ReVival 27

THE PLAYERS ARE SET

ReVival 27 is about to begin in the T-Mobile Arena in Kansas City, Missouri. The Ace Network fades in with a shot near the arena’s loading dock entrance, a chyron on the screen reading “Earlier In The Day”. The camera follows Brandon Youngblood, clad in muscle tee and combat shorts with a bag over his shoulders, power walking into the entrance of the building. The cameraperson maintains their spot ahead of The Tower of Babel, all as we hear the voice of Nick Stuart.

Nick Stuart: Two-hundred sixty six days. That’s how long Brandon Youngblood has waited to try and regain PRIME’s most coveted prize; the Universal Championship. The road to tonight hasn’t been easy, and it has featured more than a few challenges, but is tonight his night? 

The scene shifts to a little later. Whereas before it is Youngblood, now, it is Hayes Hanlon, dressed to impress, shades, killer suit, a rolling bag being dragged in one hand, the Universal Championship slung over the shoulder with the other. He passes the cameraperson, a smile evident on his face.

Nick Stuart: Standing in his way, the current Champion, Hayes Hanlon. Where others might have folded after suffering such a brutal loss in their first title defense, the Event Horizon stood tall, regaining the title in a brutal Hell in a Cell match. Is tonight the night he fully cements himself as the face of the ReVival? Is this the night where he becomes PRIME’s true Ace?

Only one way to find out.

CHANDLER TSONDA VS. KOHIME MORI VS. GREGER SUNDELL VS. TERRY WOODS

It’s time for… ReVival 27, and signs!

GOODBYE AND GOOD NIGHT CRUMB
I’M CONFUSED, DO WE STILL NEED TO BE SAVED?
IT’S BEEN A MONTH, NEED ANOTHER BATTLE ROYAL
THAT’S WHAT THE MADHOUSE IS FOR
TEETH TEETH TEETH TEETH
HI TONYS MOM
IS CRAIG OKAY?
GAS GOES BANG!
MY T-MOBILE SERVICE DOESN’T WORK INSIDE THE T-MOBILE ARENA, WHAT GIVES?
NOT ALL WATER IS POOL
NO FUN FOSTER
I TRIED TO MAKE SIGNS FOR ALL THE MATCHES TONIGHT AND GOT WRITER’S CRAMP
JERRY SPRINGER DIED WITH RICHARD PARKER OWING HIM FIFTY BUCKS
WHERE ARE TSONDA’S INTERNS?
CANCER JILES: THE MAIN EVENT (OF THE FIRST THIRD OF THE CARD)
CHEAP MASK 4 SALE
TRIANGLE SANDWICHES FTW
THAT WAS A TYPO, I MEANT BUTT
I JUST JOINED THE NWC AND NOW I’M IN THE HALL OF FAME
I’VE SEEN HOW THE HOTDOG IS MADE
TADA
APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY COASTAL EROSION
WELCOME HOME ADAM ELLIS!

And now, over to Nick and Richard!

Nick Stuart: What an opening contest we have lined up tonight!

Richard Parker: I love a good fourway, partner!

The rocking vibe of Little V Mills cover of “Precious Heart” spreads throughout the arena. Kohime Mori enters quickly after the opponent interlude, gazing around the arena while standing in place. A big smile on her face, Mori gives a double fist pump and an enthusiastic yell before making her way down the aisle. As she bounces her way to the ring, she leans left and right to slap hands with the fans.

Vince Howard: The following contest is a FATAL FOURWAY! Introducing first…from Okayama, Japan…KOHIMEEEEEEEEE! MOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIIIII!

Once ringside, Kohime quickly traverses the stairs and enters the ring in between the middle and top rope. She makes her way to middle of ring. Once there, she lowers her head and makes a V with her index and middle fingers on her right hand, arm center mast. She raises her arm in a crescent motion until the V is above her head. Mori swings her arm down in front of her after a brief pause, a beaming smile on her face.

Nick Stuart: Kohime Mori has impressed many since she debuted here in PRIME, and what a feather in her cap it would be for her to pick up a win tonight!

The stage lights dim as the lowly rumbles of a bass guitar fill the arena. Drums, an Electric Guitar and a Violin accompany the beat as Greger Sundell steps into the center of the stage, dressed in his wrestling attire with an accompanying purple coat and black circular sunglasses. Strobe lights of many colors flash the arena as the lights brighten back slightly for visibility.

Vince Howard: Now entering the ring, from Gothenburg, Sweden…GREGER! SUNNNNNNDELLLLLLLL!

Richard Parker: I think we all heard everything this man had to say in the lead-up to tonight’s match, and let’s just say – I can’t take another second of this kid! 

Carrying himself in a formalized manner as “Cosmos Eternal” by Klyfta plays over the PA, he strides over to the ring before walking a lap around it, occasionally stopping by to greet some random fans before helping himself up to the apron, pulling back on the ropes to vault himself forwards in a front flipping motion, striking a pose with a finger pointed to the sky afterwards.

The next man to enter the fray comes out to the sounds of Clint Mansell’s “Lux Aeterna”. Fans aren’t quite sure what to make of the massive individual bursting through the curtains and heading for the ring, but the letters “MDK” appearing on the PRIMEview gives a good impression of what’s to come.

Vince Howard: Now entering the ring, from Cleveland, Ohio…TERRRRRRYYYYYY WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODS!!!

Woods pays no heed to how the fans react to him. He instead gets to the ring and prepares himself in a corner, testing the ropes as he does so.

Nick Stuart: Terry Woods is all business tonight and – hey, wait a minute. Is he trying to chat up Kohime Mori?

Richard Parker: It looks like it, partner. Maybe an alliance is in the works?

Nick Stuart: I guess we’ll see!

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’

These are truly the last days'”

The weathered voice from the beginning of Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s “Dead Flag Blues” fades into the short acoustic section that begins Coheed & Cambria’s “Welcome Home.” After twelve seconds, the guitars thunder in and start to kick ass, as gold and green pyro goes off in perfect timing with the power riffs.

Vince Howard: And finally, from San Diego, California by way of Hanoi, Vietnam…CHANDLERRRRRRR! TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSONDAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

As the PRIME*View displays the words “Model Citizen” in white over a black background, Tsonda swaggers out from behind the curtain. He soaks up the fan’s reaction at the top of the ramp, smirk painted across his face. And amidst the haze of pyro, smoke, and green & gold lights, he sprints to the ring, slides in under the bottom rope, and finally acknowledges his opponent. Tsonda bounces on his toes, mouthing something that’s inaudible to anyone but him.

Richard Parker: Anyone who says Chandler Tsonda is not the favorite to walk all over these three is a fool!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Here we go!

As each wrestler squares up out of their own corners, Sundell is the first to step forward and motion broadly to each of his opponents. 

Richard Parker: It looks like he’s…no, he’s not trying for a four-way test of strength, is he? Brother! You’ve only got two hands yourself!

Indeed, Sundell is beckoning for Tsonda to his left and Mori to his right to cinch up with him, and he nods his head towards Woods in an effort to get him involved as well. Tsonda and Mori look at each other and share a raised eyebrow before slowly, methodically, deliberately raising their hands in an effort to Greco Roman Knuckle Lock the ambitious Swedish Soundwave, their eyes darting between each other and Sundell. And just before they make first contact…

CRACK!

No one was watching Woods as he stepped forward and cracked Sundell across the chest with a vicious chop! Tsonda and Mori quickly snap their attention towards the interloper, who slinks to the ropes as fast as possible. Tsonda wildly reaches out to grab at Woods but fails to reach him before he escapes out of the ring. Mori quickly positions herself behind Tsonda and locks his head, turns him, pivots her hips, and sends him crashing to the mat with a Half Hatch Suplex! As Mori gets to her feet-

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: Sundell with the European Uppercut to Mori!

Richard Parker: Oh, that may have been a mistake!

The Moé Monster fires up and stuffs a big elbow strike squarely into Sundell’s gullet. Sundell fires back with a European Uppercut, Mori with another elbow strike – and then out of nowhere, Woods comes in and LEVELS Sundell with a big lariat! Woods motions towards Mori as if he wants to work together to take out Sundell. 

Terry Woods: You and me, let’s do this thing!

Kohime Mori: …

Woods, for his part, goes over to the prone Sundell and begins gouging his eye with his thumb, which spurns referee Timo Bolamba to begin a stern five-count for the break. As Timo stares down Woods for the countdown, Tsonda has risen to his feet and launches towards Mori – Mori, with some kind of sixth sense, spins and swings, connecting with an overhand chop that sends Tsonda back!

Nick Stuart: Big strike there from the runner up of the Alias Title tournament, partner!

Richard Parker: Tsonda seems like he can’t really get out of first gear tonight…the adrenaline that fueled him in his big return at Culture Shock is one thing, but I have to wonder if he’s got some ring rust here.

Nick Stuart: Well timed with that thought, as Mori has The Model Citizen locked in, and – DDT! Mori with the cover on Tsonda!

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Woods breaks up the cover, but IMMEDIATELY backs off of Mori!

Richard Parker: Yeah, what’s that about? He’s really trying to convince Kohime that he’s on her side, or something!

