ReVival 24

PALE BLUE BASTARDS

Only two things come from Texas…

…nevermind. We’re not doing that.

(One of them is definitely not NFL Playoff victories.)

Anyway, the scene opens up following the broad back of one dark-haired gentleman. Duffel bag over shoulder. Black dress shirt. The camera pans around.

You already know.

No smile behind that remarkable mustache. There hasn’t been one since ReVival 22. But there’s no lack of fire in the Event Horizon’s eyes. There’s still work to do.

No match tonight, but so many questions from the PRIME faithful! What antics will Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan get into here at the Toyota Center? Will Hayes and Sykes FINALLY kiss? 

And what of our Universal Champion?

Rumors swirled during the week that the Escape Artist would no-show ReVival 24. Will he make such a brash decision? Will he deny the PRIMEates their taunts and jeers? WHO KNOWS WHERE HE COULD POSSIBLY…

…

Oh, there he is.

Rezin: Hayes…

Rezin appears suddenly and unexpectedly from the VOID, a soiled sack slung over his shoulder, a muscle-cut D.R.I. shirt over his torso. The outline of what is clearly a championship belt–THE championship–can clearly be seen poking through the burlap fabric.

…that’s Dirty Rotten Imbeciles, the crossover thrash band. From Houston? You know, the city where–you know what? Nevermind…

Hayes Hanlon: …what do you want, Rezin?

The Event Horizon narrows his eyes, and slowly slides his duffel bag off his shoulder to the ground, squaring up and ready for anything that his rival may bring. That is, until…

Rezin: …here.

The Goat Bastard has with him a box wrapped in newspapers, which he hands over to Home Run Hanlon.

Hayes, naturally, cocks and eyebrow, and takes the box cautiously.

Hayes Hanlon: This isn’t gonna explode and cover me in black ooze or something, is it?

Rezin: (scratching at his head uncomfortably) It’s uhh… it’s my DVD set of Cosmos. The original one.

Hayes turns the box over in his hands, obviously confused.

Hayes Hanlon: Um…thanks. I guess?

Rezin: LOOK, MAN! I’ll admit, I ain’t great at this “showin’ one’s appreciation” shit! Just take the stupid DVDs, and let’s call it even, COOL?! I mean, truth be told, I think ya shoulda just left me to DROP a coupla weeks ago…

The Universal Champ shifts uncomfortably, roughing up his own hair to deflect. Hayes remains poised, and confused.

Rezin: Still… if ya hadn’t broken my fall, I prolly wouldn’t even have the chance to be here tonight and fire up that ring! It’s that reason AND THAT REASON ONLY why I ain’t kickin’ your… admittedly unabashedly handsome face in!

A snort from Hanlon, and a chuckle.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t get it twisted, Erik. I had my own reasons to break your fall.

Hanlon inches forward, and pushes the newspaper-wrapped box into Rezin’s chest.

Hayes Hanlon: And that’s because I want you 100% when I kick your face in.

The Escape Artist growls through his wiry beard, while the Event Horizon nods in return.

Hayes Hanlon: (tumbling the box in his hand.) But uh, thanks for the gift. I’ll…see if they still sell DVD players on Amazon or something…

Rezin: You’re in for a TREAT! There ain’t ANYBODY who can talk ya through the majesty of a BLACK HOLE like the soft, lilting voice of Carl Sagan!

Hayes Hanlon: …Carl Sagan?

First, Rezin’s eye twitches. Then his whole face contorts. Soon, his entire body is tremoring with bubbling rage that takes every fiber of his being to try and suppress. 

“Carl Sagan?!” Did he seriously just say that?! One might as well ask, “Who is Werner Herzog!?”

Rezin: …rrrrrrrrrRRRRRRR–JUST STAY OUTTA MY FACE TONIGHT… HHHAAAYYYYEEESSS HHHAAANNNNLLOOOOONNN!!

The Escape Artist re-slings the sack to the other shoulder and wanders off. Hayes cranes his neck, then calls out after him.

Hayes Hanlon: Hey, is that Ivan?

Rezin stops dead in his tracks, his wide, bloodshot eyes somehow growing wider and twitching erratically.

Rezin: aaaaAAWWW SSHEEEEIIIITTTT!!!

Dropping the sack, the Escape Artist does what the Escape Artist does, pivoting around wildly before b-lining for a nearby dumpster, leaping in head first, various emptied cups and plastic containers shooting into the air. 

Home Run Hayes grins to himself before getting back on track toward the Toyota Center, and takes one last look at the newspaper-wrapped box in his hand.

Hayes Hanlon: …seriously, who the hell is Carl Sagan?

MIKE MCGEE VS. TONY GAMBLE

Hi hello it’s ReVival 24 here are some signs!

I’M HERE TO SEE THE LOVE COMPANY

BUCKY VS. MAGIC DUCK
BOOK IT, YOU COWARDS

REAL WRESTLING RETURNS TO HOUSTON

SYKES + YOUNGBLOOD = TEAM MANLY THICC

REZIN + COLTON = METH BACON

FINALLY REAL SEGMENTS RETURN TO HOUSTON

WHERE CAN I GET A LION BLING SHIRT, ABE?!

TOXIC HELL BANSHEE

FOR 25% OFF AT ANN TAYLOR LOFTS USE THIS QR CODE

WORK PANTS: A VACATION FOR MY LEGS

WARBY PARKER DAVIDSON

JACE READ THE SMALLEST LINE

E
F P
T O Z
L P E D
P E C F D
E D F C Z P

I AM IN THE GORILLA

GORILLA BUTT STUFF

SYKES + YOUNGBLOOD = LUMPY DUMPTY

DOG COURT

I THINK I PIED A LITTLE

I BET BRIAN WON’T SEE THIS SIGN

Wasn’t that fun? Let’s go to Nick and Richard at the commentation station!

Nick Stuart: For our opening contest, we have Tony Gamble taking on Mike McGee.

Richard Parker: This is Tony’s moment, Nick! I can just feel it.

Before we get to his moment, let’s get to his opponent.

“Bright Future in Sales” by Fountains of Wayne plays and the PRIMEView shows a lot of different spreadsheets with formulas and TPS forms. McGee walks to the ring in a “business casual” singlet – double hooked and made to look like a collard shirt and slacks. 

Vince Howard: Our opening contest is for one fall! Making his way to the ring, from Maplewood, New Jersey…MIKE! MCGEEEEEEEEEEEE!

McGee sneers at fans and gives out warnings as he waits for his opponent. 

“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.

## 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.

## 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 ##

Gamble saunters towards Ashley Barlow as the referee gives Tony some last minute warnings before the match.

DING DING!

Nick Stuart: And here we – oh wow, McGee charging right at Gamble!

Richard Parker: May as well be holding a sign saying “Drop toe hold me, please!”

Indeed, that’s what happens as Gamble immediately drops down, causing the charging McGee to fall. Gamble doesn’t press his advantage, he merely stands up and holds his hands high, causing the fans to boo.

Nick Stuart: No love lost between the fans and either competitor, Richard. Who are the fans going to get behind when the match starts rolling, do you think?

Richard Parker: Me, of course.

Nick Stuart: What do you – oh, okay.

Richard Parker stands up on the table and starts to pump his fist. The fans around the desk begin to cheer wildly. Tony Gamble looks over and, mistaking the action for support, bows in their direction.

Richard Parker: Give back that bow, Tony! Those were my cheers!

The bow has distracted Tony enough to give McGee time to react, and he turns Tony around and sends a kick to the midsection, then lifts Gamble up in a Gourdbuster, then goes for a quick cover.

ONE!

TW…

Nick Stuart: Kickout by Gamble. Both men having focus issues early on, they’ll both need to commit themselves mentally to get the win tonight.

Richard Parker: Even though I’m mad at him for stealing my cheers, Tony has to be the winner tonight. He’s had a rough stretch but McGee still hasn’t gotten a win in PRIME. Perfect get-right match.

Nick Stuart: Or it could be a trap, Richard, as McGee lifts Gamble up and hits him with a vertical suplex!

McGee quickly bounds on gamble and grabs his ankle, trying to lock in the ankle lock. However, before he can, Gamble grabs the ropes and uses his other foot to kick McGee off. McGee stumbles backwards and it gives Tony Gamble just enough time to…slide under the ropes and walk around the ring.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble doesn’t appear to be too eager to get back in the ring.

Richard Parker: I wouldn’t either, have you seen that weirdo on jabber? I think he may actually be possessed by demons.

McGee is walking to where Gamble is pacing, grabbing the ropes and shaking them. He starts shouting at the top of his lungs, causing Gamble to take a few steps back. Then, Gamble starts to circle the ring again. Ashley Barlow begins the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Gamble looks at Barlow, walks to the apron, puts on leg on it, and then pushes himself off, smiling. Barlow doesn’t change her expression as she continues to count.

THREE!

FOUR!

Nick Stuart: Tony Gamble better decide he wants to be a part of this match, or Mike McGee is going to get his first victory!

Richard Parker: Kind of a cheap way to get it, but I’m sure he won’t be complaining.

Gamble shows very little interest in actually getting back in the ring. Barlow shouts between counts, but he is not swayed. 

FIVE!

SIX!

As the count nears ten, Tony appears to change his mind, walking towards the ring. McGee sees this and decides to strike, dashing towards the ropes and sliding in a baseball tackle…

That completely misses Gamble as he moves, then clubs McGee back in the head.

Nick Stuart: That’s what Gamble wanted all along, to bring this fight on the outside!

Richard Parker: Tony Gamble was close to being the Intense Champion at Colossus, Nick! He feels more comfortable outside of the ring.

Barlow restarts her count.

ONE!

TWO!

Tony lifts McGee up, then pushes him against the apron. As McGee’s arms open, Gamble slaps his exposed chest, creating a sound that can be heard all the way through the arena. He delivers another, then another, and then grabs McGee’s head and tosses him into the barricade. Before McGee can even try to get up, Gamble quickly gets him to his feet and throws him into the steel steps.

Nick Stuart: Mike McGee is in pain here, and look at The Grin! He’s so proud of himself.

The fans boo as Barlow continues the count.

THREE! 

FOUR!

FIVE!

Tony Gamble saunters towards the ring and rolls under the ropes, popping back up to tell Ashley “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you counting.” The referee ignores him and continues her count as Mike McGee stirs on the outside.

SIX!

SEVEN!

McGee gets to his feet and stumbles to the apron, pulling himself up. Gamble meets him there and punches him, then helps drag him over the ropes. As he comes back down, Gamble adjusts the top two ropes so they’re around his neck and pull close, choking McGee.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on! That’s enough!

Richard Parker: The child the secret is that Gamble is better than McGee. 

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: What if I started being really cryptic in our broadcasts like McGee is on jabber? Think that would be fun?

Nick Stuart: I don’t really.

Richard Parker: Midnight always talks to kittens.

Nick Stuart: Oh no.

Ashley is quick to start barking at Tony, who releases the hold before Ashley can get to five. Then he lets McGee fall and covers him for the pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: McGee isn’t done yet!

Richard Parker: Radio energy never, Nebraska ends rain.

Nick Stuart: Well I don’t like this one bit.

Gamble lifts McGee to his feet and hits him with a forearm smash, then tosses McGee into the ropes. He comes back and Gamble plants him with a spinebuster. McGee howls in pain as Gamble gloats again.

Nick Stuart: And Gamble is…

Richard Parker: What’s wrong?

Nick Stuart: I just don’t want to talk about the match if you’re going to be all weird.

Richard Parker: I’ll behave if you just answer one question.

Nick Stuart: Fine, what is it?

Richard Parker: Do I look longingly open noodle?

Nick Stuart: What?

Gamble kicks at McGee as he tries to get up. He’s playing with his food now, slapping at his head. He probably feels comfortable, in control. But he’s forgetting one thing about his profession, the thing that makes it so appealing to fans.

The tide can turn at any time. 

Nick Stuart: McGee grabs Gamble’s legs, double leg takedown! And now McGee is on top of him with punches! Left, right, left, right, Gamble is defenseless!

Richard Parker: Loser! Up, kick everything Jodeci!

McGee grabs Gamble and lifts him, then turns him around and grabs him from behind. 

Nick Stuart: German suplex! And he’s got the hold in tight as he lifts him up again!

McGee lifts him up and slams him with another. Gamble tries groggily to escape, but McGee has him locked in tight again as he goes for a third German. But remember what I said earlier?

The tide can turn at any time. 

Nick Stuart: Gamble escapes! McGee turns around…

WHAMMM!!!

Nick Stuart: Stop Laughing At Me!

Richard Parker: Sorry, Nick, I’m done with the fake messages.

Nick Stuart: No, it’s Gamble’s Front Russian Leg Sweep! And he’s on top of him now…he’s getting it locked in…Smile For Me! McGee’s got nowhere to go! He’s reaching around and pulling back on McGee’s mouth, and I don’t think…no, he’s tapping, it’s over!

DING DING DING!

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…TOOOOONEEEEEEEEEE GAAAAAAMBUUUULLLLLLLL!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: What a quick turnaround by Gamble!

Nick Stuart: Absolutely, partner, and thank you for returning to normal.

Richard Parker: Behind Robinson, onto carpet kilts!

Nick Stuart: Ugh. Let’s go elsewhere.

And so we do.

COMMERCIAL: 24 HOUR RULE

THEY CALL HIM MORTY MYLANTA

“Revival” returns from commercial break at ringside. Tony Gamble (along with his two cronies, Cruz and Pastore) remained in the ring after his match with Mike McGee, because “You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Loves You” started to play before they exited the ring. The sound of Dean Martin’s mesmerizing voice is amplified throughout the Toyota Center, as Mortimer Knightingale climbs between the rules to join his fellow “Gamble Adoration Syndicate” members, microphone in hand. Mortimer has dressed up for this moment, donning a charcoal gray pinstripe suit and a black dress shirt, the top button undone since he does not own a tie, because the one tie he did own was taken from him two weeks prior. The music fades and Mortimer Knightingale begins to speak.

Mortimer Knightingale: Ladies and gentlemen, I have come to declare today “Tony Gamble Adoration Day”! To kick things off, Tony Gamble began the evenin’ with Mike McGee and we all saw how that transgressed. But more important than the outcome of that match, I am comin’ out here to proclaim how much I adore Tony Gamble and why you should too.

The crowd does not agree with Mortimer as they promptly show their disdain for the Grin with an eruption of boos, as Mortimer reaches into the inside pocket of his suit and retrieves several pages of folded up paper.

Mortimer Knightingale: What? Everything you should feel for Tony Gamble should line up perpendicularly to my own, as outlined in this script typed up by our focus of admiration himself, Tony Gamble.

Mortimer points to the Grin with the folded up papers.

Mortimer Knightingale: Personally, in order for me to adequately portray, as dictated in this script, how much I adore Tony Gamble, I would need more talent than Meryl Streep and Al Pacino circa late seventies to early eighties for it to be believable. Because, all of you ain’t stupid. You’d see right through that fackaid. We ALL know Tony Gamble is a shitty piece of shit person.

The crowd cheers Mortimer Knightingale’s candidness towards his “G.A.S.” capo. Tony Gamble, however, does not show that same enthusiasm. That damn grin remains on his face, regardless. 

Mortimer Knightingale: How can I show appreciation towards a snaky prick like this? My first interaction with him sent me to the hospital. You would think that even after he forced me ta join this bullshit group, he would show some sign that, maybe, just maybe he gave a shit about me. He didn’t. He doesn’t. Where was he when that Russian fuckstick threw me through a fuckin’ wall, concussin’ the crap outta me? Tell you where he wasn’t? Givin’ a shit.  

Mortimer Knightingale glances over towards Tony Gamble who is not hiding his utter disgust for Mortimer. 

Mortimer Knightingale: Speakin’ of givin’ shit, I got this prick a beautiful set of bath balls for Christmas. They were on sale, a three-for-kinda thing. Lavender-Vanilla. Probably never ev’n opened them. Hell, cheap fuck probably regifted them. Funnily enough, and maybe or maybe not, in all irony, Lindsay Troy passed me in the hall last week and, uhhhhhh, I caught a whiff of Lavender and Vanilla. Not that I go outta my way smellin’ Lindsay Troy in any capacity. It was a complete and total incidental nasal event. Anyway, you know what he, this cheap fuck, got me for Christmas? Jack Fuckin’ Shit.

Mortimer Knightingale turns his attention towards Tony Gamble.

Mortimer Knightingale: But someone did give me a present. Someone very special gave me a very nice present. A thoughtful present. A tie. It was nice. You see where I’m goin’ with this? Tony, Lord Shitty-Shitty-Fuckpants here, wants adoration and appreciation but shows neither to those he wants it from. A young lady who is beautiful and sweet and kind and quirky and beautiful that I met what, maybe six weeks ago, she goes out of her way to give me somethin’. So Tony, I’m done….

The crowd starts stirring with approval.

Mortimer Knightingale: That little file you got? You and me both know that you ain’t sayin’ shit to anyone because you and me both know there’s a certain group of businessmen that would allegedly rather not have certain transgressions made public and if they were, they would allegedly know who it was that Henry Hilled them and that person would allegedly not make it to their next match. You ain’t doin’ nothin’, Short Pants. What I did in the past does not dictate who I am today. So, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go back there…..

Mortimer Knightingale points towards the entrance curtain to the ring.

Mortimer Knightingale: ….I’m gonna find her and I’m gonna lay it all out there. I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, there’s only person I adore, and I’m gonna let her know how much while you, well, you can just choke on a bag of dildos.

Domingo and Frank step toward Mortimer, who doesn’t back down an inch. Before they move any closer, however, Tony places a hand on each of their shoulders and parts the members of No Laughing Matter like the Red Sea as he approaches Mortimer with the damn Grin forever present. Mortimer gets in a stance, ready for anything when Tony merely reaches out for the microphone in Knightingale’s hand.  Mortimer, in yet another act of defiance, opts not to hand Tony the microphone, but instead, he drops it onto the mat. Tony stares at Mortimer, not happy nor intimidated. Tony signals for Frank Pastore to pick up the mic and hand it to him, which he does.

Tony Gamble: Well color me impressed, Morty. I was thinking that this little fling with Kimono was going to make you soft, but you just proved me wrong. 

Tony tucks the microphone in the nook between his arm and chest, and starts to clap. Frank and Domingo join him in giving Mortimer a standing ovation.

Tony Gamble: This is exactly who I needed you to become Morty, because the sad sap shuffling his feet down the backstage corridors as he felt sorry for himself was becoming a laughing stock. Now I’m sorry I was being hard on you, making you go through all of the things you listed all alone. But I did that for you. I can show you the way to beat Darin Zion. I can show you the way to the Alias Championship.

The boos from the crowd nearly drown out Tony’s voice, and he has a microphone in his hand. 

Tony Gamble: You needed a little bit of tough love, not some cheap dollar store tie, so that’s what I gave you. You think you have something special going on with this girl, but you’re eventually gonna screw it up. It’s what you do, Morty. You’re a two bit loser acting like the deuces he drops smell like sakura’s, but she’s going to see through your act. Your little act may be getting over on everybody else, but if she squints a little harder Kimono’s gonna see…

THWAP!

The crowd erupts in cheers as Mortimer Knightingale clocks Tony Gamble in the jaw.  The Permascar Superstar staggers a bit before dropping to a knee. Mortimer Knightingale clutches the Grin’s hair and begins wailing on him with his free hand. The crowd begins chanting Morty’s name as Frank Pastore and Domingo Cruz pounce and begin pulling Mortimer off of their G.A.S. capo. Mortimer elbows Cruz in the face and then shoves Pastore to the ground. Mortimer spins wildly until he hears the crowd….

MOR-TY! MOR-TY! MORT-TY!

For a moment he basks in their adulation before turning to find Pastore and Cruz checking on the Grin who is lying in the middle of the ring. Mortimer decides to leave Gamble with his henchmen and turns towards the back, smiling before exiting the ring and, with a spring in his step, heads to the back to see……her.   

ANYWHERE

We find ourselves in the parking lot of the Toyota Center. Specifically we see a silver pickup truck park and two men get out. The fans immediately boo Foster Nackedy and Paxton Ray. Paxton slams the car door and starts to speed across the lot, and Foster quickly follows.

Foster Nackedy: Slow down, hoss. What’s the plan here?

Paxton Ray: Ain’t no plan. Findin’ Nova. Beatin’ him til he stops movin’. 

Foster temporarily stops.

Foster Nackedy: Technically that is a plan. Not a great one, but a plan.

He then realizes that Paxton has not stopped and starts running again. 

Foster Nackedy: We can make this plan better. Do you even know where Nova is?

Paxton Ray: Don’t matter. Gonna knock down doors til I find him.

“Where we’re going, we don’t need doors.”

The arena crowd pops as Nova steps out from behind a row of vehicles wheeling a gear bag, the Former Chairman of PRIME Sonny Silver flanking him. The protective facemask styled after the pattern of Nova’s wrestling tights covers his face.

Ray pauses to consider Nova’s comment and then turns to Nackedy, who shrugs.

Sonny Silver: That doesn’t really work, Nov.

The Risen Star takes a drag of his cigarette, flicks it away, and balls up his fists as he steps forward.

Nova: I’m right here, motherfucker.

Silver turns to Nova, mouthing “Nice.” 

Paxton growls and takes a step forward. Nackedy steps out and around Ray, holding out his arms, his eyes darting between the men.

Foster Nackedy: My friends…or rather, my client and the old guy. You’ve both made it quite clear that your priority is securing unfettered access to tear each other limb-from-limb, and that’s fine. But we are in the middle of an unforgiving concrete parking structure, and I feel obligated at least on behalf of my client to suggest we reloc-

Ray shoves past him.

Paxton Ray: Nah.

Nova grins and steps into a trot that threatens a full sprint before the brights of a nearby vehicle flash on, bathing the men in white light that causes everyone to shield their eyes. The vehicle, a black SUV, lurches forward with a screech! of its tires and rolls into the space between the group. 

The front doors swing open and PRIME’s CEO Lindsay Troy gingerly steps out of the driver’s seat facing Nova and Silver. PRIME Head of Security, Dametreyus, steps out of the front passenger side facing Ray and Nackedy. 

Troy brushes curls away from her face.

Lindsay Troy: (grinning) Dam, what did I say about a wizard never being late?

Dam grunts, his gaze never leaving Paxton’s position. The smile fades from Troy’s face and she looks over to Nackedy.

Lindsay Troy: For the first – and hopefully only – time ever, I actually agree with that asshole.

Foster Nackedy’s eyebrows arch in genuine surprise. Troy looks back to Nova, who is most of the way through another cigarette but still poised to meet Ray over the top of the car.

Lindsay Troy: This. Is Not. The Time.

She turns back to Paxton and Nackedy.

Lindsay Troy: Or the place. 

Troy sighs, rubbing two fingers against her temple.

Lindsay Troy: If you two aren’t fighting in the crowd or launching each other off stage platforms, you’re trying to crack your big stupid heads open in the parking garage before you even set foot in the arena. You wanna get unconventional with the scenery? Fine. You wanna take this wherever you’re going to take it so we can bring whatever this is to a head? Great. The Intense Title was designed for this, and last I checked, although absolutely no one is happy about it…

She looks to Ray.

Lindsay Troy: …you hold that belt. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it the right way. 

Troy looks back to Nova and Sonny. 

Lindsay Troy: Culture Shock.

The crowd roars in the background as Troy’s gaze shifts back to Ray and Nackedy.

Lindsay Troy: Falls Count Anywhere. 

Another pop. 

Lindsay Troy: Now…(turning to Nova)…you, get your ass inside the arena and prepare for the actual job you have that doesn’t involve instigating fights next to a Lyft Pick-Up Zone.

Silver puts a hand on Nova’s shoulder and nods towards a set of double doors leading inside the Toyota Center. The Risen Star meets Paxton’s glare one more time before giving Silver a nod and turning towards the arena entrance.

Lindsay Troy: And you…

She turns back to Ray and Nackedy one last time. 

Lindsay Troy: …find something productive to do with yourselves that doesn’t involve randomly beating up my talent. Got it?

Ray’s lips curl into a snarl and he sizes up Dametreyus one more time before Nackedy again steps in front of his charge with a diplomatic grin.

Foster Nackedy: Loud and clear, boss. No random beatdowns from us! Just the normal ones within the confines of…and she’s gone.

Indeed, everyone has left The Bad Name Bomber and the Lafayette Bruiser by themselves. 

Foster Nackedy: So, falls count anywhere. You happy?

The cameraman, against all better judgment, gets close to Paxton as he smiles.

Paxton Ray: Ecstatic. 

We go elsewhere.

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES

The scene switches to backstage where Vickie Hall’s face is DIRECTLY in front of the camera and it’s way too close of a look. You could see her nose hairs… if she had nose hairs. She goes through self-care steps daily. It’s just her nose is so big it’s taking up half the screen…

Nick Stuart: Dear god what are we witnessing!?

