hard, fuck it hard, and fuck it long! That’s two hards! That’s how you know it’s fuckin’ hard! There ain’t but one way we do this funeral!

A light bulb goes off above Captain Justice’s head, which goes to show that you should never underestimate the powers of America when you can manifest a light bulb over your head.

Captain Justice: Ah. By exercising our God-given Second Amendment rights?

Misty: The fuck is that? No, I’m talkin’ about GUNZ. Second Amendment? The hell is that? You messin’ with me, Cap?

Simon Tillier: Wait. Wait. You mean… you don’t know?

Misty: Yeah, honey, don’t know what the hell a “Second Amendment” is. You eat it or somethin’?

Captain Justice: …To be fair, the education system is something of a weakness in our great American culture, and we should really explore better ways to teach the less fortunate. But, uh… for your purposes, the Second Amendment speaks of the right to bear arms.

Misty: Bear arms? The hell do I want with those?

Sid Phillips involuntarily shudders. Joe immediately knows something is wrong, and waves his arms in front of Captain Justice.

Joe Fontaine: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! We just got Sid off that subject! Please don’t mention the “B”-word around him!

Sid Phillips: I don’t know, maybe everyone needs to hear what I got to say.

The Captain sighs, and walks away, throwing up a middle finger over his shoulder as he walks off before the sheer amount of blinding stupidity has a chance to make him ever dumber by association.

Captain Justice: !@#$% this.

Simon Tillier: Uh, this all seems exceedingly dangerous.

Joe Fontaine: Only a little bit.

Sid Phillips: I would’ve suggested just powerbombing the casket into the murky deep, personally. That option’s still on the table, you know. We could just… get me out there on a boat, and I could powerbomb this casket so hard that it will wake up Cthulhu. And yeah, that might be bad for everyone involved, what with Cthluhu’s awakening being the End Times as he drives all of us to raving lunacy. But watch as I powerbomb that worthless Julian Bathory wet dream into the core of a burning star. That’ll show him. Fuck Cthulhu and the misshapen, non-Euclidian horse he rode in on.

Sid pauses, observing the stunned silence of all onlookers, and then adds.

Sid Phillips: Also, fuck bears. Can’t stress this enough. They are worse than Cthulhu.

Mercifully, he doesn’t go any further than that.

Joe Fontaine: So, you’re saying that we should just fill SCG’s boat full of lead instead of setting it on fire.

Simon Tillier: I mean, really, considering the level of talent at this funeral, do you really think anyone here could be trusted to handle bows with flaming arrows and not set ourselves on fire? I mean, really?

Everyone turns to Simon.

Simon Tillier: What?

El Janito: Just… that it feels like we dodged a bullet.

Misty: Y’all can’t dodge a bullet! They done go super fast.

El Janito: What about Boris the Bullet Dodger?

Misty: He ain’t real!

El Janito: …Are we?

There is a very, very long pause. There are a lot of uncomfortable glances around at the menagerie of idiots gathered together for the expressed purpose of this funeral. 

Misty: …Ain’t never thought of that. Hm.

She turns back to the Bonafides.

Misty: Aaanyway. Y’all, point I’m tryin’ to make is… we gots to send SCG to the beyond the way ‘ol Jimmy would’ve wanted.

Beef: At the bottom of a monster truck driven by Muriel Puddings?

Misty: Naw, fool! With GUNZ! So say we all!

The other Bonafides – Biff took his time, as he does – stand and gather around the casket that contains what’s left of El Hijo del Super Cool Guy. 

JBDs: So say we all!

The camera cuts to look inside the casket.

SCG’s head is still missing. His pieces are collected in disorganized fragments in the vaguest shape of what used to be his body, almost hastily thrown together. Leg pieces were among the torso. Torso among the arms. Pieces of the arms had been used to reconstruct something resembling a head. A scrap of red fabric lay where his head would’ve been. Despite some thorough attempts at cleaning the pieces, much of it is still discolored from Jared Sykes’ blood.

Yet, the amount actually recovered of the mannequin is impressive. A lot of care might not have been taken in reconstructing his body, but plenty of it went into recovering as much of it from that conference room as possible. Also, his “head” pieces are arranged in a smiley face. A big ‘ol “:D”. It’s disconcerting.

Misty leaves her place at the podium to join the other Bonafides. Together, the six of them (and Biff, who isn’t really helping) carry the casket onto the waiting boat. Joe comes over once the Bonafides have prepared SCG to drift. He lingers for a moment.

Joe Fontaine: So long, buddy. I’ll see you on the other side in, like, seventy years. Maybe eighty. Medical technology providing. Well, maybe by the time it’s supposed to be the end of my life span, humanity will just discover the secrets of immortality and I won’t actually see you after all, but you know what I mean.

He places a rose in the casket. Yes, he always had that. No, we won’t explain where he’d been keeping it this whole time. Just know, you shouldn’t always stop and smell the roses. Especially in this context.

With a powerful shove, Sid and some of the JBDs sent the casket adrift. It floats for a while, and Joe turns to Sid and the Mega Job boys.

Joe Fontaine: You know, I think we all learned something today about how we should cherish the ones closest to us. You know, because one day, we might all have to go to that Tijuana Macy’s in the sky, just like SCG. I think that we need to call up all our friends and family some time and tell them that we love them. You know? Oh, hey, Sid, there’s something I kinda found out about the Rainbow Mafia that you should probably kn—

Misty: FIRE!

Six Bonafides, the Captain, Sid, Beef, El Janito, and Steve all pulled out their GUNZ. Yes, someone actually gave Mega Job firearms, which is why the local shenanigannery advisory board for [REDACTED] has been going haywire since before this segment started. Also, Biff pulls out his GUNZ several seconds later. 

There are many Berettas. Four Uzis. At least two Glocks. An assault rifle. Steve has a gods damned minigun, and we’re not even going to begin to ask questions about where he got that thing, how he’s able to operate it, or how he’s managed to keep that concealed for so long when he’s not even four feet tall.

If you’re familiar with how Orks work, you should know what “more dakka” means. It’s easier to hit your target when you have a wall of bullets to hit them with as opposed to accurate shots that require, you know… skill or finesse.

That’s what happens here.

The sound is cacophonous.

And oh man, there is screaming.

Most of it is from Simon Tillier who never expects any of this and ducks and covers behind the podium. Some of it is from Steve, who is screaming in the style of Rambo as he rips bullets across the lake. The Bonafides empty their clips and then stop to reload. Then they all open fire again. It’s almost unceasing. It’s almost illogical how there’s so much constant gunfire despite the limitations of time, skill, budget, or ammunition. 

After a few long, eternal seconds of this symphony of gunfire, it stops.

Well. Mostly. Biff’s still firing. That megarthritis is rough, after all.

Once Biff is done, everyone looks at one another, and then they look out onto the lake.

The casket isn’t so much sinking as it’s in disorganized pieces, floating out in the middle of the lake. Very little of it is actually sinking, because so much of it is buoyant. A bunch of dead fish are slowly floating to the surface, full of bullet holes. 

After a short while, a large shape appears from within the water and starts claiming the dead fish. Observant viewers would notice that the shape has the horns of a bull and a scuba tank. Those observant viewers might panic a little at the prospect of the return of an ancient Greek abomination that normally lurks within a labyrinth, but then the figure sinks back into the ocean and disappears. Hopefully never to be seen again.

Overall, this is all very terrible.

Then Joe turns to the crowd of people who are still trying to figure out how sounds still work.

After a long moment, he jerks a thumb over his shoulder, away from the lakeside and back towards where they parked their vehicles.

Joe Fontaine: So! Anyone up for Denny’s?

He has to say it several times, because no one can hear his cool ending line. In fact, we finally cut away to Eddie Cross just as Joe says “Anyone?” for the fifth time.

LIVE OR DIE?

Early in the evening on night one of Colossus, the camera pans up to find Eddie Cross, backpack slung over his shoulder, walking down the service hallway near the loading dock of Madison Square Garden flanked by his trainer, Dave Gibson. Fresh off a decent, yet unsuccessful, run in the Belmont, Eddie saunters like a man who has yet to taste defeat. 

Behind him a rapid set of footsteps approaches and Eddie spins to meet Mike McGee powerwalking toward him in his business attire singlet. Even though neither man is on the card tonight, they both made the trip to be part of the event.  

Mike McGee: Just who I was hoping to find wandering the halls of this hallowed building aimlessly!

Eddie groans.

Eddie Cross: What do you want? 

Mike McGee: We still have a score to settle!

Eddie shakes his head. 

Eddie Cross: No we don’t. I beat you twice, and you got your licks in, so powerwalk away while I’m still in a good mood.

As Eddie turns to leave, Mike grabs his arm.

Mike McGee: I said we have a…

Eddie wheels around and elbow strikes McGee in the face, knocking him to the ground. Eddie pounces on the downed HR Superstar and gator rolls with him until he takes his back and locks in body hooks with his legs. 

Eddie Cross: I said we are done. 

Eddie releases his grip and rolls out of the entanglement. He brushes himself off and looks at Mike, who is panting and rubbing his jaw on the ground. Dave Gibson seems content to let his student handle the issue and leans up against a rolling crate full of lighting gear. 

Eddie Cross: I just want to watch the show. Walk away.

Mike has a moment where a lot runs through his head. His instinct is to run, he trembles as he remembers the sullying of his prized Kia Sorento. His instinct changes from flight to fight and he stands up to charge at Eddie.

Mike McGee: RAAAAAAH!

Eddie sidesteps Mike and uses his momentum to throw him into a group of wheeled plastic dumpsters. Mike flails and the dumpsters wildly scatter with a deep booming noise. Eddie shakes his head and points at McGee who looks up from the ground at him.

Eddie Cross: I’m not in the mood for this, Mike, walk away!

Instead Mike grabs a rolling dumpster and wheels it at Eddie. Visions of his naked parents ravishing one another on the hood of his beautiful SUV cause his vision to go cherry red and he kips up, charging at Eddie once again, shooting for a single leg.

E.C. spreads his legs and hop balances while being driven backwards. He leans forward into Mike and begins to drop vicious elbows all while making his base as large as possible. Dave’s eyes flit back and forth, yet he does nothing. Mike grunts and slams Eddie into a railing. Eddie yelps as Mike then lowers his own center of gravity in an attempt to secure a takedown. A trickle of blood has started dripping into the floor from a cut opened over Mike’s right eyebrow.

Eddie Cross: Damnit, I said stop!

Eddie sees an opening and reaches down, hooking both of Mike’s arms in a double underhook, then pulls up, breaking Mike’s hold on his leg. He leaps up and off a safety rail, spinning and planting Mike with the Overkill Tornado Butterfly DDT. He follows up by rolling into a mounted position over a now bloody Mike who is panting on the ground. Eddie unslings his backpack and pulls out the laptop and holds it over Mike like a dagger over a defeated knight.

Eddie Cross: I’m going to give you one more chance at this. Keep fighting, or walk away? 

Mike looks up and, with desperation to avenge his Kia in his eyes, squints at Eddie. 

Mike McGee: (between strained efforts and raspy breaths) You… will never… be middle… management!

Eddie Cross: Wrong Answer. 

E.C. brings the laptop down with a crunch and keys fly out all over the floor. Mike lays, knocked out, on the floor as Eddie stands up and tosses the laptop on the ground next to him. It lays broken in two pieces with the screen shattered like a spider’s web. Dave Gibson finally approaches his student and looks at arm, which is now dripping blood from being slammed into the railing. He rips a piece of his “Shut Up and Wrestle!” shirt and wraps it around the wound. 

Dave Gibson: Come on, let’s go get you stitched up. 

Eddie takes a moment, looking at Mike on the ground. 

Eddie Cross: He could have walked away. 

Dave nods. 

Dave Gibson: Welcome to dealing with pissing people off, kid. Looks like you did a damn fine job. You wanna keep going down this road, you better get used to it. The real question is, do you want to keep going down this road?

Eddie looks down at his fallen enemy. Slowly a sneer spreads over his face and he pulls his glasses from his pocket. He looks up at his mentor and smiles, a familiar…almost Dastardly… smile. 

Eddie Cross: Yeah, I could get used to this.

The pair walk away down the hallway as Mike starts to stir on the ground. Colossus rolls on as Dangerous Mix and Masters of The Multiverse B-Team are preparing for their match next!

CONTRACT YEAR

Backstage.

Mushigihara is overwhelmed. He walks through the halls of the legendary Madison Square Garden with stars in his eyes, flanked by his long-time tag team partner David Fox. The Dangerous Mix has finally made it to the real big time.

David Fox: …shi? Mushi? You there, man?

The Kaiju is jarred out of his trance, and turns back to the big man in a fast, haughty way, as if to show that no, he wasn’t distracted at all.

Mushigihara: Sorry, man, what?

David Fox: I was just saying that we gotta go out there to the ring and not only win, but also make a case we can build on at the negotiating table. Our contracts are almost up, and we have to really get some juice out of the last few years, you know?

Mushi nods and looks towards us, behind the camera.

Mushigihara: Right. You only get one shot at making a first impression and all that.

Fox shakes his head and starts walking past the mammoth.

David Fox: Maybe not a first impression. Think of it more like a contract year. Making the case for the team to go all out for you. And after something like two Hall of Famers going at it, we better give as good as we get, because that’s always gonna be a tough act to follow. Like I said before. Scramble the Bandits, and send the B-Team into orbit.

Mushigihara: Yeah, man.

The duo gets closer to the center of the arena where all the action unfolds. Fox offers an extended fist towards the big man, which Mushi takes a second to recognize.

David Fox: Osu, big guy?

The Kaiju stares at it, before balling his own fist and pressing it up against David’s, and letting out a big one for old time’s sake…

Mushigihara: OSU!

Fox and Mushi grin toward each other, before walking off-screen with a spirited gait.

MOTM B-TEAM vs. DANGEROUS MIX vs. EGG BANDITS

“Wolf Totem” by The Hu hits and Bobby Dean and Fred Mayhew emerge at the top of the ramp to a chorus of boos. 

Vince Howard: And first… coming to the ring weighing in at 642 lbs… THE EGGGGGGGGGG BANDIIIIIITS! 

Fred walks to the ring purposefully while Bobby lumbers behind him, meandering from side to side. A fan offers Bobby a bundt cake, and Bobby takes it with him eagerly. 

Richard Parker: How is he eating a bundt cake before his match? 

Nick Stuart: I think he needs the carbs Richard. 

Richard Parker: Nobody has ever said that about Bobby Dean. Ever.

“Let Me Entertain You” plays over the sound system to a fairly mixed reaction. 

Vince Howard: And next coming to the ring… weighing in at 336 lbs! The Masters of The Multiverse… B-TEEEEEAAAAAAM!

The New York Crowd is very unfamiliar with exactly who Kenny Freeman is, but they all know Randall and boo him into the dirt. They make their way to the ring holding their favorite food based appliance. 

Richard Parker: That thing is amazing. 

Nick Stuart: You told me on the way here you’ve never used it. 

Richard Parker: A man has to get paid. 

“Run Rabbit Junk” by Hideyuki Takahashi hits on the PA. First, the big man, Mushigihara, exits out from Argyle Position, soaking in the fans chanting “OSU! OSU!” for him. Then, David Fox leaps out from the curtain, somersaulting into a kneeling position in front of the big man, wingspan stretched out. 

Vince Howard: Coming down to the ring at a combined weight of 487 lbs! THE DAAAAAAANGEROUS MIIIIIIIIIX!

The fans cheer Dangerous Mix as they first recreate the epic handshake between Carl Weathers and Arnold Schwarzenegger from Predator and strut to the ring. 

Nick Stuart: What an ovation for the mix here in Madison Square Garden

Richard Parker: David Fox isn’t even from New York. 

Nick Stuart: He’s from across the river Richard! 

The Mix reach the ring. While the God-Beast’s stoicism is unflinching, Fox stares daggers alternatingly between Freeman and Schwartz.

DING DING

David Fox, Fred Mayhew, and Kenny Freeman start it out for their teams. The three men begin an awkward circling. Fox reaches out towards Freeman, but Kenny escapes, Fred takes a swipe at Fox who speeds up towards Kenny. After a few moments of this, Fox and Fred lock eyes, and both start towards Kenny Freeman. 

Richard Parker: Kenny might be in trouble here. 

Nick Stuart: Both men are now cutting Kenny off. 

They make it in and Kenny starts firing right hands all around. Fox gets peppered with a few blows, Fred Mayhew gets hit by a few more. David Fox finally is able to grab Kenny and whips him over with a side headlock. Kenny crashes to the mat and Fred bounces off the ropes and smashes Kenny across the face with a low drop kick. David Fox jumps to his feet and just as Kenny is about to sit up, Fox comes in with a thunderous kick to the back of Kenny Freeman’s head. 

Nick Stuart: OUCH! What a kick by Fox!

Richard Parker: LOOK OUT FOX! 

On the follow through Fred betrays his new found friend with a huge lariat taking David Fox clean off of his feet. Fred jumps up and grabs Fox around the head dragging him to his feet. Fox fires off an elbow to Mayhew’s stomach, then another. Fox manages to free himself but walks into a running forearm from Freeman. David stumbles backwards into the waiting arms of Doozer who absolutely plants him to the canvas with a belly to belly suplex. Doozer picks Fox up and whips him into the corner expecting Bobby Dean to do something. Fox smashes into the corner and Bobby’s bundt cake sadly goes flying to the arena floor. 

Nick Stuart: Now it’s Mayhew and Freeman! 

Mayhew jumps back to his feet, and Kenny Freeman panics, starting to walk backwards. The old bull rushes in and manages to grab Kenny before he can get to his corner. Mayhew lifts Freeman up and plants him to the canvas with a german suplex. Fox tags in Mushi and rolls to the outside. Fred goes at Mushi and hits him as he’s coming through the ropes with a knee lift. Mushi’s head shoots backwards but the big man reaches out and grabs Fred by the throat, tossing him backwards into the turnbuckles. Freeman has made his way to his feet, and Mushi sees him scrambling towards Randall Schwartz. 

Richard Parker: I don’t exactly know what Kenny thinks he’s doing. 

Nick Stuart: Neither do I. 

Randall Schwartz abandons Kenny Freeman’s corner, dropping down to the ringside floor and vanishes. Kenny can’t believe his eyes, his outstretched arm is literally left hanging by Randall Schwartz. He pulls himself towards the ropes but Mushigahara throws Kenny back over his head, sending him crashing to the mat with a huge german suplex. Mushi rolls back to his feet and is met with a right hand from a resurgent Fred Mayhew. Fred fires multiple shots in at the kaiju, the first blow staggers Mushi, the second blow only sends him taking one step back, the third shot Mushi doesn’t budge. He leans back and roars and absolutely decapitates Fred Mayhew with a short arm clothesline. 

Nick Stuart: MUSHI IS ON FIRE! 

Richard Parker: Don’t worry Nick, Randall Schwartz is figuring everything out. 

Nick Stuart: The day that guy can figure anything out we’re all in big trouble. 

Bobby Dean looks on with incredible apathy. The big man looks towards his fallen bundt cake, and his eyes begin to water. He can’t believe what David Fox had done to it, his favorite snack, he’d climb down and lick the lemon frosting off the padded floor mats, but it was so far away. Meanwhile David Fox is groggily awakening from unconsciousness on the apron.

Richard Parker: Bobby is eyeing that cake on the floor like a redneck looks at Jared Sykes. 

Nick Stuart: What’s this about rednecks and Jared Sykes?

Richard Parker: It’s been a whole thing on Jabber Nick, you wouldn’t understand. Timo’s son is really into it though. 

Nick Stuart: Eddie Cross? 

Richard Parker: Nope, he’s no longer Timo’s son, he lost it in a wrestling match. Come on Nick, follow along. 

Nick Stuart: Okay…  So anyway Kenny Freeman looks like he’s getting back to his feet. 

Freeman gets to his feet holding his skull, he turns around directly into a running freight train known as Mushi. The Kaiju levels Freeman with a shoulder tackle, carrying him all the way to his own corner and slamming him against the turnbuckles. Mushi hops up and fires back across the ring and drives a shoulder into Fred Mayhew’s stomach, then runs back across the ring and smashes Freeman. He stops in the middle of the ring. 

Mushigahara: OSU! 

Crowd: OSU! OSU! OSU! 

Running clothesline to one side of the ring, and a running clothesline to the other side of the ring follow, the crowd chanting OSU! The entire time Mushi runs. Bobby Dean is eyeing that bundt cake icing like he’s been sitting in a desert all day and it’s a glass of water. He’s making more eyes than Jace Parker Davidson makes on twitter. Then Randall Schwartz’s face pops into view from underneath the ring. 

Richard Parker: You know, Randall’s faith in Kenny Freeman to not die is pretty impressive. 

Nick Stuart: I mean yeah… kind of… but isn’t he dying? 

Richard Parker: I never said it was smart. 

Mushi throws Kenny across the ring and smashes him into Fred Mayhew. Mushi lets out another battle cry before storming across the ring and smashing both men into the corner with a giant big splash. Randall clearly can’t see any of this, but what he can see is Fred Mayhew’s arm hanging over the edge of the apron, and slowly moving towards Bobby Dean. Randall does the only thing that he can do, and pulls out a box of jelly donuts and starts yelling at Bobby Dean. 

Nick Stuart: I think Mushigahara has absolutely obliterated the two men in the ring at this point. 

Richard Parker: Yeah I’m not sure how Kenny Freeman is alive still. 

Mushi has Kenny Freeman up in the air and is spinning him around in a torture rack. Kenny is wailing as loud as he can, when the Kaiju drops backwards and smashes Freeman to the mat with a huge samoan drop. Randall hears the crash, but pays it no mind. Bobby looks at the wrestler formerly known as Doozer reaching out for the tag. He looks back at the box of donuts, he looks back at Doozer, then back at the donuts, he feels his tum-tum doing the rum-rum, looks back at Doozer, then back at the donuts, Bobby finally makes the choice. 

Richard Parker: Bobby’s after the pastries! 

Nick Stuart: This feels like it was an obvious decision. 

Richard Parker: It probably was. 

Mushi hooks Freeman’s leg in the center of the ring. Jimmy Turnbull slides in for the count. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

Fred Mayhew falls/dives onto Mushi with a double axe handle. Turnbull jumps to his feet and holds up a two as an enraged Mushi rolls off of Kenny Freeman and is staring down Fred Mayhew. 

Nick Stuart: Fred Mayhew beat Mushi a few weeks back, and Mushi is staring down Fred! He’s furious! The Kaiju did not forget! 

Mayhew lumbers to his feet, the elder Bandit throws a right hand that connects with Mushi’s jaw. Mushi fires back with a chop that causes Doozer to grip his chest in pain. Doozer comes back and smashes Mushi with a forearm to the neck. Meanwhile, Randall has retreated away from Bobby, but Bobby has decided to try to follow. He gets down on all fours and tries to squeeze his way under the ring. You all thought Sykes had a caboose? You should see what Bobby sells on his OnlyFans. 

Richard Parker: Bobby is after the pastries! 

Nick Stuart: In the ring Richard, we have a show down! 

Mushi delivers another thunderous chop to Doozer, who hulks up like he’s actually John Cena. Mushi fires another chop, Doozer begins to rumble and stumble. The man sometimes known as Fred Mayhew fires a right hand, he grabs Mushi by the hair and fires another, then another, then another. Randall scrambles out from under the ring, and Bobby gives chase. Randall uses his barista skills to perfectly balance the Jelly Donuts as he scampers up onto the ring apron. Bobby Dean lumbers behind, moving quickly for Bobby, but for normal human beings still extremely slow. Bobby has his arms outstretched and Randall is playing keep away. He looks back into the ring and sees the chaos of Mushi and Doozer, and looks back at the gargantuan reaching for the donuts. Randall makes a decision he’ll later come to regret and finds his way scampering up the ropes to get away from the out stretched chubby childlike arms of Bobby Dean. 

Nick Stuart: What the hell is Randall doing? 

Richard Parker: Saving Kenny from Bobby I think? 

Bobby tries to jump after Randall, but his feet barely leave the ground. Bobby looks up at Randall on the top rope and knows what he has to do. Bobby begins his climb. Kenny Freeman finally makes his way to his feet again, Fred Mayhew and Mushi both turn towards Kenny at the same time and deliver a blistering double chop to Kenny’s chest and he falls back down. Bobby reaches from the bottom rope, but the bottom rope is almost on the mat from Bobby’s weight. He steps up to the middle rope. 

Nick Stuart: I’ve never seen Bobby leave the first rope. 

Richard Parker: Those donuts are from Sullivan Street Bakery Nick, they are incredible. 

Mushi grabs the hulked up Mayhew/Doozer/Cena by the hair and slams his face into David Fox’s outstretched boot. Doozer does the stumble off and falls face first into the canvas. Bobby Dean is still reaching from the middle rope, but Randall has escaped to the top rope. Bobby betrays all common sense, and all resignations about heights. All he see’s is the delicious donuts from Sullivan Street. He climbs to the top rope, but there’s not enough room for him and Randall. Just as Kenny Freeman starts to show another sign of life, Randall Schwartz is thrown from the top rope by Bobby’s girth. Randall falls and lands directly on top of Kenny Freeman. Still with the donuts in his hand. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t know what I’m watching. 

Richard Parker: Neither do I. 

Bobby Dean, the beautiful man from Honalee looks down at the donuts and begins to wobble like a newborn fawn as he tries to stay standing up on the top rope. His shaking legs send a ripple through his incredible girth. His bowl full of jelly jiggles, Bobby’s second, third, fourth, and fifth chin begin to dance the electric slide in different directions. Even his well manicured mane begins to sway. His thighs begin to chafe from the intense vibrations. Somewhere, someone in the fourth row throws up while watching the waves of Bobby’s back fat crash against his neck. The resulting butterfly effect is enough to send our beautiful boy tumbling to the earth. 

Randall Schwartz’ face is frozen in absolute horror. He can’t move. He can’t think. There is just the impending trip into the nothingness, the dark inky blackness of death and despair was falling at him all while screaming like a banshee in sheer terror terror. Kenny Freeman peaks over Randall’s shoulder, his eyes as wide as Bobby himself. He mouths his first curse word ever. Yes it is indeed ‘oh fuck.’ 

Richard Parker: HOLD ON TIGHT NICK! 

WHAM!

Nick Stuart: We’re going to get a call from a government agency about the seismic activity at Madison Square Garden! 

The ring rumbles, papers fly off the announce desk, Nick and Richard spill out of their chairs, women in the first three rows talk amongst themselves about the intense vibrations, the entire arena shakes. Mushigahara is sent to the mat by the ensuing shockwave, David Fox is LAUNCHED over the top rope, Doozer is thrown violently into the far corner. Jimmy Turnbull has dropped to the mat and curled into a tight ball. Randall Schwartz and Kenny Freeman have completely vanished underneath Bobby Dean’s girth. The only thing remaining is the purple and red jelly poking out from the edges of Bobby’s body. 

Richard Parker: I think they’re gone… 

Nick Stuart: They just… did they absorb into Bobby? 

Richard Parker: Do they live in his belly button now? 

Nick Stuart: Is that a place you can survive? 

Mushigahara looks up, complete shock etched across his face. He looks at the other legal man; Fred Mayhew is still unconscious from the blastwave up against the turnbuckle. Mushi takes off sprinting from across the ring and smashes Mayhew with an avalanche splash in the corner. He grabs Doozer in one fluid motion, spins, and plants him to the canvas with the Uranage. David Fox, leaning against the ring, can see what just happened and shakes Turnbull awake. Jimmy crawls over past the carnage, and counts. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

THREE! 

DING DING DING 

Vince Howard: And the winner of this match… the DAAAAAAAAANGEROUS MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIX! 

Turnbull makes his way to his knees, and Bobby Dean is still face down, planted into the canvas with presumably the boys from the Masters of The Multiverse B Team trapped underneath him. 

COMMERCIAL: CULTURE SHOCK 2023

THE WARNING

Nick Stuart: Welcome back everyone. Well, folks, as you know, tonight will end in a Lights Out match between Paxton Ray and King Blueberry, a match that has had a very tumultuous lead-up. We received the following video from Ray’s manager, Foster Nackedy, with instructions to play it tonight. So without further ado, and with a potential apology in advance, here is that video.

The feed cuts to footage from earlier in the year: ReVival 7, to be exact. We know that because ReVival 7 is on the bottom of the screen. The feed comes in black and white. We see two men standing across from each other. One is going to face a monster in the main event tonight; the other helped create the monster.

Foster Nackedy: We came from the same place, Jared. 