Indeed, Woods is clearly trying to explain to Mori that he wants to work together – and as Mori shouts at him about breaking up the pin, Sundell strikes out of nowhere, leveling both Mori and Woods with a double bulldog! Sundell goes to cover Woods, but the kickout happens before Bolamba even hits the mat once. Mori, with great determination, cracks Sundell with a Koppo Kick! And a second Koppo Kick to Woods for good measure! And then-

Nick Stuart: MODEL CITIZEN BY CHANDLER TSONDA!!

From completely out of frame, Tsonda suddenly appears flipping head over heels and flattening Mori with his signature high arc moonsault! He pops up to his feet and gives a cheeky thumbs up to the fans, who cheer loudly at the flurry of action.

Richard Parker: You were talking some crap about ring rust, but that was classic Tsonda – you forget about him, and then he wipes you out!

Sundell rolls out of the ring and splats to the floor as a result of his grievous wounds from the Koppo Kick. Woods is smarting, too, but his exit from the ring feels more targeted as he sees a wounded gazelle to prey upon. With haste, Woods charges behind Sundell and dives shoulder first into Sundell’s lower back before clubbing him over and over and over again in the same spot, looking to potentially cause injury. In the ring, Mori rises to her feet and she locks eyes with Chandler Tsonda. Both wrestlers slowly step towards each other, which brings a trickle of fans to their feet, and then more and more fans rise as the strides turn into a nose-to-nose personal-space-invading confrontation! 

Tsonda creates space and swings first – Mori ducks and connects with a knife edge chop! Tsonda fires back with an elbow strike! Mori swings for another chop – Tsonda ducks, shoots behind, and goes for a rear waistlock – Mori reverses – another reversal, and Tsonda goes for German Suplex! Mori completes the rotation and lands on her feet!! Mori shoots Tsonda’s legs and sends him crashing to the mat, and she locks in one leg and turns for the Boston Crab! She’s pulling hard on that leg! After some significant struggling, Tsonda kicks with all his might and escapes the hold! Both take a few steps back, then sprint towards each other! Mori swings HARD for an Uppercut Shotei, which lands and sends Tsonda sprawling! Mori yells out in triumph as the fans roar their approval!

Nick Stuart: Mori might just be too quick for the veteran Chandler Tsonda!

Richard Parker: He’s gone for a few of his old tricks tonight and they haven’t all gone in his favor, you’re right, but he’s not out of this fight!

Meanwhile, on the outside, Woods has continued his isolated assault on Sundell. It’s every trick in the book – locking his fingers up Sundell’s nostrils with full knowledge that he can’t be disqualified in a fourway, back rakes, joint manipulation…and Timo finds himself spread thin trying to call the action in the ring while dealing with the shenanigans on the outside. We cut back to the ring, because suddenly – 

Nick Stuart: How did – 

Tsonda, that wily vet, has found a way. Like we all know he can.

Nick Stuart: GOLGOTHA DROP FROM TSONDA TO MORI!!

Mori is CRUSHED by Tsonda’s stalling lift Implant DDT, and Tsonda has both legs cinched!

ONE!

TWO!

THRAHHHHHHHHHH!

Woods saw that his would-be-partner was in danger and disengaged from the overmatched Sundell, diving into the ring and breaking up the pin! He motions to Mori that “that’s two now!”, in reference to his pin breakups.

Richard Parker: TERRY WOODS SAVES THE MATCH, THAT SON OF A GUN!

Woods checks on Mori to see that she’s ok – Mori instinctively shoves him off, which elicits an “ooooh” from the crowd that gets picked up by ringside microphones. Woods seems to shake it off before turning his sights upon Tsonda, who is ABSOLUTELY eager for this faceoff! The two throw a series of vociferous hands before Tsonda whips Woods into the ropes – as Woods rebounds, Tsonda lowers his center of gravity and suddenly has Woods up in a torture rack position! When out of nowhere – 

OHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: Where did HE come from??

Gregor Sundell, the Astral Outlaw, has just chop-blocked Tsonda, dislodging Woods from his grasp and sending all three men to the mat. Seeing all three of her opponents prone, Mori sprints towards the nearest set of ring ropes, springs off the middle, and crashes onto Tsonda, Woods, and Sundell with a middle rope Leg Drop! The momentum of the move sends Tsonda and Woods to the outside as Sundell clutches his abdomen!

Woods and Tsonda, both feeling the effects of Mori’s crushing maneuver, instinctively lock eyes and begin brawling. Woods tries to find sneaky routes towards sack taps and eye gouges, but Tsonda’s veteran instincts seem to kick in and he’s in total control of the exchange. After dropping Woods to the floor outside, Tsonda climbs the ring steps, measures his man, and flies – MODIFIED RUNWAY VAULT! 

Nick Stuart: Terry Woods is DONE!

Richard Parker: Hang on, partner!

Nick Stuart: What do you mean?

Richard Parker: JUST LOOK!

Inside the ring, Greger Sundell slowly and finally staggers to his feet as his predator stalks. Kohime Mori sprints at top speed across the ring –

…

Nick Stuart: KAWAIIIIIIIIIIIIIAT!

Richard Parker: WITH EXTRA SPRINKLES!

The crowd erupts with noise at Mori’s devastating falling lariat, which happened to coincide with the immediate aftermath of Tsonda’s Runway Vault! Tsonda reacts by pumping up the crowd, not realizing at first that their attention is split…

Mori’s…

Mori’s not done, is she?

Oh fuck, she’s got Sundell’s wrist locked…she’s got him positioned, and – oh dear.

…

…….

Nick Stuart: SHEER! DROP! EXPLODER!!!!

Farewell, Greger Sundell. We hardly knew ye. 

Richard Parker: Here’s Mori with the cover!

ONE!

TSONDA REALIZES WHAT’S HAPPENING! He snaps his attention back into the ring, but Woods isn’t ready to give up the fight!

TWO!!

Woods grabs Tsonda’s ankle, maybe out of instinct, maybe out of nothing at all! Tsonda has to fight to kick free! He escapes, and dives under the bottom rope!

…

…

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Chandler Tsonda was a second too late. “Precious Heart” by Little V Mills blasts throughout the arena as fans roar their approval.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner – KOHIMEEEEEEEEEE! MOOOOOOOOOOOOOORIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!

Nick Stuart: Kohime Mori picks up the win in this fierce opening contest against some seriously game opponents!

Richard Parker: It’s a BIG FREAKING DEAL to say you have a win over the likes of Chandler Tsonda, Terry Woods, and Greger Sundell – WOW! What a showing from the kid – I didn’t think she had it in her!

Tsonda almost chuckles to himself, recognizing that while he didn’t get pinned, tonight wasn’t his night, and he gives a subtle salute to Mori. Woods stirs, pushes himself mostly upright, and grins knowing that his would-be-ally came out of this match with the win. Sundell hasn’t moved and Timo Bolamba is checking on him.

Nick Stuart: What an opening contest for tonight’s ReVival! We’ll be back for more action, but first – this!

We then cut to the backstage area.

READY, AIM, FIRE

From our first match of the night, we cut to Simon Tillier who is joined by Eddie Cross and Dave Gibson. Simon looks understandably nervous as the last time these two interacted, Simon was left puzzled and a bit ridiculed. Eddie wastes no time in alleviating the nerves.

Eddie Cross: Simon, you’re looking good tonight bruh. Did you get a new suit?

Simon smiles.

Simon Tillier: It was my fathers.

Dave Gibson: The man had taste. Is that tweed?

Simon shrugs.

Simon Tillier: I don’t know, I just like the way it’s cut. 

Dave and Eddie look at one another and give him a thumbs up.

Simon Tillier: Anyhow, Eddie you must be excited for the opportunity on your plate tonight?

Eddie Cross: I have to admit I am a little nervous. My first title shot in PRIME, it’s a big deal!

Simon nods. 

Simon Tillier: Maybe the first of many? Though that does bring up Mortimer’s stipulation that if you lose, you cannot get another shot. Does that worry you?

Eddie Cross: No, not really. I’ll either get it done or not. We all know why he put that stipulation in place anyhow and it has nothing to do with me. He’s afraid to confront Kohime Mori.

Dave Gibson: TGB, Simon.

Simon looks confused. 

Simon Tillier: TGB?

Dave Gibson: Typical G.A.S. Behavior. 

Eddie turns back to Simon and flashes a smile. 

Eddie Cross: The reality is that my opponent is dangerous and he has a group of flunkies to help him.

Simon Tillier: Don’t you think Anna Daniels or Kohime would come to help you?

Eddie Cross: I do, but I am a better wrestler than he is and I am going to go out there to win on my own. I don’t want Tony Gamble to have any excuses and backpedal after I take the belt, rename it, and remove that stupid stipulation so Kohime can have another shot if the bookers deem it so. See, I don’t run from people, I just use strategy.

Simon Tillier: Dave, have you given Eddie any words of wisdom for this match? 

Dave flashes some of his Carolina charm and nods. 

Dave Gibson: Sure have. I told him to go out there and have fun. He’s never going to have his first title match ever again. No need to get too deep in the weeds.  If he does what he has been taught, he will stretch Mort and get the sub.

Simon Tillier: I feel like I have to ask, what if he loses?

Eddie cuts in.

Eddie Cross: Someone I respect once told me “it’s always raining in PRIME.” But you know what happens after the rain? The sun comes out all the brighter. Grass grows, flowers bloom, and the world starts over. I am no different.