She cackles and finally steps back, revealing the LOVE CONVOY® behind her. Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy, Jonathan-Christopher and TOUGH LOVE® Darin Zion, all with various expressions on their faces and PRETTY PINK© scarfs around their necks. Zion looks pissed, Gladhappy’s head is in the clouds and Jonathan-Christopher is rattled out of his mind.

Vickie, confident as ever, holds a mic in hand.

Vickie Hall: HELLO pretties and welcome to my amazing interview segment!

Vickie pauses for cheers from inside the arena. Instead, she hears boos. Doesn’t phase her, she’s in her own dream world, or Hallmark movie.

Vickie Hall: Apparently I get yelled at if I ask someone else to interview us so I am commandeering my own divine time!

PRETTY PINK© spins around to greet her crew. TCG claps profusely while Jonathan-Christopher puts on a brave face and tries to do the same. Darin, however, rolls his eyes. Vickie goes back to the camera.

Vickie Hall: The LOVE CONVOY® are on a massive roll and we will continue tonight when Tristan-Crispin keeps the winning train CHOO-CHOOing along. Also as you may have heard, I have filed for numerous trademarks for brand recognition because my team is on the up and UP!!

Vickie wanders over to Darin Zion.

Vickie Hall: Darin hasn’t lost a match in like SO long! Finding out that REAL LOVE® is TOUGH LOVE® has PRIME shaking in their boots!

Vickie finds Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy next.

Vickie Hall: TCG is here to stay! What a winning swing this man has been on! Tonight he will continue his rise to the top and beat-… hmm, who are you wrestling again?

Gladhappy scratches his head.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: A scorpio.

Vickie nods like this is an acceptable answer and continues down the line. She lets out a joyous squeak.

Vickie Hall: And my man, my Amazing Life Partner®, Jonathan-Christopher, fresh off defeating the FLAMBOGO guy! You have to be feeling magical right about now, my honey bunch of oats. I know I do.

Jonathan-Christopher gives a cheesy, forced smile into the camera as Vickie goes back to center stage in front of her crew.

Nick Stuart: JC didn’t beat-

Richard Parker: You’re going to convince them otherwise? This woman is insanely stuck in her own world! And I am here for it!

Vickie holds back maniacal laughter.

Vickie Hall: I promised my PRETTIES a major announcement so here it is! [Begins screaming at the top of her lungs] CAN I GET A DRUM ROLL PLEASE!?

The Nuzzle Lord happily obliges as The Vow of Virtue puts on a brave face and does the same. Zion isn’t taking part of it.

Vickie Hall: Every man you see behind me is enrolling in the Culture Shock Battle Royal!

Nick Stuart: Pretty sure we knew this.

Richard Parker: Great news!

Like something out of Oprah giving free cars to everyone, the Woman of Wonder tilts her shoulders back and starts pointing to each of them.

Vickie Hall: YOU GET A TITLE AND YOU GET A TITLE AND YOU GET A-

Zion puts his hand over top of Vickie’s mic. She’s immediately grounded… and also doesn’t look too happy.

She tries to hide it.

Vickie Hall: Yes, dear?

Zion shakes his head.

Darin Zion: Only one of us is going to get a title shot, Vickie.

It’s like this is the first time PRETTY PINK© has ever heard of this before. She ponders… ponders… ponders. Eventually, she shakes her head like this is an acceptable answer.

Vickie Hall: Okay, no problem Zion. Well it’s going to be one of us! YESSSSSSSS!! A man you see behind me will be the next World Title challenger and it’s going to be my ALP Jonathan-Christopher Hall!

Gladhappy couldn’t care less, he’s happy to be standing with the group of them while Zion seems to be unsupportive of the statement and JC is otherwise attempting to remain stoic and relaxed. Vickie positions in front of the camera again, dusting herself off as if this little spat never happened to begin with.

Vickie Hall: We already OWN the Tag Team Championships-

She’s cut off again but this time not by Darin Zion… but by her husband, Jonathan-Christopher. The Timid Tiger is certainly that, timid. Even though he interrupted with body language, it’s clear he doesn’t have the confidence to do much else other than say…

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: Yes. About that, my love…

Vickie’s eyes bulge out and instantly her man takes a step back physically and metaphorically, too. He seemingly changes course on the fly.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: I can’t wait to add another championship to my resume!

Vickie lifts her left hand and starts wagging her finger like the love of her life made her remember something else.

Vickie Hall: You reminded me, Jonathan-Christopher…

She conveys as her bushy eyebrows lower and her lips curl with intensity.

Vickie Hall: BRANDONG YOUNGBLOOD, YOU YOU CALLED OUT MY ALP AND I!?!? AAAAHHHHH IT PISSES ME OFF. I’m allowed to grow my brand, Brandon. Your jokes are stale and weak!

Vickie points behind her.

Vickie Hall: DO YOU WANT MORE OF THIS, BOY!? DO YOU!? HUH!?!? Well consider yourself the NUMBER ONE FUCKING TARGET come Culture Shock!

Vickie walks very closely towards the camera. Too close, just like before.

Vickie Hall: Ask King Blueberry what happened to him when he pushed me too far. What we did to him… isn’t that right my lovelies?

Vickie turns to see Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy reveal he’s holding a rusty nail hammered into the end of a block of wood. Gladhappy hands the block of wood over to Darin Zion.

Vickie Hall: Show him, Darin. Show him as soon as possible!

TOUGH LOVE®  takes hold of the wooden block. He’s more at peace with the group right now, because he’s been given the opportunity to potentially take out his frustrations even further.

Vickie Hall: Tetanus shots are IN these days, Brandon. Old, crusty, gross looking Canadian Prairie men who are over the hill and finished their bullshit Hallmark Journeys years ago are NOT!

Meanwhile Jonathan-Christopher quivers whenever Youngblood’s name is mentioned.

Vickie Hall: PRIME! Be on watch. Culture Shock is OURS! Muhahahaha!

Cut.

ROCKY DE LEON vs. TRISTAN-CRISPIN GLADHAPPY

Nick Stuart: Hello and welcome back to ReVival 24 ladies and gentlemen! We have an intriguing matchup for you next with an up and coming member of PRIME and a man that has developed quite the obsession for masks lately.

Richard Parker: That’s right Nick, and if history tells us anything, it’s that Rocky De Leon will not take kindly to his mask being trifled with. In the few short months he has been competing here, he and the nerd that accompanies him have managed to not lose a three way match and beat Mike McGee. 

Nick Stuart: Well, that didn’t take very long. So you’re saying this like it isn’t impressive to have a zero loss record in PRIME?

Richard Parker: Oh no, it’s impressive. I just wish he would have hired ANYONE else to be his manager. 

Nick Stuart: The hatred runs deep for my co-host folks. However, we have to take a segue from the hatred to the ring as the combatants are making their way out now.

“Me and Julio Down by The Schoolyard” by Streetlight Manifesto hits the PA and the lights shine down on Rocky De Leon who is standing looking intense and ready for a fight. As the trumpets play, he marches to the ring. Stu Weiler follows after him with his laptop in hand.

*The mama pajama rolled out of bed
And she ran to the police station
When the papa found out he began to shout
And he started the investigation*

Vince Howard: Introducing first… FROM LAREDO, TEXAS… ROOOOOOCKYYYYY DEEE LEEEEEOOOOOON!

Rocky works the crowd as he walks down the ramp to the ring. He runs up the ring steps quickly and wipes his feet on the apron before nimbly hopping over the ropes and waving to the crowd. Rocky points a finger to the crowd and bounds up the corner to the top turnbuckle, then spreads his wings with a mighty SKREEEEE! He pumps his fists in the air and hops down, all business. Stu sets up in his corner and turns to the announce table. He pulls off his beige polo shirt to reveal a graphic tee with manga lettering that says “I AM A NERD!” on it. 

Richard Parker: NO! You can’t own this! I better not see this in the PRIMEporium! 

Nick Stuart: I think the people disagree, partner.

The fans are chanting Nerd! Nerd! Nerd! As Stu eggs them on. 

Richard Parker: I’m going to see this in the PRIMEporium, aren’t I?

“Because of You” by 98 Degrees is piped in over the PA system as a tan, Gen Z wrestler steps onto the ramp along with Vickie Hall and heads toward the ring. The duo actively blow kisses to the fans and Tristan self nuzzles about halfway down the ramp.  

*It’s all, it’s all, it’s all
You’re my sunshine after the rain
You’re the cure against my fear and my pain
‘Cause I’m losing my mind
When you’re not around
It’s all, it’s all
It’s all because of you*

Vince Howard: And his opponent… from Sacramento California… TRISTAAAAN-CRISPIIIIN GLAAAAAAAAADHAPPYYYYYYYY.

TCG and Vickie finally make their way to the ring and Tristan slinks in. Elvis Nixon checks in with both combatants and signals for the bell.

DING DING!

Nick Stuart: And we are underway here folks. After the display last week with Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy, it is fair to wonder if he will fixate on Rocky’s mask as well.

Rocky doesn’t give him the chance, aggressively bolting across the ring at the sound of the bell and drop-kicking TCG into the opposing corner. Rocky doesn’t let up, taking advantage of the surprise attack by grabbing Tristan’s head, then leaping up and planting both legs on his hips. Rocky leans back and pushes, monkey flipping Gladhappy up in the air and down with a thud to the canvas. 

Nick Stuart: This is as aggressive as we have seen Rocky De Leon! He must really have an ax to grind with Gladhappy.

Richard Parker: Either that or he has been taking Tai Bo classes with the ladies at the Green as It Gets facility and all that old lady energy is filtering through him. 

Nick Stuart: Are you suggesting that Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy has made an enemy of his elders?

Richard Parker: I’m suggesting that Rocky has made friends. And they want more than a nuzzle, if you get my drift. 

Nick looks away from Richard blankly into the camera. 

Back in the ring, TCG is reeling and finds himself being dragged to his feet. Gladhappy pulls a Pretty Pink© hand towel from his trunks and throws it toward the referee. Elvis Nixon reacts properly to having what can only be presumed to be a lonely man’s “rag” thrown at his face, and does whatever he can to dodge the flying terry cloth. On the way up with the ref distracted, the Love Convoy member convoys his fist into Rocky’s gentleman’s vegetables. Vickie cheers Tristan on from the side of the ring as The Pterosaur Superstar crumples to the mat.

Nick Stuart: That will stop any dinosaur in its tracks, even a pterodactyl!

Richard Parker: I’m pretty sure that Pterodactyls don’t make tracks, Nick. They are a flying reptile, by the way, not a dinosaur.

Nick looks at his color commentary partner and shakes his head. Richard looks proud of himself. 

Nick Stuart: I admittedly did not know that.  

Stu Weiler looks at Richard and points at his shirt, then at Richard. The announcer’s brain gears begin to mesh with great noise and internal smoke.

Richard Parker: Hey… I am NOT a nerd! How did he even know what I said?

In the ring, Tristan presses his advantage, lifting Rocky up and locking in an abdominal stretch. Elvis is still wary from the towel incident and is on guard for shenanigans, but this appears to be a straight forward hold. Rocky grimaces in pain as TCG wrenches on his muscles. 

Rocky yells out and tries to summon the power of the technico as he uses all his strength to break free, but he expends a lot of energy in doing so and falls to the mat. TCG is on top of him quickly, clawing at his arms, which he locks in over his knees, then squats on top of The FDP’s back while hooking his hands under Rocky’s chin with a Convoy Clutch! (we’re workshopping non-stereotype names today)

Nick Stuart: Tristan is trying to sap all the energy away from the plucky underdog! That looks excruciatingly painful.

Richard Parker: I’ll say, and I also have to add that the last two weeks have really brought out the malice in Gladhappy! Either that or having Vickie at ringside has put a fear of performance into him. 

Nick Stuart: Well, it must be something with masks.First The Anglo Luchador, and now Rocky De Leon. 

Richard Parker: Say, you don’t think this is some sort of subconscious thing with Vickie Hall and masks…

Elvis is busy in the ring checking to make sure Rocky is doing OK. He asks him if he would like to submit, but the plucky young talent shakes his head no in defiance. It’s clear though that Rocky is beginning to fade and Stu looks on worriedly in the corner. He even goes so far as to look around for a towel to throw in, just in case he has to end the match early, but all he can find is the Pretty Pink© towel that TCG threw at Elvis Nixon earlier in the match and he is loath to touch it. 

As Rocky fades, Elvis steps in and raises his hand…

And it drops.

He raises it a second time…

It drops again! Vickie celebrates in her shrill manner.

He raises Rocky’s hand a third time…

.

.

.

Halfway down, the Lion of Laredo’s spirit roars out of Rocky De Leon as he shakes his arms furiously and the fans cheer with a roar. He yells a mighty SKREEEE! And flexes his arms, breaking the hold and sending a now off balance TCG falling backwards. Rocky claws his way to the corner and up to his feet, obviously still in a lot of pain. He looks and sees TCG doing the same in the opposite corner and barrels forward, launching his wings with a Pterosaur Splash!

Nick Stuart: Rocky De Leon is on fire! He hit that big splash! 

Richard Parker: The FDP is one of those guys that you cannot let build a head of steam! Once he begins rolling and gets momentum, he is hard to stop!

Seemingly having learned from his mistake last show, he drapes Tristan’s arms over the ropes and secures him before running full speed across the ring and back leaping with another Pterosaur Splash! TCG steps forward three or four paces and flops forward very naturally then rolls out of the ring to the floor. Rocky bounds off the ropes once again and tries his luck with the tope con hilo, but Tristan sees him coming and dives out of the way, sending Rocky crashing to the floor. 

In the ring, Elvis Nixon has begun to make his count.

ONE!

.

TWO!

.

THREE!

No movement from either combatant. 

FOUR!

.

FIVE!

Finally TCG gets to his feet and slithers into the ring. Vickie is screaming at him to stay in the ring and wait for Rocky to be counted out. 

SIX!

.

SEVEN!

.

EIGHT!

.

NINE!

.

Rocky De Leon claws himself into the ring with every ounce of energy he has left and Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy just cannot believe it! Vickie Hall shrieks like a Greek Siren as Rocky narrowly avoids being counted out. TCG shakes his head and grabs Elvis Nixon to complain about his count, but Elvis is having none of it. Rocky still hasn’t moved.

Nick Stuart: What perseverance! Rocky barely makes the count, but how will he ever continue with this match?

Richard Parker: He is going to have to dig deep and that is something no spreadsheet nerd can prepare you for!

Nick Stuart: Now is not the appropriate time, Richard.   

TCG shakes off his disappointment and begins dragging Rocky to the center of the ring and drops to try and grasp his seated ankle lock finisher, Head Over Heels! As he tries to grab the ankle, Rocky kicks him in the snout, and then again and again and again when he won’t let go until he does.  

Tristan flails around on the ground holding his nuzzler and Rocky kips up! The fans blow up as the FDP looks around, listening for encouragement from all the way across the lands in every retirement home known to the USA. He grabs Tristan’s legs and steps through, flipping him into a sasori-gatame! TCG screams in pain and Vickie pounds on the mat, begging the Love Convoy member to fight back.

Nick Stuart: This does not look good folks! Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy is in the center of the ring and it’s clear Rocky has learned a few new tricks since we last saw him. 

TCG claws his way across the ring, willing himself toward a rope break. Rocky wrenches with everything he has while Elvis Nixon looks on intently. Tristan makes it about halfway to the ropes and, on pure guts alone, continues without tapping out. Suddenly, Stu Weiler stands up and walks around the corner of the ring toward Vickie Hall. 

Richard Parker: What is that nerd up to?! 

Nick Stuart: Would you just let it go?

Tristan agonizes, inch by inch but will not give up and Rocky simply does not have the bulk or energy left to drag him back into the center of the ring. TCG reaches, coming agonizingly close to the rope, mere inches away when suddenly a Pretty Pink© hand towel flies into the ring landing on Tristan’s back and Elvis Nixon turns to see where it came from. 

Stu Weiler is standing next to Vickie Hall and he points at her accusingly. Vickie looks completely baffled and doesn’t have the clarity to protest before Elvis looks back at the towel, then to her, then back to the towel and signals for the bell. Rocky falls to the canvas in a heap while TCG’s arm flops to the ground. 

DING DING DING! 

Vince Howard: Here is your winner by submission…ROOOOOOOCKYYYYY DEEEEE LEEEEEOOOOOOON!!!!

Vickie Hall goes every pink shade of apeshit that exists, chasing Stu Weiler around the ring trying to dig her bright pink manicured fingernails into his skin. Rocky slowly stands up and Elvis Nixon raises his hand in victory. 

Richard Parker: I KNEW IT, I TOLD YOU NICK, IT WAS THAT DAMN STU WEILER THE WHOLE TIME! I JUST KNEW IT!

Nick Stuart: Well, In this case you might be right. However, the match still goes in Rocky’s favor and the young man picks up a big win over an established star. And you know what else?

Richard Parker: What?

Nick Stuart: We didn’t butcher Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy’s name the entire match!

Richard Parker: Who?

Nick Stuart: Never mind. Well folks, this match certainly lived up to the hype and speaking of hype, it’s time to get ready for a commercial. We’ll be right back after this word from our sponsors. 

Vickie has lost Stu to the back and is in the ring berating TCG and Elvis Nixon as the screen fades to commercial. 

COMMERCIAL: HOW MTGUK

YOU CAN’T BE TOO CAREFUL

Earlier tonight, outside the Toyota Center before the show…

The camera pans in on Adam Ellis and Ginny Van Lear in the parking lot heading towards the entrance PRIME’s wrestlers use to enter the building. 

We see Adam’s eyes go wide. 

The camera turns to reveal there’s security guards waiting at the door

Security Guy #1: Ah, Miss Van Lear?

Ginny also seems a little surprised.

Ginny Van Lear: Yes?

Security Guy #2: Yeah, we’re going to have to make sure you’re not bringing any firearms into the building tonight. 

Security Gal #1: Please spread your arms out.

She starts to pat Ginny down while Adam, slightly red-faced, stands off to the side.  

After a thorough search, the Security Gal nods at one of the security guys.

Security Gal #1: She’s clean.

Ginny Van Lear: All right, then.

Ginny and Adam starts forward but they are stopped.

Security Guy #1: One second. 

The security crew huddle and talk amongst themselves. 

Security Guy #1: Let’s make sure.

He produces one of those Security Detection Wands that will pick up metal security personnel use to find hidden metallic objects that might pose a security threat.  The hand-held metal detector uses an electro-magnetic field (EMF) to detect metal. 

The security guy uses the wand and goes over practically every inch of Ginny’s body. 

Nothing. 

Again, Ginny starts toward the door.

Again, she’s stopped.

Security Guy #2: Ma’am.  We need to make sure. 

Security Guy #1: Please hold out your hands.

Ginny begins to show a little irritation.

Ginny Van Lear: What? 

Security Gal #1: Please hold out your hands.

Adam Ellis: Just do it sweetheart so we can get inside.

Ginny huffs but does as she’s asked. 

The Security Gal produces an Ion Mobility Spectrometer–Mass Spectrometer.

Security Gal #1: Please show me your palms now. 

Rolling her eyes, Ginny again complies.

The Security Gal run a little wand with a white circle on the end over them… just touching the skin of her hands with the wand was slightly warm at the circle end.  She then put the circle end into a machine, which must have read something about it, because it then beeped and displayed a green approved sign.

Ginny exhales.

Ginny Van Lear: Cain we goin now?

Again, the security staff huddles. 

Security Guy #1: Please walk through this.

He points to a machine that resembles one of those x-ray machines you’d find going through security at an airport.

Adam walks through first. 

Nothing.

Ginny then follows… closing her eyes and bracing herself…

Nothing.

The security guards all exchange glances… shrugs… and then even a little bit of disappointment.

Security Guy #1: All right.  You can go in.

Irritated, Ginny marches through the door into the arena followed by her husband. 

***

We cut to inside the arena.

The camera looks up into the rafters.

Upon further investigation, there appears to be a floating advertisement. 

In fact, it’s the same floating advertisement for a sponsor that Ginny Van Lear shot down two weeks ago at ReVival 23.

The camera zooms in on the inflatable and there’s something on the bottom…

…

…a giant patch.

WHATASAVIOR, WHATABURGER

The lights go out in Houston as the ACE viewers only see black with a smattering of cell phone lights.  

Nick Stuart: Well, the time has come for the return of Hoyt Williams.  I couldn’t be happier do you have your propaganda notes ready to go?  

Richard Parker: Just because our savior Hoyt Williams is a professional and gives me notes to help share with the viewers, is no reason to be jealous Nick.  Jealousy is a sin ole “Sinner” Stuart and Hoyt will make you pay.  

Nick Stuart: Please.  

“Reach out and touch faith…” 

The opening line of the Depeche Mode classic “Personal Jesus” echoes through the land of Sam Houston and Ann Richards.  The crowd pops for the music of the former Universal Champion despite his heelish ways.  A strobe light flashes along to the iconic guitar riff as the crowd claps along in unison.  A white cloud of smoke fills the entrance way. 

Richard Parker: Just a reminder that when Hoyt Williams appears he is here to save us all!  

Nick Stuart: Even me?  

Richard Parker: Even you Nick Stuart!!  As ALL ACE viewers in the state of Texas, tonight you can now use the coupon code “Hoyt Saves” to cut 20% off your next order placed through the Whataburger app!!  Whataburger “We build a bigger, better burger.”  Praise Hoyt!!   

Suddenly the curtains open and out zips the homely Joe Burro holding up the golden bible of Hoyt’s Witnesses while riding on a white segway. A moment later the crowd pops again as hot on his trail riding a golden segway is Hoyt Williams in all his glory.  He is wearing an all-white suit with a weird vertical opening like a Korean pop star or Star Trek IV: the voyage home uniform.  A golden cape flows behind him as he speeds down the entrance way.    

Richard Parker: Hoyt has asked me to remind all the sinners that he is a hall of famer.  One of the longest reigning Universal Champions. A former 5-star champion. The PWI 2000 rookie of the year. He is the longest reigning undefeated champion in the HISTORY of our sport! God once handed him God’s Title on this very program over ten years ago and remains undefeated still.   

Nick Stuart: More like undefended. You started strong Parker but missed the landing.  

Richard Parker: He is a Hollywood star, a best selling author, a motivational icon, the original spokesmen for Flex Seal tape, a fitness guru, a JABBER influencer, the Pontiff of Prime, the pope of the piledriver, the lord of the under and over world…..thee second coming…your personal Jesus and Mine he is Hoyt Williams.  

Nick Stuart: Take a breath Richard, I hope he pays you by the word.   

Behind Hoyt riding in tandem are two exceptionally large men wearing clothing similar to Hoyt’s.  

Nick Stuart: Wow those are some big fellows.  

Richard Parker: Hoyt’s new security team Privilege and Hypocrisy will ensure Hoyt is not to be trifled with.  My understanding is he will be introducing them here shortly, will make a few remarks, followed by a MAJOR announcement as to the date of his in ring return here in PRIME!  

The homely Joe Burro steps into the ring and holds the golden bible high for all the crowd to see.  Hoyt exits his blessed Segway, grabs his cane with the golden skull head of Sebs, walks up the ring stairs, lifts his robe as to not trip and enters the ring. The large men follow.  

The crowd chants “Holy Shit” as Hoyt Smiles a Texas sized grin as Joe Burro hands him a microphone.  

Hoyt Williams: Blasphemy…blasphemy…. BLASPHEMY!!!  Silence yourselves and stop that vulgarity. Your father is home. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! 

Hoyt Williams: 34 Texas!  

Nick Stuart: thirty-four? 

Richard Parker: thirty-four!  

Hoyt Williams: 34 is where Texas ranks in education it’s no wonder you people talk so slow.  I’ll do the math for you 5o states divided in half is 25 meaning you are ALL way below average and that’s just the people who actually got an education.   

Hoyt laughs as the crowd starts a “You’re an Asshole” with a double clap chant.   

Hoyt Williams: Just so you know I’ve enacted an IQ quiz at the pearly gates that Saint Peter will administer before you gain entry but let’s face it Texas none of you are headed upstairs anyway.   

Nick Stuart: I’d like to apologize to all the Texans at home tonight listening to this man babble.  

Richard Parker: He’s just preaching the gospel Stuart, if it’s to hot for you go to the light.  

As the crowd engages in their boorish chant the Savior sets down the mic and does ten perfect Jumping Jacks for Jesus.  He looks at the two large men (one of whom is wearing a creepy mask and is oddly the size of a former masked wrestler Balaam) and laughs with them. 

Hoyt Williams: Instead of chanting highly offensive chants in my direction perhaps you should spend that energy chanting at your law makers and perhaps things would change.  Even my religion respects a woman’s right to choose and believe me if any state needs abortion it’s the one with the loneliest star on the flag because trust me when I say the world needs less Texans.  