King Blueberry: If you thought being an NWC alum would help…

Foster Nackedy: That’s not why I bring it up.

Foster adjusts his facemask.

Foster Nackedy: That place was a graveyard. Some people say it’s cursed. The wrestlers who ruled the roost in those days? They’re gone. Dead. Fully paralyzed, like Anton Dufresne. Or they’re down on their luck like me, looking anywhere to get back to the life they had. Wyatt Connors killed the NWC, and no one was able to escape it.

Foster shoots a look at the man under the mask and smiles, throwing the persimmon mask at King Blueberry’s feet.

Foster Nackedy: You’re just prolonging the curse. Good luck.

The feed cuts, and we’re in color again. We’re also in the gym of Gray’s Academy. Foster Nackedy sits on a ring apron, his hands clasped together in front of him. His expression is somber.

Foster Nackedy: Hey Jared. Remember the last time we spoke? I do. I was a desperate man. You were obstinate. And I warned you about the NWC curse. How people from that federation don’t survive. Not completely. 

Foster sighs.

Foster Nackedy: You ignored that warning. You thought at the time that Jonathan Rhine was your biggest obstacle. You didn’t see what was in front of you the whole time. The Curse is coming, Jared. And he has a name. 

Foster laughs. It is a low chuckle.

Foster Nackedy: See, not only did you ignore the curse. You essentially cast the curse upon yourself. Let’s think back to ReVival 16. When you saw a man nearly kill your friend and said you wanted to be in the same ring with him. And then at ReVival 18, when you asked Lindsay Troy to let that man back into PRIME. And then at ReVival 19, when you attacked the man so severely, but didn’t finish the job. That’s not just ignoring warnings, Jared. That’s actively heading into danger.

Foster points at the camera.

Foster Nackedy: But that’s what you do, isn’t it? You are the hero. You take on everything so others don’t have to. You slay the monsters. You don’t just defend your town from them, though. You seek them out. You invited the monster in your home, into PRIME’s home. So I want to give you one last warning, so no one can say that I didn’t do so.

A smile crosses Foster’s face as he looks away for a second before refocusing on the camera.

Foster Nackedy: You don’t want this fight tonight. You don’t want Paxton Ray to bring the Mud Pits into Madison Square Garden. You can still run. You can still hide. You can still prolong the curse.

Foster suddenly shrugs.

Foster Nackedy: But you won’t. And it’s sad, really. Because I like you. You’re a great wrestler. You’re a strong, resilient man. I like you. But you must not like yourself. So remember, when tonight ends with you in a broken, collapsed heap…when you can’t do the thing you swore to do in your friend’s name…when Paxton goes on to hurt other people in a company he’s only still in because of your intervention…remember.

Foster then stands up and starts walking towards the camera.

Foster Nackedy: You asked for this. You asked for all of it. 

He finally gets directly in front of the camera and puts his hand on it, and the feed cuts.

Nick Stuart: Well that was…haunting.

Richard Parker: Sykes better destroy that monster.

PEACE OUT SON, I’M GHOST

We cut elsewhere backstage, to find the Masters of the Multiverse…B-Team standing all by their lonesome. There is no interviewer here, nor is there one needed as Kenny Freeman has a microphone in hand…and a frustrated, almost angry look on his face, as he begins to speak.

Kenny Freeman: For months, we plowed our trade here in–

Kenny is interrupted as Randall leans over to whisper in his ear, making him even more frustrated as he continues.

Kenny Freeman: For months, we plied our trade here in PRIME. No one knew what to expect of us going into Tag Team Survivor, but we showed the whole world that we–

Kenny is once again interrupted by Randall’s musings into his ear, forcing Kenny to furrow his brow before pressing on.

Kenny Freeman: Could perform at about the level people expected.

Kenny stops for a moment, looking over at Randall as he mutters something that we just barely pick up on the microphone.

Kenny Freeman: What’re you doing, man? I’m trying to cut a promo here.

We don’t hear what Randall is saying, but whatever it is seems to be really getting on Kenny’s nerves as he lifts the microphone to speak once more.

Kenny Freeman: My point is, we’ve put a lot of work into this whole wrestling thing, and to see it unfold the way that it has makes me mad as hell. You hear me, PRIMEates? I’m mad as hell, and I can’t take it anymore! Peace out son, I’m ghost.

With that surprisingly understated last statement, Kenny drops the microphone before storming off…but Randall is still here, as he picks up the microphone, brushing it off before speaking.

Randall Schwartz: Don’t mind Kenny, he just found out he’s not getting that Turbo Man doll for Christmas this year. We’ll see you guys when PRIME hits the road in a few weeks.

With that, Randall walks off, leaving us only with the sound of Kenny’s voice shouting “IT’S AN ACTION FIGURE” before we cut away!

THE ORANGE

We are moments from the 5 Star Championship Four-way, in the thick of the triumphant return of Colossus.

Nick and Richard are prepping their notes for the title bout (well… more Nick than Richard) when the Garden is plunged into darkness.

After a few drawn out seconds, the PRIME*View bursts to life with an orange glow. Scenes of a Midwest sunsets play across the screen as Zach Bryan’s “Something in the Orange” plays.

Tall Oak trees, silhouetted against burning sky. A neighborhood street, the glow of lampposts lost against the hues of the sky. A factory, melting the ozone as the sunsets.

And then, the music fades. Words fill the screen over a soft glow on a sunset field, and Sam Elliott’s voice (spared no expense) booms thru the arena, narrating along.

Nick Stuart: …what was that?

Richard Parker: How the hell am I supposed to know? I didn’t order it up. To be honest I got a text about the after-party tonight and I might have missed something. Saw something about dusk and youngblood and a lot of orange in there.

Nick Stuart: Well, perhaps a prelude to our 5 Star Championship match. We’ll have Youngblood Colton, Flamberge & Rezin up next after a word from our sponsor!

FIVE STAR TITLE: FLAMBERGE (C) vs. BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD vs. NATE COLTON vs. REZIN

Vince Howard: The following match is ONE FALL! And is a four-way match for the FIVE STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!

As the crowd buzzes with excitement, all of the lights in the arena go out, and Madison Square Garden plunges into darkness.

Richard Parker: Ahh! I can’t see!

Nick Stuart: Fans, I apologize for–ow! Was that your foot, Richard?

Richard Parker: How the hell should I know?

Then, a booming voice comes forth from the arena’s loudspeakers.

“The world has fallen into darkness, as have we all. We howl and scream and lash out blindly, wounding those foolish enough to offer comfort. We wish with all our hearts for our torment to end.”

“Our prayers will be answered.”

“Though darkness has claimed the day, its hold cannot last. Once more, there will be hope. Once more, there will be truth. No matter how hopeless it might seem, or how deep and complete the darkness, once more…”

Words appear on the PRIMEview, accentuating the voice.

THERE

WILL

BE

LIGHT

The words fade, and now the PRIMEview shows a scene of similar darkness…but slowly, a light begins to build in the background. Soon we can see the horizon, and the night slowly turning into day. At any moment we can expect to see the sun crest over and into view.

Instead, what we get are…horses?

Yes, four fiery horses gallop into view, and they carry behind them a golden chariot. The chariot–or rather, the man driving it–seems to be the source of the light. His brilliance floods the landscape below, bringing light and life to all it touches. He is no mere man, but a god; specifically, the Greek god Apollo.

Some people will tell you it’s actually Helios who carries the sun in a chariot; those people can shut up.

As the horses race across the sky, the shot zooms in on Apollo’s face. He is every bit the picture of beauty as described by the ancient Greeks; noble, brave, and handsome. This is the God of Light, the Healer, the Protector of Youth, the Defender Against Evil. He is the Truth, the Prophecy, the Slayer of Giants, the Lover of Muses.

Apollo and his flying chariot fade from the screen, replaced by…another chariot? Yes, but this is no representation created by very skilled artists. This is the real thing; a golden chariot drawn by four horses, trotting through the halls of Madison Square Garden. They travel down the main hall, then into the Argyle Position, and finally the arena proper.

The horses come through the curtain followed by the front of the chariot. But as the man himself emerges, every light in the arena suddenly goes up to maximum.

Nick Stuart: Can you see now?

Richard Parker: I’ve been blinded by the light!

Nick Stuart: Wrong band, Richard!

As the lights return to safe levels, we see Nate Colton standing at the helm of a golden chariot. His body is covered with a toga, though his gloves and pads can still be seen. The chariot veers off to the side and Colton dismounts, while animal trainers appear to feed the horses and give them compliments. The young superstar goes back to the middle of the stage, where a series of spotlights turn on…

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

…and immediately focus on the spot where Nate Colton stands. He holds his arms out wide as he basks in this artificial glory.

RRAAAAAAHH!!

Nick Stuart: Looks like the ACE Network has really gone all out for our Five Star Title Contenders tonight!

Richard Parker: No, it doesn’t! I still can’t see a damn thing!

Rather than stride toward the ring, Colton ducks back behind the chariot for a moment. He emerges a few seconds later, having discarded his toga for his blue satin ring jacket. This part wasn’t in the original format, but Nate insisted on it. Because no matter how you dress him up, he knows who he is and ain’t about to change.

Eagles. “Tryin’.” Hit it.

Nate walks back toward the center of the ramp, right through the congregation of spotlights he stood in moments ago. This time he keeps walking…and the light comes with him. Even as he moves from one side to the other, or stops to fire up the crowd, the spotlights always keep him at dead center.

Shoutout to the stagehands; they’re killing it tonight.

I’m just arrivin’ in the city and there’s music on my mind

Nate circles around the right side of the ring, grabbing the outstretched hands of the fans in the front row. Their smiles are almost as big as his.

Lookin’ for my destination and my home is far behind

After getting about halfway around the ring, he circles back to the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and steps into the ring. 

‘Cause it’s a long road ahead
And you can make it in the end
I’m gonna make it with my friends

The spotlights still follow him as he takes his position in the middle of the ring, and the house lights go back down. With all eyes upon him, Colton holds his right arm above his head. He first taps, then grabs his right wrist with his left hand, the same motion his father used to call for the Colton Clutch.

RRRAAAAAAAHHH!!

His eyes are full of excitement, but also determination. Nate Colton is focused on his goals, and ready to execute his plan. Step one: find the biggest light in the world, stand in the center…and shine.

And I’m tryin’

As the music fades and the lights return to normal, Nate Colton goes to his corner. He hands his ring jacket to an attendant, then starts stretching against the ropes.

All right, kid. People have started calling you the Next Diamond for a while now. Time to find out if they’re right.

Richard Parker: All right, I think my eyes are working again…oh Christ, it’s this doofus.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, standing at six feet and four inches tall, he weighed in at two hundred and fifty five pounds. He hails from Evansville, Indiana. NAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COLTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

“Search and Destroy” hits the PA–not the Ministry cover, but the Stooges original

The crowd pops as the house lights come low as a display of red and green lights fill up the arena. Then, through the curtain, a wild mob of voluptuous ladies in skimpy togas spill out onto the stage. 

All of them look inexplicably similar to Kat Dennings, for some reason.

Armed with freely flowing bottles of red wine, they come out on the stage whooping and dancing to the music in a bacchanal frenzy. It should go without saying they are all drunk. Like, crazy, belligerent, and violently drunk.

Richard Parker: Whoa! Looks like my kinda party!

The mayhem gets increasingly more raucous. Some of the ladies begin tearing away at the stage fixtures. A ring assistant runs in to intervene, but within moments, he’s swarmed by Kat Denningses and stomped into hole.

Nick Stuart: You sure about that, Rich?

Richard Parker: Whoa! Well… I know some guys who would pay to have that done to them, in any case.

By the time Iggy Pop begins babbling about a cheetah or something, the curtain parts, and out comes…

Nick Stuart: …is that a DONKEY?!

It is. With none other than PRIME’s resident Goat Bastard REZIN perched on its back. 

The dopesmoking Dionysus rides out on his lowly burro amid his mob of drunk and disorderly Maenads, swaying back and forth without a care for staying balanced. The dopesmoking Dionysus has got on a sludge-stained toga of his own and a wreath of ivy sits upon his head. He grins like possum eating shit as he raises a goblet of pinot noir to the cheering crowd. 

Rezin: FUGG YEAH, SAAATUUURRRNAAALLLIIIAAA!!

Richard Parker: Well lookie there, it’s an ass on an ass…

The fans are eating it up… but the party is quickly getting out of hand. A pair of Rezin’s raging Kat Denningses begins trying to tear up a pyro mortar set in the stage and–

BOOOM!!

Fireworks unexpectedly go off, and Rezin’s humble mount is SPOOKED! The beast bucks and kicks in every direction, sending drunken Maenads flying while the Escape Artist hangs on for dear life!

Rezin: AAAAAAAAAHHH!!

Chaos has erupted on the stage as an out of control animal destroys everything around it. The remainder of Rezin’s entourage follow suit. Finally, the Goat Bastard falls free from the back of the burro and miraculously flips to his feet at the head of the ramp…

…before the donkey straight double-kicks him in the back, sending him tumbling out of control down the rampway.

Rezin: BBLLEEGGHHKK!!!

Nick Stuart: Never fails…

On the stage, the Enemigos run out armed with bear mace and riot foam, subduing the drunken Kat Dennings mob from any further destruction. On the ringside floor, Rezin sits up. He slaps his head when he suddenly remembers something…

Rezin: Oh shit… the MATCH!

Vince Howard: Introducing the third challenger, standing at five feet and ten inches tall, he weighed in at two hundred and five pounds. He hails from Indianapolis, Indiana. He is THE GOAT BASTARD! He is… REEEEEEEEEEEEZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!

Madison Square Garden becomes pitch black. Dark. A stillness running through the crowd. That is, until a distant clap of thunder can be heard. Each rumble brings with it a growing closeness, all until piercing blue lightning strikes lash across the PRIMEView. A backdrop of ambient blues. Tell tale signature of PRIME. 

The PRIMEView fades from the ether. The lightning strikes are not what bring the thunder; it is the crash of bodies. Cancer Jiles. Miles Lucky. The Anglo Luchador. Jonathan-Christopher Hall. We see the form of Randall Knox caught in midair, spiked into the canvas with a spinebuster, drawing the loudest rumble of all. There are more. Phil Atken. Bobby Dean. Larry Tact. Anna Daniels. Nova. And throughout the history book of PRIME; Tyler Rayne, Jason Snow, Anglo Deville, Karina Wolfenden, Chandler Tsonda, Alexandra Pierce, Chainz, Hessian, Violence Jack, Killean Sirrajin, Jared Sykes. Their forms filter, superimposed, a backdrop to a singular focus, the cause of all their crashes. 

The bringer of thunder to the halls of PRIME.

The Tower of Babel.

PRIME Hall of Famer.

The Champion of the Almasy Invitational.

The only three time winner of the 5 Star Championship.

Brandon Youngblood sits upon a throne of skulls, his fists glowing a heavy blue, his eyes piercing in their coldness. It is unaffected, seemingly bored upon his perch. But the sudden flashing faces of Rezin, Nate Colton, and FLAMBERGE bring a smile to his face.

In PRIME, there is only one capable of being called Ace.

In PRIME, there is only one true Zeus.

Then, let there be light.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE

LET THE GALAXY BURN

Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH

A wall of dominant noise surges through the arena, an absolutely raucous ovation erupting within Madison Square Garden as Brandon Youngblood appears on the entrance ramp. 

Tonight is different. Gone are all traces of crimson, be it in light or in attire. It has been replaced by one singular, dominant color.

PRIME blue.

There is no pause from the former Universal Champion to soak in his cheers, instead, with purpose, The Last Diamond marches to the ring, his eyes forward. His oppressive scowl of intensity says it all. 

There is no walking along the ringside area, no slowdown as the Conscience of PRIME stomps his way up the steps and into the ring. Once inside, Youngblood begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring. 

Vince Howard: Introducing third, standing at six feet and three inches tall and weighed in at two hundred and seventy pounds. He hails from Bandera Falls, Texas, by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canadaaaaaaaaaaa. HE IS THE TOWER OF BABEL! THE ACE OF THE REVIVAL! MR. SUPLEX DADDY! BRANDON! YOUUUUUUUUUNG! BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

Lights out. Spotlight on the empty entrance ramp.

A steady low beat rolls throughout Madison Square Garden, accompanied by deep electric humming pulses.

”Poseidon” – Woo York

The beat thump, thump, thump, thumps in the chests of all present, ever so slowly growing in volume as new notes occasionally blip in. As an extra tick on the off-beat kicks in, we slowly see somethings (or someones) emerge. DEFIANT Faithful know what’s up, but this is new to PRIMEates.

Cloaked head-to-toe in teal and gold, seaweed covering their shoulders, Plague Doctor masks adorning their faces, six figures slowly march forward, pulling ropes that are attached to a huge rolling base.

Atop that base? The hull of a large wooden ship.

A rope ladder is thrown over the side of the ship, and as teal and gold beacons swirl throughout the Garden, the beat seamlessly transitions to a different track entirely…

I AM DANGEROUS

DANGEROUS

DANGEROUS

DANGEROUS

“Dangereux” – I AM

Atop the hull stands FLAMBERGE, 5 Star Championship around his waist, a HUGE chorus of boos raining down around him. Two large white smears (glue, perhaps?) stripe across his chest like war paint, and he raises a trident high into the air, each of the three prongs waved like the French Flaming Sword that matches his namesake.

He tosses the trident aside and climbs down the rope ladder. As he cockily struts his way to the ring, gouts of flame shoot up from the ground behind him.

As the French Phenom nearly reaches the ring, “YOUNGBLOOD’S GONNA KICK YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS!” is caught by a hot mic; FLAMBERGE’s eyes narrow. He turns in the direction of the zealous fan, unstraps his 5 Star Championship, and holds it aloft with his right hand as he runs the backside of his knuckles up and down his jawline with his left.

Vince Howard: And finally, introducing the champion!  Standing at six feet tall and weighed in at two hundred and six pounds. He hails from Strasbourg, France. HE IS! THE FIVE-STAR CHAMPION! FLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM! BERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGE!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: We’re witnessing the fusion of rivalries here tonight, Richard, as these four men – all with some shared history – battle for the Five Star championship. Referee Ashley Barlow has the honor of trying to keep this one in line.

There’s an awkward pause at the start of the match, as each man tries to figure out which of them is going to make the first move, and who the first victim is going to be.

Nick Stuart: On the one hand we have the Battle of Indiana between Nate Colton and Rezin. Two men from the same state, who…

Richard Parker: Hey, FLAMBERGE can be part of that. Doesn’t Indy have a French Lick?

Nick Stuart: It does, but…

Richard Parker: Great! And, let’s see… Oh! Youngblood is Canadian, and they speak French in parts of Canada.

Nick Stuart: Richard, there’s a match…

Richard Parker: The Battle of French-Canada Lick, Indiana!

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Richard Parker: Practically rolls off the tongue.

Each man glances at the other, working through the scenarios. Rezin looks at Colton. Colton looks at Youngblood. All three look to FLAMBERGE, and the young Frenchman’s eyes go wide.

And why not? The French phenom has had a hand in making all three men’s lives hell for the past few months. He’s riled up Nate Colton, and challenged his family’s honor. His hand on the rope prevented Brandon Youngblood from finding the escape he needed, and cost him the Universal Championship. Only weeks ago he bested Rezin, and ended his reign as Five Star champion, the very title all four men are competing for tonight.

FLAMBERGE spits a curse, which everyone immediately understands. It’s a core tenet of foreign languages. Doesn’t matter if you speak it or not, we all learn the fuck words first.

He tries to dip through the ropes and escape, but six hands prevent him from getting very far. A palm strike from Rezin. A forearm shot by Colton. A straight-up headbutt from Youngblood.

Nick Stuart: We knew that FLAMBERGE was coming into this match with a target on his back, but I didn’t think everyone would be lining up their shot this quick, Richard.

Richard Parker: Unfortunately this is the way of these four-way matches. There’s no respite for anyone involved, and the champion is at a severe disadvantage. Not just because he doesn’t have to be involved in the decision to jeopardize his title, but because everyone is just being so mean to him right now. I don’t understand it. Those chips were delicious.

Nick Stuart: In fairness, FLAMBERGE has spent the better part of the year antagonizing everyone else in this match.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but the chips though.

The champion tries to cover up, but shot after shot lands as each of his three competitors land their blows in turn.

Nick Stuart: It’s like a game of human pinball here, Richard. Youngblood with a snap elbow, and – OH!

Rezin is the first one to deviate from the makeshift plan of “Let’s All Tool on the French Kid” as he fires off an enzuigiri to the back of Nate Colton’s head, catching the Next Diamond off guard as he prepared to land another strike on arguably his biggest rival in PRIME. The Battle of Indiana is now underway.

Rezin hops to his feet, turns towards Youngblood, cocks his fist back, and finds himself thrown ass over teakettle across the ring. When he lands and opens his eyes, everything is suddenly upside-down and the Ace is walking towards him on the ceiling like he’s goddamn magical. Maybe it’s a Canadian thing.

What definitely isn’t a Canadian thing is that there’s a hand holding onto the hairs of his beard, using it to drag him up to his feet, because dammit that shit ain’t polite and don’t Canadians apologize for everything?

Nick Stuart: The Hall of Famer pressing his advantage after a vicious suplex lands Rezin in the corner.

Richard Parker: I am contractually obligated to say that the official PRIME Yeet Counter is reserved for Ivan Stanislav, but hypothetically… you know, if it wasn’t… that would be number one.

Nick Stuart: Contractually…? What?

Richard Parker: Look, Alexei handed me a sheet of paper with some words on it that I couldn’t read, but he told me it was fine.

Nick Stuart: Did you sign it?

Richard Parker: He said it was fine!

While Rezin and Youngblood play their private game of “Human Javelin” (AKA “Watch How Far I Can Fuckin’ Throw You”), FLAMBERGE has been taking advantage of the opportunity provided by Rezin’s earlier kick to dive on to Nate Colton, break through his guard, and smother him with a series of grounded strikes.

A punch slips past Colton’s attempt to cover. FLAMBERGE picks his shots, sneaking in a second. Then a third. 

Hit him, kid. Then do it again. Do it once for every penny he tried to repay you with, because the damage to the FLAMBORGHINI wasn’t enough of an insult. Make sure that his stupid father sees what his son actually is. Show the whole family – however many there are, god knows they breed like catholic rabbits – that their son, their brother, their cousin is THE bitch.

In the background, Rezin sails through the sky like the meteor that killed all the dinosaurs then brought them back to life as pigeons.

The sight of the Escape Artist in flight offers a brief distraction, which gives Colton enough of an opportunity to shove FLAMBERGE away. 

Nick Stuart: Rezin flying! Colton scrambling! FLAMBERGE to his feet…

Richard Parker: (singing, to the tune of “12 Days of Christmas”) And a Youngblood lookin’ orneryyyyyyyyyy.

Nick Stuart: Looking what?

Richard Parker: Mind out of the gutter, Nick. It means angry.

FLAMBERGE connects with a kick to the thigh of Nate Colton. A second one follows. When he snaps off a third, Colton is ready. He pulls FLAMBERGE off balance, yanking him towards a forearm shot.

Nick Stuart: These two men know each other VERY well, Richard. The animosity that started between them leading up to UltraViolence has some fans thinking this could be an all-time rivalry.

Richard Parker: I ship them.

Nick Stuart: I’m… not asking.

Richard Parker: Their name is “FLAMBOlton”.

Nick Stuart: Aaaaaand you’re telling me anyway. Great.

FLAMBERGE staggers back, then comes in hot with a jumping roundhouse kick. Colton ducks, letting the kick sail harmlessly over his head. Unfortunately for FLAMBERGE, this means when he lands he’s already giving up his back.

Nick Stuart: Colton Clutch! Nate Colton has his family’s signature move locked on FLAMBERGE, and FLAMBERGE is fighting!

Richard Parker: He might not have to fight long.

Unlikely help comes in the form of Brandon Youngblood. He moves towards the pair, knowing full well what this hold can mean for the match, no matter how early on it is. Seeing this, Colton not only breaks the hold, but does it in such a way that FLAMBERGE is thrown towards Youngblood. The two collide, cracking heads in the process.

Nick Stuart: Fans, Nate Colton was in a similar situation back at Great American Nightmare. He had the Clutch locked on Balaam, but insisting on hitting it cost him when GREAT SCOTT stole the fall!

Richard Parker: So you’re saying that he’s learning?

Nick Stuart: In so many words.

Richard Parker: Huh. Maybe the Indiana school system isn’t so bad after all.

FLAMBERGE turns, and an exploder suplex takes him down to the mat. Colton tries for the cover, but the defiant champion kicks out at one, and then starts throwing punches from his back.

Nick Stuart: Colton and FLAMBERGE on their knees still trading punches! Youngblood back to his feet, and…

Richard Parker: INCOMING!

Rezin, now partially in control of his faculties again, has leapt onto the ring apron, run the length of it, and leapt onto the top turnbuckle. He pushed off, flying into the ring with a moonsault press.

OOOOOOOH!!

That’s the crowd gasping in unison as he’s caught in mid-air by Brandon Youngblood. Rezin fights against the hold, kicking and flailing like a toddler being dragged out of a toy store mid-tantrum, but somehow Youngblood manages to adjust his grip. He takes one step forward, pivots on his plant foot, and heaves Rezin over his head in a modified release suplex. The Goat Bastard collides with both FLAMBERGE and Colton, leaving the three men in a heap.

And lo, on this day in the month of holy December, did the Diamond of PRIME bestow unto the world the great and noble sport of Rezinball. When the First Council gathers to draft the official rules they will retroactively award him 30 points for scoring the first Double Whammy in the sport’s history.

Nick Stuart: That throw from Youngblood just took all three of his opponents out in one shot.

Richard Parker: Feel like that’s the makings of a sport, right there.

Richard, my dude, we literally just covered this.

Nick Stuart: But FLAMBERGE isn’t staying down for long. He’s already on his feet, and looks to be making a rather impulsive decision.

Richard Parker: Well, you know what they say, Nick… Youth is wasted on everybody but me.

The French phenom, well and truly irritated from having been the victim of a run-by yeeting, gets right up in Youngblood’s face. For months now he’s tried to get inside the head of the man whose championship gold FLAMBERGE helped take away. There are things said that cannot be repeated or transcribed.

The Diamond doesn’t flinch, almost as if he’s daring FLAMBERGE to make the first move.

The champion’s first strike is brushed aside. An elbow is blocked. A knee is palmed, and then shoved back to the ground.

SMACK

OOOOOOOOOOOOH

Nick Stuart: Brandon Youngblood just slapped FLAMBERGE clear across the face!

Richard Parker: God damn, Nick, I felt that one from here.

Irate, FLAMBERGE tries to shoot for a double leg. Youngblood sprawls, widening his base and preventing FLAMBO from grabbing a hold. The Diamond leans forward, forcing the champion to shift his momentum. When the champion tries to retaliate, Youngblood quickly steps aside and FLAMBERGE catches nothing but air as he lands harmlessly on the mat.

He stands, pivots, furious at what’s happening right now.

SMACK

A second open hand connects with the side of his face.

Richard Parker: Brandon Youngblood is absolutely living in FLAMBERGE’s head right now.

Nick Stuart: Rent-free, as the kids say.

Richard Parker: Yeah, and he’s eating all the food. 

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Drinking the good beer. He’s got his feet up on the sofa and everything. Brandon Youngblood is totally ordering pay-per-view right now!

Nick Stuart: I can’t even with you sometimes.

Now Youngblood shoots in, capturing FLAMBERGE. This isn’t a kind, fatherly embrace – neither of these men truly understand what that’s like. This is a bear about to maul its pray

Richard Parker: Get Strasbourg on the phone. Tell ’em to get a net ready to catch their countryman!

And as Nate Colton moves to engage, FLAMBERGE is sent flying through the air.

Nick Stuart: Rezin sneaking up on Nate Colton…

One arm snakes under Colton’s left shoulder. The other grabs his left wrist, pulling Colton’s arm across his own throat. It’s a move that Nate knows all too well. Every Colton knows it.

Richard Parker: Oh, that’s ballsy.

Nick Stuart: Rezin with the Cabron Clutch locked in! His version of the cobra clutch. Nate Colton could go out here to the move that’s synonymous with his family!

Richard Parker: The Battle of French-Canada Lick, Indiana just got personal, Nick!

Nick Stuart: Would you please stop calling it that?

Richard Parker: But it rolls off the-

Nick Stuart: It does NOT roll off the tongue!