Simon Tillier: I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that your father won his first shot at a major title in his first attempt. Will history repeat itself?

Eddie Cross: None of that matters, Simon. Last time I checked nobody has seen Rent – a – Hero in twenty years and the only person who even knows what that belt looks like anymore is my Dad because he has a replica in his den. 

He pauses and thinks about his next words.

Eddie Cross: The past is in the past. I believe it is important to learn from, but I am the present and the future. Just like other major sports, this isn’t the same game that they played in the past. This is PRIME. We’re built different. 

With that, Eddie and Dave turn and stride away confidently. Simon looks back to the camera and smiles. 

Simon Tillier: There you have it, folks. Eddie looks like he is ready for a battle! We’ll find out soon if he can make good on his words.

WOUNDED TIGER, HIDDEN NIRVANA

Coral Avalon walks backstage of the T-Mobile Arena, his gear slung over his shoulder. In a vintage 2015 “Crownless Kingdom” T-shirt and track pants, the Crownless King has arrived somewhat uncharacteristically late for a match for one of the most coveted championships in all of professional wrestling.

That fact is why he’s so focused on his path forward. He has precious little time to make his final preparations to face Nate Colton.

Maybe that’s why when the cameraman steps out of his way, it catches a view of a darkened hall in the arena that Coral is about to pass by. Moments later, emerging like a technicolor vampire, a familiar man in dreadlocks and mismatched eyes appears before Coral. 

Sage Pontiff: You know the Five Remembrances? 

At this, Coral has his fists halfway up–call it finely honed skills from a lifetime of fighting–and eyeballs the revealed speaker.  Sage is looking like he freshly stepped out of Haight-Ashbury in 1967, with flowers and bright leaves woven into his dreadlocks.  He’s also entirely shirtless and wearing a sarong and a multi-patterned caftan, and seems to think nothing of the fact that he nearly spooked someone into swinging on him.  Why would he?  Coral considers his look for a moment, and notably doesn’t unclench his fists or drop his position from ready, leery of the Bodhisattva’s intentions.  Sage doesn’t wait for a response. 

Sage Pontiff: The Upajjhatthana Sutta.  “I am of a nature to grow old, and I can’t escape old age.  I am of the nature to get sick, so I can’t escape sickness.  I am of the nature to die, I can’t escape death.  All that is dear to me and everyone I have loved is of a nature to change, and I can’t escape being separated from them.  My actions in this moment are my only true belongings.” 

While this is delivered with his standard catatonic, smooth, wasteoid timbre there’s something in his words.  We’ve heard him enough and seen the results of his philosophizing enough to know that even if we can’t see it plain, there is likely an implicit threat.  Coral Avalon is no dummy, either.  His look is one of disbelief verging on combative. 

Coral Avalon: Most people would just say “hello”, but I think I’ve seen you enough to know that you’re not “most people”.

While his expression never changes, there’s something about the Bodhisattva makes the Crownless King uneasy. Maybe it’s the “implicit threat” part. Maybe it’s the fact that Coral’s jaw only just started feeling right again after Sage greeted it with a heel kick in the brawl at the end of ReVival 25. Either way, he never lets his guard down or unclinches his fists.

Coral Avalon: Something I can do for you, Sage?

Sage Pontiff: You know, a lot of people view interaction as transactional?  Like just now–”what can I do for you”.  What can I do so that I can extract a price.  “You owe me one” type shit.  It’s so…

He waves his hand dismissively. 

Sage Pontiff: …typical.

Now, he begins to float.  Not literally, of course, but the length of the drapery and his languid pace make it seem that way as he begins to encircle Coral, who for his part plays it smart and rotates right along with him,not letting him have unfettered access to his back whatsoever. 

Sage Pontiff: I think of it more like this: what have you been missing, and what can we achieve?  Hell, what have I been missing, y’know?  I spent a lot of time after I got eliminated floating.  Questioning what my purpose was.  I honor the traditions of the vision quest, and that medicine is powerful.  And it showed me…not a path.  Paths are linear, man-made things.  But it showed me a gap in the iron where the sunshine came through like a powerful laser, and all I had to do was just…reach in and pry a doorway open.  And I look at you.  Your doorway is closed.  You haven’t accepted the Upajjhatthana Sutta yet.

With a bemused smirk, he stops, looking Coral up and down. 

Sage Pontiff: And for you…well, you don’t really have much time left to accept those and open your own door, right?

Coral never takes his eyes off of Pontiff, every bit as bemused at him as Pontiff is of him.

Coral Avalon: Sage, you’ll forgive me if I’m not really buying what you’re selling to me. I’ve seen you in the ring. A little bit outside of it, too, I’d seen some of the bruises you left for security after the battle royale. I don’t think you’re interested in opening anyone’s doors except by battering ram, and then seeing what spills out once you have. 

He shrugs his shoulders.

Coral Avalon: But you’re right. I don’t have much time. As in, I don’t have that much time to waste before I go fight Colton tonight. Unless you mean “time left on this Earth”, which… to be honest, I’m already playing with house money as it is.

Sage Pontiff: Oh, you’ve got me, absolutely.  I do want to tear open the doors of perception.  The doors of the self.  You’re a wounded tiger, Coral.  You’ve lost a few claws and you’re bleeding on the floor of the jungle and all of these wolves think you’re about to bite it, for good.  They think you’re weak and vulnerable.  But you know what makes a wounded old tiger such a dangerous thing?  Desperation. 

He folds his arms, smiling serenely to himself. 

Sage Pontiff: You want to win?  Is that what will make you feel spiritually enriched?  Then you need to tap into that.  And maybe if you tap into that, you’ll catch a glimmer of what you’re actually capable of–and you’ll be able to face the universal truth.  But I know you because I’ve known you before, and I’ll know you again: you want success.  You don’t want growth.  What makes you so…afraid of my truth?  

Coral Avalon: Your truth, huh?

For a moment, Coral’s expression betrays a bemused smirk of his own.

Coral Avalon: Funny how “your truth” is just you trying to goad me into throwing hands with you.

Coral crosses his own arms, staring at Sage.

Coral Avalon: You know, I call myself the “Crownless King” because I don’t need a crown – or a belt – to prove that I’m one of the best in the world in the ring. I want to face Nate Colton because he’s one of the best to do it right now. Win or lose, he’s going to know that he was in the ring with me. The title belt is just garnish to me.

He smiles dangerously.

Coral Avalon: And you want that for yourself too, don’t you, Sage? You want this “wounded tiger” to bare his fangs at you… But you don’t want him to do it at his peak. God, that’d be silly, right? You want to fight him in a scenario where you hold all of the cards. Right here, right now. An uncontrolled, unfamiliar environment. It’s smart, really. It’s a place where you’re free to smash my face to smithereens with an escrima stick without any of those pesky rules to get in your way. 

His smile fades. His gaze turns to steel.

Coral Avalon: The truth-seeking will have to come later. Shouldn’t you know the value of patience, oh wise Bodhisattva?

Sage Pontiff: A crownless king is a blind emperor is a godless holy man.  If you think that I’m here because I need the fleeting instant gratification of breaking your consciousness free from your skull, then you really know less than I assumed. 

He kisses his fingertips and reaches to place them on Coral’s head–to which Avalon quickly swats his hand away.  The Bodhisattva chuckles at this and shrugs, retrieving a cone of sacrament from behind his ear and starting to walk backwards slowly. 

Sage Pontiff: Your type never listens.  This is a marathon, not a sprint.  You’ll go out there and succeed.  Or you’ll go out there and fail.  And either way, you’ll be the same man when your aching body wakes up tomorrow morning.  And the world will have gone on, and you’ll face the same existential crisis worrying that it’s left you behind that you’ve had every morning as of late.  But most importantly?  Enlightenment will still be just a decision away.  Because nirvana is always there–and so am I.  I have all the time in the world, Coral Avalon.  You don’t.  

Coral watches him go in silence. Soon, he is alone. After a moment’s pause, he lets out a long, weary sigh.

Coral Avalon: That went well…

Then he continues onward into the arena as we cut to…

ALIAS TITLE MATCH: C. MORTGOMERY BYRNES (C) VS. EDDIE CROSS

DUE TO TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES THAT ARE MOST LIKELY ALEXEI RUSLAN’S FAULT, WE CANNOT AIR THE ALIAS TITLE MATCH.

PLEASE ENJOY THIS COMMERCIAL INSTEAD THAT IN NO WAY INCRIMINATES ALEXEI IN ANY WRONGDOING, NOPE, NOSIREE…

A large banner of the PRIME logo and nothing more. 

Chittering and chattering from offstage voices. 

It appears to be something straight out of the American classic: Patton. 

And indeed, a man walks across the stage, but he’s anything but George S. Patton. 

Brown overcoat. Brown hat. Brown pants and hammers and sickles galore. 

Alexei Ruslan. 

He turns and faces the camera and speaks clearly. 

Alexei Ruslan: Quiet!!

The dutiful voices silence, immediately, as Ruslan stands with both hands behind his back. He offers an uncharacteristically broad smile. 

Alexei Ruslan: Hello. Dear people of PRIME! This is a public announcement for all to hear. PWA-02 will be held on June 10th and 11th. All PWA federations will be in attendance! Did you know that at PWA-1, Ivan Stanislav successfully defeated HOW World Champion, Christopher America, to bring honor and glory to PRIME? He certainly did! In record time!