Nick Stuart: Well.  

Richard Parker: AMEN!!  PRAISE BE TO HOYT!!  

Nick Stuart: Will you be professional?  

Hoyt Williams: I will try to talk slow and loud like I do when talking to Ivan backstage so pay attention.  What you see behind me is the protection I need as God’s Champion.  If you are in the back and you think you’re going to get to me understand you won’t until you go through my brethren, the righteous Hypocrisy and my minster of culture the great Jessie White better known as Privilege.  PRIME is about to feel my Hypocrisy and Privilege.  

The big man with out the mask steps forward and must be about seven feet tall.  He is a middle-aged white man with circular glasses, clean shaven, and long sideburns.  He kind of looks like Dan Akroyd in the Blues brothers only with arms the size of tree trunks.  

Hoyt Williams: Privilege is not only a giant, a world class weightlifter, but he is also a Lawyer who graduated at the top of his class at Yale.  Let it be known that all stipulations and legalities will go through his expertise so Hoyt Williams will not be taken advantage of by management again.  

The big man points to his brains as the poorly educated crowd begins throwing trash.  A soda cup almost hit’s Hoyt but Hypocrisy steps in front of it.   

Hoyt Williams: This other small giant is Hypocrisy. He is violent, angry, and most of all loyal to me. Nobody will get through as I will throw Hypocrisy in your face.  

The two big men raise their arms as the crowd tells them what they think of them.  

Hoyt Williams:  A lot of people ask me why I didn’t return when PRIME returned.   

Hoyt takes a deep breath.  

Hoyt Williams: The reason mainly is I didn’t think PRIME’s return would last this long and quite frankly most of the talent when it returned was washed up or a joke.  I didn’t want to spend months battling farts in the wind like Dust…er..Dusk.  But that is not the case now. I admire guys like Cancer Jiles who has proven his worth.  Flamberge despite being French and disqualified from heaven is a real treat.  I even see a little of me in a guy like Sage Pontiff despite PRIME only having one true PONTIFF and that’s me.  Follow me on all social media platforms including Jabber @pontiffofPRIME.  Bottom line is the roster is insanely talented.  

The savior of the squared circle starts pacing around the ring.  

Hoyt Williams: Part of me even questioned if I still have it.   

The crowd right on cue starts a “You don’t have it” chant.  Hoyt shouts something at Joe Burro who pulls something out of his pocket.  A remote like device.  

Hoyt Williams: You know I can’t concentrate with your eruptions.  If you keep this up, I will lower the echo chamber.  You know what?? I’m using my biblical power and you all just cost yourselves an hour of sleep this weekend!  That’s right I’m taking an hour away from your weekend!!  Keep it up and it will be two! 

Nick Stuart: It’s the end of daylight savings time that’s no miracle.  

Richard Parker: Let’s see you take an hour away!?!  

Hoyt Williams: But I do still have it.  I have a lot more to prove. The revival is real. You see the church pews have become more and more empty as people bow their heads and pray to the Chinese made false prophets in their hands.  You bow your heads and you take a bite out of the apple and ignore the reality of the world around you. Weak minded ADAMS. I need to wake people up.  I am a draw. One of the biggest ever. When my name appears on the card the seats sell out instantly.  ACE knows it, PRIME knows it, and you all know it.  So by getting back in front of the crowds and resurrecting PRIME as it finally starts to tour like the company I helped build! Brothers and sisters, all of Hoyt’s Witnesses, the damned in attendance…I’m back.  I can help PRIME and PRIME can help me as I speak to you all and get you back to church.  I have read the message boards, comb the JABBER, and read your fan mail.  For YEARS you sinners have flogged your one eyed Boda’s at the thought of Youngblood vs Williams II.   

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! 

Hoyt Williams: That match alone could sell out the biggest stadiums in the world.  But I’m not there yet if I even ever want to get there.  A few weeks ago I heard Youngblood say nobody from his past is strong enough to knock down his Tower of Babel.   Never say never. But truth is I would never give him the satisfaction of stepping in the ring with me again.    

A holy shit chant turns into a “Youngblood” chant.  

Hoyt Williams: It’s not happening so shut your mouths I’m just giving you examples of why my return matters.   

The crowd keeps chanting for Youngblood. 

Hoyt Williams: Lower the echo chamber!  

From the ceiling a glass bubble like an upside down whisky glass begins to slowly lower to the ring.  The crowd is irate.  

Nick Stuart: What is this now?  

Richard Parker: The Echo Chamber!  Pay attention.  

The bubble encloses Hoyt and his men as suddenly the crowd is chanting “Hoyt”. 

Nick Stuart: That chant is not happening here in the arena I can tell you that much.  It is coming from inside that bubble!  

Hoyt Williams: Thank you my witnesses!!  Please simmer down. What about Hoyt vs Ivan in a father’s redemption story?  Hoyt vs I don’t know…. Lindsey Troy!!  

The piped in crowd jeers the name of Lindsey Troy as the real crowd has taken to giving Hoyt the finger in unison.  

Hoyt Williams: I know, I Know I get it.  Nobody wants to see that noise. Hoyt vs NOVA!!!  That would sell out even parts unknown. Hoyt vs Paxton Ray in a little of old vs new. 

Hoyt shrugs his shoulders. 

Hoyt Williams: The word of Hoyt is I provide headline matches.  You’re welcome. So, Hoyt it be!!!    

The piped in crowd starts another Hoyt chant, which he calms down with his hands.  

Hoyt Williams: Maybe I can take on the ENTIRE roster.  Speed track right to the top where I belong. As a matter of fact, that is a great idea. I am going to take my shot like I’m Alec Baldwin. Culture Shock. Arlington Texas. I’m declaring myself in the Battle Royal.  So, it is spoken so it is truth.  

Nick Stuart: Isn’t everyone on the roster invited anyway? 

Richard Parker: What an amazing announcement!!!   

Hoyt Williams: You want to see a miracle watch me walk on water across the entire roster and rise to the top just in time for Easter.  How fitting.  

The savior raises his arms as the glass bubble lifts and we get a crossfade of the fake cheers and real jeers.  

Nick Stuart: There you have it, say what you will about Hoyt but he is a real threat to win the battle royal.  We’ve learned in the past never underestimate him!  Wow that is going to be a must-see event. Hope you all order now and join us in just a few short weeks at Culture Shock.  

CAPTAIN POWERBOMB AND THE FORKLIFT MAN SOLVE EVERYTHING

Backstage.

Both members of Eminence, the record-setting PRIME Tag Team champions, are wandering the corridors ahead of tonight’s main event, a contest that has implications for both members of the team. The match comes in the immediate wake of Lindsay Troy’s announcement that the tag team division will be effectively dissolved at Culture Shock. For Jared Sykes, it’s an opportunity to test his mettle against two of the best on the roster in Five Star champion Nate Colton, and Universal champion Rezin. For his partner Justine Calvin, the implications are more existential.

Neither of them are thinking about how their new team name probably confuses the shit out of Shawn Warstein.

Moreover, neither of them are saying much.

So, let’s introduce some people that might make them say things. They take the form of a powerbomb in the shape of a man, and a doofus in a topknot. That’s Sid Phillips and Joe Fontaine, respectfully. The Winds of Change are in their ring gear, and walk into frame as though they’re not actually expecting to run into the Eminence pair. 

In fact, they nearly walk past them before Sid grabs hold of Joe’s shoulder.

Sid Phillips: Wait a sec.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah?

Sid turns his head towards Jared and Justine, and Joe has to follow his gaze before realizing that they literally just walked past their Culture Shock opponents.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, hey. Didn’t see you guys there. Big night?

The champions stop dead in their tracks. Jared closes his eyes and exhales a long, slow sigh. His is the expression who knows, despite no words having been exchanged between them, that his significant other is thinking about committing a double homicide for that remark.

Justine turns, her hands already balled into fists.

Justine Calvin: Hello, Joseph.

Jared Sykes: (whispered) Goddammit.

Yup. Big murders on the horizon.

Justine Calvin: You know, I’m actually glad you said something, because I’d been meaning to ask whether or you’ve decided if I’m a – what was it you said last show? Oh yeah. “Toxic hell banshee.” So which is it? Yes or no.

Joe Fontaine: Given the way you’re looking at me right now, I’m getting the vibe that it’s a yes. 

Sid shakes his head, and purposefully puts himself just in front of Joe while talking to him.

Sid Phillips: I swear, Joe, you need to read the room before you start saying things. Jesus Christ. 

Joe Fontaine: What? I was just making friendly banter.

Sid Phillips: Were not.

Joe Fontaine: I mean, just now, not after getting taken to that weird duck hell that Zeke interviewed us in. You know, in retrospect, I’m not sure that guy was a real doctor or lawyer.

Sid Phillips: You don’t fuckin’ say.

Justine nods slowly. Her hands have relaxed somewhat, but her arms are now folded across her chest. To the casual observer this might seem to indicate she’s moved on, but to those who know her well this is the posture for a different kind of fight.

Justine Calvin: Riiiiiight. Friendly banter. “Hey guys, pretty big deal that one of you is in the main event and the other gets to watch a week after they nuke the division.” I can buy that.

She takes a single step forward and peers around Sid’s massive frame. The grin she wears is much closer to Toxic Hell Banshee than Actual Human Woman.

Jared has finally turned around and opened his eyes. In a minute he’s going to wish he didn’t.

Justine Calvin: So, you bringing the whole family out again for Culture Shock?

Joe Fontaine: Hell no. Are you kidding? Just getting dad to Vegas was a nightmare. Guy’ll spend all day talking about that one time he tried to wrestle a guy in a gorilla suit in a hardcore match in Vegas, and you can only hear that story like fifty-six times before it starts getting old.

He shudders. The last thing he wants is to be regaled with the stories of how much of a pain in the ass it is to get thumbtacks out of a gorilla suit.

Sid Phillips: Mine might come. He doesn’t have much to do these days now that Luna’s out of school. You can’t miss him. He’s the guy close to his 50s still frosting his tips and wearing sunglasses indoors. Also, he’s definitely the sort of guy you’d hate at first sight.

Jared opens his mouth to speak, but he’s not fast enough.

Justine Calvin: Plus I know how much you hated losing in front of everyone at Ultraviolence. Imagine it’d be real hard to make ’em sit through it again.

Jared Sykes: Why…

Justine Calvin: What? He’s the one who brought it up last show in between something about lemonade and a duck. It’s funny the things people will tell you if you let them talk long enough, no matter how ridiculous the rest of what they say is.

The two share a glance. While the expression on Jared’s face is more sympathetic, trying to telepathically get his partner to ease up, Justine has already shifted into full-on New England troll mode. Imagine the most obnoxious Red Sox fan – or really any Red Sox fan. Now imagine they know what button to press.

Yankees Suck!

Let’s fuckin’ go.

Justine Calvin: Probably easier to just have everyone watch from the couch. Or maybe not at all.

Joe Fontaine: Not exactly dissuading me from that “toxic hell banshee” assessment, Justine. But since you seem to be oh-so-confident that history will repeat, I’ll be happy to let them watch Sid and I wipe that banshee-like look off your face in a month.

Sid Phillips: Seriously, dude, did you both eat your Jerk Wheaties this morning?

Joe Fontaine: What? No. That’s gross. Who would eat Jerk Wheaties?

Sid shakes his head.

Sid Phillips: I mean, I’d ask what’s wrong, but I know what’s wrong. There’s not going to be… uh, this… soon.

He gestures back and forth between the two teams.

Sid Phillips: And it sucks, and it’s not fair. I only just got used to all of this, myself, what with the whole drawing tapestries in the paint of powerbombs thing I got going on. They just went and took that from all of us. So, Joe and I only got one more shot at taking Galadriel and, uh… okay, Jared, dude, I don’t know what you called your title belt, I’m just going to assume it’s called Rincewind or something. 

Jared turns to Justine and mouths the name, “Rincewind?” To which she whispers back, “I’ll explain later.”

Sid Phillips: I know you’ve got a notion that this won’t go any differently than last time. Maybe. But after we, er… I powerbomb some punks from the multiverse into an unrecognizable mass of flesh and gelatin, such that they could only be recognized by dental records and DNA samples and maybe the tear-soaked eyes of their loved ones… sorry, I lost my point somewhere in the middle there. Uh. Hope we have a good rematch.

Joe Fontaine: …What?

Justine Calvin: Oh it’s not just a noti…

She trails off when a hand gently rests on her shoulder. She looks at it for a moment, all while contemplating what Jared might look like with only a thumb on his left hand.

Jared Sykes: Alright, I think Sid might have a point.

Wait, what?

Jared Sykes: Yeah, we’re losing our division. This isn’t something any of us expected when we started this journey, and worse is that we don’t have any control over how it goes down. You guys are just getting started and now the rug’s being pulled out from underneath you. This is the first time she’s had a chance like this, and now that’s evaporating too. I’m…

Justine Calvin: (Under her breath) In the main event against the Five Star and Universal champions.

Jared sighs. It’s a long sigh, as if all of the air is leaving his body in a slow, steady stream.

Jared Sykes: Anyway… If everybody wants to turn this into a pissing contest, then fine. Y’all can drench the halls as far as I’m concerned.

He takes a deliberate step around Sid. Not far enough to pass him, but just enough that the big man no longer obstructs his view of Joe Fontaine.

Jared Sykes: And if you want to get upset because what happened at Ultraviolence was in front of the people you care about, then that’s on you and you alone, bud. I don’t know what that’s like. I genuinely can’t relate, because the people I care about don’t come out to these shows. Fuck, some of them aren’t even allowed to watch. So you can look at that like maybe they were let down, or you were embarrassed, or whatever you want to tell yourself. But the way I see it, Joey Malone, Jr., is that you also had a whole shitton of people by your side who understood exactly what it’s like to do this. You follow?

Joe smiles vaguely at Jared, listening to what he’s saying.

Joe Fontaine: Y’know, I still remember what you told me after that match. “Twenty years, and your family’s never come out to see you, so I’ve already got you beat there.” I know. Doesn’t mean it still didn’t hurt, but… I get it. I follow.

Joe steps out to stand side-by-side with Sid.

Joe Fontaine: You know, this company practically forgot that Sid and I were here from the moment we lost at UltraViolence. I spent all of that time in catering, stewing about it, trying to make sense out of things while the Love Company tried to war crime their way to the gold. Occasionally, they’d trot us out there so Sid can powerbomb an invisible man for everyone. And, you know, once there’s no tag division… well, Sid and I don’t have a single idea what’s gonna happen to us.

Sid Phillips: Seriously, not fair.

Joe Fontaine: I know, bro.

He pats Sid on his big, powerbombing bicep.

Joe Fontaine: Don’t get me wrong, I know you guys are the kings of this division. Maybe also of popsicles, too, not sure how you guys still feel about that. Win or lose, no one’s ever going to doubt that you’re the best team that’s ever been in PRIME. But you know what I want to do? Actually, no… what we’re going to do? We’re gonna etch our names on what’s left of the tag titles. It’s not UltraViolence any more. You’re in for a Culture Shock!

Sid slaps his hand against his forehead.

Sid Phillips: Jesus Christ.

Justine’s brow furrows, and her posture relaxes a little. She opens her mouth to speak, closes it, and then cocks her head to the side. It’s the same face a dog would make if you tried to teach it calculus.

Justine Calvin: I… Huh. You know what? I’m just going to let that one breathe.

Sid Phillips: Like a two-pack-a-day smoker on a jog.

He taps Joe on the shoulder.

Sid Phillips: Hey. Are we done here? I want to go to do the part where powerbombs happen.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, sure. What? Was there a problem with something I said?

Sid Phillips: Many. We’ll talk about them after the match.

Sid takes his leave, dragging Joe with him as he walks.

Joe Fontaine (off-screen): Wait! I haven’t even delivered any cool catchphrases! Nooo!

And now we go elsewhere.

ROCKTOGENERIAN FUND PLEDGE DRIVE

CAMERA: Open on a wide rolling lawn surrounded by a thick oak treeline.  The sky is bright blue with a smattering of puffy white clouds.  In the distance, senior citizens are playing croquet.  Nearer by, a couple of women in their 70s are laughing while sharing a seat on a bench swing.  Rocky de Leon enters from stage right, dressed in full FDP gear and mask.

Rocky de Leon: Hi, I’m Carlos de Leon.  You might know me as Rocky or recognize me from my time with the PRIME wrestling federation.  You might even have seen me do a Flying Squirrel into my opponent’s jaw.  I grew up right here, in Laredo, Texas, watching Luchador wrestling on Saturdays with mi papi, Sergeant Mateo de Leon, may he rest in peace.  Mi papi taught me about the history of the Lucha, why we wear the mask, and the history behind Lucha Libre wrestling techniques.  

CAMERA: Rocky walks slowly but with purpose to the left, past the ladies on the bench.  The gray stone front facade of Green as it Gets Acres pans into view from the left, and Rocky stops directly in front of the double glass doors.

Rocky de Leon: He taught me to respect those that came before me and paved the way that I might display my technique in the ring today.  Without mi papi, I would not be the wrestler I am today.  Without that history, that pride, and that font of knowledge, I would never have had the opportunity to flip from the same top rope as the likes of The Anglo Luchador and the other fine Lucha that competed with me in the Lucha Especial earlier this year.  It’s with that regard for my elders and that desire to preserve the lessons of the past that I decided to spearhead the Rocktogenerians fund.

CAMERA: Rocky turns and opens the double doors.  Camera follows him inside.  A lady in a candy striper uniform waves and smiles from the front desk.  Rocky waves back with a quiet “SKREE!”  He turns right, the camera pans with, and stops in front of a door labeled “TV Room.”

Rocky de Leon: You may not know that the quality of life of our senior citizens has been declining.  The costs of elder care continue to rise, despite incomes remaining stagnant.  Unfortunately, this means that amenities provided to our loved ones at assisted living facilities can’t keep up with our loved ones’ needs and the times.

CAMERA: Rocky turns to open the door to the TV Room.  He walks inside to see three old women sitting very close to the TV.  The screen is paused on a scene from ReVival 23, depicting Rocky in the middle of a Pterosaur Splash.

Rocky de Leon: I believe our elders deserve better in their restful years than to have to crowd around an old 15” CRT television.

Old Lady #1: *mumbling* it’s gotta be at least seven…

Rocky de Leon:  The Rocktogenerian fund aims to provide improved comforts to assisted living facilities around the country, beginning right here at Green as it Gets Acres, in my home town of Laredo, then the rest of Texas and, hopefully, the whole United States of America.

Old Lady #2: No way, look.  Look at his hand from palm to middle finger tip.

Rocky de Leon: For as little as a thousand dollars, this room could be upgraded with plush seating and a brand new high definition television so that Abuela Juarez doesn’t have to sit so close.

CAMERA: Rocky puts his hand on Abuela Juarez’s (Old Lady #2’s) shoulder.  She turns to look at him and smiles.  He puts his arm around her and they look toward the camera which has panned to the left.  Old Lady #1 continues to stare intently at the television, never breaking her gaze from the screen.

Abuela Juarez: 4K.

Rocky de Leon: What?

Abuela Juarez: 4K.  We’d love a 4K TV.  For… uh…

Old Lady #1: Reading.

Abuela Juarez: YEAH!  Reading.  We need higher def.  For reading.  Reading all the lines…

Rocky de Leon: *Chuckles* Alright, Abuela, alright. Sounds like we might need to be even a little more modern than HD and set these ladies up with 4K so they can see every line.

Old Lady #1: …of those abs.

CAMERA: Rocky lets Abuela Juarez return to the TV and stands up.

Rocky de Leon: These simple changes would drastically improve the lives of our elders, and they deserve it.  They deserve to live in relative comfort.  There’s no excuse for us failing to provide such inexpensive and basic amenities.

CAMERA: Rocky walks out of the TV room, stopping in front of a general socialization and break area with a somewhat beat up ping pong table which is not in use, multiple card tables that are populated, and a few couches where a knitting club is presently sitting.  One woman appears to be knitting a blanket that resembles Rocky’s mask.

Rocky de Leon: So, please, join me in making the Rocktogenerian fund a success.  Call now at 1-800-ROCKY4ME.  Help me turn their restful home into their dream home.  Any amount helps, but if you become a sustaining member at the $100 monthly level or higher, you will receive your own replica Pterodactyl luchador mask!  And, for this opening pledge drive only, the highest donor will get an evening with me, Rocky de Leon, the FDP!

CAMERA: The lady knitting the mask-blanket approaches Rocky.

Old Knitter: I made this just for you, to say thank you, Rocky.

Rocky de Leon: That is so sweet!  You are so welcome, and thank you very much.

Old Knitter: …wear it for me.

Rocky de Leon:  What?

CAMERA: cuts.

WINDS OF CHANGE VS. THE MASTERS OF THE MULTIVERSE…B-TEAM

“I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go…”

It’s a Dead Man’s Party! Who could ask for more? Wait, who’s the dead man? Well… hard to say, but it might have something to do with whoever Sid Phillips is powerbombing on the way out from the curtain! Who is that? We don’t know. It’s just some guy who had the misfortune of crossing paths with Sid Phillips when he’s in a powerbombing mood. Maybe this is just a Chekhov’s gun. Maybe he’ll come looking for revenge with his team of Hurricanrana Pirates, because as we all know, hurricanranas are the natural enemy of the powerbomb.

But for now… alas, poor Jerry. We didn’t know you very well. Rest in powerbomb.

Joe Fontaine steps over the broken corpse of the man Sid powerbombed to a raucous response from the savage Texas crowd, who clearly enjoy Sid getting to do his thing, and the pair make their way to the ring.

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first… from Phoenix, Arizona… weighing in at a total combined weight of… *sigh* 2.6 Powerbombs! JOE FONTAINE! SID PHILLIPS! THE WIIIIIINDS! OF CHAAAAAAANGE!

Sid marches up the steps and steps into the ring, while Joe hops up onto the apron and then slingshots in. The pair climb up onto the turnbuckles to play to the crowd.

Vince Howard: And their opponents… At a total combined weight of three-hundred and thirty-six pounds… KENNY FREEMAN! RANDALL SCHWARTZ! THE MASTERS OF THE MULTIVERS BUH-BUH-BUH-BEEEEEEEEE TEEEEEEEEEEAM!

“Let Me Entertain You” hits the arena speakers as the duo enter to a mixed reaction. The fans seem glad to see Kenny Freeman. Not so much that Schwartz fella. As they step out onto the stage, the pair are forced to navigate around the man that Sid deposited there.

No, we’re not sure if that guy is dead, so the official Sid Phillips Powerbombs A Corpse count is still set at one. RIP drug dads from the future.

The Masters make their way to the ring, where the Winds already stand waiting.

DING DING

Fontaine and Freeman start things off for their respective teams. A collar and elbow tie-up leads to an armdrag by Fontaine. Freeman rolls to his feet, charges in, and is caught with another one. A headlock takeover follows. Freeman counters with a headscissors, but Fontaine handsprings out of it. Smooth Joe Cool tries to take advantage with a sliding elbow, but he’s caught by Freeman in a quick crucifix. The referee doesn’t even make it to the mat before Fontaine kicks out and both men make it to their feet.

Fontaine closes in, ducks low and gets a rear waistlock. Before he can execute, Freeman uses his own foot to block a takedown attempt, and then performs a standing switch and a snap German suplex. He holds the bridge, but Joe is able to kick out just as the referee’s hand hits the mat for the first time. And just like that, they’re both on their feet again.

That exchange? Maybe one minute of actual time, because these boys are zippy.

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman coming out of the gate on fire tonight!

Richard Parker: Like a man shot out of a broom closet.

Nick Stuart: And Joe Fontaine is… wait… huh?

Richard Parker: The Tony Gamble Memorial broom closet.

Nick Stuart: Great.

Fontaine lands a quick flurry of strikes, the last of which manages to drop Freeman down to one knee. Looking to put a cap on things early, Fontaine moves in for his take on the shining wizard, but seeing Freeman begin to duck Joe gracefully leaps over him, hops up onto the second rope, and plants Freeman with a springboard gamengiri.

Nick Stuart: That kick caught Kenny Freeman flush. Here’s the cover!

1

Richard Parker: You ever wonder what it would look like if someone made the Death Star out of characters on a keyboard, Nick?

2

Nick Stuart: No?

Freeman gets his shoulder up. Fontaine pulls him to his feet, but K-Free counters with a back elbow. This is followed by a knife edge chop to the chest, a snapmare takeover, and a stiff kick to the spine. A snap suplex lands, and the impact is clearly reflected on the face of Smooth Joe Cool.

Richard Parker: Hey, Nick. I had a thought.

Nick Stuart: Oh?

Oh no.

Richard Parker: This match hasn’t been nearly as weird as I was expecting, you know what I mean? Assuming you don’t pay attention to the weird glow under the ring.

Don’t worry, kitten. We’ll fix that in a minute.