The Ace of the Revival closes the distance to FLAMBERGE. Eager to not get suplexed again, the Frenchman reaches up and rakes his hand across Youngblood’s eyes, blurring his vision and giving himself a little breathing room.

Nick Stuart: Looks like Nate Colton managed to find some breathing room…

Richard Parker: Literally!

Nick Stuart: …as he’s got one arm free from Rezin, and has managed to break free.

Sensing an opportunity, FLAMBERGE swoops in and knocks Colton out of the ring to the arena floor, leaving the Five Star champion to square off with the man he took that title from.

Nick Stuart: Rezin looking for some revenge against the youngster from Strasbourg!

Richard Parker: Hey!

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: No doxxing!

Nick Stuart: It’s where he’s announced from every match!

Richard Parker: Yeah, but still though.

Rezin leads with an open palm strike, but FLAMBERGE catches the wrist and uses Rezin’s momentum to flip him over in a judo throw. The Goat Bastard is immediately back on his feet. He manages to scoop FLAMBERGE up into a fireman’s carry, looking to hit a forward roll Samoan drop, but FLAMBERGE quickly slips off his shoulders and executes another throw, this time by the beard.

Richard Parker: Nick, I have a favor to ask you. If I ever grow a beard that long, please do not let a Frenchman use it to toss me.

Rezin stands, and this time FLAMBERGE’s jumping roundhouse connects, staggering the Escape Artist back.

Before FLAMBERGE can capitalize, massive arms lock around his waist and power him to the ground with an improvised suplex/slam.

Richard Parker: Uh oh, suplex daddy got his vision back, and now all his suplex children are about to be put in suplex timeout.

Nick Stuart: You know, there are days when I think I could have been doing anything else besides coming back here and dealing with this.

Richard Parker: Listen, man, just because YOU don’t get holiday cards from the suplex family doesn’t mean you need to be all Grinch-y about it.

Youngblood moves into a mount position and rains forearms and elbows down on FLAMBERGE.

Through this all, Nate Colton has been using the time on the outside of the ring to get his bearings and catch his breath. He slides back into the ring behind Rezin, hoping to use the chaos to his advantage for a change.

Nick Stuart: Colton trying for that clutch again. If he gets it on Rezin this match could be over!

Colton breaks the hold of his own volition, because right now his hands are needed somewhere else. And that somewhere else is his crotch, because it has just been thoroughly kicked as part of the Goat Bastard’s attempt to break the hold. Well, congrats, Rezin. You succeeded. Now Nate Colton can’t show hog, because it has just been punted up into his abdomen. Hope you’re happy, you big killjoy!

Richard Parker: I hope Jake Colton wasn’t hoping for grandkids anytime soon.

If Rezin wasn’t standing directly in front of him and grinning like an idiot behind his beard, there’s a safe bet Nate Colton would collapse to the mat right now. Instead Rezin’s back serves as a brace to lean against while that dull throbbing ache starts to spread up from his nethers into his belly. But when Colton’s chin slides onto Rezin’s shoulder, he strikes.

He grabs Colton’s head, kicks off the mat, and rotates up and over Nate Colton.

Nick Stuart: Rezin going for Into The Void! He pushes off, and-

He doesn’t land on the mat, because the Ace of the ReVival Era catches him before he can complete the move.

Nate Colton collapses to the mat, his crotch having been thoroughly turned to paste.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood with the save. He’s adjusting his grip, looking for a better hold.

Richard Parker: Well, they don’t call Rezin the “Escape Artist” for nothing.

Unfortunately, he’s not able to break free from the Diamond. Youngblood widens his base, engages his core, and slams Rezin down directly on top of Nate Colton.

Richard Parker: Talk about your all-time anime betrayals!

Nick Stuart: I don’t know that I’d call it a betrayal, Richard. This is every man for themself with the Five Star on the line. And using that extra weight on top of Colton is a sound tactical move. 

Richard Parker: Is that the polite way of saying, “Beating a motherfu…”

Nick Stuart: OKAY MOVING ON.

Using Rezin’s body for extra leverage to hold Colton down, the Diamond moves in for a pinning attempt.

It doesn’t get very far, as the attempt is broken up by FLAMBERGE. He descends on Youngblood with vicious strikes, laying in short after shot to the head and neck before Brandon can get back to his feet. A quick punch to the temple dazes him. It creates an opening for a shart uppercut, which gives FLAMBERGE just the opening he heeds to wrap his arm around Youngblood’s throat and squeeze.

Nick Stuart: Marie Antoinette!

Richard Parker: Say it from your chest, Nick!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE with a savvy maneuver here, Richard! Between what Phil Atken did to win the Universal championship, and the way Anna Daniels was able to neutralize him at the last ReVival, are we seeing the new playbook on the way to beat Brandon Youngblood?

Richard Parker: It would make sense, Nick. Especially in this case, since FLAMBERGE was aligned with Atken at one time, and has championed the Glue Factory even in his absence!

Youngblood presses in to try and grab hold of FLAMBERGE’s legs. Unlucky 13 still looms over the Diamond. The rope can’t save him here, he knows that. There are too many men involved. No salvation in a rope break. If he can just get a hand on FLAMBERGE then he has a chance to escape. The Frenchman sprawls, widening his base to try and counter Youngblood’s grapple.

Nick Stuart: And a smart way to defend himself, taking away those lower extremities from Brandon’s reach.

Richard Parker: “Lower extremities?”

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: You can’t just say “legs” like a normal human man?

FLAMBERGE steps in quickly, but just for a moment. Long enough to bring up a knee to Youngblood’s face. 

Cut off the blood flow. Take away his oxygen. Make it harder to breathe. You saw the result from only feet away, kid. His nose was broken. He was suffocating. Phil Atken wrote the book on what it takes, now read from the final chapter and end the man who disrespected you by stealing your championship belt from you.

A second knee connects.

He’s slipping now, fading. You’re so close to making him eat every fucking word he said about you. Think of the press conference.

Youngblood drops to one knee, and FLAMBERGE tightens the hold. The problem for him being that the more he focuses on this one move, the more his back is exposed. Rezen, now up to his feet, lands a shot with the point of his elbow directly between FLAMBERGE’s shoulder blades, and then grinds it up and down the length of his spine with a sawing motion. FLAMBO releases the hold, his body now a magnet for pain. Before he can recover, Rezin has him up on his shoulder and is taking him for a spin.

Nick Stuart: Black Thunder Bomb by Rezin! There’s a cover!

Ashley Barlow: ONE!

Nate Colton’s been able to use the last few moments to get his bearings and collect himself, so he’s got a bit more energy when he dashes across the ring.

Ashley Barlow: TWO!

The count is broken up as a reverse facelock is applied to Rezin, Colton trying to lock in the dragon sleeper. It doesn’t stay on for long, as the Escape Artist is able to get a hand in under Colton’s arm to ease the pressure on his neck, allowing him to do one of the things he’s known for: escape.

Rezin connects with a back elbow that staggers Colton towards the ropes. Rezin charges in, looking to send the blue chipper to the outside, but the Next Diamond ducks and Rezin sails over the top rope. It’s not a deliberate attempt to hurl his opponent to the floor, more a matter of instinct. Rezin holds on, balancing himself on the apron.

Nick Stuart: These two Hoosiers jockeying for position near the ropes, and you have to assume that if the fight goes outside that it favors Rezin much more than it does Colton.

Richard Parker: Oh, for sure. Colton may be a savant in between the ropes, but there’s just so much… I dunno… STUFF for Rezin to jump off of out there.

Nick Stuart: And here comes FLAMBERGE!

It’s hard to know which is worse: having almost just been caught by the man who he beat for the Five Star, or the indignity of being saved by Nate Colton of all people. FLAMBERGE darts across the ring with all the fire that his name implies, looking to send both men to the outside for a hard landing on the floor. At the last moment, Colton is able to shoulder roll away and both FLAMBERGE and Rezin are sent crashing to the floor.

The crowd begins cheering, and it takes a moment before Colton understands why. Amidst the chaos, Brandon Youngblood has made it back to his feet, and they are the only two men left in the ring right now.

Nick Stuart: The crowd on their feet for what they’re about to see. Brandon Youngblood and the man he christened “the Next Diamond.” They’ve teamed together, Richard. There’s a history between Youngblood and Nate’s father, Jake. We know that these two trained together only a few weeks ago!

Richard Parker: And now they’re gonna kiss!

Nick Stuart: (rightly ignoring him) And now we might finally get to see some of the tension that built up around the Five Star title come to a head!

Richard Parker: Sexual tension!

Nick Stuart: (pretending his broadcast partner is dead) You can feel it from here, Richard, and I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU MAKE THIS WEIRD!

Two of PRIME’s purest grapplers slowly circle each other.

On the one side, the first Universal champion of the ReVival era. An Elite Champion. A name synonymous with the Five Star championship. A Hall of Famer.

On the other, a purebred stallion from a wrestling family. One of the hottest prospects to hit the scene. One of the cornerstone pillars of PRIME’s youth movement.

Where one has experience, the other has something to prove.

The slow dance continues, each man trading feints to see who’ll balk first. The crowd eats up every moment, their cheering is a plea for these two to finally lock up. And then, as they close the distance to each other…

BOOOOOOOOOO

Enter Rezin and FLAMBERGE to prevent the crowd from getting what they want.

Nick Stuart: Both Youngblood and Colton were so focused on each other that it gave their opponents a chance to get the upper hand.

Rezin has made the questionable decision to try and clip Youngblood from behind which does absolutely nothing. The Diamond stands stock still. As Rezin is hoisted off of his feet, the camera angle changes to show FLAMBERGE unleashing a strike combination to his arch-rival, before a pair of judo throws are chained together.

In the background of the first one, Rezin flies across the screen at an angle that suggests he has just been suplexed by a big bastard man. He disappears out of frame, then reappears from that same side a moment later, staggering like a man trying desperately to pass a sobriety test.

As FLAMBERGE connects with the second throw, who should appear in the sky as a great bearded constellation but Rezin.

Nick Stuart: The Five Star champion reminding the world that he’s no slouch inside the ropes either! And now he makes a bee-line for Youngblood!

Richard Parker: This could go one of a billion different ways.

Nick Stuart: Well thanks for narrowing it down.

Richard Parker: (gasping) Nicholas! The cheek on you.

As he stands from his most recent suplex, Youngblood is tackled around the waist by FLAMBERGE, and the two men tumble through the ropes to the outside.

Richard Parker: That was definitely one of the ways it could have gone.

Nick Stuart: Smart play by FLAMBERGE to pick that spot, before Youngblood could get his feet fully under him. And now both men are brawling on the floor.

FLAMBERGE drives a knee into Youngblood’s ribs, doubling him over. He pulls Brandon’s arm free, and slams his hand down on the steel steps.

Nick Stuart: That’s the same hand where just two weeks ago Anna Daniels dislocated a finger.

Oh, he knows, Nick. He knows.

It’s why he makes a point of splaying out Youngblood’s fingers on the top of the stairs. It’s why he balls his own hand into a fist. It’s why he brings it down over and over like a hammer on top of the joints, smashing it into the steel again and again.

These are the hands that stole YOUR property, that took what YOU earned away from you. Tried to embarrass you like you’re nothing, all because he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto his own championship. Maybe a little glue on the palms would have fixed that. Maybe a little glue on the knuckles will help put them back together after you’re done.

Richard Parker: I like what I’m seeing out of FLAMBO tonight. He’s young. He’s hungry. And he’s got a point to prove in front of the world that he belongs at the top of this division! At this rate, he might also be trying to prevent Brandon Youngblood from ever pointing at anything again.

Nick Stuart: You’re incorrigible sometimes, you know that?

Richard Parker: I got jokes, baybee!

Nick Stuart: Here comes Nate Colton!

Colton rolls out of the ring, closing the distance between FLAMBERGE and himself. He moves to grapple his counterpart among the young pillars of PRIME, but FLAMBO is too quick. He sidesteps, locks his arms around Colton’s torso, and snaps a head-and-arm suplex onto the arena floor.

Remember earlier when we all had a lovely conversation about how everyone knows the swear words, regardless of language? Well the fans in the floor seats are learning some spicy new French invectives courtesy of the Five Star champion.

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE apparently willing to do anything and everything to maintain a grip on his championship tonight.

Richard Parker: Which is the role that every champion should take, if we’re being completely honest with ourselves.

Nick Stuart: So tomorrow night when Cancer Jiles starts cheating…?

Richard Parker: There are exceptions to every rule, Nick. Don’t bring your logic around here. This is wrestling. Sometimes things just are.

The following sequence happens in the blink of an eye, as one unbroken chain of movement from the Goat Bastard.

First, he gets a running start inside the ring, building up steam by rebounding off the far ropes before hurling himself like a goddamn missile to the outside in a suicide dive that sends FLAMBERGE tumbling back up the entrance ramp. Rezin rolls through it back to his feet.

He turns, charges again, and using the ring steps as a springboard he throws himself at a groggy Nate Colton, trapping him in a front facelock in midair before swinging his legs out in a tornado DDT onto the mats along the outside of the ring.

Again he’s on his feet, sliding into the ring only this time instead of hitting the ropes for momentum it’s just a full sprint across the ring. He vaults up onto the top rope in a single step and launches himself into the air, twisting his body into a swanton variant that sends him flying again to the outside where he collides with Youngblood, and the two men tumble over the guardrail into the front row and out of view.

Nick Stuart: Good lord, after that he’s gotta be dea-

The Escape Artist pops back up into view, standing and smiling as if nothing is wrong.

Nick Stuart: Okay, guess he’s fine.

While FLAMBERGE moves towards the ring, he’s unaware of Rezin’s actions behind him. The Goat Bastard sprints through the crowd, parkouring off a fan’s chair, leaping onto the guardrail, and then he takes flight yet again. This time he twists in the air and he sails over FLAMBERGE’s head, locking him in a headscissors and launching him with a hurricanrana.

Richard Parker: It’s like if Cirque du Soleil was one guy that dressed as Hobo Santa.

Rezin slides into the ring, gets back to his feet, takes two steps, and faceplants in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: I think he might have done as much damage to himself as his opponents there, Richard.

Richard Parker: I mean dude basically just survived four separate car crashes.

When the Rezinball committee meets to discuss this match years from now, league commissioner Simon Tillier will be forced – albeit begrudgingly – to award his longtime tormenter three hundred points retroactively like a pro wrestling Dumbledore who stole his dad’s suit. Punk Rock wins the House Bowl (because no one says “smoke a cup”). Fuck Slytherin. All my homies hate Slytherin.

Hufflepuff’s aight.

Nick Stuart: Rezin stirring inside the ring. Apparently he just needed a minute.

Richard Parker: He’s about to have company.

Indeed he is, Richard. Nate Colton, still shaking off the cobwebs from being planted head-first on the ground, has rolled into the ring. Rezin gets to his knees, mutters something under his breath, and charges. Colton’s lariat swing is solid, but Rezin is a nimble little minx. He ducks underneath, springboards to the second rope, and hits a picture perfect cutter on Colton just as he turns around.

Nick Stuart: Where the hell is Rezin getting these reserves? His endurance in this match has been nothing short of insane.

Richard Parker: Real talk, my spine would have shattered after that first suplex, so I’m just going to assume he came out of a lab that makes supersoldiers like they had on the X-Files.

Nick Stuart: That’s an… umm… “timely” reference there, Richard.

Rezin gets back to his feet, but not as quickly. Despite the resilience he’s shown thus far in being able to both dish out and take a massive amount of punishment, the match is starting to show its effects. He licks his lips and picks his shot, waiting until Colton is almost to his feet before he runs to the corner, vaults from the second to the third buckle, and arcs a gorgeous moonsault into the ring.

Nick Stuart: OH!

Richard Parker: Yikes.

He’s caught over the shoulder by Nate Colton, who snaps him down immediately with a shoulder breaker. Before Rezin can react, he’s pushed forward into a seated position, and then dragged to his feet.

It’s a move that’s taught to every member of the Colton family, their unique spin on the venerated cobra clutch.

Nick Stuart: Colton Clutch locked in! Rezin with nowhere to go!

The Goat Bastard is pulled off his feet, kicking and thrashing the whole way, before being driven down on the back of his neck. The Colton Clutch Suplex delivered with textbook precision.

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton with the cover!

ONE

FLAMBERGE can’t let this happen. He won’t. The Five-Star Championship is his, dammit. And there’s no way he’s going to suffer yet another indignity to that son of a bitch, Nate Colton. He scrambles into the ring, and dives to break up the cover.

TWO

Richard Parker: Youngblood!

The Frenchman’s body stops in mid air, with two hands of granite taking hold of his ankle and yanking him back outside. Before he can turn around there’s an arm around his throat. Another snakes in under his arm. Just as he held the rope to prevent Brandon Youngblood from escaping the Shotgun, now FLAMBERGE finds himself trapped in a vice. Struggling against the Gridlock, there is nothing he can do but watch his dreams of glory slip away. 

Reciprocity is a real motherfucker.

THREE

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton has done it! The Next Diamond is the new Five-Star Champion!

Youngblood releases the hold on FLAMBERGE, who stares wide-eyed and stunned at the scene before him. That’s Nate Colton. That’s Nate Colton getting his arm raised. That’s Nate Colton being handed the Five Star championship. It’s almost too much to process.

Before Colton’s hands can touch the strap, Rezin rises to his feet and storms between Colton and Ashley Barlow, making sure to shoulder check his fellow Hoosier on his way towards the ropes.

Richard Parker: Call me crazy, Nick…

Nick Stuart: I will. Gladly.

Richard Parker: …but I don’t think things are quite settled between Colton and Rezin.

Nick Stuart: Richard, I know PRIME has got a few weeks of downtime ahead of us, but I can only imagine how this result is going to linger for some of these competitors. I’m not sure we’ve seen the last of any of this.

Colton glances outside the ring, where the original Diamond offers a nod of recognition to the Next in line.

Finally, the title is placed in his hands. A cheer rises from the crowd as he raises it over his head. He no longer has to wonder what it feels like to carry it. The belt is his now, and his alone.

A family legacy etched forever in gold.

PRIME 2022 HALL OF FAME

PRIME 2022 HALL OF FAME INDUCTION

MORE THAN YOUR LIFE

“I FALL INTO A BLACK HOLE IN MY HEEAADD!!”

RUAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: NEW YORK! GET ON YOUR FEET! THE CHALLENGER IS HERE!

And there’s no time for foreplay; we’re jumping right to the good part. “Black Hole” hits the speakers right at the chorus, heavy and hard. That wall of white light bursts real bright. The PRIMEates? Yeah, they’re on their feet. Because it’s Colossus. Because it’s only night one. 

And yeah, because the Event Horizon is here.

The dress shoes. The slacks. The black button-up. The usual, but with microphone in hand and eyes on the ring. But not only on the ring.

They flash up to the Skybox, too, where a pair of Terminator T-Shades shine through the glass.

Nick Stuart: Tomorrow night, here in New York, Home Run Hayes will stand toe-to-toe with the eGG Bandit himself, against the PRIME Universal Champion!

Richard Parker: Against the Douche of all Douches! The kid better show up with his big boy pants on tomorrow. I wanna see Cancer get flattened.

Nick Stuart: Most, if not all, do.

Hayes climbs into the ring with intent, wiping the bottoms of his shoes at the apron. He finds center-ring, chin lifted and eyes closed for a moment to soak in the roaring crowd. After the rush dissipates, he raises the microphone to his lips.

Hayes Hanlon: Hey, New York! We’re at Colossus, huh?

The Garden once again booms, fully standing behind the young stalwart. Hanlon nods with a grin from the side of his mouth.

Hayes Hanlon: How ‘bout that Nova guy, huh?

Another rise from the REAL Garden, roaring their support for the Risen Star’s victory.

Hayes Hanlon: How ‘bout that Nate Colton guy, HUH?

And again, New York, in their most wonderful of accents, bellows their appreciation.

Hayes Hanlon: And all that, all THAT…before we get to watch Jared. Freakin’. Sykes…beat the absolute shit out of Paxton Ray!!!

Now, let’s take a moment, and let the New York crowd tear this mother down. 

Hayes, meanwhile, holds that mic’d fist in the air to make sure everyone’s voice is heard.

Hayes Hanlon: But even then, the job’s not done. Because this is Night ONE! 

The Home Run Kid points out into the audience as if to call his shot. They. audience, wait with baited breath to hear his next words.

Hayes Hanlon: And I’ve. Got. Work. To. Do.

Let’s. Hear. It. New. York.

RAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hayes Hanlon: And it starts with throwing out the tras….

On a normal night, the Garden would be allowed to further blossom with excitement and fervor, especially with Hayes standing near ten-feet tall in the ring. However, all good things must come to an end, and it would seem that the COOLYMPIAN has had enough.

From the safety of his Skybox, of course.

Cancer Jiles: (Calling down from the Skybox) Congratulations Hayes, you just proved you’re as stupid as all these people who came here tonight.

BOOOO!!!!!

Cancer Jiles: Go on, crumbs. I get it. I’d be mad, too. Not only because most of you couldn’t afford a ticket to the all important Night Two, but because that Crumb standing down there looking like he just walked out of Today’s Man is your best chance at de-throning me.

More rabid booing brings to life a snarky smile from the Champion.

Cancer Jiles: That is…unless he’s smart enough to take my offer.

Another extended chorus of boos. Hammerin’ Hanlon looks around the arena, then offers a light smirk before returning to the mic.

Hayes Hanlon: You know, I have been thinking about that offer, Jiles. To take the fall, join the Bandits.

He steps to the side, swooping his arm to display the ring

Hayes Hanlon: Why don’t you come on down from your box so I can give you my answer?

The crowd swoons, as is their right. Cancer, meanwhile, adjusts his shades with a toothy faux-grin.

Cancer Jiles: I bet you’d like that, Hayes. Wouldn’t you? I bet you’d love to see me march down to that ring and light this thing up early. 

Hayes nods in approval.

The crowd swoons once more.

Could Christmas come early?

Cancer Jiles: Well too bad. I’m not coming down there and trying to trip over those clown shoes you have on.

Hanlon squints with confusion, looking down at his sharp black dress shoes, giving them a quick inspection.

Hayes Hanlon: …clown shoes? These?

Cancer Jiles: You heard me. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t roll your ankle springing up the steps just then.

A snicker.

Cancer Jiles: What? Did you just come from a kids party or something? Better yet, did you forget about the red nose? Or are you saving it for tomorrow night to hide behind?

More Championship level snickering from King COOL.

Hayes Hanlon: Did the Sopranos finally call back? Because that show ended when I was like, twelve, and the tracksuits didn’t even look that good…

Insolence will not be tolerated. Not during COOLOSSUS, no matter which night it is. As such, the UNIVERSAL Champion, of course dressed in his custom made, electric blue, company man, imported PRIME tracksuit, hastily leaps from his seat with vigor pulsing through his veins.

Cancer Jiles: HOW DARE YOU! This tracksuit cost more than your life! YOU HEAR ME!? YOUR LIFE!!!

The outburst draws a slight grin from Hammerin’ Hanlon, while Cancer’s bottom teeth jut out like piano keys.

Hayes Hanlon: Hey, maybe it did, Jiles. Maybe that tracksuit did cost more than my life. 

The Event Horizon then shifts his position in-ring, opening an arm toward the PRIME*View.

Hayes Hanlon: …but I’ll bet you’d trade that expensive tracksuit and more to see me pinned right here in this ring…

Jiles stares down to the ring through those mirrored T-Shades. Hayes looks up, that arm still outstretched, just before the PRIME*View bursts to life.

Hayes Hanlon: …let me show you what that looks like.

Suddenly, the PRIME*View flashes to ReVival 11, and the moment where Hayes delivered The Epoch to Cancer at the end of a grueling main event match. All of it. The whip. The powerbomb. The pin.

But not just once.

Over.

And over.

And over.

Lava pours from behind Cancer’s shades as “Black Hole” hits the speakers. Madison Square Garden erupts as Hanlon’s mustache lifts into a grin, just before rolling out of the ring and back-stepping up the ramp, the footage of defeating Jiles in July on repeat.

Richard Parker: I might be wrong about this kid! I might love this kid!

Nick Stuart: And no one would blame you, partner! And tomorrow night we’ll get to see them inside the ropes at Colossus: Night Two! But first, Jared Sykes will square up with Paxton Ray for a historical showdown! Right here! In Madison Square Garden, New York!

Richard Parker: On the ACE Network!

Meanwhile, Hayes reaches the top of the ramp, still facing the arena, jacking his jaw and throwing out fists. Cancer trembles with rage inside the Skybox, doing his best ignore the image of himself getting bombed on loop, and to ignore the thousands of roaring fans.

REGICIDE

Darkness and melody.

“I was a highwayman. Along the coach roads I did ride. With sword and pistol by my side.”

Alone in a room, King Blueberry sits. He’s leaning slightly forward, two taped hands rubbing together in nervous anticipation. The fingers of his left hand bend and flex instinctually, a lasting memory of extreme violence running through his mind. 

And while he’s facing the camera, his head is down. His eyes look towards the floor. This is not the posture of man ready to march to war, but one about to take his last few steps to the gurney where a lethal dose of pentobarbital awaits.

These are the last moments of King Blueberry.

King Blueberry: They used to be the good guys.

He taps his chest with his right hand. His torso is covered by a tee shirt, black with four faces in silhouette over a desert town.

Cyrus Raines. Jason Cruise. Amy Campbell. Jonathan Rhine.

The Highwaymen.

The original Highwaymen, a FUSE faction dating back over fifteen years. The company logo is still visible despite how worn and dated the rest of the shirt looks.

Fitting that the last two faces hover just above his heart.

King Blueberry: Until… Well, one of them wasn’t. They were the people who put themselves in front of the bullet, who threw themselves on the grenade, who made sure that whenever an outlaw rode into town that someone was there to meet them and draw down. Until one of them didn’t. It’s a familiar refrain, I guess, though the circumstances are a little different. That person? It took a while, but they got it together. Maybe even had a little help along the way. They got their happy ending. Living their best life, as I understand it. You?

He raises his eyes to the camera for the first time.

King Blueberry: I don’t think you’ll be so lucky.

It’s followed by a steadying breath. The first of many to come.

King Blueberry: You know, when I was little I was convinced that monsters were real. That they were coming to get me. I thought that if I hid under the blankets, if I couldn’t see them, then they wouldn’t be able to see me. Pretty stupid, all things considered, but that’s a running theme with me. I could hide, sure, but that didn’t change anything. My parents tried to convince me that I was wrong, and it was all in my head. I’d hear it every night before bed. “There’s nothing to worry about,” they’d say. “Nothing is out there.” But they were wrong, weren’t they?

A beat.

King Blueberry: What would you tell your kids?

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

King Blueberry: Sure, there aren’t any vampires or werewolves, but that doesn’t mean that the monsters are any less real. It’s just that they know how to hide. Their disguises are far worse than anything I could come up with. We know a thing or two about hiding though, don’t we, Paxton?

He stares directly at the camera, through it. The mask that he’s worn for so long is all but in shreds, a collection of tears and stains, haunted by memories of blood and chocolate and chains. Hazel eyes and a strand of pink hair shows through.

King Blueberry: For nine months you had me convinced. Hell, you had all of us convinced. Here’s a brave guy, a fearless guy who just wanted to do right by his daughter. You know what? I was proud to play a small part in helping. I cried the night I learned she was in remission. Cried like a fucking baby, I won’t deny it. But that wasn’t the whole truth. Now we all see it, the monster that was pretending to be a man. This?

The words escape his lips before he realizes what he’s saying.

King Blueberry: This is who you are.

He shakes his head and sighs, letting his eyes fall back to the floor.

King Blueberry: But who the fuck am I?

The camera begins its slow zoom forward.

King Blueberry: I used to know a guy, a real pain-in-the-ass type. He thought he could make a difference. Thought he could help. So all those grenades people kept throwing? He dove on all of them, just so that no one else would have to. Because he thought it was the right thing to do. Because he didn’t care about the cost. God, he was such a dumbass. Eventually it got to be too much. That kind of shrapnel? It leaves the kind of scars you can’t see. So he ran. He hid. He pulled a blanket over his head, because as long as he couldn’t see the monsters…

His eyes glance up, looking just off camera, and for a moment there’s the smallest hint of a smile, warm and genuine, playing at the corner of his lips. He’s silent for a moment before speaking again. The words that come now are emboldened, those of a man who knows what he has to do, even if it’s not what he wants.

King Blueberry: I’ll fly a starship across the universe divide; And when I reach the other side; I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can; Perhaps I may become a highwayman again; Of I may simply be a single drop of rain… but I will remain. And I’ll come back again, and again, and again…

Passion.