He snaps his heels together. 

Alexei Ruslan: At PWA-2, representatives for Christopher America and the great Ivan Stanislav will compete in a flag match. For America: Steven Solex. Perennial loser and failed patriot of America. For Ivan Stanislav? The Scarlet Sickle herself! Lindsay Troy! Watch the sickle cut down the curr who represents America and bring honor to not just PRIME, but Mother Russia!

Ruslan grins at the camera. 

Alexei Ruslan: Thank you so much for this airtime, Lindsay Troy!

Below Ruslan, a message crawls by in bold, red letters: “This was absolutely sanctioned by PRIME. Any air time this message has taken up was NOT the fault of anyone involved. Regardless of what lies you might hear. 

Fade to Red. 

COMMERCIAL: 24 HOUR RULE

THINKING OF YOU…

We return from commercial to see Matt Mills in the ring.

Matt Mills: Ladies and gentlemen, joining me at this time is a new face to PRIME that has really caught the attention of a lot of you lately. At Culture Shock, he was able to earn a shot at the Alias Championship later this summer at Tropical Turmoil. And wouldn’t you know it? He just celebrated his nineteenth birthday yesterday! 

Happy late birthday to this man next to me. Abe Lipschitz!

Everyone’s special boy is not wearing his usual metal-mouthed smile, which is a bit concerning. Generally in the best of spirits (which we’d expect after his rumored rendezvous in West Hollywood last night with a certain veteran’s ex-wife), he appears solemn. Maybe he had one too many virgin Daiquiris. He’s in a pair of pink dress slacks and matching pink sports coat. Of course, the coat is unbuttoned so everyone can see his abs and chest — no shirt underneath. So he must not be too bad off.

Abe Lipschitz: Not too good, Matt. Not too good.

Matt Mills: Rough morning, huh? I can relate!

Abe nods and gives ol’ Matt a friendly soft pat on the back.

Abe Lipschitz: No, nothing like that. I had a wonderful time last night, and I want to thank everyone who came out. And I especially appreciate everyone who tried to sneak me in the shots where the Vanderpump cameras were. That said, I want to make sure I clear up the gossip that I’m already hearing go around.

Matt Mills: You mean the one about you being seen walking into the Courtyard by Marriott with Meagan Nackedy?

Abe Lipschitz: It was actually a Hilton Garden, but no, Matt. I meant the one about this bump on my face.

Abe places his index finger on his cheek.

Abe Lipschitz: This is not a pimple. It’s a birthmark that just happened to show up today.

Matt closely examines the blemish and scratches his head.

Matt Mills: I don’t know, Abe. Kind of looks like a pim…

Abe Lipschitz: ANYWAY, thanks for having me here tonight, Matt. It was important for me to fly out to Kansas City this afternoon despite not being booked, because I have something important to share.

Reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, Lipschitz retrieves a greeting card and holds it up for the cameras to see. The front of it reads “My condolences…” in that kind of cursive writing font but not really, and it’s paired with a silhouette of a blue jay. Of course.

Abe Lipschitz: You see, I tried to get this sympathy  card to Ned Reform after the last ReVival. I ran as fast as I could to the nearest hospital, but he was apparently in such bad shape that they weren’t allowing visitors. So just in case he’s out there watching tonight? Matt, I would like to read the poem I wrote to him, if I could.

The last time a sympathy card was read in the context of professional wrestling, it turned out not to be very sympathetic. However, something tells us that Abe genuinely seems sincere and has put a lot of thought into this. He clears his throat, holds the card to his face, and begins to recite.

Abe Lipschitz: With the deepest regrets, and all love between us, I’m sorry that I hurted your penis.

OK, well…not off to the best start.

Abe Lipschitz:  Although we have been in many a fights, my heart aches for you since you can’t put on tights.

Look, he’s got time to turn this around. And honestly, I think he is trying to be nice here. Abe is making dramatic sweeps with his arms, almost as if he is treating this as a one-man play.

Abe Lipschitz: So I’ll light a candle, put flame to the wick. And hope that the doctor can heal up your prick.

Meanwhile, Matt Mills  is seen shaking his head, trying to maintain some sense of composure.

Abe Lipschitz: Be sure to keep an ice pack right on your lap. Please get well soon, I miss you…

A dramatic bow by Lipschitz as he drops the card to the ground. 

Abe Lipschitz: …no cap.

Coming up from his bow and standing back upright, Abe wipes a fake droplet out of his eye and sniffles.

Abe Lipschitz: Thank you.

Matt Mills: Wow. Really felt like that came from the depths of your soul, Abe.

Abe, apparently not detecting the sarcasm from Matt Mills, decides to embrace him with a giant hug. He buries his face in Mills’ shoulder, feigning weeping for a grand total of five seconds. When he finally comes back up, there is absolutely no sign that there were real tears.

Abe Lipschitz: I appreciate you being here for me in my time of need, Matt. Just what the doctor ordered. I think I’m starting to feel better already! Wonder what Lindsay’s up to…

And with that, Abe exits in search of his object of affection as we cut to…

A CRACKING RETRACTION

The scene switches to a backstage location likely a few feet outside of gorilla as Vickie Hall, no surprise, has commandeered a video camera. Behind her stands an extremely nervous Jonathan-Christopher Hall, a rather frustrated Darin Zion and a totally oblivious Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy.

Vickie is waaaayyy too close to the lens but she begins her rant with a frowny face.

Vickie Hall: Caner Jiles.

She states the name of Hall’s opponent with heavy emphasis before her frown turns even more downwards.

Vickie Hall: You claim you don’t know who Jonathan-Christopher is.

By now, Vickie’s face has almost engulfed the entire camera.

Nick Stuart: You’d think Vickie would understand camera positioning better…

Richard Parker: You said this last time. Shhhhh! She’s just excited!

Vickie’s massive nose is almost the only thing the broadcast picks up.

Vickie Hall: You say he’s a Day One guy but that’s it. Couldn’t give a fuck more.

There’s minor commotion from behind the camera, as if someone else has walked into the scene and taken it out of Vickie’s hands.

Nick Stuart: Thank god. Like Vickie or not, there’s no way Lindsay Troy is going to allow this kind of awful Mickey Mouse production on her broadcast.

Richard Parker: Just excitement, Nick. It’s true love, how can Vickie not be caught up in it?

Nick Stuart: Who ARE you!?

Richard Parker: Just a fan. Plus I’ll support anyone against Jiles.

Nick Stuart: Okay, that makes sense.

Vickie scoffs at the help but moves back a couple of feet. Her frustration, however, continues.

Vickie Hall: I am declaring A RETRACTION!

Enter maniacal laughter.

Vickie Hall: After MY FUCKING MAN is through with YOU Jiles, you’re going to know who he is and bow to his power!

She glances back at her Amazing Life Partner, he’s shaking in his boots. It’s not a figure of speech, either. He’s literally shaking in his wrestling boots. And it only grows more intense as Vickie keeps talking.

Vickie Hall: We are taking your main event spot, Mr. Jiles. You completed your journey and it was stupid.

Vickie leaps in the air, spins around and wraps her arms around a stunned Jonathan-Christopher. Don’t get JC wrong, he feels WAY more secure now that his woman is all over him but the initial shock of her leaping up almost made The Timid Tiger vomit.

Vickie keeps her eyes locked on the camera.

Vickie Hall: After Jonathan-Christopher’s victory, a major PRIME mark will be made. You’re ripe for the picking, Jiles.

Pause.

Head tilt.

Vickie Hall: MUHAHAHAHA!

Pause.

Grin.

Vickie Hall: And then the LOVE CONVOY won’t be bound to backstage segments! Hear me out, PRIME. After Jonathan-Christopher wins tonight I’ll have a MASSIVE announcement on ReVival 28, in the middle of the ring!

Vickie runs her hands through Jonathan-Christopher’s hair.

Vickie Hall: To think, all my man needed was a little tender love and care.

She continues to run her hands through his hair, while looking into his eyes.

Vickie Hall: He needed to be accepted and I needed to meet him where he was… not where I wanted him to be. Now that he has won a triple threat match, he’s been placed against one of PRIME’s top guys. Cancer Jiles will submit A RETRACTION after tonight. And we…

She brings her attention back to the camera.

Vickie Hall: Will continue our journey.

Vickie lets go of Jonathan-Christopher. She marches over to the front of the camera lens again and sticks her face STRAIGHT into it.

She puckers.

She kisses.

She proudly marches away.

Vickie Hall: [off-camera] Come along, Jonathan-Christopher! Leave the others behind for now. Our true celebration will be after your victory!

An uneasy Jonathan-Christopher looks over to Tristan-Crispin and the disgruntled Darin Zion. Zion mutters something that’s picked up by the camera.

Darin Zion: [off-mic] I thought it was about progress, not winning.

Jonathan-Christopher shakes his head no. It’s like he didn’t even grasp the comment.

Jonathan-Christopher Hall: [off-mic] My baby needs me.

JC runs away, hoping to catch his ALP. However, he slips on a stack of papers which were laying on the ground. Thinking nothing of it at the time, he picks up the papers and tosses them away before racing off again. The papers fly through the air, until Darin Zion catches them. Zion looks at what’s in his hands, as Tristan-Crispin leans over.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: It’s… a comic book?