Fontaine makes it to the corner, extending his hand and making the tag. The waiter is out of the kitchen, and he’s about to serve up a heaping platter of powerbombs. That waiter’s name is Sid, and this analogy got away from me much faster than I expected it to. The Padishah Emperor of Powerbombs gets a hand on Kenny Freeman, which is half as many hands as he needs to do the thing he loves most.

Richard Parker: I think Sid Phillips is about to try and kill a guy, Nick.

The powerbomb that lands on Kenny Freeman is delivered with enough force to send the smaller man bouncing to his own corner where Randall Schwartz is currently in the middle of an existential crisis about whether he wants to subject himself to the same fate.

Nick Stuart: Massive powerbomb by the big man from Arizona. After having to watch from the sidelines for a while, Sid Phillips is looking to make a statement.

Richard Parker: Is “make a statement” some sort of code for “do powerbombs”? I’m genuinely asking, I don’t know how the young people speak.

Schwartz makes the tag, though it looks a little reluctant, and enters the ring. Sid, bouncing on his toes and eager to stoke the fires of the powerbomb furnace, is making his pecs dance.

Richard Parker: Hey, I can do that, too!

The clip from a fan’s cell phone that is later uploaded to Reddit will show that no, Richard Parker cannot in fact “do that.” What he can do is twist his upper body from side to side.

Richard Parker: Okay, genuine question part two.

Nick Stuart: Oh dear.

Richard Parker: Does Schwartz look taller to you? Like maybe by an inch or so?

The Entertainer steps towards his foe and dodges out of the way from an attempted grapple, which is the word we’re going to use for “powerbomb hug.” A jab connects with Sid, who looks more surprised than injured. Sid attempts a second grapple, but Schwartz side steps again. A kick to the thigh follows. The expression on Sid’s face is one of annoyance, because opponents were made to be powerbombed and this one just doesn’t want to cooperate.

Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz looking better than I expected him to, given what he had to endure at Lucha Especial at the end of the year.

Richard Parker: Oh right, when Kaz Troy made his arm go pop.

Nick Stuart: That would be the night, yes.

And then Richard starts singing. It’s a familiar tune to those of us in this reality, but is entirely alien to everyone in the PRIME ‘verse.

Richard Parker: (singing) It’s hard to wipe. He can’t pour coffee. Needs special tongs… to tie his shoes. Ain’t no more wrestling. No happy times. It makes him feel… like he’s got the blues.

Nick Stuart: What are you singing?

A really bad rendition of “Sexy Boy”, Nick. But I can’t fault you for not knowing that. As we established, the song doesn’t exist here.

Richard Parker: (singing) Arm broken by a Troy. By a Trooooooy-oy! Snapped by the Troy boy. Trooooooy boooooooy-oy.

Not apologizing for this, in case you were curious.

The crowd around the ringside area is now aware of a faint glow emanating from beneath the ring, visible only as a faint outline below where the ring skirt hangs.

Meanwhile, Sid feints one direction, baiting Schwartz to dodge the other way. And the trap is sprung. In this case, the trap is two massive arms locking around Randall’s midsection and brute-force pulling him up off the ground.

Richard Parker: Watch out for his necktorals, Sid!

Sid takes a running start and dives, powerbombing Schwartz onto the mat hard enough that the force sends The Entertainer tumbling out of the ring.

Nick Stuart: Randall Schwartz has just been sent packing! And… it looks like he’s trying to hide under the ring, Richard.

The version of Randall Schwartz that slides into the ring now is dressed in camouflage pants, combat boots, and a tactical vest. Why? To complement the green and black  facepaint, obviously. Somewhere in another dimension there is a very confused space hunter wondering why he’s no longer fighting to the death in the middle of a jungle. Did I mention this version of Randall is yoked to the gills? Well, he is.

Richard Parker: Ummm. Do I want to know where that whole outfit came from?

Nick Stuart: Some questions are better left unanswered.

Richard Parker: And when did he have time to paint his face?

Nick Stuart: That is also one of those questions, Richard.

Randall Schwartzenegger makes a move for Sid Phillips. Guess what happens next.

No, go on. Guess. I’ll wait.

Still thinking?

Here, I’ll give you a hint. These two men combined know a total of like five wrestling moves, and even though one of them is from a mirror universe where everyone is an Austrian powerlifter, the other one is still bigger.

Randall Schwartzenegger: (Austrian muscle noises)

It’s a powerbomb. That’s what happens. In the battle of Powerbombs Versus Predator the powerbombs win, and the Coffeenator hits the mat, rolls out the other side of the ring, and then quickly ducks back under the ring. There might be a space creature with fishnets and a weirdo vagina mouth waiting for him there, but at least that thing isn’t going to try to commit powerbomb homicide. Only the regular kind of homicide. The kind that involves lasers.

So maybe not that regular.

Nick Stuart: And Sid is giving chase. Honestly, I’m not sure that’s a wise decision all things considered.

Richard Parker: We don’t know what that light under the ring means, Nick. Bobby Dean once pulled an entire KFC dinner out from under the ring. Maybe whoever installed the KFC kitchen decided it needed its own private disco. We just don’t know.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think…

Richard Parker: Let me have this!!

On the opposite end of the ring, original recipe Randall slides in under the ropes and tags in his partner. Sid Phillips sees none of this, for his gaze is transfixed. As he lifts the ring apron, Sid the Powerbomb Sculptor glances into something that his mind simply cannot process. The man that some people – not a lot, but some – call Hatless Sam Fedora is now aware of a horrible cosmic truth: there exists a reality where powerbombs do not exist.

The fans behind Sid don’t notice any of this, because they’re all enraptured by being that close to the radiant splendor of his plumpy dumper.

PRIME: The Butt Fed.

With a look of white-faced terror, Sid releases the ring apron just in time to be blasted backwards into the guardrail by an airborne Kenny Freeman.

Nick Stuart: Springboard tornillo by Kenny Freeman to the outside, and Sid Phillips is rocked!

Richard Parker: It looked like he was spooked by something, Nick. Any idea what he saw?

Nick Stuart: No idea.

Richard Parker: Maybe it was a sign that said “It’s okay to skip leg day sometimes.”

Not wanting to waste the opportunity, Freeman pulls Sid up and rolls him back into the ring. K-Free bounds up onto the ring apron, takes hold of the top rope with both hands, and lands a slingshot senton onto Sid to get back into the ring. Sid, still recovering from having endured more cosmic horror than the combined works of HP Lovecraft (and with less racisms to boot), slowly rolls towards the center of the ring.

Freeman hits the far ropes to build some momentum, begins doing a rendition of the Thriller dance, and hits a legdrop across the throat of He Whose Hunger For Powerbombs Knows No Ends.

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman with a flurry of offense! He’s really putting that speed to work, Richard.

Richard Parker: What, you mean like those Jesse Spano caffeine pills, or…?

The move that comes next is applied in the blink of an eye. A wrestling technician might describe it as a kneeling step-over head-hold wristlock followed by hooking Sid’s far leg. But I’m a big dope who decided that this match absolutely needed to have a portal under the ring so I could get weird, which is the furthest thing from a technician.

Nick Stuart: Freeman Special!!

Jesus, Nick. Way to steal my thunder.

In this situation the application of the move is a strong tactical play on the part of Freeman, because as long as he doesn’t have the use of one arm and one leg Sid won’t be able to powerbomb his way out of it. He tries, oh does he try, but because he can’t get a proper grip it comes off as a lot of flailing.

You know who does have his arms and legs? Joe Fontaine. I mean so does Sid, but we’ve already established they are otherwise occupied at the moment.

Anyway, Joe puts his having-all-my-limbs-free-and-not-in-a-knot to work by springboarding to the top rope and launching himself across the ring to break up the submission attempt with a missile dropkick.

Nick Stuart: Sid back on his feet, and it looks like he’s starting to get his bearings back.

Richard Parker: Ooh! This one I understand. You’re saying he looks pissed, because he looks pissed.

The First Pioneer on the Powerbomb Trail does indeed look unhappy. Kenny Freeman however looks a bit rattled by that flying dropkick, as the move caught him blind. He staggers to his feet, only to be caught by an angry bear-fearing man and is buckle-bombed into his own corner. The impact inadvertently causes Randall Schwartz to be tagged back in.

Freeman rolls to the arena floor for a moment to collect his bearings, now having been on the receiving end of two whiplash-style moves in quick succession.

Nick Stuart: Schwartz back in the ring now, though I still have no idea where the camo pants or facepaint went.

Richard Parker: Lifts. He’s gotta have lifts in his shoes.

Nick Stuart: How does that…

Richard Parker: Look, you worry about where the outfit went, and I’ll try to figure out the height thing. We’ll Scooby Doo this in no time, you’ll see.

Hey, guys.

Guess what.

Do you know what Sid likes to do in his spare time?

Me either, but I can tell you what he likes to do when he’s on the clock. In fact, everyone should know what Sid’s thing is by now, and if you haven’t then what the hell are you even doing with your lives? I’m assuming there’s more than one of you out there, just to err on the side of caution, even though I can’t imagine it being the case. It’s powerbombs.

Richard Parker: Do they have support groups for wrestling holds? I swear, this man is an addict and it’ll bring us all to ruin.

Hey, guys.

Guys.

Guess what.

No, seriously. I mean it this time.

Did you know that Sid has another move that he uses sometimes? It’s true. It doesn’t happen very often, but around these parts we appreciate knowing it exists.

Nick Stuart: Sid takes the straps down…

Richard Parker: Hnnghhh!

Nick Stuart: He’s got Schwartz up.

Richard Parker: So much wrong with your phrasing right now.

Nick Stuart: Exploding Cyclone Homicide Driver!

Not to be confused with the – ahem – Crimson Miracle Bloody Blood Death Homicycle. Lotta murder in these names. Lotta murder.

Jimmy Turnbull is down to make the count.

1

And outside the ring, Kenny Freeman makes a move. He slides under the bottom rope and gets to his feet.

2

He’s intercepted by Joe Fontaine who dives over the mass of humanity on the mat to try and make sure he doesn’t get there.

3!!!

Freeman’s forearm lands a hair too late.

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: The Winds have done it, though the Masters did not go quietly! Kenny Freeman put on a hell of a show to keep his team in this one, Richard.

Richard Parker: And this clears the deck for an ass-off at Culture Shock.

Nick Stuart: …

Richard Parker: What?

Nick Stuart: Fans, we’ll be right back after this!

COMMERCIAL: CULTURE SHOCK MAIN EVENT

VIVATTAGAMINI-KUSALA

Where we are is always a matter of interpretation, but at least we know he’s not in the arena. 

The Bodhisattva of Transformative Experience is situated on a verdantly, electrically green grass field, the soft breezes of the dusk causing the tall blades to dance hypnotically.  We hear the song fade in, though we see no source.  And as the camera inches closer to Sage Pontiff, we can see that he is in rare form: seated in a lotus position, eyes closed.  His face bears spackles of dyes, as if he has partaken in Holi, his dreads and lips and lids bearing a cross section of vibrant coloration.  He is draped in what appears to be a silken robe that spills onto the ground beneath him–and around him in a circle that fans out at least ten feet are what appear to be offerings.  Small statues, bundles of flowers, baskets bearing bread and fruit alike.  When he speaks, it is not with the anxiety that we heard from him last.  Nor is it in his eternally stoned fry.  This is a low, soft voice, of a man speaking to you with the knowledge that his words will carry a weight that bears being listened to, no matter the volume. 

Sage Pontiff: Namaste, PRIME. 

He has not opened his eyes, and perhaps does not plan to, seated as he is in a meditative calm like Siddhartha.  We can hear the wind through the steady drums and psychedelic guitar tones. 

Sage Pontiff: I have spent time in isolation seeking a journey of both the internal world and external.  There comes a time when all philosophy and belief can become…stale.  Dogmatic. Turning from an idea to a faith is dangerous, right?  Because that faith kind of automatically has structure associated with it.  And once a structure is up, it can be almost impossible to shift.  And that’s how I’ve been, cosmic adventurers. 

A smirk, soft. 

Sage Pontiff: It’s like…surprising.  That’s a frightening truth to come towards. 

Deep, circular breath.  In, hold.  Out, hold.  Repeat.

Sage Pontiff: But what we do requires self reflection as much as it requires questions of a greater cosmic significance.  The praxis of elevating the consciousness of the masses isn’t something that can just be done.  It’s not like sending a message on Instagram.  It’s not immediate.  But we’ve become so used to the gratification of the now that we’ve forgotten how to take a long journey. 

The camera cuts to look over the offerings more closely.  Some appear to be prayers and pleadings for something, written on paper and bound with red string.  Amongst the items are jewelry, mostly beadwork.  Crystals.  Tie dyes clothing of various sorts.  Tapestries, yoga mats, incense, even bags of sacrament and folds of money. 

Sage Pontiff: Even me.

Back to the Bodhisattva, whose body has not moved an inch.   

Sage Pontiff: I got so..wound up.  Thinking small, thinking minute, thinking so literal.  You ever do that?  It stops being about the picture.  You’re all trees, no forest.  But then where does that leave you once the tiny parts of the task are done?  I felt so..adrift.  So lost.  So hurt.  So…pointless.  I’m sure you have as well, right?  We all have.  Because I’m not talking about something that is unique to being the Bodhisattva, I’m talking about something that is endemic to the human condition.  We all walk our paths and encounter resistance.  And many of you, most of you, give up.  Give in.  I wanted to.

It’s subtle, but he raises his head a bit, exposing his multicolored face to better exposure from the setting sun.  His forehead appears to almost be fully healed, though we can notice the ghost of a split lip under a smear of teal blue. 

Sage Pontiff: But I am fated for something greater.  The chi of time and space and lead me to this moment, to this place, right now.  Try to…envision the enormity, fellow travelers.  Try to absorb the scale. 

Now his mouth actually cracks into a smile.  Not a wide grin of laughter, but the soft, infuriating happiness of Buddha’s calm.  His voice also gets a little more animated, but he’s keeping himself in check–the words are just coming at a more excited pace. 

Sage Pontiff: I have lost more than I’ve won.  And I’ve been holding myself above that with the knowledge that statistical models are a weapon of Capitalism.  But those losses did teach me something, in my doubt.  I’ve been thinking too small.  Thinking like my work is done already, like I’ve gone as far as I can, reached the summit of the highest mountain.  What ego, right?  But that’s the poison of chauvinism and privilege.  No, no.  Once it became clear once…I broke through?  I realized the truths for what they were.  I saw the geometry of all the interactions, all the words, all the teachings, the road, the places, the lovers, the students, the opponents.  Ria, Paxton, they were my trees…and they were preventing me from focusing on what should have been my forest.

Finally, his eyes open, the brilliance of his heterochromia and his almost permanent saucer like dilation drawing us in.  The camera inches closer, and he is looking directly at you.  At me.  At all of us. 

Sage Pontiff: And that’s you, PRIME. 

He pauses here for a long moment, letting the natural magnetism of his face and the trance of the music hold attention before speaking again. 

Sage Pontiff: You’re my forest.  

His smile breaks out across his face, all brilliant white teeth against the saturation of the powder coating his skin. 

Sage Pontiff: You are what I must elevate.   You are the consciousness I seek to unshackle from the chains of modern consumerism.  You are what I must awaken. 

He finally stops executing his Karana Mudra, and that’s when we see it.  His knuckles arent scabbed over–they’re freshly scraped.  We notice what appear to be defensive scratches on his wrists.  He regards them for a moment, his focus drawn away from us, his smile lowering back to the calmness of enlightenment.  Finally, his gaze returns. 

Sage Pontiff: Even if I have to bleed every one of you to do it. 

He stands, unfolding his legs, throwing off his garment and leaving it behind him.  His body is similarly coated in colorful dye powder–and in sports, we can see the telltale droplets and spray of brick-toned crimson.  Bare feet tread on the gifts that he has been given, but it is not a walk of destruction.  He practically floats atop the prayers, the jewelry, and the lotus flowers until he is no longer visible.  Leaving us with his wake.  Then a black screen. 

FRIEDA

OW!

The greeting of Katrina followed up by the horn section of the Waves gives us our lead in. Out from behind the curtain? It’s your boy Abe Lipschitz! Once again, he seems to be sans the Black Metal Friends – almost as if this were like the Saved By the Bell episodes with Tori and the audience is just supposed to assume that Jessie and Kelly are foreign exchange students for that particular semester. Which is exactly the logic that I’m using. This too explains the deviation in theme music. Much like his t-shirts, Abe always wants to mix it up. Last week was “Shiny Happy People,” and keeping with the mantra, it’s now “Walking on Sunshine.”

Richard Parker: I never thought I’d say this, but I really do miss those goths. This has gone from annoying to unbearable in the matter of two shows.

Nick Stuart: Would you have preferred another song choice?

Richard Parker: An infant screaming on repeat would be better than this.

The crowd certainly is having a fun time with it, as is the Babe. He’s stepping in tune with the music, taking the occasional break to slap some fives and let some of the lucky folks run their fingers through his well-conditioned hair. And as for #whatsabewearing #abelovesshirts this fine evening?

Well, it’s not something we’ve seen before, that’s for sure. It’s tye-dyed, and features a cartoon drawing of a woman who is slightly bent over at the knees, hiking up her skirt to reveal an overexaggerated pair of butt cheeks. Just behind those cheeks is a cartoon man who looks strangely similar to Abe himself, only his eyes are bugged out and tongue extended in preparation for an act not suitable for a PG audience. Real subtle, Abe.

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure who the lucky lady is that’s about to receive rear entry on Abe’s shirt, but it seems like he’s making his intentions known.

Richard Parker: Doesn’t look much like Lindsay Troy, so I’m gonna assume it’s not her. Otherwise he’d have been decapitated long before he came out here. Which makes me wish it were Lindsay Troy on his shirt.

Eventually, he moseys on into the ring and calls for a microphone, no doubt to try and continue to goad a certain man named Ned back into their bitter blood feud.

Abe Lipschitz: Oh NEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ED! Come out, come out wherever you are!

Abe pauses to let the crowd murmur for a minute, as well as give Reform some time to answer the call. It’s pretty apparent that isn’t going to happen, though.

Abe Lipschitz: I know you’re back there, Neddy. I could smell ya comin’ up the elevator! Get on out here, and let’s settle this, mano ‘e mano.

Again, he stops, beckoning the empty entrance platform with his free hand.

No dice.

Abe Lipschitz: Dangit, Ned! You don’t mean to tell me that I had this shirt custom-made for tonight and you won’t even take a few steps to come admire the artwork? Hey, I know it’s not Japanimation – more of an old school Merrie Melodies flair – but I think the designer really nailed the idea of me having an Almond Joy for dessert courtesy of Mrs. Frieda Reform!

The audience seems to have loved that one. Well, some probably gagged. Hard to distinguish laughter, cheers, and puking when they’re all mixed together.

Richard Parker: I can’t believe the audacity of this! That’s a man’s wife he’s talking about! There’s no way Ned can ignore this!

Nick Stuart: He’d probably be more upset that Abe just revealed his wife’s actual first name on live television.

Abe Lipschitz: To be honest, I’m normally more of a Mounds guy, but sometimes you need to open your taste buds up to new flavors. I’m trying to develop a more cultured palate, now that I’m a college student and all. Yep, as you all probably heard on social media, I enrolled at the prestigious Hollywood State University a couple of weeks ago! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Fightin’ Celebrities!

Lipschitz begins a slow little pace inside of the ring as he begins to explain a little more about the HSU curriculum.

Abe Lipschitz: Now I already know what our wrestling professor is gonna say about this. ‘Hollywood State University is a fake institution of higher learning,’ or ‘they don’t even have instructors with anything higher than a bachelor’s degree,’ or ‘real colleges aren’t located in strip malls in between an Ulta Beauty and a Ross Dress for Less.’ Well, I got news for you, Ned. Not only is HSU accredited by the California Association of Colleges and Universities Eventually Seeking Accreditation Someday…

Nick Stuart: Ah, I thought that school sounded familiar. I’m on the board at CACUESAS.

Abe Lipschitz: …but they also offer all of their courses ONLINE. On the Internet. Without the need for live instructors. Because if someone actually goes to the trouble of writing a book on a particular subject matter, what is the point of actually having a teacher? Make it make sense, Ned! Much like Latin translators, slap bracelet manufacturers, Sage Pontiff’s loofah, and Cancer Jiles’ penis – there’s no use for you anymore! All you have is ME, Ned. So why don’t you come on out here, and let’s freakin’ do this.

Abe again turns to wait expectantly toward the entrance… but no sign of Reform. What does happen, however, is Ned appears on the big screen, drawing a round of boos from the PRIME fans in attendance. Reform sits in an office – behind him stands a bookshelf and a window with large curtains. On the wall are hung several degrees, although the specifics of what’s written on them is not in focus. Reform is dressed as you’d imagine your typical “I’m a stuffy academic but I also can be relatable, kids” figure would be. He removes his large, black rimmed glasses, wipes them on his button-up shirt, and smiles into the camera.

Ned Reform: Hello, Mr. Lipschitz.

Abe puts his mouth up to the microphone to respond, but is immediately cut off at the pass.

Ned Reform: Aren’t you just the little eager beaver? A real “little engine that could” archetype, yes? Contrary to what you may think, I have received your multiple emails. And phone calls. And messages. Also, I saw you outside my window two nights ago. I’m not sure how you evaded the police, but I at least have to admire your cunning! Ha ha! 

Reform slaps his hand together in amusement.

Nick Stuart: This is a far, far different demeanor than we’ve seen out of Ned lately. Last we saw, he appeared to have completely given up. But this… he seems downright jovial.

Reform continues to grin widely.

Ned Reform: I understand that comprehension is likely not your strong suit, so it appears it falls under my umbrella to be the one who makes this abundantly clear to you: I quit. I am done. I quit PRIME two weeks ago on live television. Let me perhaps repeat that to ensure understanding: I quit PRIME two weeks ago. As in, I no longer work for that company. Now, that fiendish and wicked Lindsay Troy is holding up the actual completion of the contract termination – likely hoping to retain a talent such as myself until the next big pay per view event – but nonetheless, for all intents and purposes, Dr. Ned Reform has left PRIME.

Shaking his head and lifting a finger up, Abe starts to correct him. But yet again, he’s cut off.

Ned Reform: HOWEVER! Wait. Allow me to finish. You see, I’ve appeared tonight because it occurs to me that like the clingy undergrad who waits outside your office the day before final exams, you are not going to go away. I could likely pretend that you don’t exist until the heat death of the universe, and I’d imagine you’d still find a way to annoy me. And if you’ve been paying attention to the events of the world of professional wrestling outside your bubble, you likely know that I have much, much bigger fish to fry than yourself. It’s funny you should say “go fighting celebrities” – as fighting celebrities is exactly my plan. I’m hunting for the Great White Sharks of the world, dear boy, I have little time for a minnow. 

Abe Lipschitz: You’r…

Ned Reform: Alas – since you are never going to take even the most glaringly obvious of hints, I have decided to concede: if you are so desperate to attach your name to a figure as large in this sport as Dr. Ned Reform… I will oblige.

The crowd likes that!

Nick Stuart: Sounds like Abe is getting his match!

Ned Reform: However… this shall be marketed by the trained chimps in the office as my official PRIME retirement match. After it, I walk out the door never to return, and focus my attention on know-it-all would-be millionaires. And I hope you are not under the delusion that you will be getting a true athletic contest… I have no interest in wasting my energy on you or PRIME in general. I will come to the ring, the bell ring, and I will allow you to pin me. Big victory for you – “arch enemy” vanquished by the triumphant hero. You’ll get what you want, and you – and PRIME – will be out of my life forever. Good day.

Before Abe can say anything in response YET AGAIN, Ned disappears off the screen.

“VIA SATELLITE” IS PASSE NOW

Backstage.

The hulking Kaiju known as Mushigihara lumbers his way through the Toyota Center; not dressed for battle, but definitely there for business.

Mushigihara: Hey, has anyone seen Eddie Cross lately?

The wayward staffers he asks merely shake their heads and shrug, leading the monster to sigh and deliberately rush away from them, growling with each step. He sees Darin Zion in the hallway looking at himself in a mirror. 

Darin Zion: Tough Love. Tough Love.

Mushigihara: Hey Zion, have you seen Eddie Cross tonight?

Zion shakes his head and goes back to reciting his mantra in the mirror. Mushi continues down the hall and sees a new, but popular face, Abe Lipschitz. He walks up to Abe and his Black Metal friends and nods to them all. 

Mushigihara: Abe, you haven’t run into Eddie Cross tonight have you?

Abe Lipschitz: Sorry, Mushi, haven’t seen him. Good luck finding him though!

The Kaiju trundles down the hall and he sees someone who definitely would know if Eddie is here or not, Timo Bolamba’s BFF, The Anglo Luchador.