King Blueberry: …and again…

Determination.

King Blueberry: …and again…

Resolve.

King Blueberry: …and again…

Conviction.

King Blueberry: …and again.

A second breath. What happens next is the hardest part.

King Blueberry: I may not be a “lost soldier of the highway.” I definitely don’t have many sets of eyes with which to see. But I see you, Paxton. God, I wish I didn’t.

With one hand he pulls free the strings that hold the mask in place. They give easily under his fingers, the months of wear finally taking their toll. This particular piece of armor will defend him no longer.

King Blueberry: It’s been a year, and despite everything that’s happened I realize we’ve never been properly introduced, not really.

He closes his eyes, bracing for what comes next.

Inhale deep. Hold. Exhale.

His right hand takes hold of his mask, and with a single tug the bandage is ripped free. A mop of brown and pink hair tumbling free is the last thing the camera sees before it cuts to black.

But the audio remains.

“Hey, Paxton. I’m Jared. I think it’s time we met.”

LIGHTS OUT MATCH: PAXTON RAY vs. JARED SYKES

Nick Stuart: And we’re ready now for our final match of the night, a match that will be the culmination of months of drama and blood.

Richard Parker: But not before a few more pints are spilled, sadly.

Suddenly, the lights go out. Flashes from phones start to pop up until the Garden is awash with small lights. After a few moments, another source of light: the PRIMEView. It’s a quick, blurry shot, with a camera moving towards something black. As the shot settles, we realize it’s a clip from ReVival 20, specifically of Paxton Ray’s shirt. The feed pauses and the PRIMEView captures the text:

REMEMBER: HE ASKED FOR THIS

Then, we get the cool voice of Martin Earley reminding us of how this all started.

They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy

And in comes the chunky riff of “Fistfight” by the Ballroom Thieves. The fans boo, which feels like an understatement judging by the pure noise coming out of the Garden. These aren’t the fans who saw what he did in Las Vegas, but word traveled East.

A tense few seconds pass before Paxton Ray emerges. He scans the crowd around him while taking a few steps forward. A long necklace filled with sharp gator teeth is around his neck. When he gets to the edge of the ramp, he lifts his left hand, which is holding something.

Nick Stuart: Is that? …Oh god. 

Richard Parker: I guess Paxton thought Jared may want to have his old tag partner ringside, because that’s the missing head of El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy!

Indeed it is. Chipped, pieces broken off, but still the same mannequin head that has been around since PRIME reopened. With his other hand, Paxton points at the front of his shirt. It’s a picture of the ring at The Belmont Classic, which has countless wrestlers in staff on one side of it, and on the other Paxton Ray holding a ring bell. After a second, Paxton turns around so we can see the back, which has white words:

THIS IS WHAT IT TAKES TO STOP ME

As he turns back around, Vince Howard does his job, though unenthusiastically.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring from Lafayette, Louisiana. Weighing in at 245 pounds… “The Bayou Butcher” Paxton Ray.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

If Paxton is annoyed with the lukewarm announce job or the reaction, he doesn’t show it as he walks towards the ring while the song continues.

The day I finally met you like I knew I would

You raised me from the wreck of my doubt

You were smilin’ to yourself as if we both understood

The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

And what did I do to deserve you

How did you find me? I was already halfway gone

You were a bright light

You were a fist fight

Paxton slides under the ropes and pulls himself up, raising a fist and smiling as the reaction increases. He walks to the far corner and leans against it, ignoring the words from Elvis Nixon.

Richard Parker: I really hope he gets what’s coming to him tonight.

Nick Stuart: Me too, partner. Me too.

The PRIMEview flickers to life, showing the backstage area. Specifically, the last corridor on the way to the Argyle position and the final gate that leads wrestlers through the arena entrance, but the true target is the man walking those last few steps to destiny.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Shot from the back, so that his face is hidden, Jared Sykes heads towards the arena entrance. With both hands he reaches up and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He pauses before the curtain when a production assistant signals him to stop. There he stays. Head down. crouched low. Waiting.

The lights in the arena go dark, and the scene on the PRIMEview changes.

The first thing the fans in attendance hear is a roar booming through the speakers, loud enough to shake the seats. A roll of thunder follows, and inside Madison Square Garden winter has come early, as it begins snowing from the rafters.

The weather effects inside the arena mirror those happening on the PRIMEview, where we’re showing a ruined battlescape. The sheet of white that blankets the ground is broken by thick patches of red, and a gathered mass of broken bodies.

A hulking, muscular blond man lays with his chest torn open besides a broken great axe and the corpse of a lion.

A young man in sparkling silver with stars painted across his face stands encased in a jagged block of ice beside his faithful golden retriever.

Nearby, the long blade of a katana has been stabbed into the ground. The wind picks up, and the storm blows away the red and gold cape that had been fastened to the end.

A woman with crimson hair and armor of pure white lies broken beside a pair of hand crossbows and a torn collection of maps.

Another roar sounds inside the Garden. The lights flash white to mirror lightning.

On the screen, a single figure rises in the distance. He pushes himself up from the carnage. The man’s face is indiscernible at this distance, but his black hair stands out among the sea of white. He wields a sword in his left hand, and readies the spear of a king in his right.

The angle draws back, revealing one other figure. Bloodied, scarred, and adorned in broken armor he rises to his feet. A mop of bloodstained hair hides his face. He reaches into the snow and retrieves what’s left of a sword, the top half of the blade having broken off some time ago. Readying the weapon, he takes one final breath and charges towards the edge of a cliff.

Rising from the chasm is a massive white dragon. Teeth bared, claws bloody, the chains that once bound it now broken and hanging free from around his talons. Ice forms in the air around its maw with every breath, crystalizing and falling to the earth like shards of broken glass.

The last soldier casts his shield aside and dives into air, desperate to bring his blade down in one final stroke. As the two meet in the air…

It’s been twelve years. How did this used to go?

Ah, yes.

Drums.

Guitar.

Killswitch Engage.

The song is “Save Me”, and it hasn’t been played in this context in over a decade. He may have never been a PRIME “guy” – those scant few months notwithstanding – but it doesn’t matter. They know.

They know.

A lone figure steps through the curtains, and the sound that rises from the crowd is loud enough to register on a nearby USGS seismograph.

SO MUCH THAT I’VE DONE WRONG

IT’S AN OPEN BOOK

I’VE DONE MUCH MORE THAN MY FAIR SHARE OF DAMAGE

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, from Boston, Massachusetts and weighing in tonight at two hundred and one pounds…

Gone are the whites and royal blues of the Berry. In their place: black, silver, and a shifting blue that sometimes reads as green or purple depending on the way the light hits it. His sweatshirt is open, but the hood is drawn low, making his face all but impossible to see in the darkness of Madison Square Garden.

WHAT ONCE WAS HIDDEN

NOW IS CRYSTAL CLEAR

TRANSFORMATION IS WITHIN ME

Vince Howard: He is the “Black Sheep” of professional wrestling…

Another eruption, and it’s enough to give the man in black pause on his way to the ring. He stayed away from the sport for a decade, hid under a mask for a year, all to shield himself from the eyes of people that might judge him for a mistake made on a Las Vegas catwalk. This can’t be for him, can it?

TO BREAK THE CYCLE

I MUST TURN TO YOU

WHAT I LACK I GAIN THROUGH YOUR VIRTUE

Vince Howard: JAREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYKES!!!!

Suffice it to say, a lot of people will be without their voice tomorrow, having screamed themselves hoarse tonight.

I

GAIN

THROUGH

YOU

He pulls himself up onto the ring apron, and steps through the ropes, never turning his back on his opponent. 

EVEN WHEN I FALL

WILL YOU STILL BELIEVE

EVEN WHEN I’M LOST

WILL YOU STILL BELIEVE

Despite the fact that the music has faded, and the house lights have come up, the crowd is still singing the chorus. Over, and over, and over. It’s the second time since he’s walked through the curtain that the crowd’s response has caught Sykes by surprise, and he pauses for a moment to try and process it all.

“Even when I fall… Will you still believe

Even when I’m lost… will you still believe”

In St. Louis, when the entirety of the Belmont Classic roster stormed the ring in what would later be known as “The Siege of St. Louis”, Paxton Ray had stared Jared Sykes in the eye and said, “This is what it takes to stop me.” Tonight, though he walked to the ring alone, Jared had brought an army eighteen thousand strong. He just didn’t realize it.

And then it happens. The hood is pulled back. The sweatshirt falls to the ground. For the first time in twelve years Jared Sykes stands as himself in the middle of the ring. The knight-errant of Sin City. The last king of a dead empire.

Dragonslayer, the Black Sheep evolved.

And as Jared stands there, unmasked, unveiled, after so long, after conjuring up so much courage to get to this place, this moment? He’s greeted by a mocking smirk. Mere feet away, The Bayou Butcher raises his hands above his head, slowly beginning to clap. The movement is protracted, gilding. One clap. Another. And another. Because in the face of pomp and circumstance? In the afterglow of snowfall? There is war. Paxton Ray doesn’t give a shit about videos of fallen warriors. Pageantry over. Every reason he has to want to hurt these wrestlers? Justified. 

Remember, Jared, you asked for this.

DING DING 

But he is ready. He bolts towards Paxton, charging, all while his opponent stands ready in a brawling stance. The momentum quickly takes the pair into the corner, Sykes using the underneath leverage to drive him into the turnbuckles powerfully. His wild punches toward the ribcage of the taller Butcher find their mark, digging in, causing the mirthful glower of Ray to melt away quickly as he tries to smother from the top, clubbing blows from his powerful hands find their way to the back of the Dragonslayer. Locked in combat like this, the two are a wellspring of wild haymakers, nothing held back. That is, until Paxton manages to pin one of Jared’s arms underneath his armpit, looking to muscle the Tag Champion away from the corner.

If Paxton is trying to get a greco roman takedown, he’s out of his element, because it’s Sykes who manages to trip him, causing the two, tangled and locked up, to fall to the canvas. A mad scramble for who will have dominant position quickly follows, with Paxton pressing down on the stomach of Sykes, pinning him down to the canvas with his left hand, before violently firing off rights directed right for his face. A few connect, but Sykes is unfazed because of adrenaline, and he manages to get off his back off the canvas, his arms wrapping around The Bayou Butcher’s leg. Paxton tries to club the back of his neck with hammer blows, but he is stuck hobbling on one foot, though the positioning is tight. An uppercut rocketing and ripping to the upperbody of Sykes gets the deathgrip eased, and another lifts his own feet off the canvas. The leg grip drops, but Jared grabs around Paxton’s body, all as the blows continue to rain. 

It’s Paxton’s turn to maintain control, and he forces Jared into the corner, his hands pressing against Sykes’ face. Before he fully extend, Sykes hits him in the ribs with another pointed shot, and even manages to throw a heavy muay thai knee. He throws another, but is facewashed with an elbow. A brief window.

It’s all The Bayou Butcher needs.

Nick Stuart: Ray grabbing at Sykes and–

Richard Parker: Front facelock–

Nick Stuart: Jared trying to get–

Richard Parker: Oh my Hoyt he–

Nick Stuart: All power ALL POWER FROM PAXTON RAY HE LIFTS SYKES UP–

Richard Parker: NO! NO! NO–

Brain. Buster. That quick. That vicious. Without a care in the world. Without a stitch of remorse. And as all the fans in Madison Square Garden rise in horror, Elvis Nixon is sliding in, checking on Sykes. Paxton? He’s sat up, pointing to his shirt. ‘Remember: He Asked For This’.

Nick Stuart: Have you…have you…

Richard Parker: STOP THE DAMN MATCH!

Nick Stuart: There’s no movement from Jared Sykes. There hasn’t been a single bit of movement from Jared Sykes. Not a single…oh my God…oh my God…

Richard Parker: WE NEED GODDAMN DOCTOR’S DOWN HERE! NOW!

An eerie silence fills the Garden as the camera shoots away from the ring, toward the fans, wide eyed, some aghast, some starting to tear up, others just shaking their heads in disbelief. When it becomes evident how serious this is? The camera pans out wide.

Nick Stuart: I’m…I’m at a loss–

Richard Parker: Why was this…this…monster…allowed back into PRIME? Lindsay? Lindsay, can you Goddamn HEAR ME?! Why the hell did you agree to this?! This isn’t a game! This isn’t ha ha funny time. You listen to me and listen to the sincerity in my voice…if Jared Sykes…

While Richard is speaking, we see, faintly, given the camera shot, that Paxton Ray is off the canvas, and moving toward the nearest ring corner.

Nick Stuart: He’s, I think…I think…Sykes…there’s a little movement from Jared Sykes…

Richard Parker: He’s…Paxton Ray is cutting the turnbuckle pads off Nick. He’s using the gator teeth on his necklace and he’s cutting the pads off every. Single. Turnbuckle. 

The signal of movement from the former King Blueberry is enough to bring the camera back in tight, and indeed, Jared is moving. Though not well. Lost in the insanity that was the brainbuster and its connotations, a replay we will never see robs us of the full picture of what happened. Yes, Paxton hit a quick and violent brainbuster. However, Jared, at the last moment, was able to avoid the fate that met Jonathan Rhine with an instinctual movement of his head. That’s the only thing separating him from having a broken neck. It didn’t, however, save him from the brunt of the blow, the fall, or how devastating it all was. A concussion should never be considered the best outcome, but in this case? Perhaps it is. Elvis tries to make sure Jared stays down, that he doesn’t do anymore damage to himself. But the former Black Sheep? The former SCCW Highwayman? He’s gripping at the arms of Nixon, telling him to get away. To get off him. He hisses as he says it, as he gets to his knees, looking forward toward the man who damn near crippled him.

And lost in the calamity, because it takes this level of it to draw one’s attention away, is the fact that Jared Sykes isn’t alone anymore. Justine Calvin is now in the ring, nestling close to her partner, her star crossed love, her arms wrapping around him. Telling him to stop. To please stop. One brush with death. Heart stoppingly horrific. She is supposed to stay away. She refuses. Tears well in her eyes. The lights went out. This ‘match’ barely started. But tomorrow is a better day. Tomorrow holds with it infinite possibilities. 

Just stop. Please. Jared. For yourself.

For…

For me…

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Richard Parker: WHAT THE FUCK!

Paxton Ray punted Justine right in the head. Unprotected. Elvis is caught in the ricochet. Jared, cobwebs clearing, reaches towards her fallen form. And as he does, Paxton Ray smothers him. Powerful blow after powerful blow. Hammerfists. Punches. Blatant, unrestrained choking. He mounts Sykes, and, as the Tag Champion roars trying to throw a wild shot from the bottom, his body still dealing with the blow from the brainbuster, Paxton pins his arm to the canvas and begins raining down sharp elbows. Again and again. Again. Over and over. Right over the eye. The orbital bone. Jared’s brow is cut. The blood begins to pour over the already swelling eye. 

Nick Stuart: This is just brutal!

Richard Parker: Paxton isn’t a rabid dog. A dog has loyalty. A dog has friends. This…Butcher…he’s some kind of swamp creature. A snake. Something. Something terrible.

Even with the blood flowing, Jared is still trying to fight, but a final clubbing blow grounds him to the canvas, stopping his flailing long enough for Paxton to jerk the Tag Champion to his feet, blasting him with a short arm clothesline. His forearm is painted with Jared’s blood. Looking at it, he smirks.

Nick Stuart: He’s licking the blood.

Richard Parker: Did he…did he join Mephisto’s family after that match at ReVival 19? 

Nick Stuart: At this point, would it be shocking?

Richard Parker: Yes…because it would mean this piece of trash thinks he can be accepted by any family.

Richard Parker: Just what the Hell did Jonathan Rhine bring into this world?

Nick Stuart: Paxton Ray…what we knew about him…he came from a brawling background. The Mud Pits. Louisiana born and raised. And he came with a story of fighting for his daughter, sick with cancer. And he became a beloved figure, rough around the edges, sure, but he seemed poised…he and his tag team partner in Fighting For Nora, Jonathan Rhine, to be on another collision course with the Kings of Popsicles. After Great American Nightmare…after Survivor…

Richard Parker: He opened the door to someone he thought was a sheep and a gator rolled in.

Jared tries to pick himself up, the blood flowing from his head. He looks over, seeing Justine, nursing her head, and seeing her there, truly seeing her there, he’s filled with a rage. He chose this fight. These terms. But he did so knowing she would be out of the picture. Not able to see. He should have seen her stubbornness coming. It matched his own. Reaching over to her, he realizes, too late, that Paxton is stalking him. Flashing and trying to wrestle the Bayou Butcher off his feet, Paxton sprawls, clubbing Jared in his lower back with more forearm shots.

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes trying, with every bit of himself, with every fiber he has, to try and fight. Trying to fight. And I feel like…I honestly feel like…if this wasn’t a Lights Out Match…we’d already be off the air. 

Richard Parker: And honestly, maybe we should be…

Nick Stuart: But Jared Sykes…he’s trying…he’s…

Richard Parker: Is Paxton laying off–

Nick Stuart: Scramble to the feet off the sprawl–

Richard Parker: I can’t believe Jared is able to get to his feet this quick–

Nick Stuart: HEAVY BOOT BY PAXTON RAY!

Richard Parker: This…wow. This isn’t a match. It’s an annihilation. 

Nick Stuart: Less than a year in the sport…less than a year…and this is what this man–

Richard Parker: –Thing–

Nick Stuart: Is capable of.

The heavy boot is enough to send Jared back to the canvas, grabbing his face. As he does, Paxton drops to his knees, the sickening grin on his face take on another shade of malice as he undoes the necklace around his neck a grabs hold of some of the gator teeth.

Richard Parker: He can’t be…

Nick Stuart: He’s cutting the canvas.

Indeed, Paxton Ray IS using the sharp teeth of his necklace to cut through a patch of the canvas, roughly. Enough so he can grab hold, and start ripping and yanking at it, pulling back, the tear audible from the close cameras. The boards of the ring are becoming exposed, the patch growing and growing, until practically half the ring has been exposed. The Bayou Butcher throws away pieces and parts of the mat and canvas, all before throwing his arms out wide, as if to show the crowd his handiwork with an unrepentant pride. 

Nick Stuart: I…I can’t believe…

Richard Parker: I don’t think we’ve seen anything like this Nick.

Sykes tries to pick himself up, but as he does, he finds himself caught by Paxton Ray, again, and with a jerk, the Bayou Butcher beels Jared across the ring, onto the exposed boards. The collision is violent. He bounces on impact, turning over.

Nick Stuart: This is uncomfortable to watch.

Richard Parker: It’s a massacre.

This isn’t a wrestling match. The terms aren’t in the favor of Jared Sykes. All the words of encouragement, all the sentiment to not go to the Mud Pits, to fight the Bayou Butcher, the former Fighting For Nora rising star, in a wrestling ring, it’s proven to be nothing be empty smoke. Perhaps had Jared gone to the Mud Pits, he could have snuck a weapon. A pipe. A gun. Something. But by this being the battleground, by these being the stipulations? Is this any different than what those Mud Pits would have been? 

He doesn’t have an affinity for self preservation. He never has. Jared Sykes picks fights. The biggest bully in the yard? He prods them. The worst of the worst? As if through sheer magnetism, he’ll draw himself to them. Stick to them. Refuse to go away. And of all the dragons of his past…Wyatt Connors, Lane Stevens, Kingsley, Desade…tonight stands one to usurp them all. A monster of unrepentant origin. He has no defense. No way to deal with the moment. Years locked away, and he rose…but is he what he once was? Unbeaten in nearly a year. Over two hundred and seventy days. Hayes Hanlon couldn’t beat him. He’d won Survivor. But here…

But here…

He pushes. Up from the boards he pushes. Blood pouring from his head. The brainbuster ravaged his neck. He should have been prepared. From the corner of his eyes, Justine. And if he didn’t rise? What could he do to her? Even though she can fight for herself, even though it was her who beat Ray at Great American Nightmare…the kick hit her hard, unexpected. Whiplash. Vicious. She still is trying to gather herself. To come to sorts. Paxton beckons from beyond. Toward him. Reminding him that he asked for this. 

And as he gets up, he puts up his hands, ready to fight. His hair a mess. His head pissing blood, nearly covering his eyes. But those eyes…they sparkle with want. His body screams but the soul refuses to yield. The Butcher merely smirks.

Upon seeing it, Sykes just flips him off.

Nick Stuart: Did he…

Richard Parker: He’s going to need his sixth wind after just how violent the beating he’s taken already.

It’s Paxton on the protected ground of canvas. Jared stands upon exposed boards. The Bayou Butcher charges, not tipping his hand, until at the very end, launching with a boot toward Sykes. Jared, however, drops, hitting a dropkick to the knee of Paxton’s plant leg. The snap is enough to take the leg from under him, causing Ray to sharply drop to the boards. His head smacks off them, bouncing back up. Jared takes off, caroming off the ropes, and launches a punt of his own into the face of Paxton Ray, connecting, and the Bayou Butcher is now on his knees, cradling his face. The fans are going absolutely insane. Another carom off the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Knee to the face! A knee straight to the face of Paxton Ray!

Richard Parker: But that’s not all!

The smoke from the blow might have crushed Paxton’s nose into his skull. He staggers to his feet, still grabbing his face. The moment is enough for Jared to grab hold of Ray.

Nick Stuart: STRAIGHT JACKET NECKBREAKER! STRAIGHT JACKET NECKBREAKER!

Richard Parker: ON THE EXPOSED RING!

There is no pin. No attempt. Jared instantly starts throwing wild punches at the face of Paxton Ray, smothering him, keeping the attack going. Self preservation in a fight is necessary in the Mud Pits. That’s why, despite it all, Paxton is able to try and scramble back to his feet, a knee shooting off the boards. The quick shot shows blood pouring from his nose. A deep, disgusting crimson. And his mouth hangs open. It’s hard to breathe when your nose is broken. When you’re choking on your own blood. A wild swing from the Bayou Butcher finds only air. A sudden turn, and Ray’s neck and back are jarred with a Hangman’s Neckbreaker.

Richard Parker: YES! SIXTH WIND IT IS BABY!

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes…Jared. Sykes! After everything. After the suddenness of the brainbuster and the violent barrage, he’s actually…actually…BY GOD ACTUALLY…not only surviving, not only trying…he’s…he’s…he’s turned the momentum. He’s turned the momentum!

Richard Parker: Driving a damn forklift through the concept of human toughness.

The sudden burst of offense does take its toll, but as Elvis Nixon, who is finally up, he’s realizing there’s something else he is going to need to deal with. Justine is standing up, having used the ropes. And in her hand? One of Paxton’s chains. 

Richard Parker: Get him Justine! Get him!

Nick Stuart: This match…this fight…it’s all legal. Everything about it is legal. 

Richard Parker: Paxton hit her. Blindsided her. You have to do what you have to do in a fight…but she wasn’t IN a fight. She was checking on her partner, thinking he might be paralyzed. A cheap ass shot if ever there was one.

Nick Stuart: Nixon trying to keep her away–

Richard Parker: Don’t get in the woman’s–

And as she’s about to swing the chain?

Sykes stands in the way.

Richard Parker: What are you–

Jared Sykes: Don’t.

Justine’s eyes are wide, her arm coiled. She wants a piece. Hell, she wants a piece of a lot of people right now. The Love Convoy. And in this moment? Nothing would fill her with greater joy than to hit Paxton fucking Ray with a chain. But Jared’s hand on her wrist is preventing her. 

Jared Sykes: You shouldn’t be–

Nick Stuart: LOW BLOW!

Richard Parker: RAY IS LAUGHING!

Jared crumbles to the mat. Paxton, in the midst of all of this, managed to crawl over and throw an uppercut between Sykes legs. Justine provided the perfect distraction. Teams can be strong. But in a lone wolf world? They create blindspots. Give openings. Ray isn’t a wolf. He’s a crocodile, teeth sunk into its prey. The power of its jaws and form drags its target into the bog. Snaps every piece and part of them into two before devouring them whole. A maniacal laughter bellows from the Bayou Butcher, before he gasps and coughs up some of his own blood. And Justine stands above him.

Paxton Ray seems so unbothered by her presence, that he begins crawling toward Jared, ready to beat on him.

Sorry, Crocodile Pax Dumbass, that’s a big mistake.

Nick Stuart: Justine Calvin whips Paxton across the back with his own chain!

Her arm sends the links across the body of Paxton Ray, over and over. Her roar is primal. Unhinged. She is no damsel in distress. And he will never make her feel that way. Nor will he treat her as so unimportant as to think he can keep crawling toward her man to beat down on him.

Her man.

Her…

Man?

Nick Stuart: Justine Calvin…Justine CALVIN–

Richard Parker: WHAT’S NIXON–

Elvis Nixon didn’t get the memo. There are no rules in this Lights Out Match. So why is he grabbing her? Why is he physically forcing her out of the ring? Regardless, she storms around ringside, smashing her fists into the ring apron, again and again, all before launching a kick into the steps. A flock of Enemigos descends upon her, and while she is ready for a fight, she doesn’t attack a single one of them. Perhaps because of the form of Dametreyus, who says something to her. Nobody but her hears it. Whatever it is, it turns her rage into something more muted, more pained. Sighing, there is a resignation. She stares back to the ring, lead away by security.

Nick Stuart: I imagine whatever was told to Justine Calvin…it had to be something massive to placate her in a moment of unrestrained rage.

Richard Parker: Cooler heads prevailing…in a madhouse…got to love it…

Back in the ring, there is life. Barely. Both Paxton Ray and Jared Sykes are crawling, trying to get up. After the brutal chain attack, it’s surprising that Ray is the first one to draw near, looking to drive an forearm into the form of the Dragonslayer. Well, it is surprising until Sykes grabs hold of his left arm after the Bayou Butcher misses his mark, driving it into the boards with a yelp, and begins wrenching hard on an armbar. 

Nick Stuart: Sykes locking that arm in–

Richard Parker: And Paxton trying to get to the ropes–

Nick Stuart: There is no hesitation here…that left arm is Paxton’s dominant arm–

Richard Parker: Those long limbs aren’t going to save you, there are no rope breaks…

Paxton tries to fight out, his left arm completely straightened and torqued upon with immense pressure. The bend is unnatural. Hideous looking, even. The dead crawl and the grab of the ropes that should end the submission hold provide nothing. Elvis Nixon makes no effort to break the hold. In a fight for survival, Paxton pulls himself under the bottom rope, sinking to the ring apron before falling to the mats outside. But all this does is make the angle even more awkward as Jared keeps wrenching on the hold. Using his free hand, Ray claws at the hands holding his wrist, punching at them, trying to loosen them up before the inevitable pop. No dice. That is, until, in a bit of desperation, Paxton grabs at the necklace around his neck, taking some of the teeth into his grasp, and stabs at Jared’s hands, cutting along the top of Sykes hand.

Nick Stuart: This is barbaric!

Richard Parker: That damn necklace playing a role again, getting Jared to relinquish the hold.

Once free, The Bayou Butcher grabs the wounded hand of Jared Sykes and grips back against his fingers, wrenching, all before slamming his wrist into the ring apron and yanking back, snapping his fingers alongside it. Jared howls in agony, but in close proximity, punches Paxton in his gushing nose, which is enough to drop him to the ground. Rising up on the apron, he fires off a kick into the face of Paxton Ray, all before darting back into the ring as best as he can. He wrings his hand, blood dripping to the boards. Seeing Paxton Ray begin to stand, he takes off, bouncing off the ring ropes, launching himself between the ropes like a missile–

Nick Stuart: LAFAYETTE LULLABY! PAXTON RAY JUST HIT THE CHARGING SYKES WITH A LAFAYETTE LULLABY! 

Like a corpse, the Dragonslayer curls on the outside mats, all as Paxton Ray uses the apron to pull himself back up. A quick tie up after picking Jared up is punctuated by a fisherman style throw, all as The Bayou Butcher tries to wring his left arm, which is hanging in a straightened position.

Richard Parker: As much as I think Sykes did damage with that armbar, what does it matter if Paxton keep throwing and connecting with these heavy bombs?

Once again lifting Sykes to his feet, he quickly beels him into the ring steps, causing the once King Blueberry flying after a violent collision. Grabbing both his knees, Sykes writhes in pain, all as The Bayou Butcher continues to stalk him. Lifting him up, Jared manages to hit a headbutt into the stomach of Paxton, causing him to double over. Another heavy knee nearly takes the rising Sykes down to the ring mats, and, staggering, he gets onto the ring apron, then begins to climb to the top turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: What is he planning here?

Richard Parker: To use his body as a damn weapon!