TCG seems puzzled (but nuzzles himself anyway) and Darin could’ve give a fuck so tosses the book to the side. The scene fades as we enter another area of the backstage area to see…

I KEEP RUNNING INTO THIS GUY

T-Mobile Arena. Yeah, the show is already one match deep (should be two, but big oops on that Alias Title match), but The Anglo Luchador doesn’t necessarily have to be in Kansas City this week. He goes to every show, mainly because if he didn’t, a parliament of owls would dig their talons deep into his back and carry him there. But not being booked affords him the ability to show up a little late. Besides, as long as he got there before the Five Star Title match, he was golden.

Still, as he walks the hallways backstage at the arena, he can’t help but feel unsettled. Last week’s encounter with Arthur Pleasant left him cold, and that chill permeates every step he takes. He looks around frantically as he progresses through the corridors. The hustle and bustle are real, people milling about, wrestlers stretching, arena employees moving boxes. He sees no sign of Pleasant after nearly getting to the locker room, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

Except right before the door to his destination, almost materializing out of nowhere, Arthur Pleasant and an especially menacing looking man standing behind him appear in front of the luchador.

Arthur Pleasant: Good evening. Funny we keep running into each other, huh.

The luchador is taken aback by the suddenness at which the duo appeared in front of him, but also because Pleasant’s companion looks, for lack of a better term, mean-as-fuck.

TAL: Who the hell is that?

Arthur Pleasant: My associate? Oh, that’s Yuri Reznikov. He means no harm unless… well… I want harm done. Hehe. But therein lies the rub. Do I want harm done unto you, o vapid man who hides behind a mask? Do I, do I, oh ever do I?!

Yuri snarls.

Arthur Pleasant: Something about you still vexes me. People love you here, but what have you done that’s been worthy of such affection? For example, now, you greet my associate with crass surprise and not a hello.

TAL: Well, you just app…

Arthur Pleasant: And rude too! SO rude. Mm. Not even letting me continue my assessment of your utter fraudulence. No wonder you hide behind a mask, keeping your true face from the world. But I wonder what other emotions you hide behind there. Is there hatred? Disgust?

Pleasant leans in uncomfortably closely and inhales in exaggerated fashion through his nose.

Arthur Pleasant: Fear?

Uncomfortable silence.

TAL: Can I answer now, or are you going to snap at me for not letting you blather on? I have things to get done here…

Arthur Pleasant: What, you don’t enjoy this conversation? Does it cut a little too close to the core for you, masked man? Would you prefer we do it over Jabber where you like to run your mouth incessantly? That way I couldn’t possibly look into what’s behind that mask? Truth is, amigo, I think you’re hiding quite a bit of fear behind that mask.

TAL: If I tell you that I am quaking in my boots every waking minute of my life, will you let me pass?

Pleasant rolls his eyes. Yuri snarls again in disgust.

Arthur Pleasant: Why are you soooo fucking quick to patronize me?! Uggggh. See, this is why I have such a problem with you, luchador.

TAL: Really? Because I said hi to you two weeks ago and you’ve been doing armchair Freud on me ever since? Like, maybe you could hit the bars with me after, share a beer, some conversation, you could…

Pleasant interrupts the luchador with an eardrum-piercing cackle.

Arthur Pleasant: You really think I’m the kind of person who breaks bread after work? Who takes kindly to condescending sobriquets from happy-go-lucky little twerps? Do you honestly think you know me well enough to warrant such ineptitude?!

TAL: Not really? Uh, that’s why I think it’d be cool to ha…

Arthur Pleasant: You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you? Always quick with a quip. You’re the kind of guy who has to be the first one to say something funny or sarcastic when you don’t know how to deal with the unknown. Funniest guy in the room syndrome, but call it. I’ve seen it before, too. HOW. SHOOT Project. My days back in Japan. So on and so forth.  And right away, I recognize it here in PRIME with you! 

Pleasant finally pauses, scoffing at TAL as he shakes his head. Yuri looks like he’s about to pound something before Arthur waves his hand with the flick of a wrist.

Arthur Pleasant: Regardless, your ignorance will reward you with a prize worthy of your fear and hubris. Until the moment I decide to award it to you, be on guard. You don’t know when the hour will come. You don’t know how it will happen. You don’t know where it will go down. But just know this, ‘friend’: it’s happening. It’s fucking happening and there’s not a goddamn thing you or anyone else can do to stop it.

Pleasant’s eyes narrow. Stepping up to TAL, he does so with the Seven-Foot Mean-Muggin’ Russian directly behind him. Knowing his counterpart isn’t stupid enough to do anything at this moment, he simply snorts and walks away. Yuri gives the luchador one last scowl before following.

TAL: I have the worst luck with people in this fucking company.

The camera cuts from the hallway to the ring, where Vince Howard is ready to introduce the third match of the night.

CANCER JILES VS. JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL

Nick Stuart: Up next, we have an interesting matchup between the fallen demigod of COOL, Cancer Jiles, and the man with the golden gun, Johnathan Christopher Hall.

Richard Parker: If there was ever a time to pour acid directly into my eyes, this is it.

Nick Stuart: So who do you like in this one then? Your contact lens?

Before Richard can respond to his cohort in kind, a COOL chill breezes through the air. The lights quickly draw to a dim. The PRIMEates snap to their feet, and ready their vocal cords for some serious bashing. Then, Screaming Jay Hawkins and his electric guitar take it home…

I’m the one your mama warned you about
When you see me, I will leave you no doubt
I’m the coolest man that ever walked this earth
I’ve been the coolest since the day of my birth….

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

BOOM-BOOM!

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!

BOOM!

Richard Parker: I said it last show and I’ll say it again– that’s a lot of pyros for our third match of the night. 

I AM THE COOL!

The COOLYMPIAN emerges from the back to a tremendous ovation…

BOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Richard Parker: I still can’t believe this guy was Universal Champion, and MAIN EVENTED COLOSSUS. Make it make sense.

Nick Stuart: Well, him and Julian took out Phil because glue was getting expensive. Then, Jiles won the title at UltraViolence when he beat Bathory. 

Richard Parker: Thanks, Nick. I don’t know where I would be without you.

The former Universal Champion confidently makes his way down the aisle; besmirching anyone looking in his general direction. He then stops, finds the closest camera, and exclaims, 

Cancer Jiles: Someone else is about to go missing, MOM! It ain’t my fault either! You did this. You know how to make it stop!

The Big C slithers under the bottom rope, and ignores the referee’s instructions like he doesn’t exist. Jiles then climbs the turnbuckles, opens his arms, and soaks in more of the PRIMEates sincerest adoration.

BOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

The two most hated members of PRIME are now in the same shot on television and the crowd explodes with booing in the arena. Vickie Hall is so excited to see her man defeat Cancer Jiles she RACES out from behind the curtain as “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith begins on the PA. 

Richard Parker: This crowd is not thrilled with this. 

Nick Stuart: I mean, I’m sure we’re going to have a great contest. But this is villain on villain. 

Meanwhile, a tentative Jonathan-Christopher Hall is far, far behind. Pretty Pink stops halfway down the ramp to wave her man down. He tries to catch up but he slips a few times on the rampway from sheer anxiety. Eventually, however, The Timid Tiger meets his Amazing Life Partner at the bottom of the rampway. Vickie hops onto the apron and Jonathan-Christopher follows. He opens the ropes for Vickie as she proudly enters the ring and her man follows. Pretty pink sparkler pyro goes off on the corners of the ring as Vickie wraps her loving arms around Jonathan-Christopher while screaming into the crowd he’s ready to go.

Richard Parker: This, this is great. These two guys are practically opening the show. After all their bullshit last year going into Colossus, these two, practically opening the show. HA. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t think it really matters where on the card you are, Richard. It’s all about what you do with it. 

Richard Parker: Go fuck yourself, Nick. 

Jonathan-Christopher and Cancer Jiles start the match across the ring from each other. 

DING DING

Cancer Jiles walks across the ring, a slight grin across his face. Jonathan-Christopher looks a bit scared as Jiles stalks in. Jonathan-Christopher tries to circle his way out of the predicament, but Jiles is always a step ahead of him. Cutting him off every step of the way, and backing him down into the corner. Hall finally forces the issue when he tries to rotate away, but Jiles fires off an open handed left hand that catches Jonathan-Christopher across the mouth and sends him back into the corner. 

Richard Parker: I think Jonathan-Christopher might be in a little over his head here…

Nick Stuart: Really? 

Richard Parker: I vomited in my mouth when I said it. 

Jonathan-Christopher tries to throw a few shots to Jiles midsection, but Jiles takes the first shot and shrugs it off like the fucking terminator. The other shots are interrupted by Jiles’ foot exploding into Hall’s stomach. The first stomp took his breath away, the second caused Hall to sit down on the middle turnbuckle. The third, drove him off the second and onto the bottom. The fourth fourth and fifth, Jiles is just stomping a mudhole in Jonathan-Christopher Hall. The final stomp flies and Cancer Jiles smiles ear to ear. 

Richard Parker: What is that cockroach up to? 

Nick Stuart: I have no idea Richard, absolutely none. 