Mushigihara: Hey Tom, I was wondering if you have seen…

Tom holds up a finger and points at an earbud.

TAL: That’s right, 3000 urinal cakes. One of each. I know, but I have a high credit limit! OK. Thanks, bye! Okay, what’s up Mushi?

Mushigihara: I have been looking for Eddie Cross and hoped you might know where he is?

TAL: I haven’t seen him, big man. Timo didn’t say anything to me either. Maybe he is in one of the dressing rooms?

Mushigihara: Hey, that’s a good idea, thanks Tom!

As Mushi rounds the corner and opens a door to the nearest dressing room, he feels a familiar vibration in his pocket. He pulls his phone out and sees that there is a request for a video stream on the screen. Curiously, he slides the accept button and waiting for him is none other than Eddie Cross. 

Eddie Cross: Mushi, real quick, look at the TV on the wall and cast this up so you and I can talk face to face.  

Mushigihara: Casting? What, “via satellite” technology’s passé now?

Mushi obliges and quickly Eddie is displayed on the big screen. It is clear that this is Eddie’s personal gaming stream as the users in chat are commenting as well. 

Rossian: I’m on TV!

SPRmario: Itsame!

boxCAR: bro!

Mushigihara: Hey Eddie, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was hoping we could clear the air.

Eddie laughs.

Eddie Cross: Clear the air? I guess we can do that. I’ll start: I don’t like you. You walk around backstage acting like everyone should fear you because you’re so big. You got a title shot simply because there was nobody left to challenge for the belts and when you got the shot, even you didn’t think you deserved it. You drove your partner out of the business, and you’re constantly dismissing me as a “gamer” when I am a wrestler first. I have lived and breathed this business since the day I turned 18. You just found your way into it because of your prodigal size and a partner that could carry you. Now you have to do it all on your own, and I don’t think you can. 

@lejandro: SICK BURN.

boxCAR: Ouch. 

SPRmario: Herewego!

Mushi seethes as he listens to Eddie speak his piece. 

Eddie Cross: I try to sell some tickets and make a little noise and your first instinct is to attack me? Well I have news for you, so called “God Beast,” the only God you represent is Hypnos the Greek God of sleep because that’s all I see in the crowd whenever you open your mouth or go out there for a match. You’re an under-performing, bathroom break-inducing teammate anchor and I tried to get a little hype for you, to make you interesting again… and the first thing you do is try to pummel me to shut me up. Face it Mushi, I’m the best thing to happen to you since the first round of Tag Team Survivor.   

boxCAR: I’m DEAD!

AlphaSIMP: ROFLCOPTER. Nailed it.

Rossian: n1ghtcraw1er with fire!

Mushigihara: Well maybe I’m not the most exciting wrestler on the block, but at least I settle my affairs face-to-face, like a professional. You’re at home trying to talk trash behind a webcam and a monitor, because you know the second someone starts swingin’ you’d get destroyed.

The Kaiju smiles and nods.

Mushigihara: Unless you wanna step in the ring and prove me wrong, that is.

Eddie laughs deep from his belly. 

Eddie Cross: Oh wait… you thought… OMFG that’s literally hilarious. Now why in the world would I want to do that, Mushi? Even though my losses came against top tier competition, you couldn’t get past the first round of the Alias title tournament. 

Mushigihara: Then back up those words, Cross. Step in the ring with me, you bootleg Jake Paul shitstirrer! Shut me down, if you’re so damn good! Get out from behind the webcam, stop talking shit, and FIGHT!

Eddie rolls his eyes.

Eddie Cross: FYI, Jake Paul is the most popular boxer in the world right now, dipshit. But, no, I don’t think that will be happening, Mushi. 

Voice: Think again, hot shot.

Mushi turns and reveals the owner of the voice, none other than Lindsay Troy herself! 

Lindsay Troy: You’ve got a real bad habit of running your mouth and failing to back it up, Eddie, and that’s not the kind of thing we look too favorably on at TCS. So why don’t we see if you’ve actually learned anything in your time with Viv, hm?  ReVival 25, you vs. Mushi. And it’d be in the loser’s best interest to acknowledge the winner.

RAAAAAAAAAH!!

Rossian: Gettin’ served by the Queen!

AlphaSIMP: Bow Down!

SPRMario: UH-OH!

Lindsay glares at Eddie’s gamer friends on the screen. Eddie is visibly perturbed by the Queen’s announcement, but Mushigihara simply smiles.

Mushigihara: Looks like we have a date in San Anton, Cross. See ya there.

The Kaiju leans into the monitor, before pushing forward with a bellowing…

Mushigihara: OSU!!!

Lindsay Troy: Henry… indoor voice, please?

Mushi simply shrugs and mumbles “sorry,” as Lindsay departs. Eddie rolls his eyes indignantly as he disconnects the call. The Kaiju stomps away, shaking his fists triumphantly.

LOVE IS BLIND, LUCKILY THERE’S LENSCRAFTERS

Backstage, we join Kohime Mori. The young woman wrings her hands together while pacing. One, two, three, four steps and turn around. One, two, three, four steps and turn around. Her head is on a swivel, checking down one side of the area before looking down the other a few seconds later. She stops, closing her eyes. Her chest expands, accompanied by the sound of a slowly inhaled breath. Her exhale is much faster, almost as if she’s forcing every bit of oxygen out of her lungs. She opens her eyes and turns to the right. The worry that wrought her face subsides a bit. Mortimer Knightingale has entered frame.

There is a confidence, a sort of pep in his step as Mortimer approaches Mori.  A smile on his face, an image of exuberance, as if he is about to break out into a large Broadway musical number. He walks up to Mori and bows respectfully.

Mortimer Knightingale: Hi.  Like “Hello”.  Not the, uh, you know, Karate kind.   I don’t want you thinkin’ I condone nor support any derogatorically insensitive remarks, there’s been enough of that, what with what happened earlier with that little prick, Gamble.  Not that hai is mutually exclusive to Karate, sorry…. I’m ramblin’….

Mortimer laughs nervously before Kohime Mori with an earnest smile.

Mortimer Knightingale:  Hello.  I was hopin’ I could, uh, talk to you?  I’ve been workin’ up the nerve to—–

Mortimer notices something on Kohime Mori’s face and he becomes concerned.

Mortimer Knightingale: You okay?

Kohime gives Mortimer a half glance up before her focus goes to the ground.

Kohime Mori: We need to talk…

Her tone is low, her shoulders are slumped. This isn’t the usual upbeat Kohime people are used to.

Mortimer Knightingale:  Yeah, yeah we do.  I, uh, I wanna tell you somethin’, somethin’ I need to get off my chest….unless you’d….

Mortimer extends his arm, welcoming Kohime Mori to begin. Another deep breath from Mori. She finally raises her head to look up at Nightingale.

Kohime Mori: I like you, Morty and I want to believe you’re great. But you hang around with Tommy Gamble, let him mistreat you… I don’t like to say things like this, but that guy’s a jerk! And I’m not sure how close we can really be if that’s the kind of company you’re going to keep.

Kohime speaks her words in a quick fashion, as if they’d explode out of her if she didn’t expel them when she did. She pauses in an effort to center herself. Once ready, she gives Mortimer a slight nod.   Mortimer pauses, processing everything Kohime laid before him until he realizes one important fact.

Mortimer Knightingale:  You—You didn’t see it.  You missed the whole fuckin’ thing!  That arrogant little twerp, Tony Gamble, out there, in the middle of that ring, malignated your good name so I beat him.  I beat the shit outta that prick.  Literally!   There was a particularly fecal stench when his two dumb fuck goons pulled me offa him.  I’m free from all that!  For you! 

Kohime’s eyes widen.

Kohime Mori: You… You stood up for me?…

The blood rushes to her face. She looks down to the ground again, but there’s clearly a different feeling in the air. Mori takes a few shuffled steps forward until she’s right in Mortimer’s personal space. She rests her cheek against the larger man’s heart, wrapping her arms around his broad torso as best she can.

Kohime Mori: Thank you…

The volume of her voice is just above a whisper, but the words are clear and crisp.  Mortimer wraps his arms around her.

Mortimer Knightingale:  I….adore you.  

Mortimer’s voice trailers off as they hold each other in silence for a moment.  Mortimer cherished every moment of this embrace before releasing Mori.  Mortimer Knightingale takes a step back.

Mortimer Knightingale:  I’m, uh, gonna say somethin’ and I’m….fuckin’ terrified that once I say what I’m gonna say, your opinion is gonna change.   But I need to say it, you know?  I want you to know me.  

Mortimer Knightingale puts his arms around his head, his hands shaking as he loosens the ties on his mask.  Mortimer looks into Kohime’s eyes, locking in on them as he removes the mask.  He clutches the mask in his hands, sheepishly keeping his gaze.

Mortimer Knightingale:  I’m a piece of shit.  I’ve done things.  Things I ain’t proud of….I—I have committed certain illegalities for money.  There’s this movie I was convinced in doin’.  There’s people I’ve hurt.  I don’t wanna be that—-For you, I wanna be…..

Mortimer finds it hard to get words out.  He memorized everything on his way to Kohime and now, the words are lost on him.   He feels his voice cracking as he stands before her not as Mortimer Knighingale but Rowan Scatino, his birth name.  How long has it been since he has found himself this vulnerable in front of another person? Kohime raises her hands, tenderly placing them on each side of Mortimer’s jaw.

Kohime Mori: People can change. You can always be better than you used to be. Nothing but yourself is stopping you from being better.

Mori flashes Rowan a bashful smile.

Kohime Mori: I believe in you. You have to believe in yourself. You know what you have to do.

Mortimer’s brow appears to tremble, his breathing becomes slightly irregular as he feels Kohime’s hands on his face.  Mortimer looks petrified as looks into her eyes.  Those dark, beautiful, affectionate eyes that look at him as the man he could be.  The small bashful smile that he has, on occasion, thought about.  In this moment, Mortimer can see what he and Kohime Mori could be together.

Mortimer drops his mask and brings his hands up, taking her hands in his, finally dropping his head, breaking eye contact.

Mortimer Knightingale:  I….You’re too good for me….

Mortimer lets Kohime’s hands go and sucker punches her in the face.  Kohime staggers back, looking stunned.  Mortimer clocks her again with another right hand in the mouth, dropping the young woman to the ground.  As blood trickles down her lip, tears trickle down his cheek.

Mortimer Knightingale:  …but I’m a piece of shit.  Better you know now….

Mortimer, unable to look at Mori, bends down and picks up his mask and walks away. Mori slowly pulls herself to her feet. Her breathing quickens, just short of hyperventilation. Her fists are clenched and her face is twisted in anger… Only for it to fade quickly. Kohime’s lip quivers and her eyes well up before she collapses to her knees as tears flow down her cheeks. She buries her tear soaked face into her hands, a gutteral bawl echoing throughout the hallway as the girl cries in sorrow.

NOVA VS. ANNA DANIELS

The lights cut out in the Toyota Center, 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 name of the PRIME icon.  

NOVA

Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain” powers on.

Vince Howard: This bout is scheduled for one fall, and has a thirty minute time limit! Introducing first…from parts unknown…standing six feet three inches and weighing in at two hundred forty pounds…he is a PRIME Hall of Famer…one of the longest reigning Universal Champions in PRIME history…his accolades are numerous…he is the RIIIIISEN STAR! He is…NOOOOOOOOOOOOOVA!

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp where Nova is knelt, one fist raised in the air. Usually, smoke would be wafting up from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, swirling iridescently under the hot glare of the spotlight. Not this time, as Nova’s face is clad in a mask with the same deep blue night sky, stars, and lightning bolts that cover his wrestling tights. After a moment, the Risen Star climbs to his feet and makes his way down to the ring, rolling under the bottom rope before standing.

Nick Stuart: Still with the mask, we all see.

Richard Parker: And if he doesn’t watch out, one heck of a target.

The lights come up, only for them to quickly fade to black. After a moment, the beginning guitar notes of Solid Space’s “A Darkness In My Soul” begin. Nothing comes on the PRIME*view to note exactly who is coming out, but they know. Suddenly, a spotlight pierces through the dark pointed to the top on the entrance ramp. Anna Daniels stands there, their profile positioned towards the light. They let it wash over them while letting the fans get a good look at the merchandise. Finally, they glance at the ring with a small smirk on their face.

Nick Stuart: The always dangerous–

Richard Parker: And ultracapitalist–

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels.

As The Muse takes their time heading to the ring, they wistfully observe the goings on around them as if getting into a certain type of groove that only they can hear. Their strolling sways almost like their dancing from time to time. Their robe and headpiece–once more regal and dazzling artifacts from their homeplanet–are in various stages of disrepair and utter damage. Anna slaps a hand or two, nods a little to those in attendance. Once ringside, they motion for somebody to take the robe and headpiece which when taken nearly make the poor sap fall over.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…from Mount Perdition, Gallifrey! Weighing in at one-hundred and thirty-five pounds…they are the TIIIIIIME LORD…AAAAANNNNAAAAAA! DAAAANNNNIIIIIEEEEEELLLLSSSS!

They make their way to the stairs and slink along the apron, wiping their feet before entering the ring. Immediately after, they nearly chase off Timo in a sudden blur of action before smiling yet again. Casually, they stroll to a corner with their head bopping before perching themself onto the top rope laid out like a French girl people like to paint, giving a playful wave to the Risen Star, all before dropping and getting ready to fight.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: This one looks to be an interesting match up. Daniels and Nova…both coming off of disappointments in their last outings. Nova, having to wear that mask after the attack from Paxton Ray weeks ago…

Richard Parker: And Daniels coming off taking the current number one ranked wrestler in all of PRIME, Nate Colton, to his absolute limit, only to fall when given a shot at the 5 Star Championship.

From the jump, the two begin to circle each other, the Risen Star seeming to tower over the Time Lord. Daniels is nonplussed by the size discrepancy, their hands up, in a combat stance. Nova’s hands reach for his protective mask, adjusting it, and as he does, Daniels fires off a muay thai kick at the knee of their opponent, who just manages to check it. The blow does more than graze, echoing throughout the Toyota Center, causing the Starchild to wince. Daniels works to flick another one at him, this time their fibula crashing into his hip. 

Nick Stuart: Anna Daniels is known, competitively, for their kicks. Their striking. 

Richard Parker: And how well they sell things. Like Urinal Cakes? And shirts? I mean…come on…

Nick Stuart: Nova having to keep on his toes…

Richard Parker: Almost as well as being known for being a bridesmaid at this point…

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if that’s exactly fair–

Richard Parker: You’re right…I could say much much worse…

The two circling each other shows the deal of respect they have for one another, at least strategically. But as The Muse flicks off another kick, the blow hitting Nova’s leg with the force of a baseball bat, the Risen Star has enough. Moving forward, he throws a haymaker their way, which the Time Lord slips, but as they plant their feet, Nova bullrushes, pushing Daniels into the ropes before grabbing hold of a tie up. The process isn’t helped by the dirty boxing coming his way, targeting around the mask, on the underside, before clapping the ears with a tight elbow. 

Richard Parker: Looking more like we’re in the process of getting a mixed martial arts contest–

As if the cut through the commentary, the Risen Star biel tosses Daniels after a pivot of the hips, and as they scurry to their feet, he collapses them with a forceful axe bomber clothesline right to their face.

Nick Stuart: Nova starting to fire up–

Daniels is quick to get up, but still, can’t help but grab their face. In so doing, Nova caroms off the ropes, driving his feet into them with a running dropkick, all before hitting them with a Novacaine sans chair. Quickly, he goes to grab the near leg.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: A quick shock of offense from Nova here!

Richard Parker: Those strikes couldn’t have felt good!

After the near miss on the three count from head official Timo Bolamba, Nova goes to pick himself up, grabbing at the Time Lord as he rises. The snap in which he hits the T-Bone suplex is alarming. Another cover.

ONE

TWO

THR–KICKOUT!!

Richard Parker: Starting to get the feeling Nova wants to end this one ASAP. 

Nick Stuart: His face can’t have fully healed from the attack from Paxton Ray. Losing teeth, lord knows what other damage…

Richard Parker: And Daniels knows it. That mask is a target. Almost like a shell…their gets through that…there’s a soft and gooey Hall of Fame center they can get their hands on. Or their fists on. Knees on. Elbows on.

The Risen Star looks to maintain the advantage as best as he can, locking a chinlock on Daniels. In so many cases, this move is there to help the aggressor get their wind back. And, perhaps, given the fogginess of the protective mask, it may be construed as that. But in reality, it’s an opportunity to use his body weight and size to exert control over the smaller Daniels. The Time Lord’s claws, however, are out for bare, biting onto the forearms of the Risen Star, causing him to wince. 

Richard Parker: Oh I think they’re drawing blood! 

Daniels tries to maneuver, but Nova maintains control, even as Anna is working to get back to a standing base, or to find some way to do so. A quick attempt at switching to a side headlock is met, though, with a dropping pele kick that hits Nova in the back of the head. Impressive display. But that’s not all.

Nick Stuart: SPIKE HURRICANRANA BY DANIELS!

Driving the Risen Star’s head into the canvas with nasty velocity, they go for a quick cover.

ONE

TWO

THR–NO!

The kickout has Daniels shooting back to their feet. Nova, grabbing his head, tries to sit up, and as he does? 

Richard Parker: I think they just concussed Nova with that kick!

Nick Stuart: Daniels quickly rushing in, and just crushed him in the back of his head with that kick! Oh my he crumples to the canvas! Cover!

ONE

TWO

THREEE–FOOT ON THE ROPES

Daniels is none too pleased to hear from Bolamba that the rope saved their opponent. Meanwhile, holding the back of his skull, Nova rolls away, trying to get distance away from the Time Lord, constantly shaking his noggin to see everything is still intact. A counterintuitive process if ever there was one. Anna Daniels doesn’t care. They charge forward, clinched the Risen Star, pumping his ribs with brutal knees, all before finishing with a sharp elbow tearing at the mask. The only reason Nova’s nose isn’t rebroken is because of the plastic presence. 

Nick Stuart: Daniels getting downright medieval here with their attack.

Richard Parker: Well…they probably have a lot of experience, you know…Time Lord…and all that…in the literal sense.

Nova’s lights are on, but nobody’s home. He tries to smother Daniels, but the moment he tries, another elbow rips at his face, causing him to stagger back on his heels. And as he does?

Nick Stuart: Sombras Que Corta! Sombras Que Corta!

The neckbreaker cutter hits flush. Another cover!

ONE

TWO!

THR–KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: Daniels on him like a pitbull! With a sword? 

The followup is quick; a rear naked choke attempt. Guillotining around Nova, Daniels works to go for the choke, but Nova, trying to stay alive, fights with their hands. He’s deep in shell-shock. The onslaught from the Time Lord, the trouble breathing, he battles as best as he can from a disadvantaged position, trying his damnedest to break out and away. He tries throwing an elbow back toward them, but as he does, Daniels grabs hold of the choke. 

Nick Stuart: That’s not good for Nova! Daniels might have the hold locked in–

Richard Parker: But his hands are still fighting at their arm–

Feeling Nova prying at the chokehold, the Time Lord lets their feet loose, shooting upward, all before plowing forward and grabbing  with another Sombras Que Corta, driving Nova’s head into the canvas. Another cover from Daniels covers, this time though, their elbow grinds against the brigade of the mask’s nose. 

ONE!

T-KICKOUT!

The pressure triggers survivor instinct. It doesn’t matter. The Muse yanks at Nova’s beard, all before driving his head into their knee with a muay thai strike. There is no wobbling; The Risen Star falls, and as he does, the heavy sounds of the blows from the kicks to his head sound throughout the Toyota Center.

Nick Stuart: This…this is getting uncomfortable…

Richard Parker: Then perhaps you should lay out and not come back too soon. Post concussion syndrome is real. If you don’t think so, how about asking Phil Atken…if you can manage to find him.

Daniels backs up, charging forward to try and blast Nova with a punt, but as they do, the Risen Star is on his knees, grabbing hold of the outstretched leg. His gift? A damn enzuguri.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know how much more Nova’s head can take!

Richard Parker: Given how much he likes to smoke–

He’s still standing, though, utterly dazed. He staggers away, and as he does, Daniels once again charges forward, looking to take his head completely off with a yakuza kick.

Nick Stuart: OH! NOVA CATCHES THE LEG! CRADLE SUPLEX! OH HE THREW THEM ACROSS THE RING WITH THAT! 

Grabbing at his mask, Nova adjusts it as best as he can, spitting up a bit of mucus blood. Cranking his neck, Daniels staggers to their feet, and as they do, they blind charge Nova, who tries to take their head off with a clothesline. Duck and a miss!

Nick Stuart: Daniels charging forward! They leap!

Richard Parker: Anna to the Infinite Power!

Nick Stuart: WAIT!

Richard Parker: WOOOOOOOOOAH!

Nick Stuart: NOVA HERCS THEM ONTO HIS SHOULDERS!

Richard Parker: THAT GRIP IS TIGHT!

Nick Stuart: BOURBON FOR BREAKFAST! BOURBON FOR BREAKFAST! COVER!

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

The sprint is over. Daniels kicks out at the 3.5, and is ready to go again, but in doing so, stumbles and staggers to a knee, grabbing at their head. Nova? He’s already out of the ring, reaching into his tights, pulling out a pack of smokes and then lighting up.

Almost like Popeye and his damn spinach.

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER…BY PINFALL…NOOOOOOOOOOOOVA!

Nick Stuart: Nova escaping this one with a win!

Richard Parker: And for Daniels…I’m sure they’re happy that the narrative is about to continue…

Daniels can’t help but seethe as Maggot Brain fills the Toyota Center…as do the life giving carcinogens into the lungs of the Starchild.

COMMERCIAL: POWERBOMB

ORDER, ANARCHY, AND IMMORALITY

It’s completely dark as we return to ringside, but not for long. The blaring opening chord of a song we’ve not heard for quite some time rings out and the arena is bathed in crimson. A red flag followed by a three dimensional hammer and then sickle whirl in front of the graphic, then slam together with a CLANG in the upper right corner of the flag itself. The crowd immediately voices its displeasure as the Soviet National Anthem begins. But two men, at least, aren’t upset. The first? Richard Parker: 

Richard Parker: Yes!! I mean… DA!!!!

The second? Alexei Ruslan. He strides out from backstage in his brown overcoat and hat. But he’s not alone. While they don’t measure up to Ivan Stanisalv, he is flanked by four built Russian men in black suits and ties. They wear dark sunglasses, despite being inside, and walk in a square shape around Ruslan. 

Nick Stuart: I heard the news that Ivan Stanislav had formally apologized to the men he had threatened when he was upset with me. Though I never heard an apology…

Richard Parker: You didn’t deserve one. You were the one who derided the Russian superhero!

Ruslan waves mockingly at the crowd and blows a kiss to one or two angry females. He laughs and marches to the apron and climbs into the ring. With arms spread, he whirls around and waves to the crowd with that same smug grin plastered on his face. Maybe he thinks it’s opposite day? Because very, very few people are actually cheering for him. 

Yet Ruslan has been here several times, often next to Ivan Stanislav himself. It started in PCW, and moved to OSW. The brief stint in PRIME was nothing much to write about, and yet now, twenty or so years later, he’s back and clearly he is loving it. And why not? He is on the precipice of the Universal Title with his dearest friend. The more they boo? The more they jeer him? The more he knows that they are succeeding. 

His four bodyguards move to the four corners of the ring, bring their hands behind their backs, and stand at attention as the lights return to their normal color. Ruslan produces a microphone from inside his brown overcoat and grins winningly. 

Alexei Ruslan: Привеt (Hello!), Toyota Center in Houston, Texas!!

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Ruslan continues to beam his smarmy smile. 

Alexei Ruslan: I was hoping to hear a more positive response to the return of the greatest National Anthem in history, but perhaps you all just need for it to grow on you! Nevertheless, does it not feel grand to hear the glorious Anthem of the U.S.S.R. once more?!

BOOOOOO!!!!!!

Alexei shakes his head and paces left and right in the ring. 

Alexei Ruslan: You know what? With Praporshchik Stanislav unable to attend this evening, I could have just not come to arena at all. Would you have rather liked that?!

This gets a pop as the crowd cheers at the idea. Ruslan laughs and flashes a gleaming smile and shakes his head. 

Alexei Ruslan: Allow me to be first to say how happy I am to upset you once more! Hah!!

He must really trust security in the building and around his person, because the crowd begins to grow more unglued. No shortage of slurs are thrown his way as he waves to a few specific members of the audience and thumbs his nose at them. 

Nick Stuart: This is fairly brave of Ruslan, even with his four guys with him. I mean, there is no Ivan Stanislav to protect him!

Richard Parker: He’d kick every Texan’s ass in this arena!

Ruslan stops in the middle of the ring once more and straightens his back. 