It’s only fair, given that Paxton has had so many fun toys to play with. Sykes, blood in his eyes, measures Ray, and then launches, looking to land and hit a poisonrana. The Bayou Butcher is too aware. He snags Sykes as he lands on his shoulders, momentum swinging the pair around as Paxton lays out fully, launching Jared into the time keeper’s table with one of the most devastating powerbombs PRIME has ever seen.

Nick Stuart: My God! MY GOD!

Vince Howard is in shambles, his pristine suit splattered with the blood of Jared Sykes, as well as the remnants of the table. The violent maneuver is replayed ad infinitum, the Garden a cacophony of utter madness.

Richard Parker: This ringside area is a mess!

All things told, Paxton can’t help but smile. He lifts himself up from the ground, reaching for the time keeper’s bell. Taking it into his hand, he grabs the nearby hammer, striking it for dramatic effect.

DING

DING

DING

DING

Nick Stuart: Paxton Ray putting the time keeper’s bell on the apron…sure to use it…

Richard Parker: That’s not all…

They aren’t wrong; The Bayou Butcher grabs at a top portion of ringsteps, yanking them free, and pushes them underneath the bottom rope and into the ring. As he does this, Jared begins to show signs of life, but as if the predator is well aware, he steps back over the Sykes. Reaching at his own neck, he pulls off the gator teeth necklace.

And begins whipping Jared Sykes across the back.

Paxton Ray: HE ASKED FOR THIS!

Laughing. Carrying on and laughing.

Nick Stuart: THOSE TEETH ARE CUTTING JARED’S BACK INTO RIBBONS!

Indeed, The Dragonslayer’s back has a litany of puncture wounds, almost as though he is being flagellated. Hooking, cutting, wounding. Jared yelps in pain, rolls as best as he can, the blood trail left behind sickening.

Nick Stuart: This is just sheer brutality. Sheer brutality!

Richard Parker: No title is worth this. No personal score…

But it is, Richard. If it wasn’t Jared wouldn’t be trying to claw his way back up, all as Paxton Ray stalks his prey, arms outstretched, grabbing hold of him the moment he rises and driving him into the ringpost. 

Nick Stuart: You have to ask the question…what’s the goal? What’s the end to this? Because neither man has any interest in pinning the other. All they are looking to do is hurt the other.

Richard Parker: And in a match like that–

Nick Stuart: I shudder to think.

Paxton rolls Jared back into the ring, rising up and inside to follow with. Plucking the time keeper’s bell, he plants his toe into Sykes’ ribcage, causing him to flop over. Throwing his hand in the air, The Bayou Butcher is met with thunderous boos, causing him to shake his head.

Paxton Ray: If this is what it takes to stop me…

A flashback to the Belmont. But there’s no one coming through that curtain, or the crowd, to make the save here. Jared struggles, falling back to the ring boards, all as Paxton Ray takes the time keeper’s bell, and begins to climb the nearest turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: He’s…he’s looking to cave Jared Sykes’ skull in with that ring bell!

Richard Parker: Someone…ANYONE…stop him!

Gators are ground bound creatures. They are at home in low spaces. In the bayou, they hunt in the murk. Their talons work to keep their footing sure amongst the bog floor. So, as he begins to rise, this tall bastard looks anything but majestic. He readies the time keeper’s bell, ready to smash it into the head of Jared Sykes. 

Take a gator off its feet? A dangerous proposition.

Gators aren’t stupid. They know their limits.

The Bayou Butcher thirsts for blood, though. And bloodlust begets stupidity.

His knees bend. 

Before he can launch, Jared throws a chain link Hail Mary. Paxton Ray’s very own chain, waded up into a ball. Is Sykes a pitcher? Does it matter? The velocity in which the chain hits Paxton in the face is enough to prove for one hellacious shot. The Bayou Butcher violently wrenches his head back. The momentum is such that his feet leave the top rope. 

He crashes onto the mats on the outside with a bone grinding, sickening thud.

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Richard Parker:  WHAT A THROW!

The back of The Bayou Butcher finds no cushion. The back of his head finds no pillow. Just a complete and total splat. Visions of falling fill Jared’s head. This time, there will be no question of whether he meant to do this. He did. With every fiber of his being, in survival mode, he did. And nobody will claim him to be a monster. Nobody will spin the narrative like they did with Wyatt Connors, acting like he didn’t deserve everything he had coming to him. There would be no lost decade, tucked away in New England, haunted by specters and an accusatory world wanting to tear him down. 

That night, in those rafters, he did everything he could take save Connors.

On December 16, 2022, Jared Sykes did everything he could to save PRIME from The Bayou Butcher.

Using the ropes, Jared pulls himself up to his feet, looking down at the form of Paxton Ray. His eyes follow Elvis Nixon, who is caught in the crossfire. He could begin counting. He could call the match off. He could also go outside the ring and check on the status of Paxton, to see if he can continue. He does nothing. He just looks back at Jared, shrugging his shoulders. As if sullen by this result, Sykes looks around, until his blood soaked eyes catch something. 

The head of El Hijo Del Super Cool Guy

Stumbling over, he grabs hold of the mannequin head, looking at the splayed form of The Bayou Butcher. It’s in this moment, he gets a wild notion. He says something to the head of the SCG, and then, once again, to Paxton Ray. Checking his own legs, he takes a deep breath. Then, he bounces off the ropes, running to the ring steps and jumping from them to the corner, and from the corner, he draws his legs to his chest, all before targeting the Bayou Butcher.

Nick Stuart: DOUBLE STOMP!

Richard Parker: BURYING THE HEAD OF SUPER COOL GUY INTO PAXTON IN THE PROCESS!

Beaten up and damaged as it can be, and after he was given a Viking funeral, perhaps this is SCG’s final goodbye to the PRIMEverse. Sleep well, Prince. Your place in Valhalla’s single Macy’s location awaits.

Nick Stuart: THIS IS INSANITY!

Richard Parker: ALL THE STOPS THROWN OUT FOR COLOSSUS!

Neither man makes a tremendous effort to move for several seconds. It isn’t until Jared starts to come to, getting to a knee, panting, trying his best to keep the adrenaline coursing through him, that we sense that an end could be near. Paxton offers no movement. The Dragonslayer tries to pick himself up from his position, but can’t will his body to an upright position.

Nick Stuart: I just…what more could possibly be left with these two?

If this were a wrestling match, the limits of human endurance would not be tested so. But this is more. Trapped inside his own body, Jared keeps trying, but is unable. Paxton has offered no movement. Elvis Nixon watches from inside the ring, helpless, constantly helpless, before the madness unfolding in his wake. This match, with its stakes, though it counts against neither man’s record, is for so much more. And yet, there is no respect. No quarter. 

Nick Stuart: These fans…they’re witnesses to history…the brutality…will we ever see anything like this again?

God no. Hopefully no. The fans in the Garden try to will Jared to his feet, to complete the task before him, to vanquish this awful dragon. Some would think he has already managed to do so. After all, Paxton Ray is dead. The fall from the top rope to the arena floor, the double foot stomp…no man can come back from that.

The Bayou Butcher is no mere man.

Richard Parker: THERE’S NO WAY!

Paxton shoots his hand from the ground, grabbing Jared by the throat. His grip is like a vice. Sykes, with one good hand and another wounded and gushing from gator teeth, tries to break free, but before him rises something from straight out of a horror movie. And as the shambling form of Paxton Ray rises, he lifts Jared Sykes up, spiking him against the corner of the ring apron with a choke toss.

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes…Jared Sykes…after absorbing the punishment from before…

Richard Parker: Oh my God…

Nick Stuart: And Paxton Ray…Paxton Ray…is laughing. He’s laughing!

Laughing and falling back over. Utterly spent. But the maniacal laughter continues, all as Sykes tries to find sanctuary, rolling under the bottom rope, clutching his back. The Bayou Butcher pushes himself up from the arena floor, falling back to a single knee, all before shooting back to a stand. Limping heavily, he rolls back into the ring, laughing, always laughing. He’s having the time of his life. Sykes might have asked for this, but he WANTED this. And as the two are once again standing, on shaky feet, trying to catch themselves, trying to catch their breath, Paxton charges through Jared Sykes, driving him across the ring and into far corner. 

All corners have their corner rings exposed.

Jared crumbles back to the canvas, given that this spot, thankfully, still has some canvas to fall upon. 

Nick Stuart: Paxton motioning that it’s time to go to sleep…

Richard Parker: Oh my God…oh my God…he’s going to do it. He’s going to beat Sykes…

Nick Stuart: As much as it pains me–

Richard Parker: Paxton Ray might just be unstoppable, Nick.

Maybe he is. Maybe he well is. Paxton sure as Hell is starting to feel mortal. He crumbles to the canvas, all before using the ropes to lift himself back up. He’s waiting. Stalking. For the end. One last Lullaby. You asked for this, Black Sheep. And you failed.

Because you always fail.

Because you can’t save anyone.

SCCW’s halls laugh at your mere effort.

Lane Stevens munches on popcorn as he did at Katie Malick’s funeral.

Wyatt Connors stands upon your head, sermonizing.

Kingsley’s nostrils billow smoke as you futilely offer up all resistance, ready to die, and he laughs because your willingness is so meaningless.

Desade makes all those around you dance on puppet strings, unending anguish and torment, as she takes everything you care about and turns it into dust.

Piss yourself in fear. Cry yourself to sleep. Die, Jared Sykes. Do what you should have done when you disappeared for so many years. It is through The Bayou Butcher that your greatest, most devastating failure is realized. Broken spine with nerve ending tendrils that never heal. A hung head in shame. Rhine. You failed the world all for Jonathan Rhine.

Eat your defeat. Welcome it. Swamp haze rising. A lasting Lullaby.

And as Paxton Ray lifts Jared Sykes up for the final time, he swings with the most ferocious uppercut he’s ever thrown.

Too bad it misses.

Too bad Paxton Ray is in the ring with an expert in neckbreakers.

Nick Stuart: ARM. TRAP. NECKBREAKER!

There’s no time. No time to cover. Sykes keeps his hands close. He grabs hold of Paxton Ray, locking him in an absolutely hideous and unbreakable crossface. Yanking back on The Bayou Butchers head with all he has, the pain, the torque, Ray’s body lifts as he roars in agony. His fingers claw at the hands of Jared Sykes, trying to dig in to get some space to pull free. Nothing. He doesn’t have the strength.

Nick Stuart: CROSSFACE! CROSSFACE! JARED SYKES! HAS IT LOCKED IN!

Richard Parker: WAIT! WAIT!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD!

Richard Parker: PAXTON RAY IS BITING THE FINGERS OF JARED SYKES! HE’S CHEWING ON THEM! 

With no other way to get free, The Bayou Butcher sinks his teeth into the fingers of Jared Sykes, deep enough that the hand seems to become useless. The hold relents, Jared wincing, grabbing at the wrist of his mangled hand with the one good one. Blood paints Paxton’s lips. He’s grunting. Groaning. Air isn’t filling his lungs. His head is light. His neck is in shambles. He crawls, lifting himself by the ring ropes, and as Jared tries to counter, he gets headbutted in the mouth, dropping him to his knee. Ray, once again, grabs hold of Sykes, ready to launch him for the Lafayette Lullaby. 

What happens next surprises everyone.

Nick Stuart: RHINE REWIND! RHINE REWIND! COVER!

ONE

TWO

THREE

THREE

THREE?

KICKOUT AT THE VERY LAST SECOND!

An exasperated Sykes looks around, for something. Anything. There has to be a way to slay this monster. Has to be. And then, he sees it. Pushing himself up, he reaches for the chain that is still in the ring from the throw earlier, and begins wrapping it around his leg. 

It’s time to Kill this Bitch.

Nick Stuart: BITCH KILL–

The punt never connects.

The discus elbow does.

Nick Stuart: COVER!

Richard Parker: NO!

ONE

TWO

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

KICKOUT!

With what little Paxton Ray has left, he grabs the hair of Jared Sykes, yanking him to his feet, ready to blast him with a Lafayette Lullaby, but as he positions to make the throw, Jared headbutts him in the nose. The blow is enough to cause The Bayou Butcher to crumble to the ring boards. And as he does? Sykes grabs hold of his left arm, wrenching it, extending it out before planting the palm into boards.

Before Paxton can yank his hand free, Jared presses his sole into the top of his hand. It’s going nowhere.

It’s hard enough to try and lift your arm up when another person is standing on it.

It’s another when they manage to lift the ring steps up with them.

It’s even worse when they drive the ring steps into your elbow, utterly destroying your left arm. Your dominant arm. Even a monster movie monster is helpless from a debilitating and fatal blow. 

Nick Stuart: SYKES WITH THE CHAIN–

This isn’t a wrestling match.

This isn’t a fight.

This is a fight for survival.

A fight for the soul.

Tomorrow might be better.

But for today, embrace the madness.

Nick Stuart: HE’S GOT IT IN PAXTON’S MOUTH–

The Bayou Butcher roared in unadulterated pain the moment the steps crashed into his elbow, driving his arm in an unnatural position. He’d rolled around. The damage is immense. Broken? Ligaments shredded? There’s a long time between Colossus and the next ReVival. Maybe by then we will know more.

But in this moment, Jared Sykes, the Dragonslayer, has the chain in the mouth of The Bayou Butcher. This time, with no left arm, Paxton Ray is helpless. Sykes presses his heel into the back of Paxton’s neck. With both of his hands, one more so than the other, he yanks back on the chain, laying back, causing the violent jerk to put all the world’s pressure on the neck of Paxton Ray.

The Bayou Butcher tries to grab at the chain with his right hand, but all his hands can manage to do is to flick against it. Seconds become hours. There is no escape. There’s no oxygen filling his lungs. He’s caught.

Dead.

But his torture of Jared Sykes does not end.

The laughter that bellows from his choking form will haunt him for ages to come.

Nick Stuart: JARED YANKING BACK WITH ALL HE CAN MUSTER!

Blood falls from Paxton’s nostrils. His mouth is a rictus grin. The Dragonslayer jerks back with all he has, wailing. 

Lights out.

Time.

To.

Die.

Nick Stuart: PAXTON RAY HAS GONE LIMP! HE’S GONE LIMP!

Richard Parker: DOES SYKES EVEN KNOW?!

Elvis Nixon watches as Paxton’s body completely shuts down. After being helpless most of the match, he knows now, without question, he can finally exercise some authority. He dives onto the form of Jared Sykes, causing The Dragonslayer to let go. 

Limply, Sykes collapses to the canvas.

The Bayou Butcher’s head falls to the canvas, grinning ear to ear in unconsciousness.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: YOUUUUUUR WINNER…JARED…SYKES!!!!!!!!!

Save Me by Killswitch Engage powers through the Garden.

This moment should be momentous. Confetti should rain down. To win a Colossus Main Event, to have gone through the worst beating of your life, to have slayed this awful dragon? It should carry with it all the pomp and circumstance of one’s wildest dreams.

But for Jared Sykes? All he has, right now, is relief. A broken, beaten, tattered man. Slumping over the top rope after finally managing to get up from the ring. Nick and Richard are in the process of going on and on about what they just witnessed. Perhaps the most hellacious battle in the history of Colossus. 

The final two images we see before we cut to black are the pool of blood Paxton Ray’s head lies in, and the gob of crimson snot Jared Sykes spits at his fallen form.

COLOSSUS NIGHT TWO

NOW OR NEVER

The eyes of Jared Sykes flutter open, face against the dirt. Ears ringing. Vision clouded.

He rolls to his side, fighting back the awful headache. His shining armor blood-stained and dented. 

With a few more blinks, his hearing returns, and his vision focuses. 

And he physically deflates.

The giant. Stomping at the earth, swiping at the defending armies, sending them into the air with screams of horror.

The Dragonslayer takes a breath, clambers to his feet, while “Apocalypse” by Any Given Day offers the soundtrack, pounding away with heavy guitar and beautiful melody.

The camera rushes in, and flies up the giant’s shins. Clinging to its’ left knee, The Anglo Luchador, waving an immaculate sword and howling with glee behind his mask, hacking and slashing with the weapon he’s searched for after all this time 

On the other knee, Tony Gamble, in fancy leather armor, stabbing incessantly with a pair of knives into the giant’s leg meat, cackling all the way.

The giant groans in pain. The camera moves up, finding Coral Avalon clutching at the behemoth’s belt. He swings his sword, cutting at the beast’s loin cloth, and leaps to grab the loose fabric. He swings like Tarzan as the fabric rips, gliding in an arc around its legs.

And what’s that in the sky? Bird? Plane?

No. GREAT SCOTT. Mullet flowing and careening headlong into the monster’s cranium. It knocks the giant off balance, and Cancer clutches to hang on to its shoulder as it tilts. SCOTT then plummets to the ground with an explosive crater of dirt and grass.

From the ground, Dusk hollers to a collection of tired soldiers, shouting orders and pointing to a massive ballista on wooden wheels. “FIRE!” he shouts, the machine launching its payload attached to a long rope, landing deep in the giant’s shoulder and tugging it back.

To his surprise, a second harpoon finds its mark on the other side. Dusk looks across the field to find Lindsay Troy in golden arbor, smirking back at The Lost Soul.

As the monster stumbles back, Vickie Hall screams bloody murder with arms waving to escape the massive feet. Further up on the giant’s oblique, Darin Zion and Jonathan-Christopher Hall frantically hold on for dear life, and hurriedly fashion some sort of explosive. JC Hall slices the skin open with a dagger, and Zion shoves the make-shift bomb inside. They leap away, a contraption unfolding from Zion’s back, forming into a hang glider to float away to safety, JC Hall taking hold as well.

Jared Sykes has made his way to the giant’s chest. He unsheathes a sword, and battles for balance, though an image above gives him pause.

Justine Calvin, flying in with bow and arrow, launches a volley into the behemoth’s chest, peppering it with arrows. She lands on its pectoral, pushes off, and turns 180, shooting another grouping as she floats back. Sykes then, with grit teeth, plunges his blade deep into the giant’s heart.

The bomb explodes. The harpoons pull tight. The fabric wraps fully around the ankles, and the monster falls back with a heavy groan.

Upon the shoulders, Cancer Jiles seethes.

Across, Hayes Hanlon. Stumbling as the giant tips.

Now or never.

He runs forward, charging Jiles with his shield, knocking him loose. They fall through the air, Hayes with his mace swinging overhead, Cancer gripping tight to Hanlon’s pauldron, teeth grit and hissing.

The camera shifts to ground level, the giant’s back falling into it with a thundering crash.

And then the logos.

PRIME.

COLOSSUS.

NIGHT TWO.

NOTHING TO LAUGH ABOUT

With the banner for Colossus as the backdrop, Matt Mills stands across from tonight’s Intense title match contender. Already in his ring gear, Tony Gamble stands alone with no other member of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate in sight.

Matt Mills: We’re moments away from the start of night two of Colossus, live here in Madison Square Garden. My guest here tonight is about to step into the ring with The Anglo Luchador, in a match for the very title The Anglo Luchador won upon his return to PRIME. Ladies and gentlemen, Tony Gamble.

Tony Gamble: I have to say, being a part of the very first Coolossus is really exciting. So far, after last night, it’s been a great replacement for it’s predecessor and I can tell you now that the fun is just going to keep on rolling.

Matt Mills: The name hasn’t changed, that’s just been what Jiles and the Bandits have been calling it.

Tony Gamble: Wrong, but you’ve always been like this so why would I expect anything less. Anyway, we’re here to wrestle not talk semantics.

Matt shakes his head, as Tony continues.

Tony Gamble: So let’s talk about me becoming a two time Intense title champion instead.

Matt Mills: You won the title for the first time back in 2007, in a match against Wade Elliott. It’s been a long time. What makes you believe you can beat a red hot Anglo Luchador here tonight, after the way you’ve been performing in the ring since your return?

Tony Gamble: You know, Matt, for probably once in your life…you’re right. It is easy to look at my record since returning and think I have no chance at winning tonight, but I’ve only really lost against Dusk since UltraViolence and I didn’t even want to be in that match. I actually went out of my way to lose that match, trying every way I could to get disqualified, but Elvis Nixon was only interested in having Dusk win that match cleanly. With Timo calling the match tonight, I’m sure the right man will have his arm raised in victory. 

Matt Mills: In a match like this, he’s really just there to make the count.

Tony Gamble: Exactly, and I trust he’ll do just that when I have Tommy limp and lifeless in the center of the ring. 

Matt Mills: That’s a bold statement. Speaking of bold statements, you’ve been making a lot of waves lately on Jabber with comments to not only The Anglo Luchador, but to Ria and even Nate Colton’s sister Jenny. You’re making quite a few enemies, Tony.

Tony Gamble: Yeah, well, when I first got here that little group was always getting together and I tried to fit in. I asked about meeting up with the rest of the group and hanging out, wanting to get to know them and possibly having a good working relationship. 

He shakes his head.

Tony Gamble: All I got was a cold shoulder or a middle finger from every one of them, so this is what they get now. I no longer give a damn about making friends with those jerks, and if Nate or Ria feel like they want to step in the ring with the champ…tell them to get in line. Nate’s a little boy that is quick to jump the gun and want to fight with anyone that says something he doesn’t agree with, while Ria is so damned confused rehab couldn’t even fix the crap in that head.

Matt Mills: Well that is just uncalled for.

Tony Gamble: Like I said, Matt, I really don’t give a damn anymore. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have a title to take back. 

INTENSE TITLE: THE ANGLO LUCHADOR (C) vs. TONY GAMBLE

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME NIGHT TWO SIGNS BECAUSE OH BOY I AM!

THIS IS A VERY LONG INTERMISSION. WHEN DOES THE NEXT MATCH START? AND WHERE IS EVERYONE?

SANTA SID IS MAKING A LIST, AND POWERBOMBING IT TWICE

DO YOUR PART: ADOPT TAPIOCA PUDDINGS TODAY

COOLOSSUS (sorry he paid me)

COLOSSUS IS MY FAVORITE X-MAN

CANCER JILES IS GETTING COALOSSUS IN HIS STOCKING FOR CHRISTMAS

I NEED A TICKET FOR NIGHT ONE AND A TIME MACHINE

NOBODY TELL SID ABOUT HELEN

HELEN VS. GREAT BEAR BOOK IT YOU COWARDS

HELEN VS. GREAT BEAR IN A SID ON A POLE MATCH

I AIRSHIP TAL AND KEYES

ONE OF ANNA DANIELS’S REALITIES IS PROBABLY HENRY KEYES, RIGHT?

And now, over to Nick and Richard!

Nick Stuart: Welcome everybody to Colossus Night Two! We’re getting right into the action here, and it looks like Tony Gamble is ready for battle. Let’s get it underway!

“You think I’m funny… Funny how?”

The unmistakable voice of Joe Pesci irritates the eardrums right before Metallica’s ‘Better Than You’ begins to blast through the PA System, the calling card of Tony ‘The Grin’ Gamble. He walks out at the same time the music kicks in, passing a quick arrogant glance toward the crowd before making his way toward the ring once the lyrics of the song kick in.

Richard Parker: There he is, Nick, the man who will take The Anglo Luchador’s title!

## I look at you, then you me

Hungry and thirsty are we

Holding the lion’s share

Holding the key

Holding me back ’cause I’m striving to be ##

Footage from Revolution 94 when Gamble locked The Illustrious Face Eater into his ‘Smile For Me’ submission and won the Internet Title plays.

Vince Howard: The following contest is a singles match for the Intense Title. Making his way to the ring, the challenger, from Las Vegas, Nevada. He weighs in at 187 pounds…TONY! THE GRIN! GAAAAAAAMBUUUUULLLLLLLLLL!

## Better than you

Better than you

Better than you

Better than you ##

Tony takes his time walking up the ring steps, staring into the ring for a few seconds with his left hand on the top rope, before ducking between the top and middle rope to step into the ring. Footage from Revolution 106 plays, where Gamble slams Kenjiro Ito face first into the mat with his ‘Stop Laughing At Me’ signature move.

## Lock horns, I push and I strive

Some how I feel more alive

Bury the need for it

Bury the seed

Bury me deep when there’s no will to be ##

Another clip shows, this one from the Great American Nightmare; where Tony Gamble became the Five Star Champion by pinning Chandler Tsonda.

## Better than you

Better than you

Better than you

Better than you ##

Tony stands at the far side of the ring and stares at the ramp, waiting for The Anglo Luchador. 

Vince Howard: and his opponent…

The lights darken except for a spotlight that shines on the PRIMEView. Slowly, a scene from Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas starts up, accompanied by the instrumental outro from “Layla” by Derek and the Dominoes. It’s the scene where all they found all the bodies in the wake of the Lufthansa heist, with Ray Liotta’s voiceover. The scene continues through to its natural conclusion, with the making – and whacking – of Joe Pesci’s Tommy.

TAL Voiceover: You ain’t no goodfella, Wingtips.

With that, smoke billows into the arena, and “Layla” fades into “Oye Como Va.” The PRIMEView shows not The Anglo Luchador’s normal sizzle real of sugar skulls, but of footage of him in the carnage of the deathmatch arena, both in his past and during his Intense Championship reign. A pastiche of spots featuring the Luchador giving – and receiving – punishment from a variety of foes adorns the video screens. Ria Lockhart, Anna Daniels, Dragon Matsumoto, Shoko Nabigata, Pom Shinjoku, Balaam the Mask of Malice, Larry Tact, Jacob Mephisto… all of them make appearances.

Finally, the luchador emerges from the back, belt strapped around his waist, his destroyed “Fighting for Jonathan” shirt wrapped around his forehead as a sweatband, no shirt on. His mask and tights are colored red and black this evening instead of the standard green and purple. Written on his chest in red, unclear whether it’s blood or paint, is a single word, “nopampa,” the Nahuatl word meaning “for me.” He slowly walks the shorter-than-normal path, slapping hands with everyone he can before getting to the ring to meet his destiny for the evening.

Vince Howard: …weighing in at 211 lbs. and hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is the reigning and defending Intense Champion, the Anglo… LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCHADORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!

He hops onto the apron in one bound and stares daggers into Tony Gamble’s eyes.

Nick Stuart: A lot of animosity between these two men, and there’s nothing better to solve it than an Intense Rules match.

Richard Parker: Note the confidence in Tony Gamble, coming out here without the GAS, knowing he can take down The Anglo Luchador on his own.

Nick Stuart: We’ll see about that. Head referee Timo Bolamba calls for the bell, and here we WOAH!

DING DING

RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador not wasting any time! He tackles Gamble and is laying into him with right hands!

Richard Parker: Stop! Tony wasn’t ready!

Nevertheless, Tom is tired of it all. Tired of the attacks, of the verbal sparring, of Tony Gamble’s face,and so he starts his assault there, continuing to punch him in the face. Bolamba grabs at TAL’s arm halfheartedly, but he knows that this isn’t a DQ match and thus doesn’t really have much to control here. 

Eventually TAL tires of the beating and gets off of Gamble, only pausing for a moment before sliding out of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Looks like the intensity is starting early!

Richard Parker: Gamble must have gotten under her skin over these last few weeks.

TAL lifts the apron up and looks around, then grabs a chair.

Richard Parker: A shame there was no sword under there.

Nick Stuart: You know that TAL is not allowed to have a sword.

Sliding the chair in the ring, TAL slides in after it but Gamble is quick to lunge for the chair. TAL, though, steps on his hand before he can get to it, then steps down with all of his force as Gamble screams. TAL picks up the chair, then sends a shot into Gamble’s back.

Nick Stuart: TAL is already ready to do max damage to Tony Gamble, and it’s no surprise given their history over the past few weeks. 

Richard Parker: TAL is just angry at whoever attacked him and is taking it out on Gamble.

Nick Stuart: You can’t possibly believe that.

Richard Parker: That’s the beauty of being a snarky commentator, Nick: I don’t have to believe it.

TAL goes for another swing of the chair, but Gamble rolls away and rolls out of the ring. The fans boo as Gamble collects himself on the outside. The camera is tight on Gamble to catch his head shaking and muttering some words about The Anglo Luchador. 

But you see, this is a tactic that the wrestling industry uses frequently. They act like they’re just interested in getting an up-close shot of Gamble’s face to see his emotions, but what they’re really doing is setting up a surprise shot when they suddenly zoom out and pan over. And what are they zooming out and panning over to?

Why, to The Anglo Luchador running towards the ropes and using the chair as a projectile, flinging it directly into The Grin’s face.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

Gamble flops backwards, his hands immediately going towards his face, as The Anglo Luchador raises his hands like he just threw a game winning touchdown pass.