Jiles begins waiving Jonathan-Christopher Hall up to his feet. 

Nick Stuart: Is he yelling something about an eggsecution? 

Richard Parker: Yes. God, I hate that man. 

Jiles sticks his head through the ropes and reaches out, grabbing a cameraman. Jiles drags the cameraman over by the lens of the camera. 

Cancer Jiles: YOU DID THIS MOM! It’s not on my hands, nope. ALL ON YOU! 

Jonathan-Christopher Hall is hanging through the ropes, half in, half out, his upper body hangs out, his stomach throbs. But Vickie Hall is standing there, and she reaches out, grabbing Jonathan-Christopher’s hand. Vickie smiles at him, and leaves him with a roll of quarters in his hand. Jonathan-Christopher begins to get up, his legs are still wobbly, but he finally makes his way to his feet. He turns at the last possible second and is able to duck under the attempt at decapitation that had come for him. 

Nick Stuart: Sweet lord, if that Terminal Cancer had hit, Jonathan-Christopher Hall might have been eating through a straw. 

Richard Parker: IF, big IF, Nick. Jonathan-Christopher Hall is still in this thing, and THERE WE GO! 

Jonathan-Christopher Hall turns and throws that same body shot, but this time Jiles cannot be the terminator. He crumples like folded aluminum, and Hall fires a surging uppercut that takes Jiles, completely off of his feet. Jiles hits the mat like he just got uppercut in Mortal Kombat, Hall dives in for the cover and Nixon starts the count. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

….

…….

…………

……………….

……………………

……………………….

KICKOUT! 

Richard Parker: Shit! Thought Jonathan-Christopher had him. 

Nick Stuart: So, rooting for the Love Convoy? 

Richard Parker: I can’t help it, I hate him that much. 

During the pinfall, Jonathan-Christopher Hall had rolled the roll of quarters to the outside of the ring. His roll didn’t make it far enough, so Vickie had to jump three quarters of the way into the ring to grab the weapon. Vickie barely scrambles out of the ring and the roll of quarters explodes on the arena floor. Nixon walks over to investigate, Jonathan-Christopher tries following Nixon… 

Richard Parker: NO! YOU CAN’T DO THAT TO HIM! 

Jiles dives through, a huge uppercut to the crotch. Jiles rolls Jonathan-Christopher Hall up from behind. Elvis Nixon spins around just in time to see the pinfall attempt. 

Richard Parker: GOD DAMMIT! I TOLD YOU! 

Nick Stuart: Jonathan-Christopher Hall has made a mistake, and boy is he paying for it. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

….

……..

………….

………………..

……………………….

……………………………..

KICKOUT! 

Jiles is incensed. He screams at Nixon, clapping his hands together counting to three. Nixon assures Jiles it was two, and Jiles looks down at his forearm and elbow area. He checks it over, almost making sure it’s not broken. He looks down at Hall and shakes his head. He brings him up to his feet and thumbs him in the eye. 

Nick Stuart: He could have thumbed him in the eye while he was on the ground… 

Richard Parker: It’s not as insulting if you’re on the ground, Nick. It’s just worse when he does it like this. Absolutely disgusting. 

Nixon admonishes Jiles, but Jiles responds with a kick to Hall’s midsection, and then an eye rake. The King of COOL is back on the prowl, and he dives in at Hall’s knees, taking him down with a chop block. Hall scrambles back to his feet quickly, but Jiles is slow and deliberate. Cancer chases in again with a boot to the knee this time, then another, and another. Hall starts to limp his way around the ring. 

Richard Parker: He’s like a vulture just picking at a carcass. 

Nick Stuart: I’ve never heard him described so succinctly. 

Hall finally stops at his corner with Vickie Hall. Jonathan-Christopher takes another look and nods his head. He turns back towards Jiles, who dives in with the Terminal Cancer. Hall ducks down and hits the mat, Jiles’ leg just misses, and Hall takes advantage. He rolls Jiles up, Nixon dives in for the cover. Jonathan-Christopher gets his foot on the middle rope for added leverage. 

Richard Parker: GET HIM! 

Vickie Hall hops up, lifting Jonathan-Christopher’s legs up and onto the top rope as Nixon is on the other side. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

….

……..

………….

………………..

……………………….

……………………………..

THREE! 

Richard Parker: HA! HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAA! 

Nick Stuart: He did it… 

Just a millisecond after Nixon’s hand hits the mat Jiles kicks out. But it’s too little too late and Elvis Nixon calls for the bell. 

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: HA! HAHAHAHA! HA! … HA!……….HA! 

Vince Howard: Your winner by pinfall, Jonathan-Christopher HAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!! 

Richard Parker: HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! 

Nick Stuart: Can you stop? 

Richard Parker: Blame Vince… HAHAAHA! He got me! HA! Wheew. This is a good one Nick, this is a really damn good one. HA! 

Jonathan-Christopher vacates the ring and is three quarters of the way up the ramp with Vickie, leaving Jiles to sit and absolutely fume in the center of the ring as ReVival fades elsewhere. 

COMMERCIAL: MOSCOWVERSE MERCH

TASTELESS HUMOR DOES NOT BELONG IN PRIME

We return from commercial to the backstage area where Angelica Brooks is positioned with a PRIME flagged microphone in hand.  She is standing by the door of a skybox suite that is blocked by sickly looking kids, bald ones, some in wheelchairs, and others with walking crutches.   

Angelica Brooks: Pardon me kids, can I get past?  

Wheelchair Kid: Sorry Miss Brooks, we were told not to let anyone in, especially Nova.   

Angelica Brooks: Where did you all come from?? 

Wheelchair Kid: We’re Make-a-Wish VIP’S. It was our wish to be on a PRIME show and meet Hayes Hanlon.  

The child’s demeanor switches from happy to bummed.  

Wheelchair Kid: ….but I guess we get to meet Hoyt Williams first. The tall guy told us we can be on TV if we stand here and don’t let anyone in, but it’s kinda boring.  

Bald Kid: I’m thirsty.  Can I get some water or a juicebox?  You’re pretty.  

Angelica Brooks: Thank you sweety. Once I finish here, I will make sure you get some water, and I will find out what’s going on.  We’ll get you to meet Hayes Harlon!  Do me a favor and knock on the door. 

A famished pale looking kid knocks on the door.  The door swings open. Hoyt’s massive sized lawyer, and chief Minister of Strategic Development Brother Privilege greets Angelica with a big welcoming smile. She’s not buying it.   

Brother Privilege:  Ahhh we’ve been expecting you.  Come on in.  

A path of sickly kids clears like the water when Moses parted the red sea.  Angelica Brooks enters the suite.  The room is dimly lit but we see the perfectly conditioned hair of Hoyt Williams flowing out of the bandages on the back of his head like beams of sunshine in the darkest of hours. The pontiff of Prime is sitting on a leather sofa watching the crowd in the area below and does not turn around to greet the reporter.  The masked monster Brother Hypocrisy is off to the side in the kitchen area making sandwiches.   

Angelica Brooks: What’s with the Make-A-Wish kids waiting out there?  

Brother Privilege:  Our research shows that security guards in wrestling are highly ineffective. 

Angelica Brooks: (disgusted): So, you’re using Make-A-Wish kids as human shields?  

Brother Privilege: WHAT? No, I was just commenting on the lack of security here in PRIME as I thought you were a reporter.  Use Make-A-Wish kids as shields?  That’s outrageous!  Even if it’s been proven that Make-A-Wish kids are like wrestler Kryptonite, we would never even think up something that sinister.  We’re religious people, for Hoyt’s sake. This is borderline SLANDER Miss Brooks. Those poor kids are waiting for the healing hands of our Savior Hoyt Williams who will experience miracles tonight IF they truly believe.  Hoyt has done more Make-A-Wish’s than most of the rest of America combined.   

The large litigator offers the reporter a Lime Perrier which she waves off. 

Angelica Brooks:  I see.  

Brother Privilege: Although security wouldn’t be a bad idea after Hoyt was verbally assaulted and physically battered by an out-of-control Nova.  When a great national hero like Ivan Stanislav tears down a wall the management of this company makes him pay.  When Nova commits a felony against a Savior like he’s Pontius Pilate on an opium kick they send a “referee” with gorilla paint on his face to fast count the son of God in a match that should NEVER have been allowed to happen.  Concussions are taken seriously in most sports but here in the pseudo sporting world of PRIME I guess they are a joke. OUTRAGIOUS.   

Brother Hypocrisy: Father Hoyt would you like any dressing on your sandwich?  

Hoyt Williams: The best kind!  Russian!!!  SIRI play the RUSSIAN national anthem in honor of the ICON that is IVAN.   

SIRI: Ok I found The Soviet National Anthem on your Spotify PRIMETunes playlist.  I will begin playing.  

The savior still yet to turn around air-conducts the music that is playing.  

Brother Privilege: Now please Miss Brooks understand this, because of the serious, possibly career ending concussion perpetrated by Nova you need to keep your voice to a hush.  Loud noise and bright lights are a sensitivity right now.  

The veteran reporter and no stranger to Hoyt Williams rolls her eyes out of instinct.  She walks over to the sofa and is startled by the darkened and cracked face of the sexy savior.  Hoyt chuckles.  