Alexei Ruslan: Still, though you all barely have brain cells to think very far in advance, Culture Shock will soon be upon us! There, Universal Champion-pretender Rezin, Universal-loser Hayes Hanlon, and future Universal Champion Ivan Stanislav will all battle for what, one might say, is the honor of PRIME. But why, you might say, would I frame it in such a way? 

Ruslan leans on the top rope now and talks conversationally. 

Alexei Ruslan: Because no Universal Champion has represented PRIME with any shred of dignity. It is true! Why, there was Brandon Youngblood….

RAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Ruslan shakes his head as the crowd cheers. He huffs. 

Alexei Ruslan: …followed by Phil Atken, Cancer Jiles, Hayes Hanlon, and finally: Rezin. A who’s who of men who lack conviction, morality, and legitimacy. They pale in comparison to a man the likes of Ivan Stanislav!

The crowd voices their summary displeasure and pleasure for each individual Ruslan names off. Hanlon gets a strong pop, while Rezin is predominantly negative, but some anarchists out there cheer for him all the same. 

Alexei Ruslan: The funny thing is that Ivan Stanisav fights for each and every one of you working stiffs! Those of you with barely two pennies to rub together? You know, the ones who sold your trailer or decided -not- to eat biscuits slathered in gravy for an entire week so you could afford these tickets? He fights to represent you, the working class, despite the fact that you all show an unprecedented lack of respect! Ivan is not some drug riddled anarchist! Ivan is not some Millennial who wishes to party all day and takes for granted all of what has been given to him! And so, I wish to bring your eyes to the PRIME*View, to watch a truly moving piece about my friend: Ivan Stanislav. 

The lights in the arena dim as the PRIME*View lights up with the fluttering red, white, and blue flag of Russia flapping in front of a bright blue, cloudless sky. A narrator speaks in a booming voice that is very much a generic American accent. 

Narrator: In a federation where ne’er do wells…

An image of Rezin sitting on the railing from ReVival 23, strumming his grime encrusted guitar… 

Narrator: …wannabe heroes…

…a slow motion image of Hayes Hanlon taking flight out of the ring to the entryway, courtesy of Ivan Stanislav…

Narrator: …and broken dreams.

A still image of first Hayes Hanlon standing with the Universal Championship over his head from Colossus, followed by an image of Rezin clutching the Championship at ReVival 22. Both images remain on the left and right of the PRIME*View concurrently, but then become transparent. Behind them, still footage of tearful PRIME fans in attendance at some previous show is shown, as if to illustrate the audience reaction to both men. 

Narrator: There is only one true man of culture, poise, and determination who can effectively represent PRIME. 

All three images fade away as the PRIME*View goes dark. A burst of the Soviet Flag which bathes the arena in red once more before a proud image of Ivan Stanislav, with hands on hips, emerges in the center. Ruslan claps his hands and stands up straight. The crowd, on the other hand, is near riotous. 

Nick Stuart: What the heck is this? Propaganda live? 

Richard Parker: It is nothing short of the truth!

Narrator: Only one man in PRIME is capable of bringing order, legitimacy, and decency to the tarnished Universal Championship. Ivan Stanislav is a multiple top title holder…

Stanislav’s image switches to him holding various titles: 

First the PCW World Championship.

Then the OSW World Championship.

Stanislav holding the PCW Tag Titles. 

Then holding the Russian and Soviet flag aloft when he won his National Pride matches.

And of course, Stanislav holding a newborn baby. The wide smile on his face either shows happiness or a hunger to consume the small morsel. 

Ruslan wipes his eyes. He is so moved with emotion. 

Narrator: It is an easy choice. We should all accept the man with experience. The man with the determination. The man with the moxy to lead PRIME for through 2023 and beyond. Ivan Stanislav!

Ruslan’s joy is dampened when a piece of trash is thrown into the ring and it hits his hat and bounces off. He yelps and points over the top rope at the offending audience member. A soda cup flies in next and explodes across the canvas. Alexei brings the mic up to his mouth as the lights return in the arena. 

Alexei Ruslan: You should all be ashamed of yourselves! Why, an American volunteered to narrate that cinematic masterpiece!!

More boos rain down as Ruslan fails to win over any contingent of the crowd. Still, he doesn’t let this sully his stride. He kicks the trash out of the ring and waves his hand through the air. 

Alexei Ruslan: But I have more to show you. For after all, it is only fair that I represent the other idiots who would dare stand against Ivan at Culture Shock. Rezin and Hayes Hanlon. So please, let us look first at Rezin, shall we??

The PRIME*View switches to grainy black-and-white surveillance footage. Despite the video quality, we can plainly see current PRIME Universal Champion and all-around miscreant Rezin all lathered up and waist-high in sudsy water. A rubber ducky and various floating toys bob among the bubbles around him while he scrubs his back and arms down with a moldy-looking sponge on a stick.

He also happens to be bobbing his head from side to side to an equally bubbly Taylor Swift song playing in the background. For someone so “punk rock”, he seems to be enjoying this a bit TOO much.

Rezin: Gonna shake shake shake shake shake… something something Tay Sway Sway Sway… Shake it off! Shake it off! (whoa whoa whoa) Shake it off! Shake it off! (bro bro bro)

He becomes aware of someone off-screen, and pointedly glances in their direction.

Rezin: …can I help ya? I’m takin’ my monthly bath here.

Sharp zoom out, revealing the aghast mother standing with her two young children standing next to the public fountain inside of a bustling mall. She’s too paralyzed from revulsion to say anything back.

Rezin: Well, watch however long ya want. Whatever gets your rocks off, lady… although it’s pretty sick of ya to be doin’ it front of kids!

He goes back to scrubbing down.

Rezin: BABY YOU’RE A FIIIIIIIREWOOOOORK!! NATE COLTON IS A STUUUUUUPID JERRRRK! CAN’T WAIT TO HEAR HIM “AAH! AAH! AAAHH!!” WHEN I KICK HIM IN HIS NUH!! NUH!! NUUUTS!!

Cut to black.

Richard Parker: What the heck did we just watch?!

Nick Stuart: I think Ruslan had a spy watch Rezin?! Oh and, uh, Rezin bathing in public? 

Ruslan shakes his head. The crowd is certainly dumbfounded and confused by what they, as a collective unit, just witnessed. 

Alexei Ruslan: Hardly Universal Champion material, right? A man who risks exposing himself in public, bathing in a glorified bird bath, and perhaps most shocking? He does so in a den of capitalistic indecency: a mall! But let us not forget about the boy wonder, Hayes Hanlon…

The crowd pops loudly and roars at the name. It forces Ruslan to lose a hint of his cool and he stomps his foot petulantly. 

Alexei Ruslan: You know, Hayes Hanlon totally ripped his mustache style off of Comrade Stalin! He made that mustache style popular over one hundred years ago!

Nick Stuart: I’m not sure referencing a murdering dictator is the right way to go…

Richard Parker: Potato…Po-tah-to…

Alexei Ruslan: Let’s take a look at Mr. Squeaky Clean Hayes Hanlon!

The PRIME*View shifts, bringing us back to the Las Vegas Strip. The video is clearly from someone’s cell phone, shaking a bit as it settles on the entrance to the Peppermint Hippo, one of finer “gentleman’s” establishments in Sin City. The disheveled frame of Hayes appears from the entry, one arm around the shoulders of his older brother, Paul. Hayes, in between hard sniffs from his nostrils, does his best to keep his wobbly brother on his feet. However, Paul falls from his grasp and plants his hands against the outside of the building, vomiting on the sidewalk to the disgust of the many passers-by.

Richard Parker: Oh Gawd….

For effect, Ruslan simply shakes his head as the sounds of Paul’s retching and the splattering of internal fluids flying externally against hard surfaces continues to roll through the arena. 

Alexei Ruslan: Not looking too good there, are you Hayes? Out and about wanting to see naked girls and drink in excess along with his good-for-nothing brother. One might call it youthful indiscretion and make excuses. But when Ivan Stanislav was his age? He was fighting a war and protecting his country, not wallowing in sin and barely making it home under his own power!

Alexei giggles to himself and shakes his head again as the PRIME*View returns to a looping, fluttering Soviet flag. He laughs again. 

Alexei Ruslan: But who knows? At the rate that most of you hicks are going tonight, you may be right there puking against the walls and holding one another up by nights’ end as well!

He grows serious and shakes his head as he stares at the hard camera. 

Alexei Ruslan: So we have a current champion who bathes in public with a moldy brush, and a former champion who is one sort of person in front of the cameras, and another sort of person when he thinks he can wallow in his vices. But Ivan Stanislav has -never- deviated from his course. What you see, is what you get. And what do you all have on your hands? *he snickers and speaks in a sing-song voice* Well, dooon’t say weeee didn’t warn youuuu!!! Behold!

Ruslan gestures broadly towards the PRIME*View as gold words emerge in front of the Soviet Flag:

ReVival 15
09/09/2022
Seeing Red

Footage of Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan on the PRIME*View after they announced the new match at UltraViolence. Stanislav roars loudly. 

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME! Stanislav and Ruslan invaded your airwaves long ago and you barely survived! Come UltraViolence, The Russian Bear returns! I will be there. Alexei will be there. And little Hayes Hanlon? You will be leaving arena sipping through straw!

ReVival 16
10/07/2022
A Red Declaration

Footage of Ivan Stanislav standing in the ring, berating the audience. 

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME came begging for Ivan Sergeiovich and Alexei Gregorovich to come to roster. After flakey, lazy roster had hole in it, they needed true dependable men to bring some level of legitimacy to this flagging organization, and so here we are!

ReVival 19
11/18/2022
Crazy Ivan

Stanislav roars in the middle of the ring, prior to destroying everything in his path. 

Ivan Stanislav: I will make each and every PRIME viewer cry for their heroes while they are demolished before their eyes!

ReVival 20
12/02/2022
Oops! I(van) did it again!

Stanislav stands behind a podium during his “apology” to the backstage technicians. He flattens the podium and laughs uproariously as the workers flee in terror. 

Ivan Stanislav: Run little ants!! Go run back and suckle on Mother Troy, little piglets!!

ReVival 21
01/27/2022
For Merit to the Fatherland

Shortly after Ivan Stanislav was given his medal for defeating Christopher America. Ivan roars into the camera.

Ivan Stanislav: I will grind every enemy of The Red Army into paste and use their entrails to shine my boots! Stand against me and be destroyed. Watch your heroes shatter, week after  week, against the full power of Mother Russia!  DYAAHAAHAA!!

ReVival 24
03/10/2023

Ivan Stanislav stands in front of two flags. The Russian flag to his left. The Soviet flag to his right. Wood paneling is behind him. The realization dawns on everyone that this isn’t a recording, but live, and gives the impression of some larger than life threat bearing down upon all in attendance.

Ivan Stanislav: You have done well Alexei! I appreciate you being there in my stead! 

Ruslan smiles up at the PRIME*View. 

Alexei Ruslan: My absolute pleasure, old friend!

Ivan nods his head and his face twists into a grimace. His grizzled salt and pepper beard glints in the light as he sneers down at the arena. 

Ivan Stanislav: One man is from a culture of anarchy and lawlessness. A man devoid of morals and bereft of self-respect. The other man is from a culture of youthful ignorance and lack of self-control. But Ivan Stanislav is a man of rigid order. A man of singular purpose. A man of unshakeable resolve who not only practices basic human hygiene, but does not take for granted the heights to which he has achieved.  Lindsay Troy cannot politick her way out of my inevitable victory. No amount of controlled substance will dull the agony I put Rezin through! No level of mustache wax will soften the callouses I permanently imprint on Hayes Hanlon after I beat him to a sobbing pulp! And each and every one of you in attendance, and those idiots in the back, will choke on their tears when they see I am crowned Universal Champion. 

Ivan Stanislav: PRIME! You had eight months to prepare for what is inevitable. Your stay of execution is over. PRIME turns red at Culture Shock! Remove the blinders and realize that not only will I be the winner, but also be the man who is worthy of holding said title. DYAAHAAHAA!! Alexei? I see you in Moscow tomorrow. You send them off. You know what to do!

Stanislav’s enormous face blinks from the PRIME*View as Ruslan is left in the ring with his four goons. The crowd continues to boo as litter rains down in the ring, but Alexei sidesteps to and fro as is necessary. 

Alexei Ruslan: We have said it every time. You simply do not listen. But I will say it once more to try to drive it home. 

With a big grin, Alexei Ruslan stands at attention. Twenty years later and here he is, with his old friend, on the cusp of another title  it only made sense to end this the same way he had started in PCW when Ivan Stanislav debuted.

Alexei Ruslan: He is unstoppable!! He is unbeatable!! He is indefatigable!! He is Praporshchik Ivan Stanislav! And come Culture Shock, Rezin and Hayes Hanlon will be the next casualty in our Great Patriotic War!!

Alexei laughs and throws the microphone out of the ring and motions to his goons, who move around him. The Soviet National Anthem blares once more as he exits the ring and makes his way up the entryway. 

Richard Parker: I swear, Alexei and Ivan should be filmmakers! I could have watched that multimedia extravaganza for hours!

Nick Stuart: I hate to say they might be partially right, but they have never minced words about their intentions. But can you imagine if Ivan actually won? I’d better start taking Excedrin now…

COUP D’ADIEU (MAINTENANT BAISER)

Zero hour. The Anglo Luchador stalks the hallway leading to Argyle position at the Toyota Center, looking to score a victory against nepotism and for good taste. It might be all on his mind, but other residents occupy his brain. Reckoning with his erratic behavior. Trying to find peace. But the biggest one, well, the biggest resident in his brain was actually trying to catch up to him…

FLAMBERGE: Vieux chien, attends.

Euro-douche fashion is hard to translate into unseasonably warm Texas weather, but the French kid is making a valiant attempt in a Louis Vuitton branded black and gold tank top and 99 cent white-framed plastic sunglasses. Indoors, of course, just because. He lowers his shades to the tip of his nose.

FLAMBERGE: You saw what I did, non?

The luchador turns around and sees the object of his consternation. Anger does not beam through his mask though. Shocking, given the back-and-forth they’ve had since ReVival 21.

TAL: Yeah. Beat the Risen Star. Don’t care how cold he is right now. That’s huge.

The former Intense Champion looks the former Five Star Champion up and down.

TAL: You know, whether you accept my challenge or not, and I assume you’re not here because you want to back down, I hold you in high regard. Regard enough that if I called a promo crew to my hometown? I wouldn’t just flip ‘em the bird.

The cheap shades are now off of FLAMBERGE’s face. His lips are grinning, but his eyes are not.

FLAMBERGE: Not only that, Anglue…I outshone you. You and I both got the victories on 23 against our Love Convoy adversaries, it is true, but the world knows who truly stood out that night…and your arrogant ego be damned, to one up me, you now take on this Best, this cretin from the outside, to make up for the lost shine, non?

The left edge of French Phenom’s lips curl into a snarl.

FLAMBERGE: What I wouldn’t give maintenant to flip you on your ass right now, if it didn’t mean you would whine about it later after I beat your old ass at ReVival 25. 

A smile formed behind the mouth opening on the luchador’s mask.

TAL: So you accept then, le petit?

Yonder French Youth steps closer, though they do not touch.

FLAMBERGE: That’s right. I accept. See you in the San Antonio.

The old luchador lets out a little chuckle.

TAL: You know, kid, I’m not sure how this enmity between us got so bitter. Not sure if it’s because I still have a hangup about your erstwhile bestie, or whatever it is. But as much as I’ve been in my own head lately…

He pauses for a beat, catching the young guerrier off-guard if only for the time needed to catch his breath.

TAL: I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even care if you move onto bigger and better things and make yourself the face of this entire company. Better you than the Russian at this point anyway. I don’t want to break my foot off in your ass like I do this Best kid, or like I did with Nuzzle Fucker last week. And it’s because I wasn’t lying when I told you all those weeks ago.

FLAMBERGE’s brow arches like Les Champs-Elysees.

TAL: I see a lot of myself in you. But truth be told, I don’t like the old me, so don’t get it twisted. I want nothing more than to beat you in San Antonio. But afterwards? This, win or lose? It’s over unless you decide you want to act the fool and continue it.

FLAMBEGE: Always framing things around how you want them to be…you condescender. You’ll feel differently after what I do to you, Gluechador.

FLAMBO snorts.

FLAMBERGE: …assuming you make it out of your match tonight alive.

Their foreheads are mere millimeters apart, if only for a flagrant spicy moment, before FLAMBO departs, leaving TAL with his thoughts and the rest of the hallway towards the entrance ramp.

WINNER ENTERS CULTURE SHOCK BATTLE ROYAL THIRD TO LAST: TYLER ADRIAN BEST VS. THE ANGLO LUCHADOR

Richard Parker: Did you get the promotional material for this one, Nick? 

Nick Stuart: You mean The Anglo Luchador giving the camera the finger? 

Richard Parker: YEP!

The arena darkens. The first dabs of the organ intro to “Oye Como Va” by Santana fill the arena as purple and green lights strobe while the telltale mask of the Anglo Luchador rotates on the PRIMEview behind. 

Nick Stuart: The former Intense Champion, the champion of the year last year, still looks awkward to see him without that title over his shoulder. 

Vince Howard: Coming down the aisle first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, he stands six-feet, and weighs in at two-hundred and eleven pounds… He is the Son of Shogun, the Paladin of PRIME… THE ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNGLO LUUUUUUUUCHADOR! 

Smoke begins to waft across the entryway as the instrumental beginning of the song swells into its big climax. Right before the lyrics sound, The Anglo Luchador appears from the back, looking out at the crowd. He exhales and bows his head before he takes his final stride towards the ring.

Richard Parker: This is the kid I want to see again. 

Nick Stuart: He wasn’t a big enough jerkoff last time?

The lights in the arena dim, as “T A B” flashes across the screen in bright gold letters. The letters suddenly begin to drip 97Red, as “People I Don’t Like” begins to blast over the sound system. Tyler Adrian Best steps out from behind the curtain, slowly making his way out onto the stage and staring out into the sea of fans.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Chicago, Illinois… 

BOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: He stands five-feet, eleven inches tall, and weighs in at one-hundred and eighty two pounds… TYYYYYYLER ADRIAN BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEST! 

BOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Last time he showed Eddie Cross who the real generational talent was, and now he’s going to take it to The Anglo Luchador. 

TAB gestures to the crowd as he saunters down the ramp, he rolls under the ropes and getting up to his feet once he’s in the ring.Tyler goes up onto the turnbuckle, appealing to the Houston crowd. 

Nick Stuart: Probably not the smartest idea… 

Richard Parker: These people should love him! 

Nick Stuart: You do realize that’s Lee Best’s grandson right… 

Elvis Nixon finishes checking both men, before turning towards the timekeeper and calling for the bell. 

DING DING

Richard Parker: Of course I knew that Nick, I’m just not going to hold his heritage against him. Hoyt says the sins of the father… 

Nick Stuart: Someone, please, hit me with a bat. 

TAB and TAL are quick to start, both storm to the center of the ring for a lock up. TAL manages to reverse from the collar and elbow into a hammerlock. TAB spins with TAL for a moment, who manages to keep the hammerlock in, Tyler rotates once, before making a beeline to the ropes. Elvis Nixon comes over to split the two men apart, TAB turns towards TAL and smirks as Nixon moves him back across the ring. Anglo smiles himself and waives Tyler forward. 

Nick Stuart: Looks like TAL is getting some lip work in. 

Richard Parker: Maybe this is where he left the words to go with the middle finger. 

Tyler rolls his eyes and goes into a short trot, turns sideways and starts sliding. TAL instinctively moves away, as the son of Best stops in his tracks and waives The Anglo Luchador towards him. It’s TAL’s turn to roll his eyes, he even gives Tyler a small clap. After the short pause, the two men head to the center of the ring, both running their mouths. TAB shoves TAL clearly mouthing the words ‘TOMMY TALENTED’ really slowly. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if these two like each other much. 

Richard Parker: What tipped you off, Nick?

TAL comes back over, and Tyler throws his chest out, flailing his arms wide. Tommy TALented doesn’t take kindly to the peacocking and decks Tyler across the jaw with a right hand. 

Richard Parker: WOAH! 

Nick Stuart: If you didn’t expect that, you’ve never been to Wildwood in the summer. 

TAB is shocked, but TAL follows up with a blistering chop across the chest that sends Tyler reeling backwards. The Anglo Luchador follows the retreating Best, sending a second chop flying across Tyler’s chest. Tyler finds his way to the corner, straining and grimacing the entire way there. The former Intense Champion has none of those problems and comes storming in with right hands. One clubs Tyler right in the side of the neck, as TAL ascends onto the first rope to get more leverage. TAL rips off another right hand, then another, then another, Elvis Nixon begins counting and the crowd starts counting with him. 

Tyler Adrian Best is infuriated, he tries to pull TAL forward off of the ropes but TAL grabs the top rope and holds on. He fires off another shot as Elvis Nixon finally gets in between the two men and begins to separate them. TAL’s mouth is running a million miles an hour, and Tyler Best is hearing every single word of the Philadelphian’s dissection of his character. Tyler snarls, storming through Elvis Nixon to catch The Anglo Luchador off guard. He smashes him with a punch of his own, then a kick to the outside leg that almost takes TAL off of his feet. 

Nick Stuart: I think TAB found his groove. 

Richard Parker: He’s not Stella getting her groove back… Hoyt dammit, Nick. And you say I’m bad. 

Elvis Nixon moves out of the way, TAL tries to slip a left jab in, but Tyler blocks with his left hand, and fires off a straight right that TAL manages to block, but the inside leg kick from the right leg of TAB goes unchecked and crashes into the plant leg of TAL. It crashes in and sounds like a whip exploding with energy against its target. TAL grimaces but TAB continues his onslaught driving the old luchador back into a corner. 

Nick Stuart: Great leg kick by TAB. 

Richard Parker: I’m limping, and I’m ringside. 

TAB swings another kick into TAL’s legs, this time he gets a shin in front of it, checking the kick, causing TAB to come forward with a right hand. TAL steps forward, grabbing Tyler with underhooks. He spins, using Tyler’s momentum and slams him into the corner. He stumbles off down the ropes, before turning and coming back with a vicious drop kick to the midsection. Tyler is doubled over and The Anglo Luchador marches across the ring, before sprinting across going for a back elbow. TAB slides out of the way at the last second, sending TAL smashing back first into the turnbuckle. He stumbles out of the corner and gets dropped by a short arm lariat from Tyler Best. 

Nick Stuart: That lariat looked like it hurt. 

Richard Parker: Of course it hurt, Nick. It’s the Best Lariat! 

Nick Stuart: I get it now, I see why you like him. 

Richard Parker: He’s the Best. 

Nick Stuart: I hope he kills you and eats your brain with a fork. 

Tyler stumbles to the ropes, still holding his midsection. TAL slowly climbs to his feet just a few feet from Tyler on the opposite ropes. Tyler eyes up TAL and takes a another big swing of a lariat, but TAL grabs the top rope and drops to his back, letting TAB flip over the top rope all the way to the floor. TAL takes off running for the far ropes, and comes back at a dead sprint. He dives over the top rope, spinning in a tornillo the entire way. He connects with TAB and sends Tyler sprawling backwards into the railing. 

Nick Stuart: High Risk! High Reward! 

Tyler rests against the barricade grimacing, as TAL gets to his feet. He smashes Tyler with a right hand, then a kick to the midsection, before winding up Tyler, and irish whipping him as hard as he could into the barricade. 

ONE! 

Tyler hits the barricade and bounces off holding his back, TAL comes down the aisle with another right hand. 

TWO! 

TAL cocks back for another right hand, but Tyler manages to catch TAL’s arm, and whips him around, right into the ring post. 

THREE! 

Richard Parker: Smart kid. 

FOUR! 

After taking a moment, Tyler grabs TAL by the back of the head and tries to ram it forward into the ring post. TAL manages to get his foot up to stop his mask and skull being opened like a watermelon. 

FIVE! 

TAL slams TAB’s head off the apron, once, then a second time. 

SIX! 

TAL rolls TAB into the ring and follows him in from behind. TAB rolls to his feet and takes a bit of a wild swing at TAL, who sticks him with a left jab. Another wild swing, another left jab, Tyler reels backwards and TAL smashes him with another jab, this time bringing the right cross forward and catching TAB across the mouth. TAB stumbles back into the corner, and TAL sprints in, this time connecting with the running back elbow. 

Richard Parker: OW!

Nick Stuart: Innovative offense from the Son of Shogun! 

Tyler stumbles out of the corner and TAL heads to the ropes. The Anglo Luchador comes off the ropes, he goes for a hurricanrana but Tyler Best finishes the flip and lands on his feet. TAL lands kneeled, but spins around looking for Tyler. He comes from behind him and tackles him in the midsection, driving him towards the corner. TAB, realizing his situation, runs up the turnbuckles, and flips backwards behind The Anglo Luchador. TAL tries to turn, but Tyler grabs him around the neck, and pulls him backward into a reverse DDT. The Paladin of PRIME holds his head, grimacing in pain. 