Nick Stuart: Look at Jalen Hurts there!

Richard Parker: Who is that? Is he here in New York?

Nick Stuart: No, it’s just…Jalen Hurts plays quarterback for the Eagles.

Richard Parker: Okay…

Nick Stuart: And The Anglo Luchador is a fan of the Eagles, being from Philadelphia.

Richard Parker: Right…

Nick Stuart: So when he just threw that chair into Tony’s face, it was like a quarterback making a throw, and I decided to compare him favorably to his favorite team’s quarterback.

Richard Parker: Thanks for explaining. One follow up question: when did the NFL start using chairs instead of footballs?

Nick Stuart: Ugh. Moving on.

Gamble still is on the ground, rolling around in pain. Anglo decides to join him on the outside, sliding out and walking over to The Grin. He lifts him up, then sends him into the ringpost with an Irish whip. Gamble bounces off, causing a satisfying thunk sound, before falling again.

Nick Stuart: The champion is in firm control here, and I think he’s interested in inflicting some more pain!

Indeed, Anglo bends over to pick up the chair and walks towards the slowly rising Gamble. Well, parts of him are rising slowly. But his leg going towards Anglo’s crotch? That’s going pretty quickly. 

Richard Parker: Nard shot!

The Anglo Luchador buckles as Gamble grabs the chair that Tom dropped and crushes it into his skull. Not pausing to gloat, The Grin lifts Anglo up and tosses him onto the announcer’s table.

Richard Parker: No, no, no. It’s the first match of the night. I wore short shorts. I do not want my legs being exposed all night long.

Nick Stuart: I’m looking at you right now, you’re wearing slacks.

Richard Parker: You should be focusing on the match! Here comes Tony!

Tony Gamble comes towards the table, but Anglo quickly kicks up, pushing him back. Anglo scoots off the table, then blasts Gamble with a clothesline. Gamble gets up quickly but Anglo ducks under his arms and grabs him from behind, taking him over in a beautiful dragon suplex.

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador getting back the momentum against the man he calls Wingtips. 

Richard Parker: Can we talk about that for a second? Because that has been bothering the hell out of me.

Nick Stuart: What has?

Richard Parker: Wingtips! What is that nickname? Why is that nickname? How is that nickname?

The Anglo Luchador lifts Gamble up, then throws him into the barricade, causing Gamble to slump against it. 

Nick Stuart: Well, they’re sh…

Richard Parker: Yes, Nick, I know they’re shoes. But why is that a nickname for Tony? Is it because he’s short? Because I don’t really think of wingtip shoes as platform shoes or anything like that. In fact, I don’t see anything about the shoes that correspond to the common Tony Gamble insult points.

Nick Stuart: What do you mean?

The Anglo Luchador approaches Gamble and starts to lay into him with shoulder charges against the barricade. We can’t see it because it isn’t on camera, but Richard just put on reading glasses and a mortarboard.

Richard Parker: If you are going to take a shot at Tony Gamble, there are three things you typically focus on. One, his height. Two, the scar on his face making him look like he’s always smiling. Three, the fact that he has clear mafia ties. So let’s analyze those three when considering the wingtip shoes.

Nick Stuart: Let’s analyze the match instead. Gamble trying to push Anglo off, but he’s unsuccessful, and Anglo just hit him with a big right cross. 

Richard Parker: Fine, you focus on the match, I’ll handle this. We just established that wingtips do not help with your height. Nor do they have much if anything to do with scars on your face.

Gamble is still slumped, his head down. The Anglo Luchador looks behind him, then takes a few steps back. He then starts running at Gamble to tackle him through the barricade. The only problem there is Gamble moves, leaving The Paladin of PRIME to crash through the barricade alone.

Nick Stuart: My God!

Richard Parker: I know, it’s insane! Anyway, that leaves the mafia. And maybe mafia members wear wingtip shoes on occasion. But is it a part of their fashion identity? When I think of mob guys I think of suits or wifebeaters. Not necessarily their footwear. Did I miss the three episode arc in the Sopranos where Paulie and Silvio went on a quest for the perfect wingtip shoes?

Gamble crawls towards the ring while TAL lies on top of the fallen barricade. He digs under the apron, then gets to his knees slowly, holding his prize.

Nick Stuart: Oh no, Gamble has a hammer!

Richard Parker: See, I remember that episode of Sopranos.

As security tries to keep fans from getting too close to the wrestlers, The Anglo Luchador gets to his knees only to be blasted by the hammer. He falls into some chairs in the front row, and Gamble follows him.

Nick Stuart: They’re fighting into the stands!

The struggle to keep fans away is even harder for security at this point, as Gamble lifts up a groggy Luchador. Blood trickles down from the hammer shot, and Gamble goes for another, hitting him on the shoulder as TAL got his arms up. Again the Luchador slumps as Gamble swings again wildly, almost hitting one of the guards. The security guard instinctively swipes at Gamble’s hand, causing the hammer to fly back towards ringside. Gamble is incensed, turning around to scream at the security guard. 

Meanwhile, The Anglo Luchador is trying to find his footing, using one hand to wipe away the blood and the other to find something to grab onto to pull himself up. As he does, he sees a little boy standing near him. The boy is holding out something to him. It takes Tom – and Nick – a few moments to realize what it is.

Nick Stuart: Is that…a plastic sword?

Richard Parker: Doesn’t that kid read the rules?

The sight of it seems to energize The Anglo Luchador as he gets up quickly and grabs the sword from the boy. Gamble finally is tired of his verbal sparring with the security guard, and he turns around just in time to get whacked in the body with the plastic sword. Despite it being plastic, Gamble is bowled over into the chairs. 

Nick Stuart: TAL finally has a sword! 

Richard Parker: It’s not a real sword!

Nick Stuart: It doesn’t matter! The Anglo Luchador has his second wind now!

TAL hits Gamble three times with the sword, causing The Perma-scar Superstar to fall back towards ringside. TAL turns around to hand the sword back to the kid, but doesn’t see him.

Richard Parker: The kid is gone! Do you think…do you think he was a ghost?

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: A ghost of Luchador past, sent to give TAL that sword!

Nick Stuart: …What?

TAL drops the sword and steps over the barricade, once again wiping blood from his face. He pushes Gamble towards the ring and rolls under the ropes, much to the delight of Timo Bolamba. Gamble trudges towards the ring too, bending down for a moment before going into the ring. The Anglo Luchador lunges, but Gamble catches him in the face with…

Nick Stuart: The hammer! Gamble somehow got the hammer again, and he just blasted Anglo! He’s going for a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

TH…

RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHI!

Nick Stuart: The Anglo Luchador kicks out of the first pinfall attempt by either man! This has certainly been Intense!

Richard Parker: Clever.

Gamble slides out of the ring and grabs the chair, then sends it back in. He uses the ringsteps to walk into the ring, then approaches The Anglo Luchador, kicking him in the ribs. He sets the chair up in the middle of the ring, then lifts Anglo to his feet. 

Nick Stuart: Oh no! Gamble looking to hit Stop Laughing At Me onto that chair! That could be it for The Anglo Luchador!

But as Gamble sets him up for it, Anglo out powers Gamble and instead lifts him up for a northern lights suplex, bridging for a cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Gamble kicks out, but TAL is on his feet quickly and takes Gamble over him with snug headlock takeover. He starts to wrench in on the headlock, causing Gamble to grunt in pain. Timo, elated to have something to do, bends down to ask Gamble if this pain is enough to cause him to give up. Gamble starts sputtering things about Timo’s mother and Rhine being confined to a wheelchair, which I guess is his default way of saying no.

Nick Stuart: This match has been as intense as this rivalry, which started when Gamble returned to PRIME, helping Luchador win the Intense Title in the process. Ever since, Gamble has felt that Anglo is holding the belt for him, whereas Anglo believes that his reign has given him more than enough legitimacy as champion. And you have to think that if he can defeat Gamble tonight that will be a feather in his cap.

Richard Parker: That’s why Gamble can’t let that happen. Come on, Tony, escape!

As if he heard him, Tony slips out quickly, and before TAL can react Tony rolls over onto TAL and grabs his arms, then reaches his hand towards TAL’s mouth.

Richard Parker: There we go!

Nick Stuart: SMILE FOR ME! SMILE FOR ME! He’s got Anglo locked in and is now going for the mouth! If this is locked in we’ll have a new champion!

As Gamble goes towards his mouth, his smile widens, feeling victory approach closer and closer. His grin falters, though, as he feels something else. 

The Anglo Luchador’s teeth.

Nick Stuart: He bit him! He bit Gamble’s hand! And now Anglo is able to power out! Both men to their feet, Gamble taking a swipe at Luchador, but he ducks! And here we go!

TAL ducks under Gamble’s legs, lifting him up and grabbing the arms as he falls back…

CRUNCH!!

…directly onto the steel chair. 

Nick Stuart: JAPANESE OCEAN CYCLONE SUPLEX! ONTO THE CHAIR! THE COVER IS IN!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING!

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match, and STILLLL INTENSE CHAMPIONNNNN…THE ANGLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LUUUUUUUUUUUUCHAAADOOOOOOOOOOOORRR!

The Anglo Luchador falls to the ground as Timo gathers the belt, bringing it to its proper owner, the man who has held it for this entire ReVival run. Gamble lays motionless as TAL lifts the title, slumping into the corner as he does so.

Nick Stuart: It was a hard fought battle, and Gamble definitely gave him a challenge, but The Anglo Luchador is still the champion!

KORS KORS KORS! KORS KORS KORS! MICHAEL KOR-RS! (SING THIS IN THE TUNE OF “SHAKE YOUR BOOTY”)

What do you get when you have rapidfire picking of a couple of guitar strings, the sound of crunching double-bass, and the tortured shrieks of an unintelligible lead vocals? Well, you have a noise that’s not too pleasant to the ears. When it’s accompanied by this opening shot, it’s even more disturbing. A gloomy forest in grayscale, similar to ones witches kill in. And then, there’s even more chaos.

Bulldozers! Wrecking balls! Controlled burns! The reel begins to fast forward quick as heck as the spooky woods are decimated, leaving nothing but a lot of dirt in its wake. And then, more trucks begin to pile in. Lumber, concrete steel, and more drywall beyond your wildest drywall fantasies pour onto the space. It is no longer empty, but a thriving example of commerce in action.

The metal cacophony is still going on, for what it’s worth. “YEAAAAAAAAAAARHHHHHHHHHH” says the singer, giving some startling social commentary on the Russian/Ukraine conflict. All the while, we see the fruits of the labor begin to materialize. The grayscale becomes a slightly more colorful filter like sepia. The blacktop is spread next to the long rectangular structures that stretch for almost a quarter mile end-to-end. Signs begin to be placed along the walls. Most intriguing being the giant one at the very front that reads “COASTAL VIRGINIA FACTORY OUTLETS & GRUB COURT,” and upon its finalization, we have finally reached full color and completion of the construction.

We aren’t here to speculate why the proprietor decided to call the concession area a “Grub Court.” Nor does it matter when you are offering a wide array of shopping opportunities to the consumer.

Anyway, thanks to PRIME’s sick fucking drone technology (do NOT edit my bold and underline for “sick” when you post this even if it doesn’t follow the formatting guidelines, it is IMPORTANT for the reader that this be emphasized) we can come to the reason we’re here. And his name is Michael Kors.

No, the fashion mogul is not debuting in PRIME. However, this may be the first time a wrestling vignette has taken place inside one of his outlet stores, and it does introduce three unfamiliar faces right here on Colossus!

The first one we’ll mention seems to be the most normal, despite the fact that he’s wearing a white T-shirt with the original movie poster artwork of Forrest Gump on the front. A real hunk with long black hair, he’s got the typical build of a cruiserweight. A tiny little graphic in the PRIME font reads “Abe Lipshitz” underneath him as he turns slightly to browse an array of womens’ hats and gloves. A real accessory hound, apparently.

Where we start to go a little off the beaten path are the two individuals who stand at arms length of him. The first, a brunette with hair down to the small of her back. The second, a shorter yet more athletically-built woman with jet black hair of equal length. If you thought Abe looked out of place picking out a merlot-colored wool scarf and modeling it for them, guess what?

“Miserèe” is the caption under the brunette, who is clad in a black shirt several sizes too big for her frame and black leather pants. Where the “out of place” really comes in is the fact that she is wearing black and white corpse paint (scary makeup), and the shirt features artwork of a band whose name you cannot read. Also, the shirt has Jesus being brained in the skull with a giant spiked club by a giant demon. Not exactly a Michael Kors patron.

As for the black-haired woman, her name must be “SELMA.” Must be important to be in all caps. Probably because she looks like one of those people that used to jump scare you when a friend sends a video of something that appears to be normal and boring until that horrific scream and the face of death appears at the end. Because there’s no way that’s her real face. It appears as though someone tapped the same makeup artist that used to do Freddy Kreuger’s work, because that’s pretty much what it is but with nicer hair and teeth.

Abe Lipschitz: So, what do ya think?

Abe does a fancy sashay, extending the ends of the scarf and smiling with confidence.

Miserèe: It’s FINE. Can we get out of here now?

Abe Lipschitz: I wasn’t asking you. SELMA…

At this point, it should be noted that when someone speaks her name, they are actually screaming it. It’s just how SELMA prefers to be addressed. Not yelling it could be grounds for her to snap each one of your fingers off individually.

Abe Lipschitz: Eh? Pretty cute, huh? 

SELMA takes a step toward Abe, silently placing her chin under her hand and extending an index finger over her grisled brown cheek. Thinking it over as if it were an important decision. Finally, she grabs the ends of the scarf and crosses her arms, tightening the loop and attempting to choke him out with the winter wear.

Abe Lipschitz: *gheeeeeeeeeeck* does that mean you *GHAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK* like *HEEECAHHHHHHHK* it?

Miserèe taps SELMA on the shoulder. For the eighth time today, it is a gentle reminder that now is not the time to kill him. The burnt sea monsteress releases her grip and takes a step back from the goofy sycophant of the trio. Once he regains his composure, he shakes his head and examines the scarf around his throat one last time.

Abe Lipschitz: Nah. It’s just not the right present for my girlfriend. This might cause an interruption of our sensual chemistry.

Miserèe shoots him a sour look, which is only enhanced by her choice in mascara.

Miserèe: Let me go ahead and remind you of a few things, Schitz. One, she’s not your girlfriend. B, you’ve only ever met her in person once. And four, she accidentally called you Abe Lipstick instead of your actual last name, and you were too scared to correct her.

Abe Lipschitz: Eh, you’re just too jaded to pick up on our obvious sensual chemistry. And yeah, maybe we aren’t exactly ‘dating,’ but this is 2023! There’s no need to define our relationship in today’s modern society! We just have great sensual chemistry!

Instead of giving Abe yet another dirty look, she instead decides to lunge for the scarf and tighten it around his neck, picking up right where SELMA had left off.

Miserèe: STOP SAYING ‘SENSUAL CHEMISTRY’ YOU FUCKING DICK HEAD! And for the record, IT’S NOT 2023!

Before Miserèe is able to end him right in the middle of retail hell, the party is crashed by a Michael Kors salesperson to swoop in like a superhero and save Abe’s life. And for whatever reason, he seems very familiar.

Michael Kors Salesperson: Aye, what ye be searchin’ fer, and how may I navigate ye?

Oh my goodness, it’s Scurvy Jones! Except not in his usual antique getup. That has been replaced with a pair of khaki slacks and a black polo shirt – slightly wrinkled from leaving it in the dryer too long. Apparently, work must be hard to find for a 1600s shiphand that sucks complete ass at wrestling. Yet he is still qualified to sell apparel at discount prices?

SELMA is not too pleased with his appearance, scowling at the rat’s nests that have taken residence on Scurvy’s skull and face. Jones takes note of this and immediately tries to diffuse the heat, doing the one thing he knows best.

Scurvy Jones: May I interest ye in a complimentary tangerine?

Scurvy reaches into his pocket and pulls it out, handing it to her. SELMA grabs it and begins to eat it with the peel still on.

Abe Lipschitz: Scurvy! My man!

Abe raises his hand up for a high-five, but Scurvy is a ghost from a time where those were not yet invented. Even though he’s now working at an outlet store. Not sure what to do, he simply stares at Abe’s hand. Abe is also no help, as he just keeps it extended for about thirty seconds. Thankfully, Miserèe has enough and grabs Scurvy’s wrist, slapping his hand forcefully against Abe’s.

Abe Lipschitz: I sure can use your help. I’m looking for the perfect Christmas gift for a special lady in my life. Got any suggestions?

Scurvy Jones: Aye, I have just the parcel for yer lass, landlubber! Wait until she feasts her eyes on this fair bonnet!

Scurvy retrieves a merlot-colored faux fir trapper hat from off the rack.

Scurvy Jones: The real sell here is these two little fuzzy tufts at the end. And feel that! You can’t even tell it’s not real fur!

No one seems to give a shit that Scurvy Jones had just shattered character by actually highlighting some unique features of the product. Miserèe taps the toe of her boot heel impatiently, and Abe’s eyes are filled with wonder.

Abe Lipschitz: That’s…that’s perfect. What do you think, SELMA? Is my angel going to love this, or what?

SELMA frowns. And frowns some more. Her expressions really don’t offer all that much since the fact that her skin looks like fried chicken kinda detracts from them. But, she raises a fist with her thumb extended perpendicular, waving it up and down.

Surprisingly, she points it up. However, Miserèe is quick to interject before this can be construed as any form of praise from SELMA.

Miserèe: She’s NOT your angel! Ms. Troy is our boss, you dummy! And I’ll be damned to an eternal stay in hell if you’re going to get us fired before we’ve even had the chance to appear on TV!

Abe looks directly at the camera for a second before turning his attention back to her.

Abe Lipschitz: I thought eternal damnation was your dream destination.

Miserèe: The Bermuda Triangle is my dream destination, dimwit. Eternal damnation is where I want to honeymoon.

Scurvy, seeing his opportunity to swoop in, pipes up.

Scurvy Jones: Aye, painted mayflower. If ye be willin’ fer me to escort ye through the deadly waters, I can sail ye there on my…dingy!

Miserèe shoots him a look.

Miserèe: Can I have one of those tangerines, please?

Scurvy obliges. Unfortunately, Miserèe opts to pinch the back of his neck and shove the fruit directly into his mouth to gag him.

Miserèe: We’re done here.

The grim God-hater snatches the hat from Abe’s hands and tosses it to the floor. Before she storms toward the door of the outlet store, she makes sure to step on the hat before her exit. Abe shrugs, looking at Scurvy and SELMA. He mutters under his breath.

Abe Lipschitz: Jeez, you don’t have to be such a bitch about it.

Miserèe: What the FUCK did you just say?

Abe Lipschitz: …nothing.

Abe walks away, leaving both SELMA and Scurvy there in awkward silence. The Norwegian beast looks to make sure they are both out of the line of sight. Once confirmed, she picks up the fur hat, smells it, and puts it over her own head before storming out herself.

♫ I befriended them ♫

♫ Bye bye mom it’s now ♫

♫ Me and My Black Metal Friends! ♫

GREAT SCOTT vs. CORAL AVALON

The lights go out in Madison Square Garden.

Normally, it doesn’t take long for a spotlight to shine down upon a spot on the stage. That doesn’t happen here. Instead, the darkness lasts for a good while, until there’s light shining at a spot just off to the side of the entrance. Three red horizontal lines broke through the darkness, and they seemed to be looking around as though they were attached to a man’s head. 

A voice came out from the darkness.

“RISE UP!”

The spotlight shines down on the man with the three red lights on his face. Some hardcore PRIME fans recognize the mask on sight. Others still murmur in confusion. The black man is noticeably plump for his 5’10” frame, but his black suit, black silken shirt, and blue tie make him look impressive and dignified. After a long pause, he reached up and slowly removed the mask from his face.

It has been fifteen long years since “the Codemaster” Allen Brown’s face – his actual one – was last seen on PRIME television. The Breaker of Kingdom Hearts. The Twilight Prince. The Tethe’allan Rattlesnake. The Hyrulian Hellraiser. He has a lot of nicknames. None of them matter right this second. 

His smile is infectious. In truth, he hadn’t been in front of a crowd like this since Colossus IV. For that fleeting moment, he almost forgets what he’s here to do. But he never stopped entertaining people, even if he does it behind a webcam nowadays. (You can find him most nights on Twitch, by the way.) The Codemaster is never a man that’s shy in front of a microphone and a crowd that suddenly realizes who it is that’s speaking to them.

The Codemaster: BROTHERS! SISTERS! NON-BINARY SIBLINGS ALIKE! RISE UP!

Some fans actually stand up in their seats.

The Codemaster: FRIENDS, ONE AND ALL! RISE UP!

He walks, and as he does, he passes by a spotlight shining down on a second figure. Wearing a suit that matches Codemaster’s, the man is a hulking behemoth standing nearly seven feet tall. His hair is ashen grey, having aged past his prime by now. The man who’d once been the muscle of the Blue Rogues stands with a tall tower shield clasped to his arm. Robert Falk stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For the man that clashed with a giant and lived to tell the tale!

He passes by the next figure. Far shorter than his younger brother, he wears the same suit he and Codemaster do. Age and stress haven’t been too kind to the features of the problematic loudmouth of the Blue Rogues. Neither does the muzzle that Lindsay Troy demanded he put on before he got anywhere near a camera. Regardless, he has his own tower shield. Scott Falk stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For the man never afraid to make all of the enemies!

The next figure almost needs no introduction. For whatever reason, he’s here on stage in front of thousands of people. Like the Falk Brothers, it’d been many an age since this man stood in front of a stadium full of screaming fans. Unlike the Falk Brothers, he’s hardly obscure. Children throughout the building cheer wildly. 

Because of all people, Beef from Mega Job, in his matching suit and shield… stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For our director of fun!

The next figure also needs no introduction. Because where Beef goes, he follows. Children cheer even louder for him as he wears his suit and carrying his shield. El Janito from Mega Job stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For the most resilient man you’ll ever meet!

The next figure is very short. He stands just under four feet tall, yet the sheer menace in his stance could make men cower and women swoon. And though his tower shield is taller than he is, Steve of Mega Job stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For the hippest cat around!

The last figure is a woman. Her brown hair is a match for her half-brother’s, tied into a neat ponytail. She wears a suit that’s the same as the others, but with the added touch of a long red scarf around her neck. She, too, carries a shield at her arm. And while she might not be here on behalf of her nephew, Joe Fontaine, she is here to support her one-time allies in their time of need. Alexandria Malone stands ready.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! For the most undefeated woman in PRIME’s history!

All 1-0 of her.

The Codemaster stops, turns, and walks back the way he came. The spotlights start to go out, one-by-one, as he passes them by. 

The Codemaster: To stand against the storm… RISE UP!

He passes by the members of Mega Job.

The Codemaster: To prove that we still belong… RISE UP!

He passes by the Falk Brothers.

The Codemaster: To let the Blue Rogues ride again, one last time… RISE UP!

And then he stops, right where he started. That’s when you realize that the podium isn’t quite a podium. It’s a stand for his own tower shield, which he lifts up and clasps to his arm.

Darkness.

For several agonizing seconds, there’s nothing but darkness, and silence if not for the murmurs of the crowd. And then the Codemaster breaks that “silence”.

The Codemaster: Now! LET US BEGIN! Together, we shall write the end to this wretched fairy tale! IN INK, BLACK AS DESPAIR!

Light.

The opening, calming notes of Monster Siren’s “Real Me”.

The entryway is flooded with light and smoke. Standing in the center of the stage is an honest-to-goodness phalanx formation, formed by the seven shields of the Blue Rogues. Linked together, the seven shields all made up a single design: the skull with only half of a shattered crown, the symbol of the Crownless King. With the camera viewing the shield wall from the bottom of the ramp to catch the full view of the shield wall, viewers at home couldn’t see behind the wall.

The Codemaster: RISE UP! FOR YOUR CROWNLESS KING ARRIVES!

The guitars of the song ramp up, and the shield wall breaks apart, moving into a circular formation around the man that’d stood behind the shields. He stands with his back to the audience, affording a full view of the back of the patchwork fur cloak he wears to the ring. When Coral Avalon turns, he’s greeted by raucous cheers from a New York crowd that hadn’t yet forgotten the last time he wrestled before them.

He’s taken aback.

Not just as the cheers of the crowd, but of the seven people in front of him, kneeling before the king. As though this part of the entrance isn’t planned.

Two more men step onto the stage behind Avalon. One very obviously carries a battle standard, the same kind that Avalon usually carries with him to the ring. That one is Sid Phillips, who is not here for powerbombs (much to his deep sorrow). The other one, obviously Joe Fontaine, brings with him a long object. A spear, which Avalon takes.

The Blue Rogues part, forming two lines on either side of Coral. Even Mega Job seems solemn in their solidarity towards Avalon as he makes his way to the ring.

Vince Howard: From Seattle, Washington! Weighing in at 214 pounds… he is the CROOOOOWNLESS KING! COOOOOOORAAAALLLL AVALOOOOOOOOON!!!

The large contingent surrounding Avalon fades back to the entrance as Avalon alone makes his way down to ringside. The battle standard, with the logo of PRIME, flew as he marches. When he reaches the ringside area, he stops in front of a pedestal placed at the entrance. Handing his standard off to a pink-haired fan in the front row, Avalon stands in front of the pedestal, taking his spear in both hands and driving it down into an opening within it.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Fireworks shoot out of all four ring posts, explosions all around. This actually startles referee Ashley Barlow a bit. Coral smiles guiltily at her as he leaves the spear in the pedestal and takes the battle standard from the fan at ringside. He accepts a kiss on the cheek from her, and I’m starting to think that’s not just a fan.

Avalon sets the flag in a lean against the post and steps into the ring. Once he’s inside, he finds the hard camera and poses with the usual “two fists together, pinkie and ring fingers out” hand signal for the old Crownless Kingdom.

“Born For Greatness” by Papa Roach begins to blast over the speakers.

GREAT SCOTT emerges from behind the curtain, and…pauses.

Richard Parker: Nick, I just think we ought’a take a moment. To recognize GREAT-ness.

Nick Stuart: To recog…I don’t…sure. Fine.

Richard Parker: Thanks.

Silence.

GREAT SCOTT looks out at the crowd, bangs fists off both his remarkable pecs, and stomps down to the ring. The crowd TURNS UP as GREAT BEAR emerges through the exitway behind his bro, rocking out to some EDM on his sweet Beats by Dre headphones.

Vince Howard: From the Greater Metro Area of Great Falls, Montana! Weighing in at 276 pounds…he is the WORLD’S GREATEST SCOTT…GREAT SCOTT!

GREAT BEAR follows him down to the ring, totally lost in the moment.

Anyway, GREAT SCOTT climbs up into the ring and goes up on all four ring posts as Avalon hangs back and affords him the pageantry. 

Referee Ashley Barlow claps her hands and backs away.

Nick Stuart: As usual, Barlow means business and I think we’re about to be underway!

Richard Parker: ‘Confessional Booth’ time…I love her podcast.

Nick Stuart: Avalon circling the edges as GREAT SCOTT starts to pay attention to where..sorry, what?

Richard Parker: The Bar-Lowdown…she’s really good. Just saying.

Nick Stuart: You never cease to amaze.

Avalon slides under the bottom rope and climbs to his feet. Barlows steps between him and GREAT SCOTT for a moment, calls for the bell, and steps away. 

Nick Stuart: And we’re off!

SCOTT immediately lunges forward, and Avalon ducks under his arms, eyeing the ropes but instead stopping and turning back to SCOTT. SCOTT whips around, executing a picture-perfect ANGRY GLARING.

Nick Stuart: I know SCOTT isn’t always viewed as a mat technician, but his ANGRY GLARING is textbook-clean!

Richard Parker: No arguments there!

SCOTT charges again, and Avalon manages to duck under a second time, stopping quickly and launching a standing side kick between SCOTT’s shoulder blades before he has time to turn around. SCOTT stumbles into the corner, and Avalon dropkicks the back of his left leg, causing it to buckle. SCOTT drops to one knee.

Nick Stuart: Avalon wise to start working the legs early here…

Avalon backs up as SCOTT climbs back to his feet. As SCOTT turns around, Avalon launches in with a flying elbow…

…and SCOTT shoots forward, avoiding the blow and wrapping his arms around the Crownless King’s upper torso. The crowd noise gathers as SCOTT walks with Avalon out of the corner.

Nick Stuart: Uh-oh…

Richard Parker: The Saturday Night SLAM-Master is going to work!