Hoyt Williams: Oh, HA!  Pardon me, I forgot I was still wearing this Dead Sea Mud Mask with Hyaluronic Acid, a touch of Colloidal Oatmeal, Angel urine, Aloe Vera, Botox and all the rage of the heavens right now, Avocado Oil.  It’s a lot of work staying eternal.  

“Your Personal Jesus” motions to the reporter to have a seat next to him.  She reluctantly sits down keeping an appropriate distance.  She chuckles slightly as she notices Hoyt is wearing a black t-shirt with white letter reading “HOYT WILLIAMS TOTAL DILF”.  Hoyt observes her noticing.  

Hoyt Williams: New in the shop zone the Hoyt Williams “DILF” shirts!!  Deity I’d Love to Follow.  It’s our new marketing slogan for the spring campaign.  But these are not joyous times Angie.  I’m sitting here in a somber state looking out at all these people.  Look at them!  

The camera pans out to a shot overlooking the crowd. The Pontiff hands Angelica a signed copy of May’s GQ with him on the cover.   

Hoyt Williams:  Here I am on the latest cover of GQ, Gentiles Quarterly, and I should be out there with my followers instead of in this dirty dimly lit presidential suite, talking to an Angel like you.  

The sexy savior winks at Angelica who no sells it.  

Hoyt Williams: I should be in GOD MODE. It should be raining down copies of this collectable magazine as I stand in the center of the ring with my arms spread out to the heavens.  You know I went to the Met Gala last week and had to leave GaGa’s afterparty early because of these headaches. I’m giving PRIME mainstream exposure while the only stream Nova can find is in a truck stop men’s room exposing himself.  I should be having the time of my infinite life, but I WAS ASSULTED.    

Hoyt hangs his head like Jesus on a cross.  

Hoyt Williams: I requested that time in the ring two weeks ago and I thought management would provide a safe workspace for a Thelonious Messiah such as myself. But No.  I was standing in the ring when a man reeking of bad life decisions and cigarettes ranting with anger in his eyes marched towards me like it was 2005.  I was only saved by those strong independent women who threw themselves in front of Nova to distract him long enough so I could maintain the integrity of my match against Anna, for the PRIME FANS, and my followers Hoyt’s Witnesses. I darn near got away when this NOVA threw what had to have been a bowling ball at my head causing a career threatening concussion.  SIRI play sad music.  

“A Little Bitty Tear” by Burl Ives begins playing in the background. 

Angelica Brooks:  I was told it was a golf ball, although some people claim it was a ping pong ball.   

Hoyt Williams: (indignant)  Are you really going to victim shame me?  What are you going to say next, that I deserved it for looking as SEXY as I do?  Angie, I thought you had higher standards, but its what I’ve come to expect from FAKE NEWS, and PRIME.  Would you expect me to take you seriously if you walked in here wearing clown make up? 

Angelica Brooks:  No, I don’t think I would. 

Hoyt Williams: Yet I’m expected to take a geriatric official seriously who wears cartoon paint on his face.   

Brother Privilege: Outrageous! 

Brother Hypocrisy: AMEN! Preach on Hoyt in the highest.   

Hoyt Williams: I think I will preach on!   YES SIR.  This referee whom I will not name out of respect to that young man Eddie Cross.  Believe me kid, I know what it’s like to have a derelict earth father.  This oafish idiot of a ref has a known bias against my faith. Angie, this is a clear conspiracy of the highest order against me by the ole owl lady in the sky.  Angie honestly, have I not had problems with the dopy ref before?  

Angelica Brooks:  Fact is fact.  

Hoyt Williams: Right.  We all saw the fast count.  Clear as Hoyt is truth.  The only way I’m going to get anywhere here in PRIME is to fight back in all directions, I mean that is if this concussion doesn’t end my career.  

Hoyt buries his face in his hands.  

Hoyt Williams: My doctor has told me I’m probably not going to wrestle again, and if I do, every match I’m in going forward I will be at a disadvantage.  I can heal sick Make-A-Wish kids, but the laws of the universe won’t allow me to touch myself inappropriately. I beat Nova in 2005 for the 5-star title.  Two months later NOVA cost me the title when he pinned somebody else in one of those unholy unnatural three-way menage a trois matches. 18 years later, the laws age of consent, almost to the date, a historic rematch could have happened, but NOVA swindled the fans out of that significant rematch by Nova being Nova. I’m not going to wrestle him you don’t give in to terrorists demands.  By the way where are my flowers and apology from management?  

Angelica Brooks:  My understanding is management has yet to even get a report from your physician. 

Hoyt Williams:  What am I Jussie Smollett?  You think I made this up?   It was on TV right here on ACE!  I’m not here to cajole you into believing something we all saw.  Come on. I prayed to my father, but I remembered he was dead, and I had to handle things on my own. So, I had brother Privilege here call the ACE executives to have them convince the docile dolts in management to book the felonious nincompoop Nova in a match against a hero like IVAN.   

Angelica Brooks:  You think IVAN is a hero?  I think it’s odd you would say that. 

Hoyt Williams: I would.  He’s a wrestling ICON and a cultural landmark.  I see him getting oppressed and his ideas muffled by PRIME just like me.   This man should be world champion but instead they find ways to cheat him, exploit his good nature, and concern for his land and people.   He’s a gentle fair human being whose only anger comes from people not understanding his passions.  I can relate. So many easy solutions here in PRIME like me handling booking. Ivan’s comrade Alexei Ruslan should oversee all officiating.  That would fix so much in this biased unfair wrestling promotion.  Alexi is a man of honor, duty, and would excel at the job. We have a brilliant “financier” in Cecilworth Farthington who should be in charge of the finances of PRIME making us BILLIONS!   Instead, we got Bob in accounting.  You see these are just examples of all that is wrong with PRIME inciting deadbeats like NOVA to assault the definition of innocence that is Hoyt Williams.  

Angelica Brooks:  Do you have some kind of alliance with Ivan?  

Hoyt Williams: (defensive)  Noooooo do you?   I mean what a silly thought the man is an atheist, despite being a snazzy stylistic fashionista.  I know, I was on the cover of GQ in newsstands out now, if you forgot. 

Hoyt holds up a copy of the magazine to the camera.  

Hoyt Williams: Angie, I don’t like to gossip but I heard the joke Nova made in the smoker’s area by the loading dock about Mother Russia and Ivan’s mother being the same size.  I know from what IVAN has told me that his mother is a svelte beauty who danced across the rolling hills of Russia in her youth. I didn’t find Nova’s joke funny at all.  Tasteless humor does not belong in PRIME.  So no, I respect Ivan, but we are not in alliance, we both simply want to see justice in PRIME here tonight.  Oh, my head. 

Hoyt places his hands over his eyes as Brooks looks at him skeptically.  

Angelica Brooks:  Are you ok?  

Hoyt Williams: These headaches I’ve been having keep producing Dreams or visions, some might even say a prophecy.  Angie, I see an old balding wrestler who looks double his age.  Oh it’s Nova.  Yes.  I see a bad day on the horizon for Nova.  I see Russia engaging in a full well laid out assault using all their force occupying Nova with ease.   In defeat I see the assault continuing way beyond expectations.  Wait, what’s that?  

The savior grabs Angie’s wrist for support.  

Hoyt Williams: Oh-my-Hoyt I see a sad beaten man lose his ball as behold; a man on a pale segway approaches and warns Nova of the hell to follow.  

Angelica Brooks:  A vision or are you up to something?  What do you have to say to Nova?  

Hoyt Williams: Go home, skip the match. I know you’ve been experiencing a lot these last two weeks, but you will experience EVEN MORE repercussions for what you have done.  So Mote it be.  Angie if you’d excuse me I need to rest before healing those kids and entering GOD MODE.  Brother Hypocrisy do we have any more of those juice boxes I’m thirsty.  

Angelica Brooks:  An ominous prophecy from Hoyt’s box, high in the skies, back to you Nick.

INTRODUCTION OF THE CENTURY? NAH, NOT REALLY

The feed switches from one section of the backstage to another. On-screen, we see a man whose spiky hair is as green as bok choy. A man who prior to tonight’s show decided the most professional choice of fashion was a ringmaster costume. The manager of none other than Jack Owyns, ODDBALL!

Oddball: (Clearing lungs) ACK testing, testing ACK! Ahem.

Three members of the T-Mobile Arena security team stare, befuddled. 

Oddball: (Air trumpet) Doo, doo…Ladies and gentlemen, boys, and girls, things of all ages…

Oddball slaps two of the guards’ bellies, treating them like drums. 

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

The three security guards exchange glances between themselves, confused.

Oddball continues slapping, rhythm on tune.

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

Oddball: …Allow me thee privilege to introduce to ya’ll, THEE original gangsta, the one and only VILLAIN, Jack–

One of the security guards – done with the unwelcoming pink belly – takes Oddball by the wrist, and applies pressure. A squeak slips from the mouth of Oddball.

Security Guard: Slap my stomach again, and I’m gonna break every finger you have on your puny little hand.

The security guard releases his grip on Oddball’s wrist and grabs him by the collar of his ringmaster jacket with both fists. The guard, with little effort, pushes Oddball, who ends up on his ass seven feet back out the door, no grace with his fall.

Security Guard: Now get out of here; this isn’t a circus.