Richard Parker: GOT HIM! 

Nick Stuart: Terrific Reverse DDT there. 

TAL grabs the back of his head and rolls his way to the apron as Tyler tries to stomp on it. Elvis gets in between the two men, but Tyler risks everything by shoving him away. 

Richard Parker: WOAH! WOAH! Don’t touch the official when he can see what happens! 

Nick Stuart: Risky tactic by Tyler, but it looks like Nixon is going to allow it. 

TAB reaches between the middle and top rope, dragging TAL up by the mask. TAL throws a weak left hand, but Tyler smashes his own forehead right between TAL’s eyes. He pulls him up again, and lunges forward at TAL, but this time the Paladin of PRIME returns the favor and ducks his own skull. Both men’s heads collide and Tyler takes a few steps back as TAL slowly gets to his feet. Tyler turns around just as the old man makes it to his feet on the apron. He rushes forward going for a kick but TAL slips underneath the outstretched foot, and yanks Tyler’s leg downwards on the rope. 

Nick Stuart: That’s gotta hurt. 

Richard Parker: Clearly he’s using the ropes to hit Tyler below the belt there, Elvis, please, do something. 

Tyler roars in pain as the old Luchador shoves him off of the ropes and back towards the center of the ring. The Anglo Luchador storms through the ropes coming in with a short arm lariat. Tyler ducks underneath and TAL chooses to keep his momentum going forward into the ropes. He comes back and runs under Tyler’s leapfrog. He hits the far ropes and comes back, Tyler whips TAL to the mat with a picture – perfect armdrag. TAL rolls to his feet and turns around swinging a wild right hand. Tyler manages to parry the blow, and smash TAL in the midsection with a knee. 

Richard Parker: Ooof. That knee looked dangerous. 

Nick Stuart: I think The Anglo Luchador made that exact noise. 

The air rushes out of the Anglo Luchador’s mouth, he tries to suck in, but can’t. He spins wildly, looking for a back elbow and catching Tyler just below the eye. Tyler hits the ground like a sack of bricks but TAL stumbles to the corner clutching his midsection. Tyler crawls to the ropes, now with a cut opened just under his eye. The Anglo Luchador looks over and see’s Tyler leaning against the bottom ropes, the gash opened just underneath a rapidly swelling eye. TAL runs forward, trying to drive a foot into Tyler’s face. Tyler manages to move as TAL stomps the apron, clearly having swung his foot looking to come back with brain matter. 

Richard Parker: Airball! 

Nick Stuart: If TAL had connected, we might be looking for Tyler’s skull in the upper deck. 

Tyler rolls forward out of the way, and then fires back with a leg sweep to TAL’s leg on the apron. TAL’s heel is caught and he sprawls out unexpectedly. Tyler lunges forward and comes up with a huge knee to TAL’s skull. TAL’s head shoots backwards like a missile. TAL launches backwards into the corner, and TAB grabs him by the neck and drags him forward, dropping down into a vicious cutter. 

Richard Parker: STREEEEEEEET SWEEEEEEEPER! 

Nick Stuart: What a cutter! He got all of it! 

TAB flips TAL over, and places both hands firmly in the middle of TAL’s chest. Elvis Nixon dives to the mat, but immediately notices TAL’s leg, still hanging through the bottom rope. TAB reaches down and hooks it slowly, looking back at Nixon who jumps to his feet waiving the pin off. TAB gets to his feet and screams at Nixon, blood still pouring from his cheek wound. 

Nick Stuart: TAL looks like he’s going to live to fight another day! 

Richard Parker: Maybe Nick, maybe he gets to fight another day. 

TAL slowly pulls himself to his feet, using the ropes to drag his way up. He looks toward Tyler and wills himself forward, he grabs the irate TAB by the shoulder and spins him around, smashing him across a bruised and blistering chest with a knife edge chop. TAB grabs his chest grimacing and throws a right hand back at TAL, TAL unloads with a right hand to the open wound on TAB’s face. They trade blows, back and forth, until TAB finally takes the advantage with a rake of the eyes. TAL grabs for his mask, and Tyler connects a right kick into TAL’s midsection. TAL tries to not fold in half, but the choice is made for him as Tyler’s hands rap around his neck and yank his head down across TAB’s shoulder, again. 

Richard Parker: STREEEEEEEEET SWEEEEEEEEPER! 

Nick Stuart: Oh that one’s in the middle of the ring… 

Nixon swoops in as Tyler plants his hands on TAL’s chest again. He looks up into the camera, blood running down his right cheek. 

1! 

2! 

……

…………

………………..

…………………………

…..       …………………………

…………………         ………………….

………….       …………Jenga is hard……….

3!

Nick Stuart: Tyler Best will be entering the Culture Shock battle royal 37th! 

Richard Parker: What a huge win for Tyler Adrian Best in his second match in PRIME! 

Vince Howard: And the winner of this match… and entering the Culture Shock Battle Royal… 37th overall!!!! TYYYYYYLER BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEST! 

Richard Parker: He came in last when he won War Games. He’s won a big multi-man already in his young career. He could do it again.

Our scene fades to commercial.

COMMERCIAL: MADHOUSE

I dunno, like fucking join this shit or something?

U NO JAB?

A small puddle on the ground stands dormant until a single drop disturbs the peace, sending ripples racing to the edges. The camera pans up to find the source of the drop, which just so happens to be a bag of ice that just so happens to be pressed against the cheek of the Permascar Superstar. The now bruised cheek after an ungrateful Mortimer Knightingale decided to swing on the Gamble Adoration Syndicate’s fearless leader unprovoked.

Frank Pastore: I told you he didn’t like us.

Sitting across from The Grin is one half of No Laughing Matter, the other half is standing to his left punching fist into palm.

Domingo Cruz: Shoulda let me drop that fool, Frankie.

Pastore shakes his head.

Frank Pastore: Priority was getting Tony out of harm’s way. He had just finished his match, no reason to let him risk getting hurt for no reason.

Tony chuckles softly, his eyes cleaning softly as a sharp pain takes him by surprise.

Tony Gamble: Halo’s coming up soon, gotta be ready for it.

Domingo Cruz: How hard did he…

Frank glances over his shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

Frank Pastore: Culture Shock is right around the corner, shame you don’t have a match on night one.

Domingo Cruz: Speaking of night one matches. We making sure Morty isn’t having one next week, or what?

Frank Pastore: Well, if he’s not with us he’s against us. And after what he did earlier, it’s pretty safe to say he’s against us.

As if seemingly from nowhere, Mortimer Knightingale is standing in front of the three men, his hands up, slowly taking a step towards them. Cruz and Pastore immediately take a defensive stance whereas Tony Gamble glares daggers at the man who assaulted him earlier in the evening.

Mortimer Knightingale: You, uh…..mentioned earlier that you could help me in my impendin’ match against Darin Zion?

Tony Gamble furrows his brow, unsure what to make of this turn of events. The Grin motions for Cruz and Pastore to stand down. They both do so reluctantly.

Mortimer Knightingale: And, uh, I’m sorry Tony. I’m sorry for everythin’ that’s happened tonight.

Frank Pastore: The set of balls on this guy. 

Tony puts the bag of ice down and stands up, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder as the other rubs at his jaw. 

Tony Gamble: Huge balls, Frank, because after the shit he pulled earlier…here he is with his tail tucked between his legs like a freaking dog. What’s changed Morty? 

Mortimer Knightingale is silent for a moment. He looks down at his hand, still throbbing from earlier in the evening. He notices some blood on his knuckle. Her blood. He quickly puts his hand in his pocket.

Mortimer Knightingale: You wanted me a part of this crew? You got it. But it’s my choice. No bullshit contracts. Maybe I just wanna win the Alias championship. Maybe I got nothin’ else. Maybe I’m just a piece of….Why question it? You wanted me a part of G.A.S., I’m a part of G.A.S.. But, and I say this once, no more derogatorical remarks about Kohime Mori. They’re hurtful and they’re destructive.   

Tony completes his smile, smacking Cruz lightly with the back of his hand as he shakes his head. 

Tony Gamble: I question it, Morty, because you had a lot of hurtful and destructive things to say about me earlier, and I’m not too sure what to make of your little apology. Then, after telling me that you want to join us without any strings attached or having it forced upon you…you add a but, and not the kind Jared Sykes likes to snack on either. 

The Grin gets closer to Mortimer, his hands now clasped behind his back. 

Tony Gamble: You do realize that you’re going to need to hurt her more than my words ever can, if you truly want to become the ALIAS champion. Don’t you? 

Mortimer Knightingale: Who the fuck is Jared Sykes?  

Tony Gamble: A man with a title that no longer has any value, tag team champ that went by King Blueberry. Not sure if it really matters, though. 

Tony turns away from Knightingale and walks over to his bag. 

Tony Gamble: What does matter though, Morty, is how devoted you’re going to be to the cause…because there’s not going to be anymore half-assing it. I need to know that if I’m going to help you, that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. 

Mortimer Knightingale: You’re….the boss.

Tony turns around with a smile as big as Texas on his face, and a black tie dangling from his hand. 

Tony Gamble: I hear you, Morty, but I’m going to need a little more than a couple of words to truly believe you. 

The Permascar Superstar reaches out to hand the tie back to Knightingale.

Tony Gamble: I’m going to need you to treat this tie the way Brandon Youngblood treats Alexei’s sympathy.

Underneath the mask, Mortimer Knightingale has the confused look of a second grader being handed a screwdriver and being told to use it to cook a progressive five course meal with a French-Mexican fusion flair as he takes the tie.

STEP THE UCK FUP

We go backstage, just outside the Argyle position. Simon Tillier, clad in his PRIME blue suit and red horn-rimmed glasses, greets the camera with a smile.

Simon Tillier: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Simon Tillier on the scene here backstage!

Passing through the frame from right to left, none other than REZIN strides by, growling in his throat. Simon casts him a brief glance, but gets right back on track.

Simon Tillier: Right now, we’re just minutes away from our main event tonight! It’s anyone’s guess as to how this monumental of a match will turn out, but I can say in all confidence, given the names that will be in that ring together, we are in store to see a battle that may well be remembered for ages!

The Escape Artist passes by again, this time from the other direction. Over his shoulder hangs a burlap sack, within which we can presume is the Universal Championship.

Simon Tillier: : Here with me now, as you can well see, is one of the participants in this once-in-a-lifetime tag team spectacle… our very own reigning Universal “Anti” Champion of PRIME! Rezin, how are you feeling about this match tonight?

Rezin continues to pace back and forth between the camera and the erstwhile junior reporter, muttering unintelligibly beneath his breath. Even the mention of his name doesn’t seem to pull him from his percolating anger.

Simon Tillier: …a completely understandable reaction, I feel, given what you’re walking into. Across the ring, you are facing another fellow champion, and a man who has always been at the top of his game since the royal arrival of King Blueberry to PRIME… the one, JARED SYKES…

The Escape Artist walks from left to right. Snorting. Sputtering. Slobbering.

Simon Tillier: …and there in his corner is the former PRIME Universal Champion himself, the man that arguably led the ReVival era into the renaissance of top-tier professional wrestling we know today… the Tower of Babel himself, BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD…

The Goat Bastard moseys from right to left. Grumbling. Grunting. Growling.

Simon Tillier: …but of course, we can’t overlook the fact that there in your own corner will be a man you’ve had a growing tension with… the man who pinned you at UltraViolence, to become the Five Star Champion of PRIME… the Next Diamond, NATE COLTON…

Hell’s Favorite Hoosier wanders from left to right. Braying. Blubbering. 

Simon Tillier: I think it goes without saying that almost any of those individuals could one day be challengers to your Universal Championship… which is not to overlook the oncoming rematch against the man you from whom you took that title, which I assume very much he wants back… Hammerin’ HAYES HANLON…

Rezin staggers right to left. Twitching. Tweaking. Ticking. 

Simon Tillier: And as if that weren’t bad enough, you have to consider the man whose ire you raised, by interfering in his own ambitions for that title belt you carry in that sack… a man who threw you off the upper level two weeks ago at the start of ReVival 23… the Russian Bear, IVAN STANISLAV–

Rezin’s pacing suddenly ends in an explosion of limbs flailing spastically in every direction.

Rezin: OKAY, I GET YOUR POINT!! 

Rezin gets in close to the reporter, holding up the burlap sack that carries the Universal Title, its light forever hidden from the world by a punk rock pro wrestling maniac on a death trip.

Rezin: Ya know what bein’ the CHAMP of a place like PRIME means, Simon, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal?! Well, I’ll tell ya, free of charge! It aint’ bein’ the “bEsT iN tEh WoRlD”, like errybuddy thinks! It ain’t bein’ the face of a franchise, or the guy that sets the bar! Ya know what it really means, Simon?!

He grabs Simon by the lapel and shakes him lightly.

Rezin: It means ERRYBUDDY is OUT TO GET ME!!

Wrapt with paranoia, his wild eyes dart around in every direction. Searching every dark corner for a would-be attacker.

Rezin: All night, I’ve been keepin’ on my toes… errywhere I go, there’s one eye over my shoulder… ain’t no tellin’ when some moustache twirlin’, or vodka swirlin’, or suplex hurlin’ WHATEVER up and throws me off the ROOF or a CLIFF or into a WOODCHIPPER or VOID KNOWS WHAT!

His leery gaze finds Tillier.

Rezin: Why, even YOU could be a DECOY! A DECEPTION! A CLEVERLY LAID TRAP! Tell me, Simon… do you speak RUSSIAN?!

Simon Tillier: Look, I told you, Alexei snatched by jacket and glasses while I was washing my face, and–

An irate Escape Artist loudly cuts him off. 

Rezin: BOULDERDASH and BLACK HASH!! If ya CLAIM to be AMERICAN, then NAME FIFTY MOTORHEAD SONGS RIGHT NOW!!

Simon Tillier: …but aren’t they English?

Rezin: Oh… right… OKAY, I guess ya pass the test THIS time, Simon! 

Simon Tillier: With all due respect, Rezin… you seem a little on edge tonight. I mean, you’re always on edge in some capacity, but what I’m seeing tonight is something else. And, to be honest, I can’t help but think that your Universal Championship is somehow the source of that anxiety.

Rezin looks stung. 

Rezin: …MY Universal Championship?!

He clutches the burlap-shrouded championship belt close to his chest.

Rezin: Listen, Simon… I think we can all agree that this ANTI-Championship of mine, while unprecedented on like a whole LOT of levels, is something of uncharted territory for an indie pup like me! I ain’t ever been in this position before! For once in my miserable life, errybuddy wants a PIECE of Rezin! And even for me, a man of copious acts of indulgence, it sometimes almost feels like errything happenin’ right now almost feels like it’s just TOO MUCH!

Slowly, his eyes find the camera. Slowly, he transitions into something else. Something less paranoid, and more paradigmatic. The snarl of anxiety slowly pulls itself into a teeth-grinding grin of ecstasy.

Rezin: And the crazy thing is… I WANT MORE OF IT!!

He shakes the burlap sack containing the Universal Title out in front of him.

Rezin: THIS STRAP is my JET-BLACK TICKET to a BRAVE NEW WORLD of NONSTOP CHAOS and CARNAGE!! A WORLD where I am FOREVER HUNGRY! FOREVER ALERT! FOREVER… my BEST!!

A black-stained thumb sticks itself into the Houston-native Dirty Rotten Imbeciles muscle-cut shirt that thankfully covers the Goat Bastard’s unsightly chest.

Rezin: So if errybuddy’s HUNGRY for this OL’ DOPESMOKER? I say, FINE! Come TAKE A BITE, if YA DARE! Come and CHOKE ON IT, YA MISERABLE SUM’BISHES!!

He redirects his attention back to the interviewer.

Rezin: As for TONIGHT, Simon?! I ain’t givin’ a DAMB about WHO stands across the ring from me, or WHO sits in my corner! I HOPE they’re the biggest and best the sport has to offer! Even the GREATEST are nothin’ but FODDER to the VOID! As far as I’m concerned, this is just yet another opportunity for me to go out there and prove I’m the most PUNK ROCK UNIVERSAL ANTI-CHAMPION THERE EVER WAS!!

He reels it in a bit.

Rezin: Uhh, second to Nova, of course…

Gotta give credit where it’s due.

Rezin: BUT ALL THE OTHER NORMIES HERE IN PRIME ARE HEREBY ON NOTICE!! Here’s the Goat Bastard’s message to y’all: Either STEP! The F*CK! UP!! Or LIE DOWN and let the OBLIVION TAKE YA!!

Tossing the sack back over his shoulder, the Escape Artist disappears into the Argyle position.

Simon Tillier: Powerful words from the self-ascribed Universal “Anti” Champion, as he walks into this star-studded main event we are about to witness! Ladies and gentlemen, right now let me send it back to my associates Nick Stuart and Richard Parker at ringside, as we get this underway!

COMMERCIAL: CULTURE SHOCK

NATE COLTON/REZIN VS. JARED SYKES/BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD

The lights fade to nothing, and then the first note hits. Deep, resonant, and with it comes a flood of white light that washes over the crowd. As the sound fades, so does the light.

Northlane. “Plenty.”

I’ll never be ready to meet a memory

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring…

A steady rhythm follows, building to something. With each note comes a pulse of white, like a heartbeat slightly out of time.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Boston, Massachusetts…

The only thing louder than the thundering guitar coming through the speakers is the explosion of the crowd.

Vince Howard: Accompanied by Justine Calvin, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and one pounds… He is one half of the PRIME World Tag Team Champions…

At least until Culture Shock, when one way or another those belts find a new home.

The guitar rips into frenetic tapping riff, and with it blue and purple lights begin pulsing over the crowd in time with the beat. Two figures appear at the entryway, and the cheering gets louder. 

Vince Howard: JAREEEEEEEEEEEEEEED SYYYYYYYYKES!!!

When the dirt crushes my bones

And the worms call me their home

If I’m asked to start again

I can’t pretend I’m ready

I can’t pretend

I’ve had plenty

A few feet away from the ring, Jared springs up onto the ring apron with his left foot, and then bounds to the second rope with his right. In two steps he clears a vertical distance of six feet, because there’s a reason the man doesn’t skip leg day and it’s not just about keeping that sweet, sweet ass.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN

Few others in PRIME had an entrance as foreboding as that of the man marching to the ring under the heavy drumbeats of HEALTH’s “BLOODSPORT (WORLD DOMINATION)”. The Diamond. The Tower of Babel. The Father of Suplexes.

Vince Howard: His tag team partner! Introducing first… from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… he weighs in at two hundred and seventy pounds! He is THE DIAMOND! BRAAAAANDOOOOONNNNNN! YOUUUUUUUUNGBLOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!

Youngblood stomps his way up the stairs and into the ring. All business. He needed to be. He gives a nod to Sykes as he moves to test the ring ropes, and when he felt like they were to his liking, he placed his back against his team’s turnbuckles and spoke to Sykes about strategy.

Let’s introduce their lovely opponents, shall we?

First up… we get the opening guitars to the Eagles’ “Tryin’”, and then the PRIME 5-Star Champion bursts through the curtains to a huge applause from the crowd. Dressed as he is in his blue satin “COLTON” jacket and blue/white gear, he’s a shimmering, beautiful apple in the eye of PRIME Wrestling. 

He starts to make his way to the ring, championship belt shimmering around his waist, as Vince Howard heralds his arrival.

Vince Howard: Their opponents! First, from Evansville, Indiana… he weighs in tonight at two-hundred and fifty-five pounds! NAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTOOOOON!

Nate reaches the ring, climbing up the stairs quickly and entering the ring. Colton climbs up to the second turnbuckle to play to the crowd, showing off the lustrous championship belt around his waist. Behind him, one of the agents behind that championship being around his waist watches him with a mixture of pride and anticipation. Colton knows Brandon Youngblood is eager to meet him in the ring again. He gives him a slight nod before hopping off of the turnbuckles.

And then, knowing that there’s only one individual left to introduce, the fans begin booing in anticipation for the arrival of its Universal champion. He doesn’t make them wait long.

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

The house lights dim, and a sinister air siren accompanies black and white file footage of atomic bomb testing. As the drum and bass of “I Have A Prepared Statement” by Whores. hits, white lights pulse in the smoky entryway on the downbeat of the song. Like a heartbeat, maybe the only thing about the Universal champion that has any semblance of order.

Vince Howard: His tag team partner… from the Inverted Crossroads of America, Indianapolis, Indiana… he weighs in tonight at two hundred and five pounds…

A man appears in the smoke, arms outstretched like Jesus. In one of his hands, he’s holding the grime-encrusted burlap sack containing the Universal championship that he currently holds hostage, which gives his silhouette the appearance that one of his hands is way bigger than the other.

Vince Howard: He is the ESCAPE ARTIST… the GOAT BASTARD! 

Explosions.

Blazing pillars of fire erupt behind the figure in time with the guitars of the song, casting his grinning, bearded face in an ominous shadow.

LET’S SEE HOW LOW I CAN GOOO!!
I’M GONNA SINK THIS SHIP DOWN! DOWN! DOWWNN!!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNOOOWS!!
STAND BACK! WATCH ME DROWN! DROWN! DROWWNN!!

Vince Howard: This is the UNIVERSAL CHAMPION…

Rezin scans the crowd at the Toyota Center before he starts making a slow march to the ring, the strobe lights making his movements seem strange and jerky. 

I’VE SEEN ALL I WANNA BE NOW! I’VE LISTENED TO THE LIES!
LORD I’M READY TO TAKE MY PLACE SMEARED OUT AGAINST THE SKY!

Vince Howard: THIS! IS! REEEEEZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!

UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN LANGUAGE! UNSEEN BY PRYING EYES!
SAIL OUT INTO THE DARKNESS! I’M FINALLY ALIIIVE!!

Rezin takes a contemptuous walk around the ring, casting glares at the other three men standing in the ring. It’s only once he completes a full lap that he deigns to enter the ring. Once he does, he briefly lifts up his burlap sack and slowly reveals the Universal championship… the only championship belt in all of professional wrestling that’s less a prize and more like the victim of a kidnapping. He only shows it for a few moments before he shoves it back into the sack like he’s shoving it back down in the deep, dark basement. 

LET’S SEE HOW LOW I CAN GOOO!!
I’M GONNA SINK THIS SHIP DOWN! DOWN! DOWWNN!!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNOOOWS!!
STAND BACK! WATCH ME DROWN! DROWN! DROWWNN!!

He only joins Nate Colton in their shared corner because that’s his corner, and he has the body language of a man who wants to be anywhere but here. 

Richard Parker: Okay, so neither of these two teams have names, right? Imma give them some names.

Nick Stuart: Oh no.

Richard Parker: Right, so… Sykes and Youngblood? That’s Team Cry Mad. You can probably guess who represents the cry and who represents the mad, right?

Nick Stuart: Not exactly the most flattering team name, Rich. 

Richard Parker: I mean, it’s me, so of course not. Anyway, I know “Hoosier Boys” is an obvious pick for Rezin and Colton, but to heck with that. 

Nick Stuart: Keeping it PG-13, I see.

Richard Parker: Look, Nick, I’m allowed only one swear a year, so I’m saving it for a special occasion. 

Nick Stuart: What about last week? You used a lot of salty language.

Richard Parker: …fuck.

Nick Stuart: Richard.

Richard Parker: Ah, uh… I-in any case, I think… Team Corn Meth will work for the Rezin-Colton pair. Or… maybe Colzin? Oh… oh, wait. No. I was just told in my earpiece that “Colzin” is a no-go. I don’t know why.

Nick Stuart: Please stop.

Okay, so here’s what’s up.

On one side, you had Brandon Youngblood and Jared Sykes. Two diametrically opposed individuals in personality and wrestling style, aligned in purpose to take on two top champions of PRIME Wrestling. Youngblood, the Ace of the ReVival, still sought to reestablish himself as the top dog of PRIME. Sykes, the erstwhile Black Sheep, was without his usual Eminence tag team partner for the evening.

On the other side of the ring, you had the Universal and 5-Star Champions, Rezin and Nate Colton. If you thought Youngblood and Sykes were diametrically opposed, then you hadn’t seen these two Hoosiers yet. They mixed together like oil and water. No, actually, I take that back. They mixed together like hydrogen and oxygen. Explosively. Just the way Rezin would like it.

Rezin takes one look at the opposition standing across from the ring and decides that he’s seen enough. He steps out onto the apron and lets Nate Colton take the lead on this one. It isn’t out of the goodness in his heart to let the young stallion start first. It is because Brandon Youngblood is starting on his side of the team, and Rezin has some lingering PTSD from all of the times Youngblood casually introduced him to all of the members of the extended Suplex family at Colossus. By name. Alphabetically.

With both sides having chosen their starters, referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING DING

Anticipation.