Avalon tries to wriggle free, attempting awkward side-elbow strikes at SCOTT’s head, but SCOTT keeps his head down, takes a last step forward, and plants Avalon on the mat with a POWERSLAM!

Nick Stuart: Avalon has got to avoid GREAT SCOTT’s clutches if he’s going to come out ahead in this one.

SCOTT lifts Avalon off the mat and circles around behind him, locking his arms around Avalon’s waist. He goes to hoist Avalon for a GERMAN SUPLEX, but Avalon hooks his left leg behind SCOTT’s. 

SCOTT tries again, but Avalon’s leg stays hooked.

A third try…and Avalon yanks SCOTT forward and down by the neck with a jawbreaker that pops SCOTT’s head up in a daze. 

Nick Stuart: Avalon’s counters never cease to impress!

Richard: Yeah, love me a good counter, MORE SUPLEXES AND SLAMS, PLEASE!

Avalon steps forward with a European uppercut that keeps SCOTT in a daze, then steps back in the direction of the ropes. SCOTT shakes out the cobwebs and snarls at him, charging forward…

…and Avalon times a drop toe hold that sends him down neck-first onto the second rope. Avalon pops up, grabs the ropes, and springboards himself over the top, dropping down on the outside with an elbow across the back of SCOTT’s head before landing on a crouch on the ringside mat. The crowd roars its approval.

Nick Stuart: Avalon getting them on their feet with the acrobatics here!

Avalon charges with an elbow into the side of SCOTT’s head, and GREAT SCOTT falls back onto the mat. Avalon hops back up onto the mat and begins climbing the ropes. GREAT SCOTT rolls to his knees, still clutching his head, and slaps the mat in frustration.

Nick Stuart: GREAT SCOTT a little frustrated here as Avalon goes up top again…

Avalon is bathed in flashbulbs as he ascends to the top rope, balances for a moment, and springs off with a double-axehandle…

…only to be greeted by a SPEAR from GREAT SCOTT, driving him down into the mat as a collective “OOOOOHHHH!” emanates from the crowd.

SCOTT climbs to his feet, reaching down and lifting Avalon up before wrapping his arms around him and slinging him overhead with a BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX!

Richard Parker: If he hits a certain suplex quota, do we all get tacos or something? I thought I heard that somewhere…

Nick Stuart: If Coral Avalon takes any more mid-air spears to the gut, he certainly won’t be in a position to eat them!

Avalon rolls over slowly, wobbly as he tries to get to his feet near one of the ring corners. GREAT SCOTT takes a step back, then charges him…and Avalon barely dives to the side in time.

SCOTT manages to pump the brakes, bracing against both top ropes that meet the turnbuckle post. Avalon rolls back to his feet and the crowd cheers as they stare each other down in the ring. 

Nick Stuart: They’ve gone back and forth here and the crowd is letting them know they’re into it!

Richard Parker: Was it pizza instead of tacos? Maybe it was free slices if he gets to a certain…

Nick Stuart: Rich!

Richard Parker: Right! Lotta back and forth here, Nick!

SCOTT and Avalon circle each other. SCOTT reaches out to lock up, and Avalon ducks under, attempting to catch him with a neckbreaker…but SCOTT worms out of it, turns, and drives a boot into Avalon’s gut.

Avalon doubles over, and SCOTT wastes no time hoisting the Crownless King up into the air and slamming him back down onto the mat.

Nick Stuart: GREAT SCOTT BOMB!!

Richard Parker: That counts as a suplex!!

SCOTT doesn’t let go of Avalon’s legs, instead pausing only a moment before lifting Avalon back off the mat and planting him a second time.

Nick Stuart: MAKE IT TWO! SCOTT sees an opening and now he’s got Avalon laid out!

GREAT SCOTT looks out at the crowd, gesturing with his arms, his voice audible above the din.

GREAT SCOTT: IT’S OVER, SORRY CARL.

Richard Parker: Carl’s in big trouble, Nick!

Nick Stuart: His name isn’t Carl!

SCOTT picks Avalon up, walks him to the corner, and begins pulling Avalon up the turnbuckles with him as the crowd gets worked into a frenzy.

Nick Stuart: We know where this is going!

Richard Parker: The SCOTTCANRANA is also technically a suplex!

Nick Stuart: LET IT GO, RICH!

SCOTT gets Avalon to the top. He takes a few quick shots, pauses to get positioned…then jumps up, legs wrapping around Avalon’s head as SCOTT flips him downward.

Nick Stuart: SCOTTCANRAN-

Avalon flips through it, landing on his feet behind SCOTT.

Nick Stuart: WAIT! REVERSAL!

Richard Parker: That’s impressive.

Avalon backs up and as SCOTT turns around, this time it’s Avalon who lunges with a Yakuza kick.

Nick Stuart: The Rhongomyniad!

Richard Parker: The what?

Avalon doesn’t miss a beat, dropping SCOTT with his sit-out double underhook piledriver.

Nick Stuart: Excalibur! AVALON WITH THE KING’S ARMAMENTS!

Avalon throws himself over SCOTT and Barlow slides in for the count.

One!

TWO!

THREE!!!

The crowd erupts as Avalon rolls off, pumping a fist in the air in excitement. Outside the ring, GREAT BEAR continues grooving with his Beats By Dre headphones, having missed the ending.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner by pinfall…COOOORRRAAAAAAAAAAAL AVALON!!!

Nick Stuart: Hard-fought contest here with SCOTT getting that opportunity to put it away…but Coral Avalon with the incredible counter and execution and a big win for the Crownless King!

Richard Parker: It was taco pizza. Fifteen suplexes and we all got taco pizza. Dammit. 

COMMERCIAL: ICONIC

KINGS NEVER DIE

Somewhere in the backstage area inside Madison Square Garden, is a room that is dark and menacing. A man appears in the frame of the camera, dressed and ready for his upcoming match.

His final match.

I’ve never quite known what to call you.

LT?

Lindsay?

Lindz?

Mom?

We’ll go with LT. All week, everyone has been asking me why I picked you to be my final match. In addition, everyone has been asking me why we have never been able to find ourselves on the same page.

I might be able to answer one of those questions. The other one… is a bit more complicated. That’s the one that I will start with.

Dusk takes a deep breath in before continuing. 

I’ve always felt protective of you. You never met my late wife, but you look far more like her than I wish to admit. More importantly, though, you two have similar spirits. I was always in the background, ready to protect when need be and she was always the sharp tongue and wit that was always ready for a fight.

Sound like anyone we know?

I guess you could say she was the sword, and I was her shield.

Dusk shifts his position slightly. 

There is no question, LT, that you are the sword. You have always been the sword, and you’ve always been ready to plunge it into anyone that got in your way. That’s why the fans love you. That’s why you’re The Benchmark in PRIME.

For some reason, I thought I had to be the shield, even as you were trying to plunge the aforementioned sword into me. It’s okay; I get it. It took a long time for me to understand it, but I get it now.

Hell, maybe I always understood it.

In this business, everyone wanted to put you down. In an industry full of testosterone-filled assholes, you had to carve your own path. You didn’t want anyone to be your shield because you wanted to carve up the competition in front of you.

LT, you’ve done just that, and your resume more than speaks for itself.

He pauses as he considers what he’s going to say next and when he opens his mouth, he’s contrite.

Too many times, I voiced opinions that you could care less about, and for that, I’m sorry. You didn’t need my opinions. You didn’t need my thoughts. You needed to know that I respected you in and out of that ring.

Well, you had my respect from day one. When I debuted at ReVolution 116, that was the first time I got to see you wrestle. Teaming up with ol’ Sonny Silver against Olsig and Gamble. I watched you wrestle, and it reminded me of the love I have in the ring. You were graceful and not afraid to be in the face of whoever wanted to get in your face.

You battled against Fuck You. You were aptly named Queen of the Ring for a reason.

It’s hard not to want to stand next to you and battle whatever is coming for you.

As I said, you are the Benchmark.

He then looks back into the camera and the red eyes are back, though only for a brief time.

It is that reason why I needed my final match in my career to be against you. Because every time I’ve stepped foot into the ring this year, I wanted to be tested. Look at the list of people I’ve faced this year.

Hayes Hanlon.
Garbage Bag Johnny.
Great Scott.
Phil Atken.
Nate Colton.
Cancer Jiles.
Tony Gamble.
Wade Elliott.
Nova. 

And now you, LT. This year, I wanted to face the very best that PRIME has to offer, past, present, and future. Look at that list again.

Hayes Hanlon may be the next Universal Champion tonight.
Garbage Bag Johnny is a former Dual Halo winner.
Great Scott nearly captured the Five-Star Championship twice.
Phil Atken, former Universal Champion.
Nate Colton, current Five-Star Champion.
Cancer Jiles, current Universal Champion.
Tony Gamble, PRIME Hall of Famer.
Wade Elliott, new inductee into the PRIME Hall of Fame.
Nova, PRIME Hall of Famer.

There never could be anyone else, LT. You were always the Final Boss. I may not have won every one of those matches, but I know I gave every single one of them one of the toughest matches they’ve ever had.

The red eyes are then gone once again, a question never to be answered.

This past year was not about climbing mountains and capturing the Universal Championship. It was about cementing my legacy, about who I am in PRIME, what I’ve meant to PRIME, and there’s only one person who can help ensure that happens.

I needed you on the biggest stage of them all. I needed you to close out my year, to close out my career.

He then takes another deep breath in, steadying himself.

Imagine my surprise, though, after my match with Nova and finding out I’ve been inducted into the PRIME Hall of Fame. Shock can’t even begin to describe the feeling. Because my goal was accomplished, and now I get to face off against the person I respect the most in this business.

Thank you, LT. Thank you for stepping out of your owner’s chair and gracing me with this match. It’s the kindest thing you’ve ever done for me.

Win or lose, this match will be remembered forever. Knowing that I’ve earned your respect means more to me than you will ever know.

Just remember, LT, you may be the Queen of the Ring, but Kings Never Die.

And just like that, The Lost Soul disappears as we cut back ringside to Nick Stuart and Richard Parker for our next match. 

DUSK vs. LINDSAY TROY

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Oh man, this match is going to be a doozy. Lindsay Troy goes one-on-one with Dusk.

Richard Parker: The Lost Soul vs. The Queen of the Ring. He’s been on this journey for quite some time now, but this is about to be Dusk’s final match.

Nick Stuart: That it is and he was ready to retire five months back, but Larry Tact interrupted him. Since then, he’s been on a murderer’s row of competitors to face. Nate Colton and Cancer Jiles, our current Five-Star and Universal Champions–

Richard Parker: Hopefully not for long in Cancer’s case.

Nick Stuart: Before he faced Tact. Then it looked like he was going to hang them up again, but Lindsay Troy had other ideas, wanting him to do one true final farewell tour.

Richard Parker: And then he faced Tony Gamble. Wade Elliott. Nova. And now tonight, Lindsay Troy. Has anyone ever faced four Hall of Famers back-to-back-to-back-to-back like this?

Nick Stuart: You’d have to go through the records book–

Richard Parker: Books? Never mind.

Vince Howard: Introducing first!

Darkness fills Madison Square Garden.

That darkness is then filled with music, an electric guitar strums followed by the sultry voice of Gwen Stefani.

Here to stay
Even when I’m gone
When I close my eyes
Through the passage of time
Kings Never Die 

The guitar continues and then the drums enter. A lone spotlight hits the center of the stage as the voice of Eminem takes over as “Kings Never Die” by Eminem, ft. Gwen Stefani plays through the Garden.

I can hear the drummer drumming
And the trumpets, someone’s tryna summon someone, I know something’s coming
But I’m running from it to be standing at the summit
And plummet, how come it wasn’t what I thought it was, was it
Too good to be true?

The PRIME*View comes to life, providing additional light to those in attendance and watching at home. At first, the PRIME logo is there, and then flames appear underneath it.

Have nothing, get it all but too much of it then lose it again
Did I swallow hallucinogens, ’cause if not, where the hell did it go?
‘Cause here I sit in Lucifer’s den by the dutch oven just choosing to sin
Even if it means I’m selling my soul, just to be the undisputed again
Do whatever I gotta do just to win

The PRIME logo fades away and is then replaced with a montage of clips from Dusk’s career in the ReVolution era, matches against Tony Gamble, Wade Elliott, Devin Shakur, Jason Snow, Tyler Rayne, Chandler Tsonda, Brandon Youngblood, Sonny Silver, High Flyer, and Cozen. 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

 How ’bout that I’m somehow now back to the underdog
But no matter how loud that I bark, this sport is something I never bow-wow’d at
I complain about the game, I shout and I pout, it’s a love-hate
But I found out that I can move a mountain of doubt

More clips continue to play of the Hall of Famer’s career, including matches against Lindsay Troy and Nova from PTC and Legacy of Champions.

‘Cause I been lost tryna think of what I did to get here but I’m not a quitter
Gotta get up, give it all I got or give up
Spit on, shit on, stepped on, but kept going I’m tryna be headstrong

Finally, clips of his time in the ReVival era begin to play, his matches against Bobby Dean, Hayes Hanlon, Garbage Bag Johnny, Teddy Palmer, Phil Atken, Great Scott, Nate Colton, Cancer Jiles, Larry Tact, Tony Gamble, Wade Elliott, and Nova.

‘Cause you’re moving onto the next, but is the respect gone?
‘Cause someone told me that
Kings Never Die

Then, a man appears in the spotlight.

The Lost Soul himself.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

The lights slowly come up inside of Madison Square Garden as Dusk stands there, taking in the cheers from the fans, dressed in his black-and-white striped pants with his name running down the sides of them, and a dark black trenchcoat that grazes the ground.

Don’t give me that sob story liar, don’t preach to the choir
You ain’t never even had to reach in the fire to dig deep
Nobody ever handed me shit in life, not even a flyer
Wouldn’t even take shit into consideration
Obliterate anyone in the way

The Lost Soul then explodes down the ramp and slides under the bottom rope before making his way to the opposite side of the ropes and steps onto the middle turnbuckle and looks out at the fans, many of them on their feet with cameras out and taking pictures of this final moment.

He then moves back to the center of the ring and stands there, looking out at the fans, as the song finishes up.

Here to stay
Even when I’m gone
When I close my eyes
Through the passage of time
Kings Never Die

Vince Howard: Standing at six feet and four inches tall, he weighed in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds. He hails from Los Angeles, California… he is the LOST SOUL! DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUSK!

Nick Stuart: Dusk looks as ready as he’s ever going to be.

Richard Parker: Hope he said a Novena before he walked out here.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

Heavy guitars, drums, and claps blast like a shotgun through Madison Square Garden as the PRIMEates unleash a roar. Cell phone screens and camera flashes light up the hallowed arena and pyro explodes from the stage like cannon fire.

SHOWTIME!

“Legendary” by 7kingZ gets into full swing as the pyro show continues from the stage. Two golden spotlights shine down in the middle of the steel platform and from underneath the stage, a white light shines bright, carrying the Queen of the Ring upward.

The first thing the PRIME Faithful see is the top of a large, ornate, Silver and GOLD~! throne made of title belts and trophies. The second thing they see is the Queen herself, seated confidently on a plush blue cushion, wearing a crown of skulls and blood. Standing to her right is a silver-haired man in a sharp navy military-style suit, an eyepatch over his eye and grinning wickedly.

The third thing they see is a white Bengal tiger sitting on the ground to the Queen’s left, Lindsay lazily stroking its head between its ears.

Nick Stuart: What….what the hell is that?!

Richard Parker: Oh for Christ’s sake, isn’t the bear enough?!?!?!

Vince Howard: And his opponent….from Tampa, Florida…being accompanied to the ring by “The Kraken” Henry Keyes…weighing in at one hundred ninety-five pounds…she is The Benchmark! The Renaissance Woman! YOUR QUEEN OF THE RING…LINNNNDDDDSSSSAAAYYYYY TRRRRROOOOOYYYYYY!

Welcome to the showdown finally, at last
We put the numbers up they don’t lie do the math
It all adds up to this moment in flash
My name carries weight and my respect unmatched
And I got the whole city tatted on my back
We live by will over skill and that’s facts

The Harbinger of War rises from her throne as Helen (the tiger, if you haven’t picked that up by now) lets out a roar. She places the crown on the animal’s head and gives Henry a smirk.  The Hand of the Queen is right by her side and the two make their way down a red velvet staircase in front of the throne together. Behind the throne, two Plague Doctors scamper out to grab ahold of Helen’s leash.

Yeah

From the pavement I paved my way
Just Like a beast broke loose out of a cage
I have no feelings I’m unafraid
You wanna see how a legend is made

Watch

Legend
Legend
Legendary, Legend

Ain’t nobody stoppin me, Legendary
I come ready
I could never be shook, so hold steady
I’m down for whatever necessary
Watch me, watch me
Legendary
It’s Legendary

The two leaders of DEFIANCE’s Vae Victis reach the ring and clasp forearms in a Roman-style handshake. Henry then walks around the right side of the ring and hops the guardrail to stand next to Lindsay’s children, Kaz and Ami, on his left. On his right are the other members of Vae Victis: Sonny Silver, Kerry Kuroyama, Oscar Burns, and the group’s lackey Butcher Victorious. Missing from the group is the Cowboy Colossus, Clay Byrd, who is in Chicago getting ready to bury Christopher America in the Back of the Yards.

Troy hops onto the apron, wipes her feet, and flips herself up and over the top rope. She rolls through to one knee and throws her head back while extending her arms, giving the PRIMEates their well-deserved photo-op. The Queen stands, points to her kids, and then whirls around to face Dusk.

Elvis Nixon looks back and forth between the two, then calls for the bell

DING DING

At the sound of the bell, Dusk inches out of the corner while Lindsay Troy comes out at full speed and connects with two knees to the face of her opponent.

Nick Stuart: QUEEN’S GAMBIT! QUEEN’S GAMBIT!

Richard Parker: It is over! Just as the match got underway, Lindsay Troy has put Dusk on his back and counting stars in his dreams!

Close, Richard, close. Dusk, though, is able to roll out of the ring before Troy manages a pinfall. He rests on one knee, shaking his head, while Lindsay Troy stands in the ring and looks down at the Lost Soul.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay knows how close she came to ending this match.

Richard Parker: So does Dusk and it is all over his face. His retirement match would have been over just like that.

Richard tries to snap his fingers. He is unable to do so though.

Nick Stuart: You still haven’t learned how to do it? How many YouTube videos do I have to send you?

Richard Parker: Look, Nick, if it’s not on TikTok and a thirst trap, don’t bother sending it to me.

Dusk makes his way back up to his feet as Elvis Nixon’s count is up to three. Lindsay inches back, beckoning for ol’ Red Eyes to get back into the ring. Dusk places his hands on his hips, nodding his head while he circles the ring, getting his breath back and making sure he doesn’t walk into another Queen’s Gambit.

Richard Parker: Dusk is looking like he might want to walk back up that ramp and call it a night a bit early.

Nick Stuart: Not on your life.

Richard Parker: Would you want to get back in the ring with Lindsay Troy? The Benchmark? The Queen of the Ring?

Nick Stuart: Are you just going to read off of the nickname section of her website bio?

Richard Parker: Thinking about it!

Dusk makes his way to the ring apron as Nixon gets up to an eight count and slowly steps into the ring. He looks over at Troy and sees a smile on her face. Dusk nods his head again, claps his hands, and looks ready for the match to truly begin.

She inches closer and feigns for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but slips behind Dusk and wraps her arms around his waist. Dusk quickly reaches down, pries apart her fingers, and spins around before slamming his shoulder into her clavicle. Dusk pushes into her, whipping her off the ropes, and goes for a clothesline only for The Pinnacle of PRIME to duck underneath it.

Dusk spins around and narrowly ducks a spinning heel kick off the middle rope. Lindsay lands on her feet, spins around, and is met an overhead belly-to-belly suplex that sends her flying across the ring.

Richard Parker: Nice of Dusk to show up to the match.

Nick Stuart: These two have stepped in the ring, watched each other matches so many times, they know what they’re going to pull off. It’s been five years though for Dusk to have stepped foot inside the ring with Lindsay Troy and her style is a bit… different.

Richard Parker: Different? She nearly broke this man’s face into thirty-seven pieces after the opening bell. Different is not the way to describe it. She’s a born killer in that ring now. She is ruthless and merciless. She is aggressive as all get out.

Nick Stuart: Are you part of her marketing team or something? All of these adjectives, I wasn’t certain if you were describing Lindsay Troy or John Wick.

Lindsay grabs the ropes and pulls herself up to her feet, grabbing at her lower back slightly. She nods her head as this time, Dusk has a smile on his face. Lindsay and Dusk move to the center of the ring where Lindsay lays into Dusk with a stiff forearm. The shot forces him back a few steps and when he goes to fire off a forearm of his own, Troy ducks underneath it, and connects with the point of her left boot into the ribcage of her opponent.

With Dusk doubled over, she takes a few steps back and then connects with a running knee to the side of Dusk’s jaw. Dusk drops to one knee and Lindsay moves in, putting him into a front facelock. She looks for a sweeping DDT, but Dusk manages to block it and connects with a bridging Northern Lights Suplex.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: And Dusk catches Troy by surprise there!

Nick Stuart: I feel like you’re taking my job here, with the whole play-by-play.

Richard Parker: You know, you’re always griping about what I bring to the table here Nick and when I finally do something, you gripe some more. Can you make up your mind?

Nick Stuart: Fine, fine.

Dusk rolls to his knees and pushes up to his feet, dragging Lindsay Troy with him. He pushes her into the corner and whips her across to the opposite corner, her back colliding hard with the turnbuckle. She drops to one knee as Dusk walks over and yanks her up to her feet. She fires off a stiff knife-edge chop, but Dusk follows up with a stiff knee to the midsection and transitions it into a gutwrench suplex in the center of the ring.

Nick Stuart: A bit more bite there from Dusk who just ate that chop from Lindsay Troy.

Richard Parker: You’re starting to see a bit of fire from Dusk, who may have come into this match prepared for a bit friendlier match and is not finding that.

Nick Stuart: Not at all. Troy’s streak at Colossus is unbeaten and she intends to keep it that way.

Dusk drags Troy back up to her feet, goes to whip her into the ropes, but Lindsay reverses it and plants her boot into The Lost Soul’s midsection. She drills him with a forearm that forces him to stumble into the ropes. Troy is on him in a heartbeat and connects with knee after knee to the midsection before whipping him across the ring and as he bounces off the ropes, she connects with a Roaring Elbow that sends Dusk flat onto the mat.

Richard Parker: Dusk better check his teeth after that one. If he doesn’t have dentures already, he definitely will want to invest in some.

Nick Stuart: Why do you have to be like that?

Richard Parker: What, honest? I have journalistic integrity.

Troy reaches down and pulls Dusk up to his feet, slamming another knee into his midsection before pushing him into the corner and climbs up to the second turnbuckle where she begins pelting him with fist after fist to the top of the head.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

While she is assaulting Dusk, with Elvis Nixon counting alongside her, Dusk lifts her up, walks away from the corner, and then drops her jaw first across the top turnbuckle! Troy stumbles backwards into the waiting arms of The Lost Soul who goes for a German Suplex only for Troy to land on her feet. Dusk scrambles back to her feet and ducks under a roundhouse kick before grabbing her and connecting with a German Suplex that folds Troy like an accordion.

Nick Stuart: And Dusk refusing to let Troy build any kind of momentum!

Richard Parker: Troy needs to keep applying that pressure otherwise Dusk is able to hit moves like that German Suplex. That plays right into his hands and that will be a quick end to her Colossus streak.

Nick Stuart: Dusk gets back up to his feet and walks over to LT who is lying on the ring apron. He reaches down and pulls her up to her feet.

He connects with a stiff elbow to the jaw of the challenger. With the ropes in between them, Dusk goes for a suplex to bring her into the ring. LT manages to block it though and lifts him up for a suplex of her own, but he manages to land on the ring apron next to her. She goes for a spinning backhand to him, but he ducks under it and connects with a snapdragon suplex as both competitors land hard on the ring apron and crash to the outside.

Richard Parker: Well, not certain anyone is coming out of that move feeling particularly good if you ask me.

Nick Stuart: Dusk looking to punish LT where he can and willing to put his own body on the line.

Richard Parker: Would you want to put your over-fifty body on the line here? That seems like it’s playing more into Lindsay’s hand than anything.

Both competitors are slow to their feet while Nixon begins his count, making it to three before Dusk manages to get up only for LT to drill him with a shoulder to the midsection. He drops to one knee as she grabs his left wrist and whips him into the ringside barricade. Dusk arches his back in pain, but LT ups the aggression as she then whips him into the ring apron as quickly as she can and follows it up with another into the barricade!

Dusk stumbles away, but she has no intention of letting that happen as she plants an elbow between his shoulders and goes to whip him back into the ring, but he blocks it and slams her head into the ring apron. She stumbles backwards as Dusk slides into the ring, breaking the count from Nixon before he bounces off the ropes and connects with a baseball slide to Troy.

Nick Stuart: Back and forth between both competitors here tonight.

Richard Parker: I don’t think anyone expected any different from these two here tonight. These two are in the Hall of Fame for a reason, very different reasons, but nonetheless, Hall of Fame members.

Nick Stuart: Dusk is now dragging Troy up to her feet and she explodes with an uppercut that snaps his head back. She is fighting back with everything she has and refuses to give Dusk an inch.

She grabs Dusk by the wrist and then whips him into the ring steps, with the Hall of Famer’s knees crashing into them. He flips over the stairs and lands on his back, grimacing as he does. Dusk fights his way back up, feeling the pain coursing through his body, and he turns around he is met with LT flying off the ring steps and connecting with a head scissors that sends him crashing into the barricade.

Troy wastes no time getting back up to her feet and plants her boot into the chest of Dusk. Repeatedly. She then reaches down and rolls him back into the ring. As Dusk makes his way back up this feet, body wracked with pain, Troy climbs up to the top turnbuckle. Dusk turns around and is met with an Asai Moonsault from the Queen of the Ring.

Nick Stuart: What athleticism!

Richard Parker: You know she’s not going to give you a raise just for talking her up on commentary, right?

Nick Stuart: You are such an ass.

Troy explodes back to her feet, drags Dusk back up to his feet, and plants her boot into his midsection. Quickly, Troy puts him into a front face lock, grabs his left leg, and connects with a spinning Fisherman’s Suplex as Nixon slides into the position and begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: And Dusk manages to kick out just in the knick of time.

Nick Stuart: Troy is not afraid to bust out the repitoire and when she starts to build a head of steam like she is right now, it’s going to take a freight train to stop her.

Richard Parker: Dusk is going to have to become that freight train and in a hurry if he doesn’t want to fall too far behind the eight ball.

Troy watches as Dusk pulls himself back up to his feet and grabs his wrist to whip him into the ropes, but he reverses it into a knee to her midsection. With her doubled over, Dusk connects with a gutwrench powerbomb in the center of the ring. Troy rolls around, in pain, while Dusk takes a step back to catch his breath.

LT sits up and The Lost Soul immediately bounces off the ropes and connects with a seated dropkick. Dusk rolls through it and begins to drag LT back up to her feet only to be met with an upkick to the ribs. Dusk doubles over as LT slams her fist to his jaw before making her way up to her feet and connects with a cradle pile driver before rolling Dusk over and going for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: LT has been in fifth gear this entire match and is taking it right to The Lost Soul.

Richard Parker: Dusk might as well pack it in and call this match a night, because he’s digging himself too much of a hole to climb out of.

Nick Stuart: All it takes is one moment, Richard. One moment and the tenor of the match will change just like that.

Richard Parker: Yeah, sure.

LT sits up and looks at Elvis, who confirms it was a two count. She makes her way up to her feet, drags Dusk up with her, and whips him into the ropes. He ducks underneath a clothesline attempt from Troy and as LT turns around, is met with a springboard crossbody from Ol Red Eyes. As they both land on the mat, Dusk rolls through it and gets up to his feet as LT does the same. Dusk mows LT down with a clothesline, but the Queen of the Ring gets back up to her feet and Dusk mows her down with another clothesline.

LT bounces right back up to her feet though and Dusk connects with a hip toss into his left knee. Troy lands on the mat, clutching her back while Dusk bounces off the ropes and connects with a front-flip leg drop across her throat. Dusk, feeling momentum at his back, brings LT back up to her feet and whips her into the ropes before planting her in the middle of the ring with a spine buster.

Nick Stuart: And what a sequence of events there from Dusk.

Richard Parker: Everything Dusk just did, he needed every bit of it to simply give himself enough space to breathe and figure out what’s next.

Nick Stuart: Do you owe Dusk money or something?