The fans in Houston know the relationship that Brandon Youngblood and Nate Colton share. Just a few months ago, they’d been tag team partners derailing the Love Convoy’s march to a tag team championship that only came to them in the deluded mind of Vickie Hall. The pair have many similarities in their wrestling style, which is to say that Nate Colton is quite familiar with Suplex Daddy and all of his wacky children.

A lockup. Jockeying for position. Eventually, Youngblood pushes him into the corner. This makes Turnbull start a five count to break up the collar-and-elbow.

A lifetime ago, Brandon wouldn’t have broken this up without violence on his end. This is a different life, one lived by the Diamond of PRIME and not its Pariah. So he acquiesces to the referee’s five count and gives Colton space.

Nick Stuart: Lot of respect shown here to the 5-Star Champion by Brandon Youngblood, Rich.

Richard Parker: Thanks. I hate it.

Nick Stuart: There two were tag team partners just a few months ago.

Richard Parker: Yeah, all of the respect and sportsmanship and yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I get paid to call action, Nick, not the merits of sportsmanship.

Colton is not rattled by how that exchange went for him, and when the two go into the collar-and-elbow tieup again, Colton shoots the half and trips up Youngblood, before sliding into a side headlock. Youngblood powers up, and threatens a back suplex, only for Colton to flip over his shoulder and land on his feet. A side headlock is transitioned into a takeover.

Youngblood’s shoulders are only down long enough for a one-count before he shoots his arm up, and once again fights his way up to his feet. He pushes Colton into the ropes, and Turnbull only gets to a count of two to break it up before he shoots Colton into the opposite ropes. A shoulder block ends with neither side budging. Youngblood invites Colton to try it again, so Colton runs into the perpendicular ropes and their shoulders collide again. Neither budge.

Richard Parker: It’s like two very meaty, muscly trucks touching tips.

Nick Stuart: That wasn’t “touching tips”! That was just a shoulder block!

Richard Parker: Sorry, I was thinking about my BY-Colton fan fictions again, wasn’t I?

Let’s go back to the sane part of this match.

Colton gestures to the ropes, encouraging Youngblood to give it a try. So, Youngblood plays the game. He runs the ropes, and their shoulders meet in the center of the ring. Rezin watches with casual disinterest as neither man budge when they meet. He checks his watch that he’s definitely not wearing. 

There’s a pause. Youngblood invites Colton to try it one more time. This time, however, Youngblood subverts Colton’s desire to keep “touching tips”, as Richard would say. He ducks behind Colton as he comes back and snatches a waistlock. Instantly, Colton’s instincts cause him to widen his base, keeping Youngblood from doing what he wants to do. Which… look, he has a nickname that’s all about what he wants to do in wrestling matches, and we’re going to milk that son of a bitch for all that it’s worth.

Colton eventually performs a standing switch, grabbing Youngblood in a waistlock and threatening him with the possibility of being suplexed. Who dares to suplex the Suplex Daddy? Why, Nate Colton, of course! Just not right now. Youngblood repeats Colton’s counter, widening his base before a standing switch of his own. This time, rather than go for the suplex, he lets go of the waistlock and trips up Colton instead before sliding into a headlock. Unfortunately for him, Nate knows what’s coming and slips out into a hammerlock.

Youngblood gets back to his feet, then ducks behind and turns Colton’s hammerlock into one of his own. Colton works to try and figure a way to counter the hold, as Youngblood’s wider stance prevents him from using the same counter against him. So Colton grabs Youngblood by the head with his free arm, and then makes a very good leap. When he comes down from the leap, he uses the momentum to snapmare Youngblood out of the hold and create separation.

Colton comes in with another side headlock. Again, Youngblood pushes Colton into the ropes and then launches him into the ropes on the other side. This time, Youngblood catches him with a hip toss, taking Colton to the mat. However, when he presses his advantage, Colton catches him with one in kind. Colton moves in to take down Youngblood, only to get his leg swept out from under him. Youngblood goes for the pin, and Colton only makes it a one count. Youngblood gets up and tries to follow up, only for Colton to pull the rug out from under him with the exact same move. This also only gets a one count, though.

When Youngblood gets up, he gets the go-behind and tries to set up for the dreaded half-nelson suplex that’s put away countless foes already. Colton block, does a standing switch, and tries to latch on the Colton Clutch. Youngblood has it scouted, though, and shrugs Colton off like a cheap coat. Colton lands in a roll and is back on his feet.

The two pause, letting the crowd applaud loudly. Words are exchanged between the two competitors.

Nick Stuart: The 5-Star Champion and the Ace of the ReVival… evenly matched so far in this contest.

Richard Parker: Where are the eye pokes? The face rakes? I want at least two low blows! Actually, three! I need an itemized list of cheap tactics at my desk so I can properly express all of the other things these two pro wrestling type wrestlers should be doing!

Nick Stuart: No one is getting you an itemized list of cheating.

Richard Parker: Dammit!

Youngblood looks to Colton, and then to Rezin, and points at the Universal champion. 

He wants Rezin.

So Colton turns to oblige him, only to find that Rezin has dropped down from the ring apron. If it isn’t for the fact that some members of security are staring at him like they’d murder him if he tries to flee the arena (and possibly the state), he might have walked right out of the match. 

Fans boo as Rezin paces around his team’s corner, wanting to see their anarchist Universal champion get what’s coming to him: a trip to Suplex Parish, the ancestral site of the semimonthly Suplex Family Reunion.

Nick Stuart: What is Rezin doing?

Richard Parker: Taking a siesta, it seems.

Colton bemusedly watches Rezin, and then points to Youngblood’s corner… towards Jared Sykes. Fans cheer loudly, wanting to see these two stallions cross paths for the first time in the ring. Sure, they’d been adversaries in Survivor before, but that was hardly a standard affair. Any event that ultimately involves a Minotaur is not a standard affair.

Brandon Youngblood smirks. He points at Sykes, letting the fans’ approval be the judge he needs to before he decides to tag out. When the crowd gets to a fever pitch, Youngblood turns and makes the tag.

Nick Stuart: Here comes Jared Sykes!

Richard Parker: Fantastic. My day is made. I hope Nate Colton suplexes him so hard that he thinks he’s a fruit again.

Jared Sykes, the hero of the first night of Colossus and half of the longest-reigning champions in the new era of PRIME, enters the ring. Colton smiles as the two of them circle around before locking up. Which is a thing I would be saying if they actually locked up. Instead, Sykes ducks under Colton’s arms and grabs the waist. A jockeying for positioning leads to Colton performing a standing switch and lifting Sykes off the ground in an attempt to deliver a German suplex. 

Instead, Sykes flips through the attempt, landing on his feet behind Colton.

Sykes has zero interest in doing any of the technical know-how against the eldest of the Colton siblings, considering the size difference between the two. So when Colton turns to see his work, and realizing too late that Sykes is not ruined on the ground behind him, he takes a dropkick to the face.

Nick Stuart: Dropkick by Sykes! 

Despite the size differential between the two, anyone who takes a two hundred pound missile to the face is not having a good time. Nate falls to the canvas, and Sykes quickly makes a cover. This barely only gets a two before Colton gets his shoulder up. 

Sykes doesn’t let up. He pulls Colton to his feet and gets his hooks in for a snap suplex. However, Colton feels it coming and blocks the attempt. He then counters, lifting Sykes up for a vertical suplex of his own, only for Sykes to slip out and land on his feet behind Colton. He pushes Colton into the ropes, only for Colton to come back and run him over with a big shoulder block. Sykes went ass-over-teakettle from the impact, and that’s a description that might go double for someone with a badonkadonk like Sykes.

Richard Parker: That is not how I want touching tips to go.

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Colton knows that he needs to tag out. The longer this goes, the worst it will be for him. But when he turns to tag Rezin, Rezin’s not in the corner. He’s dropped off of the apron and is pacing around, seemingly unsure if he should stay or if he should go. Colton’s shouting at him to get back on the apron so he can tag in. Rezin shouts back.

Rezin: Ahhh, ya got this, Evansville!

Colton turns and takes another dropkick from Sykes.

He decidedly does not have this.

Colton recovers from the dropkick, only to get caught in a neckbreaker by Sykes. The subsequent cover only gets two, so Sykes moves to tag Brandon Youngblood back into the contest. Together, the two of them whip Colton into the ropes and catch him with a double hip toss. Colton lands hard and reaches for his corner, hoping that Rezin would realize that he might actually lose if he doesn’t help.

Rezin pretends to not notice, looking off into the crowd somewhere.

Oh, hey, that’s a cool “WHO LET GINNY BRING A GUN TO THE ARENA?” sign. Why did they let her bring a gun, anyway?

Richard Parker: You know, even I don’t think Rezin is a good tag team partner. 

Nick Stuart: His team might lose if he doesn’t get in there and help!

Richard Parker: I know. But does he?

He does.

His attention is just elsewhere. Oh, hey, that fan has a beard that’s not that dissimilar from his own. He wondered if he was punk rock. Nah. He’s got a Nate Colton shirt. What a buzzkill.

Maybe Rezin should have paid better attention, though, because then he would’ve noticed that Brandon Youngblood’s attention is squarely on him. Then he might have made sure to have booked a punk rock flight to a whole other hemisphere.

Richard Parker: Turn around, Rezin!

By the time Rezin’s attention is back to seeing how much more of a beating Nate Colton’s taking from Sykes and Youngblood, it’s too late. Youngblood grabs hold of his arm. Rezin’s eyes bulge as Youngblood pastes him with a forearm smash that would’ve knocked the Universal champion right off of the apron if Youngblood didn’t keep such a firm grasp on his free hand.

Nate Colton could have taken advantage of such a distraction, maybe attack Youngblood from behind. It’s only when Youngblood steps aside and keeps Rezin’s hand outstretched that he understands.

It’s time to bring the Universal champion into the match.

So, Nate tags him in.

Nick Stuart: That might be the one tag Rezin didn’t want to make!

Richard Parker: Is it really a tag if it’s made under duress!?

Youngblood bodily pulls Rezin over the top rope by his beard until his feet catches on the top rope. Rezin is not happy about any of this, as you can tell by the noises he’s making that can somehow be heard even over the roars of the crowd.

Rezin: YEAARGHBLBLE!

Like that one. That’s definitely a noise he’s making.

What happens next happens quickly. Youngblood suplexes Rezin from his position, sending him halfway to the corner where Sykes is standing by. Rezin gets up like he’s drunk, and walks right back into Youngblood before he even knows what’s going on. He then meets the second of the Suplex family, the overhead belly-to-belly… truly a breadwinner in the Extended Suplex Family. Rezin lands in a tumble, holding his back, and reaches his hand out to Nate Colton wanting to get tagged out.

That doesn’t happen for two reasons.

First, Nate’s still trying to recover from the long amount of time he’d started the match, a problem of Rezin’s own making. And second, Youngblood’s already got him in a waistlock. Rezin reaches for anything to grab hold of to prevent himself from getting ragdolled again, but…

Rezin: AUUUGGGGHAWD!

Thaaat’s a German, the most prolific of the entire Extended Suplex Family. Youngblood holds on to the waistlock and rolls over. Rezin has the bulging-eyed look of a man who’s not sure if he’s in Texas or not. He’s so unaware that when Youngblood suplexes him a second time with a second helping of eldest brother German, he’s surprised all over again.

Rezin: NOOOOOGWARGH!

The suplex that follows that one is a belly-to-back suplex, dumping Rezin straight onto his upper back. Youngblood gets up, only to see Sykes calling to him. Savvy fans skilled at lip-reading would learn that he’s reminding Youngblood that he missed the “gargoyle suplex”.

Youngblood smirks.

He pulls Rezin up to his feet and traps the arms before delivering an overhead belly-to-belly suplex. Rezin lands close to his corner with Nate Colton, and he reaches desperately for a tag. For a moment, Colton and Youngblood lock eyes, and Colton has a leg through the ropes like he’s considering intervening. Then he says something to Youngblood, barely audible to nearby cameras.

Nate Colton: What about the half-hatch?

Youngblood smiles, and his suplexing heart grows three times that day.

He then promptly introduces Rezin to the Half Hatch, the uncle of the Extended Suplex Family that no one wants to talk about because that thing went to prison once. Youngblood goes for the cover, and it only gets two before Rezin shoots his shoulder up. In his desperation to get out of the ring, Rezin flops like a fish being tossed mercilessly out of the water and onto the pier… and eventually does fall out of the ring.

Nick Stuart: The Universal champion is in a lot of trouble here! 

Richard Parker: What is Nate Colton doing?

Well, what he’s doing is that he hops off of the apron to go help Rezin up.

Rezin’s not exactly in a “being helped” kind of mood. He hasn’t wanted to be here this entire night, and now he’d been on the wrong end of a man who so proudly suplexes people that he’s called the “daddy” of it. As he does, though, Jared Sykes gets tagged into the match and his first act as the legal man is to hit both Rezin and Colton with a baseball slide dropkick. The momentum sends both champions into the guardrail, and Sykes is quick to grab Rezin and toss him back into the ring.

Nick Stuart: Sykes is in with Rezin, now!

Richard Parker: Great, he went from the suplex-happy lunatic to the neckbreaker-happy one.

Speaking of neckbreakers, Sykes quickly landed a swinging neckbreaker to a recovering Rezin and went straight for the cover. It only gets two, but Rezin looks as though he’s… well, more confused about his surroundings than usual, to be honest. Sykes goes up to the second rope, waiting for Rezin to get to his feet.

It’s here that he makes a mistake.

He forgets that Nate Colton exists. 

Colton gets up on the apron to dissuade Sykes from executing his plan. Sykes fights him off, hitting him with a right hand that puts Colton off-balance. However, it’s enough for Rezin, Rezilient as he is, to strike. All those suplexes and other offenses he’s taken are a typical Friday for him. So he sees Sykes on the second rope, and jumps up on the second rope to meet him.

Nick Stuart: Hurricanrana by Rezin!

In the Team Cry Mad corner, Youngblood watches as Rezin takes full advantage of the opening he’s given. He runs towards the ropes, jumps up onto the second rope, and springboards back into Sykes.

Nick Stuart: SPRINGBOARD CUTTER!

Richard Parker: He got all of that one!

Indeed, Sykes lands almost vertically from the impact. Rezin flops onto the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Youngblood is halfway through the ropes, but Sykes kicks out on his own.

Nick Stuart: Jared Sykes kicked out, but he’s in a lot of trouble! Rezin is not the sort of man you want to be in trouble against!

Richard Parker: No. He seems like he thinks he’s above the law. I heard he shot a man in Reno just to watch him die!

Nick Stuart: No, he didn’t.

Richard Parker: And it was messed up, too, because I don’t even know why he’d be in Reno at all. Reno kinda sucks, even by Rezin standards. Like, whoa nelly, I’m pretty sure that’s just what Mordor would be in real life. 

Nick Stuart: We apologize to any viewer watching this program from Reno.

Richard Parker: Nick, don’t be mean. Nobody can watch this from Reno. They don’t know what television is out there.

Rezin sits there for a moment, wincing and holding his head, still clearly rattled from his trip to the Suplex Family Reunion. He looks to his corner, and he sees Nate Colton standing there. There’s a tense moment between the two. An uncertainty. Rezin contemptuously stomps on Sykes’ head without even looking down at him. Then he walks over to Colton. There’s a few nods between them before Colton sticks his hand out, and Rezin tags him in.

This is where we’d insert the surprised Pikachu face gif, if such a thing was allowed. It’s not, so we have to do the next best thing.

😮 

Anyway, Rezin remains in the ring, and both he and Colton pick up Sykes and whip him into the ropes. Both have the same idea and bulldoze the returning Sykes with a pair of elbows. 

Nick Stuart: Rezin and Nate Colton are finally working together!

Richard Parker: The powers of Indiana are coming together, at long last! Feel the power of Bobby Knight coursing through this building, Nick!

Colton hooks in a front facelock, and after a moment’s pause, Rezin joins him on the other side. Together, they drop Sykes with a double suplex, and Colton quickly goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

No, not yet.

Rezin leaves the ring, allowing Colton to press the advantage against Sykes. He grabs the dragon sleeper, and looks for the inverted suplex used to set up the Colton Clutch Suplex. Instead, Sykes flips over and lands on his feet in a waistlock. Unfortunately for him, Colton is able to block it. A back elbow blasts Sykes, allowing Colton to take a quick sidestep before landing a Russian legsweep. 

With Sykes down again, Colton turns and tags in a much more willing Rezin.

Rezin enters the ring and the Hoosiers go for a double back suplex. However, Sykes flips over and lands on his feet behind them. He goes for the enzuigiri. Rezin ducks. Colton doesn’t.

SMACK!

Colton wobbles and only the ropes save him from falling out of the ring. Rezin at first looks at the dazed Colton with an expression that says “OH NO!”, and then shrugs his shoulders, the universal sign of “Anyway…” He goes to strike the recovering Sykes with the Cloven Hoof Kick…

…and misses.

Sykes ducks under the heel kick that might have made him six inches shorter if it connected, and when Rezin spun around to face him again, he was met with a flying neckbreaker that put him down.

Three men are down, and Youngblood is chomping at the bit to get in the ring. Suplexes had to happen. He has a quota to achieve, after all. Sykes goes to tag him, only for Colton to get the wherewithal needed to grab hold of Sykes’ boot. He just needed to hold on long enough to pull Sykes away, and…

Nick Stuart: Another ezuigiri!

Colton goes down, and Sykes leaps towards Youngblood and makes the tag!

RAAAAAHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Here comes Youngblood!

Richard Parker: And there goes Nate Colton!

Indeed, the first thing Youngblood does when he enters the ring is duck behind Nate and introduce him to the German. Don’t worry, you’re already acquainted with German. Everybody is. Nate Colton is a little more intimately familiar with it after this meeting, I assure you.

Rezin gets up and tries to kill the Youngblood.

Rezin: NAUGHAGAIN!

He fails, as he is suplexed to the ground.

To his credit, it takes more than one suplex to put down a Colton. Nate Colton is back to his feet and ready to take the fight to Youngblood again. He hits him with a forearm and goes to pull him in for the Exploder suplex. Youngblood blocks and hits him with a barrage of elbows. And then he snatches up Colton and hits him with one of his own.

He goes for the cover…

…but Colton isn’t legal.

The current Universal champion of the ReVival era comes diving on top of the first one, hoping to break up a pin that wasn’t actually being counted. He batters Youngblood with rights and lefts, and then when he feels that Youngblood is stunned enough, he goes for the Inverted Cross Driver. From Indiana! However, he quickly discovers that Youngblood isn’t interested in taking this move, as he stands up from the position before Rezin has a chance to even try anything. 

Rezin, sitting on Youngblood’s shoulders, has a wide-eyed look of impending doom on his face.

And, well, it doesn’t get any better for him when Nate Colton gets up and decides to take advantage of Youngblood’s position. He runs towards Youngblood.

Nick Stuart: SPEAR!

Rezin: AHGAWDWHYYY!

That noise Rezin made comes from the fact that while Youngblood got the shit speared out of him by Nate Colton, and Rezin ends up taking an electric chair suplex through no fault of anyone except the cold, harsh hand of the least punk rock entity there is: gravity.

Colton realizes that Rezin and Youngblood are both down, but before he has any way of doing something about that, Jared Sykes is back in the ring. Colton turns just in time for Sykes to meet him with a boot. He grasps the head, and delivers a snap suplex, before rolling through and attempting to land the sliding elbow. Colton, however, lays himself flat at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the contact. Sykes gets up, and he and Colton exchange blows.

Meanwhile, Brandon Youngblood is getting to his feet. Rezin is more like staggering to his feet, helped by the ropes. Rezin runs towards Youngblood, but Youngblood backdrops him.

Into Sykes and Colton.

Richard Parker: Rezin just became the most punk rock bowling ball to have ever existed!

Rezin gets up and sees Youngblood coming. He has only one chance to survive the incoming suplex gorilla. He uncoils like a snake, and his strike lands true.

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KICK!

You could’ve awakened the dead with a kick like that. Youngblood still stands, but the lights have dimmed on the former Universal champion, and that lets the current Universal champion grab him by the head. It is time for Youngblood to be sent into the vo—

No. Not yet.

As Rezin makes liftoff for his Into The Void finishing move, Youngblood grabs hold of him and keeps him aloft. Before Rezin has any chance to correct anything, he’s crotched on the top rope in a precarious position. Youngblood is still dazed, though, and can’t follow up before Nate Colton comes up behind him and lands a German suplex of his own!

Nick Stuart: German suplex from Colton!

Youngblood lands hard, and Colton is barely on his feet before he’s beset by Jared Sykes. Sykes and Colton brawl into the ropes, and it’s very clear that referee Jimmy Turnbull has lost control of this one considering how long both of the illegal men have been in the match. 

Eventually, though, Sykes gets tossed out through the ropes just as Rezin recovers in the corner and climbs up to the top rope, facing away from Youngblood.

He leaps for the Rezinsault.

There’s a problem.

Youngblood is trying to get out of the way.

There’s a problem with that, too.

Colton sees Youngblood trying to get away, and he puts a stop to it with a basement-level dropkick. And with that dump truck level of stoppage, Youngblood has nowhere to go.

Nick Stuart: REZINSAULT! THE COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-NO!

Richard Parker: I thought it was over, Nick!

Rezin can’t believe it, his hands in what’s left of the hair on his head. Nate Colton, on his knees, finds it in himself to get to his feet as Rezin pulls Youngblood up. As he does, Sykes gets back in the ring like a relentless pest. Rezin clubs him in the back of the head with a forearm smash, and then grabs hold of his arms, inviting “Evansville” to take a swing at Sykes.

So, after a moment of hesitation, he does.

But Sykes gets out of the way.

Colton’s elbow hits Rezin in the mouth, and he tumbles backwards until his back hits the ropes. He stares up at Colton wide-eyed. The gears clearly turn in the head of the Goat Bastard. Maybe you could see the steam rising from his ears. Or maybe that’s just anger.

His eyes regain focus. He grabs hold of the bottom rope and slides out underneath the bottom rope. He takes a staggered walk around the ring until he gets to the timekeeper, and he retrieves the filthy burlap sack that holds the Universal title hostage. 

And then he’s out of there.

He jumps over the guardrails, and he starts walking away.

Nick Stuart: Wait, where is Rezin going!? There’s still a match going!

Richard Parker: Maybe he has an appointment somewhere.

Nick Stuart: Where!? With who!? This is a televised main event!

Richard Parker: I mean, what am I supposed to say? I don’t know what’s going on with this guy, I swear.

BOOOOOOOO!

Rezin might get lost trying to leave this way. He doesn’t give a shit. He didn’t want to be here in the first place, so he’s leaving.

Colton realizes a lot of problems with what’s going on in this moment.

Chief among them?

Rezin’s still the legal man.

Jimmy Turnbull is making a ten count, and he’s already up to four.

Colton leaves the ring, letting Jared Sykes and Brandon Youngblood recover in the ring. Neither of them know what’s going on, either. 

Five. This is five. Ignore the booing. Even if you can leave this match, you can never leave this match.

Colton reaches the guardrail, and shouts at Rezin to come back. Rezin pointedly doesn’t listen.

Six. 

Rezin turns around, but only because he’s not sure where the exit actually is. Fans around him are booing more fiercely.

Seven. 

Nick Stuart: Rezin is going to get his team counted out here!

Richard Parker: Turnbull’s already up to…

Eight. This is now eight. Take cover when the bell rings.

Colton considers chasing after Rezin and dragging him back to the ring by the ear, but by this point, it might be too late even if Rezin himself goes back to the ring at a full Olympic sprint.

Nine. 

Ten!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Youngblood and Sykes, having recovered from the action before the moment that Rezin decided to walk out, look very confused. Rezin, who can still be seen in the crowd, simply throws his hands up as though he’s shoving all of this away as he finally finds an exit to get out of the arena.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the winners of this match, as a result of a countout… JARED SYKES AND BRANDOOOOOON YOOOOOOOUNGBLOOOOOOOD!!!

Outside of the ring, Nate Colton is resting his elbows at the guardrail, a look of frustration on his face. 

Inside of the ring, Youngblood and Sykes have their arms raised by Jimmy Turnbull, but neither look especially happy about what just happened. 

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe it! Rezin looked like he was actually cooperating with Nate Colton, but then he just left the moment that there was miscommunication!

Richard Parker: I mean, he clearly wasn’t interested in even tagging in in the first place, so I think that’s just a case of be careful what you wish for.

Nick Stuart: That makes no sense!

As “BLOODSPORT” plays over the PA system, Youngblood and Sykes go to the turnbuckles to play to the crowd. Outside of the ring, Nate Colton has his hands on his hips, not even sure what just happened.

There might be hell to pay for this for Rezin.

It just wouldn’t be tonight.

FADE.

TO.

VOID.