Richard Parker: No, but LT signs my checks and you would do well to remember that.

Dusk gets back up to his feet and LT, slowly, does the same. Dusk connects with a knife-edge chop, but LT follows up with a forearm strike that Dusk eats and fires back one of her own. LT uses the momentum to bounce off the ropes and connects with a knee strike to the jaw of her opponent. LT then catches a stunned Dusk with an enziguri that sends him face first into the mat. Troy rolls him over and goes for the cover once again.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Okay, Elvis, I don’t think you’re getting the message.

Nick Stuart: You think Troy wants to win this match by way of Elvis giving her the victory? Come on, that is not how Troy works.

Richard Parker: I mean, I just want to get to the main event that much sooner and watch Hayes Hanlon rip Cancer Jiles apart.

Nick Stuart: We’ve got time for that, Richard, I promise you.

Troy rises to her feet, brings Dusk up with her, and whips him into the corner. Troy then moves to the opposite corner and runs at him, connecting with a cartwheel into a backflip before slamming her elbow across the jaw and throat of The Lost Soul. LT whips Dusk across the ring and goes for it again only for no one to be home. LT stumbles out of the corner and Dusk connects with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex, sending her flying across the ring.

The GOAT makes her way back up to her feet and is met with a stiff kick to the midsection before Dusk puts her into a front face lock and connects with a snap suplex, but holds onto it, rolling LT back onto her knees and back up to her feet before connecting with another snap suplex. Dusk uses his strength to keep it locked in before connecting with a third suplex after pulling Troy back up to her feet.

Nick Stuart: And Dusk shows he’s still got something left in the tank there.

Richard Parker: This is Dusk’s game. Wear you down. There is no question he can still compete in this ring, but at the same rate as everyone else that is competing in title matches this weekend? Definitely not.

Nick Stuart: If Dusk wanted to, he’d still be on the roster in 2023, no doubt about it.

Richard Parker: The owner of PRIME is handing him his ass, are you so sure about that?

Dusk makes his way back up to his feet and Troy is slow to do the same. Dusk grabs Troy’s wrist and she slams her elbow across his face, repeatedly. Dusk goes down to the ground as LT snaps the heel of her boot across his face repeatedly before yanking him back up to his feet. She goes to whip him across the ring, but changes her mind and yanks him back into her before connecting with a knee across his face that sends Dusk to the mat before he rolls out under the bottom rope.

Richard Parker: And I rest my case.

Nick Stuart: Once you get into a striking match with Troy, it becomes very difficult. She is a precision-based striker and she slams everything she has into each one.

Richard Parker: Which Dusk has just been reminded of.

Nick Stuart: And Dusk is starting to sit up and — oh, he is bleeding from a gash above his left eyebrow.

Dusk feels the blood trickling down his face and wipes his right hand across it, seeing the blood as it is pouring out of the wound. He looks up at Troy, who has her eyes locked upon him, and simply shrugs her shoulders.

Immediately, Dusk moves to his feet and slides in under the bottom rope as both wrestlers charge at one another and start trading jabs back and forth at each other at a frenzied pace.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: And the fans inside of Madison Square Garden have just gone crazy! This match, which has seen both of them trade blows back and forth, counter one another, and found themselves largely at a stalemate has ratcheted to a whole new level!

Richard Parker: This is not the battle that Lindsay Troy wants to get into.

And Richard Parker is right. Even though Troy is firing away just as fast Dusk is, Dusk’s power is coming through and even with flecks of blood flying off of his face, he begins to push Troy into the corner where he continues to unload until she is in a seated position in the corner. Dusk runs to the opposite corner, sizes Troy up, and runs full speed before leaping into the air and connecting with a clothesline to the seated opponent, most of his body hanging out of the ring. He moves back into the ring and drags Troy up with him, whips her into the ropes and connects with a back body drop that sends Troy high into the air and flat onto her back.

She moves back to her feet as Dusk bounces off the ropes and connects with a boot across the side of her skull that flips her inside out and onto the mat. Dusk helps her up off the mat and whips her into the ropes before running right after her and clotheslining her to the outside of the ring. Troy crashes hard on the mat before pushing her up to her feet, dazed, but refusing to stay down. She turns back to the ring to see Dusk flying at her with a Tope Suicida. 

Richard Parker: Geez…

Nick Stuart: The sight of his own blood has brought Dusk to the same gear that Lindsay Troy has been at and it’s absolutely brutal! 

Richard Parker: He’s seen his blood plenty of times. This is unnecessary.

Nick Stuart: You know Lindsay will still sign your checks even if you don’t blow sunshine up her butt, right?

Richard Parker: Not taking any chances.

Dusk gets back up to his feet and drags Lindsay up with him, puts her into a front facelock and connects with a snap suplex before pulling her back up, holding onto her the entire time and connects with another snap suplex, this time with Troy’s back colliding with the cold steel stairs!

He leaves her lying there as he climbs onto the ring apron and finally climbs up to the top turnbuckle.

Nick Stuart: Dusk is making his way up to the top turnbuckle and what he is doing?

Richard Parker: He looks like he’s going for a double foot stomp to the prone Troy across the ring steps! Someone stop this maniac!

Nick Stuart: I think Dusk is finally understanding the level at which Troy is willing to play at and just meeting her there.

Richard Parker: This is bad, really bad!

THUMP!

Dusk jumps off the top turnbuckle only for Troy to roll out of the way at the last second, his feet colliding with the steel steps. Troy quickly bounces up to her feet and sweeps the legs out from underneath The Lost Soul, causing him to land with his skull on the top ring step. LT wastes no time as she grabs Dusk, pulls him off the ring steps, and smashes him face first into the ring post. Dusk staggers backwards as LT slides into the ring, flies off the opposite set of ropes, and connects with a baseball slide flying headscissors that sends Dusk flying up the ramp the wrestlers came in on earlier. 

Dusk makes his way up to his feet as Troy runs at him and connects with a running dropkick that sends Dusk flying up the ramp even further. Dusk stumbles back to his feet as the Queen of the Ring rushes at him once again only for Dusk to connect with a blink and you’ll miss it powerslam on the metal ramp. Troy arches her back high as Dusk gets back up to his feet and drags her down the ramp and back into the ring. He begins to climb up on the ring apron and Troy rushes at him and slams her shoulder into his ribcage, which sends Dusk flying off the ring apron and crashes into the barricade. 

Richard Parker: Well, the pace has picked up significantly between these two.

Nick Stuart: These two are still active competitors. Lindsay, while not wrestling in PRIME, is wrestling elsewhere while this is Dusk’s fourteenth match this year in PRIME, tied for the most with four other of the stars in PRIME.

Richard Parker: Do you like write down stats before  the show starts or something?

Nick Stuart: It’s called research, Richard. Try it some time.

Richard Parker: [mocking] Try it sometime. 

Dusk pushes himself off of the barricade and turns around to see LT flying off the top turnbuckle, but Dusk manages to catch her midair and connects with a fallaway slam over the barricade! Thankfully, fans had backed up a bit previously, and have largely cleared the area as Dusk reaches over the barricade and yanks Troy up to her feet only for her to pelt him with a stiff right hand. Dusk retaliates with a stiff headbutt before spinning her around, putting her into a reverse facelock, and lifts her up for a reverse suplex only for LT to land on her feet behind him. She reaches up around the neck of Dusk and brings him down backwards, slamming her knees into his back in the process.

Troy fights back to her feet and drags Dusk with her before rolling him back into the ring. Troy makes her way up to the ring apron and is caught with a forearm to the face from her opponent. The Lost Soul puts her in a front facelock and tries to suplex her into the ring, but Troy blocks it and slams her fist into his ribcage. She then lifts him up for a suplex, but Dusk lands on the ring apron with her. Troy is quick to act as she connects with a high kick to the back of Dusk’s skull that stuns him as he turns around, grabbing his head in the proces. Troy is lightning fast as she leaps onto Dusk’s shoulders and connects with a reverse hurricanrana on the ring apron as both crash  to the floor afterwards.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

TROY! TROY! TROY! TROY! TROY!

Nick Stuart: These two are putting themselves through HELL and these fans are eating it up!

Richard Parker: These two… non-friends, non-enemies… are sure acting like they hate each other.

Nick Stuart: You have to imagine the emotions these two are feeling right now, the YEARS of history between them, and on top of that you have Troy’s streak on the line. This is Dusk’s final match and he wants to go out on top. These two are going to empty the tank and then some to prove themselves here tonight.

Richard Parker: Sorry, what were you saying? I zoned out in the middle of your need to explain the evening to us. 

Both competitors push themselves out, obviously drained, but refusing to let the moment get to them. Troy cracks a knife-edge chop across Dusk’s chest, which Dusk fires back with a stiff forearm. Dusk goes to roll Troy back into the ring only for LT to reverse it and send Dusk back into the ring. The Lost Soul makes his way back up to his feet and narrowly moves out of the way of a springboard flying front-flip neckbreaker from Troy. Dusk spins around and grabs Troy by the wrist before whipping her into the ropes and connects with a pop-up sit-out powerbomb as Elvis slides in and begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: WHOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: That was a close one and Dusk hit ALL of that one. Troy looked shocked at how quickly Dusk pulled that one out as he is reaching down DEEP here.

Richard Parker: She’s the GOAT for a reason, Nick. I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face.

Nick Stuart: These two are PRIME Hall of Famers. They’re both amazing in their own way.

Richard Parker: But there is only one GOAT and Lindsay Troy is IT!

Dusk pushes Troy away from him as he makes his way up to his feet, exhaustion starting to set in on his face. He looks out at the crowd, many of whom are on their feet, watching this back and forth match crescendo before their very eyes. He spins around and is met with the flying front-flip neckbreaker that Troy tried just moments ago! She then crawls over and covers Dusk.

ONE!

TWO!

TH–NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Dusk manages to get his right shoulder at the last possible second. Troy rolls off of Dusk and looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head before sitting up. She pushes her up to her feet and drags Dusk up with her. She slams her knee into his midsection over and over again. She smacks him across the face and then Dusk pushes her back before launching a superkick at her face.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: LIGHTS OUT! LIGHTS OUT!

Richard Parker: Shit…

Nick Stuart: Could that do it?! Did Dusk just put an end to the streak?!

Dusk collapses on the mat as both competitors are laid out in the center of the ring. Elvis checks on both as Dusk begins to crawl over to Troy. Eventually, he manages to drape an arm across her chest as Elvis begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

TH–NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: That time that Dusk spent trying to just gather the energy he needed to crawl over to Troy may have just cost him the match!

Richard Parker: That’s the difference between a GOAT and being a HOF member. Capitalizing on opportunities. As much as these fans may love him, as much as he has put on big match after big match, stood against the best, he’s never been able to capitalize on the moments he needed to in order to win the BIG matches.

Nick Stuart: You are both right and wrong, but at this moment, it cost him a potential victory.

Both competitors lie in the center of the ring, chests heaving, exhaustion washing over them. Twenty-five minutes have passed since the beginning of the match and they have poured everything they have into it. Nixon checks on both competitors, making sure they’re good to continue, but there is no way either of these two are going to bow out of this match.

Not now. 

Dusk slowly sits up and looks at Elvis. He shakes his head and before he can push himself up to his feet, Troy’s arms and legs wrap up around his back and pull him into her before putting him into a Pentagram Choke. 

Nick Stuart: Sacer Esto! This could be it for Dusk! She has got it locked in tight and you can see the tension in her face as she is looking to make Dusk tap out as fast as she possibly can.

Richard Parker: Just tap, Dusk. This is it. 

Dusk furiously looks for a weakness in Troy’s legs as he tries to pry them off of her, but there is no hope as she is like an anaconda, cinching it in tighter as she does. Elvis moves into position and asks him if he wants to give up, but he shakes his head.

He can feel the air tighten in his body, screaming for more of it, screaming for a release. He leans back as Troy tightens her grip and he can feel his grip on reality begin to loosen. He searches for a release, for a way to get an inch of space, but Troy refuses to give him one.

He then leans forward slightly and pushes as hard as he can with his feet, rolling himself onto her and pinning her shoulders to the mat.

ONE!

TWO!

THR– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Dusk managed to move the momentum onto Troy and got her into a pinning predicament, forcing her to break the hold in order to kick out at the last moment possible.

Richard Parker: That was close for BOTH of them.

Nick Stuart: You can feel that these two are looking to end this match and the end could literally come out of nowhere!

Dusk rolls over onto his stomach, gasping for air while Troy gets back up to her feet and punts Dusk in the ribs. The Lost Soul rolls over from the shot, his face in pain, before Troy leans over and drags Dusk up to his feet before grabbing him by the back of the skull before smashing face repeatedly into the top turnbuckle.

THWACK
THWACK
THWACK

She then moves him down to the middle turnbuckle, rinsing and repeating in the process.

THWACK
THWACK
THWACK

LT then yanks Dusk back up and tries to lift Dusk up onto the top turnbuckle, but Dusk blocks it and slams his elbow into her jaw. He spins around and tosses LT into the corner before lighting her up with fist after fist into her abdomen before whipping her across the ring to the opposite corner. He then runs full speed at her and connects with a boot to the jaw. The Queen of the Ring stumbles out of the corners as Dusk bounces off the ropes and connects with a running legdrop to the back of LT’s neck, driving her to the ground. 

Richard Parker: These two are just going to destroy each other.

Nick Stuart: You might be right. 

Dusk begins to make his way up to feet and reaches down to grab LT when she pulls him into a small package.

ONE!

TWO!

THR–NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Almost! Come on Elvis, slide in quicker!

Nick Stuart: Do you want him to have telepathy?

Richard Parker: Yes, yes I would.

Nick Stuart: He would carve his eyes out if he read your thoughts.

Richard Parker: Look, I went to ten years of sensitivity treatment! I’m good now.

Nick Stuart: Sure…

Lindsay sits up and as she does, Dusk grabs her and puts her into an Gogoplata!

Nick Stuart: Out of nowhere!

Richard Parker: Shit!

Lindsay flails, trying to fight Dusk off of her, to relieve the pressure and slams her fist into the side of him repeatedly, but Dusk refuses to let go. The dried blood on his face cracks as he increases the tension on her and the movement in Troy gradually slows down. 

TROY! TROY! TROY! TROY!

The fans rally behind Troy as she fades further and further. Nixon grabs Troy’s arm and lifts, watching as it drops.

ONE!

Richard Parker: Oh, this is not how the streak ends.

Nick Stuart: It just might.

Nixon raises it again and watches as it falls once again.

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Troy looks out of it.

Richard Parker: I can’t believe this.

Nixon raises it for the third and final time and watches as it falls once again.

THRE–

And then her arm shoots up.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: OH THANK GOODNESS!

Nick Stuart: And Troy is dragging Dusk towards the ropes and places her boot on the ropes! 

Dusk immediately breaks the hold and walks over to Troy, looking to bring her up to her feet only for her to wrap her hands around the back of his neck and dropping him jaw first on the crown of her head! Dusk stumbles backwards, trying to shake the effects off and turns around only to be met with a Queen’s Gambit!

Richard Parker: YES! YES! THIS MATCH IS OVER!

Nick Stuart: Oh man, Troy got all of that one!

With Dusk flat on his back, Troy goes for the cover!

ONE!

…

TWO!

…

…

…

THRE– NO!

Nick Stuart: That was 2.999999999999! His shoulder shot up right as Nixon’s hand was about to hit the mat!

Richard Parker: There’s no way, that was three!

Lindsay Troy too believes it was three and sits up, looking at Elvis with disbelief. He confirms it was a two count as Dusk lies there, barely moving. Troy looks around at the MSG crowd, everyone on their feet at this point, in shock and disbelief as well.

She moves back to her feet and grabs Dusk in the process, goes for a forearm smash, but Dusk ducks underneath it, does a standing switch and connects with a German Suplex, locking his arms around her waist.

Nick Stuart: Where is he getting this from?!

Richard Parker: Where are either of these two getting ANYTHING?

Nick Stuart: And Dusk is pulling Troy back up and connects with a second German Suplex.

Richard Parker: No, no more.

And Dusk fights his way back up to his feet, bringing LT up with him and connects with a third rolling German Suplex! Dusk breaks his grasp on her and pulls himself up to his feet, motioning for Troy to get to her feet. She is slow to do so, dazed, and as she stands up, Dusk puts her back down with a superkick.

Richard Parker: [groans] No…

Nick Stuart: He got all of the Lights Out and he is going for the cover!

ONE!

…

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

THRE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: SHE KICKED OUT! SHE KICKED OUT! SHE KICKED OUT!

Nick Stuart: That looked like it was over for Lindsay Troy, that her streak was about to be broken, but she somehow found the will to kickout just in the knick of time! I don’t know how, but she did!

Dusk wastes no time as he gets up to his feet and drags Troy up with him. He whips her into the ropes and goes for a clothesline, but Troy ducks under it and flies off the opposite set of ropes. Dusk spins around and is met with two knees to the face once again.

Richard Parker: ANOTHER QUEEN’s GAMBIT! DUSK WILL NEED RECONSTRUCTIVE SURGERY AFTER THIS MATCH!

Nick Stuart: Calm down over there, you are screaming in my ear. 

Troy walks over to Dusk and begins to pull him up to his feet. She goes to kick him in the midsection, but Dusk falls down onto the mat.

Nick Stuart: Oh, that’s not good.

Richard Parker: You wouldn’t feel good if you’ve been in a war with Lindsay Troy.

Troy looks over at Elvis who walks over to Dusk, but Dusk waves him away. Dusk tries to pull himself up again, but his legs give out from him again and he falls into the corner of the ring.

Lindsay walks over to Dusk and kneels down.

Lindsay Troy: Craig–

Dusk: Do it, Lindsay. Just do it.

Lindsay Troy: You can’t stand. It’s okay.

Dusk: DO! IT! Finish me!

Lindsay looks over at Nixon, who looks unsure of what to do. She then looks back at Dusk who is fighting his way back up to his feet.

DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!

Dusk: Do it, LT. 

Lindsay sighs before planting her boot into his midsection and pauses as she puts him into the position for the package piledriver.

Then does what she has to do. Because she always has.

Nick Stuart: THY KINGDOM COME!

Richard Parker: And that should do it.

Nick Stuart: You never know with these two.

Lindsay looks down at Dusk, who is motionless in the middle of the ring. There is a tinge of sadness as she drops down and hooks both of Dusk’s legs.

ONE!

…

…

…

…

TWO!

…

…

…

…

THREE!

DING DING DING!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: Your winner… LINDSAY! TROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOY!

Lindsay rolls off of Dusk and rises to her feet with Elvis raising her arm in victory. She then sits back down next to Dusk and looks over at him, leaning over, and whispering in his ear as he starts to sit up. She pauses and whispers a bit more in his ear before they look at each other and he nods his head. 

LT makes her way up to her feet and helps Dusk up as well. The two embrace in the middle of the ring, tears streaming down Dusk’s face as he does.

She then raises Dusk’s hand.

Nick Stuart: What a sign of respect from Lindsay Troy.

Richard Parker: And these fans are on their feet, applauding the amazing victory from Lindsay Troy, the amazing effort both of these Hall of Famers put on here tonight, and saying their final farewells to Dusk.

Nick Stuart: Just a phenomenal match from beginning to end and I’m not sure how either of these two are standing.

Troy takes one more look at Dusk, smiles, and exits out of the ring as Dusk points at her and claps, acknowledging the GOAT of PRIME.

Nick Stuart: Lindsay Troy keeps her streak intact at Colossus and that might be her final match in PRIME as well, though you never know.

Richard Parker: You never truly know.

Troy waves at the crowd and makes her way up the ramp, disappearing backstage to get changed and return to her Owner role. Meanwhile, Dusk stands in the ring and waves at the fans. 

THANK! YOU! DUSK!
THANK! YOU! DUSK!
THANK! YOU! DUSK!

Dusk nods his head, thanking them as he walks around the ring, soaking in the moment. He then sits down and undoes his wrestling boots. He takes one off at a time and places them in the center of the ring. He then stands up and takes off each one of his gloves before placing them on top of the wrestling boots.

Nick Stuart: A moving moment here in Madison Square Garden. 

Richard Parker: You don’t normally get to see a true retirement, knowing you’ve witnessed the final match of someone.

He walks around the ring as the fans continue to chant his name, shaking his head in the process. Dusk then exits the ring and finds his family sitting in the front and walks over to them, hugging his daughter and granddaughter specifically. 

Dusk makes his way up the ramp and then pauses at the top of the ramp before looking out at the fans. He waves and says thank you.

The Lost Soul then disappears backstage, one last time. 

COMMERCIAL: PRIME 2022 HALL OF FAME

PLUS ONE MORE TO BE ANNOUNCED ON PWA RADIO ON DECEMBER 23RD(ISH)

FUNERAL PROCESSION

There’s nothing extravagant about what we see when the camera fades into a shot of the backstage area. Just a woman dressed to fight, her half of the PRIME Tag Team championships, and a wall. There’s not even an interviewer, because sometimes simple is best. and when your partner is Jared Sykes, simple is also exceedingly rare.

Justine Calvin paces a slow path as the camera follows. Her jaw is set. Her eyes are focused. She looks like a woman with a mission who’s hellbent on seeing it through to completion. When she speaks, there’s an intensity to her words that’s been thus far caged over the course of her time in PRIME.

Justine Calvin: I’m having a little trouble finding the words right now, but I guess that’s to be expected. How does somebody process the last twenty-four hours? Hell, how does somebody process the last three months? I have tried, and tried, and tried to wrap my head around it, but do you know what I’ve come up with? Nothing.

She adjusts the title belt that’s slung over her shoulder. In a few minutes, she’ll defend it for a fourth time. If she’s successful, she sets a new record. This fact, among everything else that the weekend has thrown her way, is not lost on her.

Justine Calvin: Maybe I’m overcomplicating it. Maybe, I dunno, maybe I’m giving people too much credit when I try to find a reason for anything that goes on here aside from someone being completely fucking unhinged. I used to look at people like Vickie, like Jonathan-Christopher, and I would think, damn, whatever their issue is I hope they get through it. I hope they figure their shit out. I used to feel bad, because they seemed to care so much about their “Hallmark journey”. Even when you take into account how insufferable they seemed, I used to want them to succeed.

She pauses, stares directly into the camera, and cocks her head slightly.

Justine Calvin: I used to.

She starts pacing again.

Justine Calvin: Then things got really interesting, didn’t they? The Love Convoy came barreling back into PRIME like it was driven by a drunk who could barely reach the pedals. Jared and I? Yeah, we got run over and left for dead in a ditch on the side of the road.

She glances over her shoulder at the camera and offers a wicked grin.

Justine Calvin: Problem is, you didn’t bother to check for a pulse before you rode off.

The belt is off her shoulder now, set off to the side so she can once again address the audience directly.

Justine Calvin: So now we’re here, and yeah, things aren’t great. My partner, my friend, one of the people I care most about in this fucking world might as well be a corpse right now. Is he in any condition to wrestle? Fuck. No. Is he going to do it anyway? You’re goddamn right he is. You want to talk about commitment? You want to talk about what it means to be an “amazing life partner?” Well take a good, long look, because this is what that looks like. And, I really hate to be the one to break it to you, but the unfortunate truth, you incel asshats, is there are some people you just can’t kill. Sorry, but you found a couple of us.

She shrugs for the camera as if she actually is sorry. Spoiler alert: she’s not. Not even a little.

Justine Calvin: The truth is that no matter the condition, tonight you’re stepping into the ring with the best fucking tag team this company has ever seen. Tonight, you’ve been called into the court of the Kings, and we’ve issued a decree to carry out your execution.

Justine raises a single finger from a heavily-taped hand and beckons the camera closer, almost as if she’s got a secret to share.

Justine Calvin: Tonight… the Love Convoy turns into a funeral procession.

A beat.

Justine Calvin: And when it’s all over?

She brings both hands up, loosening her wrists and cracking her knuckles. The grin is back, wicked and sinister.

Justine Calvin: We’ll see how I feel then.

Darkness.

TAG TEAM TITLES: KINGS OF POPSICLES (C) vs. 2BECOME1

We return to ringside in the middle of Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party”. That’s not the theme music of 2Become1 OR our PRIME Tag Team champions, but of the Winds of Change. The camera is in full view of the announcer’s desk at ringside, where Joe has saddled up next to Richard Parker – much to Parker’s discomfort. Next to Nick Stuart, Sid Phillips is busy figuring out which end of the headset is the correct one.

Nick Stuart: This is a bit unusual, but the Winds of Change have joined us at ringside for this tag team championship match.

Richard Parker: Why.

Joe puts an arm around Richard Parker’s shoulders in a friendly manner, and the look on the Hall of Fame color commentator’s face as he does so could be enshrined in the Lindsay Troy Memorial Hall of Disapproving Looks.

Never mind the fact that Lindsay Troy is very much still alive and doesn’t need a memorial building of anything.

Joe Fontaine: Richie! Old buddy, old pal, how’ve you been?

Richard Parker: Why.

Joe Fontaine: Me? I’m doing great. Better than I’ve ever been. And you know why? Because I get to share this experience with you!

Richard turns pleadingly to Nick for moral support, but Nick has his attention turned to Sid.

Nick Stuart: So, what brings you two out here?

Sid has popcorn, and he’s loudly munching into the microphone despite all of the production assistants backstage complaining into his headset about how loud he’s being. He turns to Nick with his eyebrow raised.

Sid Phillips: I’m just here to see some powerbombs, Nicholas.

Nick Stuart doesn’t say anything back to Sid, but he mouths the name “Nicholas” in utter confusion a few times before he turns his attention back to the camera pointed at him.

Nick Stuart: Folks! We are just moments away from a huge grudge match for the tag team championships! We hadn’t heard from the Halls in months after a series of disastrous set of circumstances following Culture Shock earlier this year, but they exploded back on the scene in a big way at ReVival 16.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, by ruining chocolate for a lot of us, which is something only monsters do.

Nick Stuart: And as well all know, Jared Sykes just went through a war with Paxton Ray last night in an unsanctioned bloodsport of a match, the likes of which we hopefully will never see again.

Nick Stuart: Well after everything that’s been said and done to the King of Popsicles, KBB and Justine will FINALLY get their hands on Jonathan-Christopher Hall and Darin Zion, legally. I am looking forward to this, they should absolutely shred them!

The scene switches to ringside and Vince Howard.

Vince Howard: This match is for the PRIME Tag Team Championships! Introducing first, the challengers…

Lights out.

Richard Parker: I can’t see a thing!

BOOM.

Pink pyro explodes from the rampway after a good thirty seconds of a black out before the house lights come back on. There’s a DJ mix board off to the right side of the entrance and a man dressed in all black with a black hoodie standing behind it.

Cue “Another Night” by Real McCoy.

♫ AHH! AHH! ♫
♫ AHH! AHH! ♫
♫ AHH! AHH! ♫

A woman struts out dressed in a hot pink wedding gown with a wedding veil so big and obnoxious you can’t see the person’s face… but it’s clear she’s holding a mic in her left hand underneath the veil. She begins to SCREAM a high pitch, nails on the chalkboard like cry, singing the lyrics to Real McCoy’s theme song, albeit with her own personal twist.

PRETTY PINK CORPSE BRIDE:
♫ ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER DREAM, BUT NOT KING BLUE!!!!
IT’S LIKE A VISION OF LOVE, AND FUCK LINDSAY, TOO!!!!
ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER DREAM, BUT NOT KING BLUE!!!!
IN THE NIGHT, I DREAM OF LOVE SO TRUE!!!! ♫

Nick Stuart: Good god almighty, I can’t listen to another minute of th-

Richard Parker: SHHHHH this is AMAZING!

As the beat and the song powers on, ten Chippendale dancers emerge from the Colossus entrance. They are dressed in EXTREMELY tight revealing black pants, topless, with bow ties around their necks. Every one of them are very muscular, perhaps too muscular. They break off, five and five, to the left and right side of the Pretty Pink Corpse Bride, linking arms with her and throwing their feet in the air as they dance and shift from right to left and then left to right. The man behind the DJ table takes over yelling the next set of lyrics into the headset, in the most horrific, off-beat, wannabe gangster rap possible.

DJ TRISTY-CRISPY:
♫ JUST ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER VISION OF REAL LOVE!!!!
YOU FEEL JOY, WE ALL REIGN, ‘CAUSE PRIME WON’T BE THE SAME!!!!
JUST ANOTHER NIGHT, IS ALL THAT IT TAKES!!!!
TO UNDERSTAND, THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HALLMARKS AND FAKES!!!! ♫