Oddball looks dumbfounded, staring toward the security guards until he touches his right elbow, and hisses from the pain of the bruise already forming beneath his ringmaster jacket. 

Cue evil sadistic expression.

Oddball: No…No, this isn’t a circus…but a battlefield! Cuz PRIMES newest, most lethal signee JACK F’N OWYNS is coming and this place will be his canvas of carnage! BLOOD, GUTS…and glory, (sadistic laugh)heh, heh.

Oddball picks himself up off the ground. 

Oddball: I’ve seen what he has done; he broke one man’s arm, SNAP! Some dude’s leg, CRACK! Even broke one man’s spine, POP! Took a sledgehammer and WHAM WHAM SMASH! To a man’s hand–

He takes a couple steps towards the security guards.

Oddball: –He’s destroyed dreams, he’s ended careers, he became a world champion at the age of only nineteen and he’s coming to PRIME, and he going to make all of you his—

The security guard slams the door in Oddball’s face.

Security Guard: Shut up.

The security guards laugh amongst themselves while one checks the door, ensuring it’s locked. 

A faint KNOCK, KNOCK, comes from the other side of the door.

Security Guard: That name, uh…Jack Owyns was it; you ever hear of him?

Security Guard: Nah, ain’t ringing any bells.

Security Guard: Probably another nobody.

The three security guards walk off as the knocking stops. The camera pans in as a piece of paper slips underneath the door. The piece of paper reads:

MAY 19TH, 2023
JACKIE BOY RETURNS!
Signed Oddball (:

WOMEN’S EQUALITY

Backstage, the camera catches sight of Justine Calvin for the first time since the end of the first night of Culture Shock. Moreover, it’s also the first time she has ever appeared on PRIME television without the thing she’d carried with her since the night she stepped foot on the national stage: her half of the PRIME Tag Team championships.

Tonight the woman one person calls a “Toxic Hell Banshee” and another calls “The Murder Valkyrie” is a queen of a dead empire.

With one hand in her pocket and the other scrolling her phone, Justine is in a world all her own. It’s only when a nearby door slams that her eyes look up from the screen, and then a scowl draws itself across her lips when she sees the source of the noise: Alexei Ruslan. The Russian, in his brown overcoat and hat, grins at her from afar and waves.

Alexei Ruslan: Ah! Ms. Calvin! I have something for you!

She keeps her eyes back over her shoulder, but she doesn’t acknowledge the comment or even break her stride until she walks directly into a brick wall. Except it isn’t a brick wall at all. 

It’s Ivan Stanislav. 

As she whips her head up up up to stare into the grizzled features of the Russian Bear, Ruslan approaches from behind and she is, for all intents and purposes, trapped between the two Russians. Stanislav grins.

Ivan Stanislav: Uh-oh!! Careful where you are walking, Ms. Calvin, you could get hurt! 

Ruslan hisses in her ear from behind. 

Alexei Ruslan: Indeed! But how lucky for us all to have found you. We wanted to give you something.

Ruslan looks past Justine and up at Ivan, who advances towards her and compels her backwards while Alexei backpedals. For all his menace and the constant looming, Stanislav speaks conversationally. 

Ivan Stanislav: We missed you last ReVival, Ms. Calvin. I am sure you saw our conversation with your betrothed, dear Jared Sykes? The poor boy. He was lamenting how his own pride at Culture Shock stole once in a lifetime opportunity from you. Tut tut. Selfish. 

Given the tone of the encounter she had with Alexei during the Culture Shock press conference, it’s difficult for Justine to mask her annoyance at the situation she finds herself in.

So she doesn’t try.

Justine Calvin: (sighing) Oh for…

The phone she once held is slid into her pocket.

Justine Calvin: Honestly, the way you two spin things I’d think you were better suited to cable news than this sport. Someone breathes in the wrong direction, and here comes the Red Army to tell everyone how that person is directly responsible for contributing to… I dunno, greenhouse emissions, or something. And yeah, I watched the show. I know what was said. I also know that I’m the one who put the call in to Troy’s office when the damn thing was announced and said which of us was getting the spot, so if that’s the best you’ve got then you’re going to need to try a little harder.

Stanislav continues to advance with a steady, but unwavering cadence. Ruslan moves fluidly to the side, and it’s clear this kind of tandem surrounding tactic has been used many times in the past. Before Justine can realize it she’s backed into a brick wall and facing the two Russians. She’s cornered.

Ivan Stanislav: You know, Justine, I believe this is really the first time we have honor to speak with you. I had hoped that Jared would be here as well, but it appears he left you high and dry again. Lamentable. I think of our long distance conversations, Justine. So many times we spend just discussing such things on Jabber…

Ruslan chimes in sardonically.

Alexei Ruslan: With your popcorn emojis and oh-so-hilarious quips…

Ivan continues as the two Russians speak as if they are one. 

Ivan Stanislav: But it is so wonderful to see the beautiful other half of now-defunct Tag Team, Eminence, in all of her glory. I have always respected your work and athleticism. I see why you were part of tag team champions, Justine. Athletic and yet still feminine and… breakable. 

Alexei interjects.

Alexei Ruslan: Ah, forgive Praporshchik Stanislav as English is not our first language. Of course not breakable but rather, let us say, delicate?

Ivan just lets the word hang in the air as he looks down at her, emulating a looming anvil that could fall at any moment. His words suddenly lighten and he smiles broadly.

Ivan Stanislav: You know, I wish to make sure: for your wedding, did you need our address for invitations? It would be shame if we were snubbed. And might we see the beautiful ring Jared got you?

The cameras won’t show how the hairs on the back of her neck are standing on end, just like they won’t be able to catch her next movement, imperceptible as it is.

With her right hand already balled into a fist, Justine briefly lets the fingers on her left hand go slack, just enough for her to reach towards her palm with her thumb and rotate the ring on her left hand inwards. It’s not to hide the stone from the Russians, but to present a cleaner surface to strike with if the situation arises.

Justine Calvin: (deadpan) I’ll send you a picture.

Ivan Stanislav: (deadpan) A shame. 

Ivan stares down at Justine, who is almost two feet smaller and three times lighter than Stanislav. His flat delivery does not brighten.

Ivan Stanislav: I know that Jared and I have had our differences, dear Ms. Calvin, and I am sure that he does what he can to slander me behind my back. 

Justine Calvin: We don’t…

Her words are cut short by Ivan’s chuckle.

Ivan Stanislav: Lenin knows he does it enough on Jabber, yes? But I think it is important for you to understand the kind of men that I, and Alexei, are. I think it is important that you hear, and understand, this straight from the two of us. 

He thumbs at himself and then Alexei while shifting his weight forward gradually. At his height, he is almost looking directly down on her. 

Ivan Stanislav: We have great respect for women. You know, there are so many men out there who think women are less than their male counterparts? That they deserve less. That they should earn less. That they should receive less? Yes. It is true. And it is shameful. You see, Justine, Lenin taught us that all women are capable of great things. All women have the capacity to break out of the “kitchen” and be as important and influential as any individual in government. Women can work. Women can fight. Women can make decisions.

Ivan’s huge smile carries with it the sweetness of anthrax. 

Ivan Stanislav: So we always have had great respect for women. 

Ivan nonchalantly checks his nails. 

Ivan Stanislav: For the two of us? We believe a woman deserves equality to men at all times. They deserve just as much. They should earn just as much. And they should receive just as much of whatever it is a male would receive. 

He stops staring at his nails, and looks down at her coldly. 

Ivan Stanislav: Whatever attention or time that we would give to a man? We would do so to a woman as well. Aggressively. With joy in our hearts. Just to let them know that they are precisely on the same level, in our eyes, as all the boys running around here. 

Ivan stares directly into Justine’s eyes. His words drip with angular, Russian menace. 

Ivan Stanislav: Do you understand what I am saying, Justine? We just mean that in our eyes, everything that we’ve done to the male roster members of PRIME? We would happily do the absolute same to you. 

Ruslan chimes in cheerfully, in stark contrast to Ivan. 

Alexei Ruslan: Why, we might even go above and beyond for you, dear Justine. Just to really drive our love of gender equality home. Only if necessary, of course. Especially as one such as yourself prepares for such an amazing future. You know, pictures, dress fittings, attendees such as family members and friends… 

Ivan finally moves his weight backwards and grants Justine a small amount of breathing room. 

Ivan Stanislav: It is just something to think about. Here, let us give you item for why we are here. As congratulations for your newfound future! A pretty object for the pretty bride-to-be! I have no doubt that your future will look so, so bright.

Stanislav grins wide and raises his enormous arms overhead and claps. Ruslan opens his coat and produces a fiery, red and yellow tulip with a bulb of soil wrapped in cloth at the bottom and offers it to her. As he does, a tech from down the hall calls after them, unaware of what’s been transpiring. 

Technician: Mr. Stanislav? You’re almost on. 

Stanislav growls, but he doesn’t once let his eyes leave Justine’s. 

Ivan Stanislav: Praporshchik you imbecile! 

He then smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Ivan Stanislav:  I must go to my match! You be sure to tell Jared that we stopped by, okay? You be sure to tell him everything. 

A massive paw catches Justine by the wrist and slowly draws her hand up as if to kiss it. It’s only when she realizes what’s happening that Justine rips her hand away. Unsaid words pass between Justine and Stanislav, who playfully winks at her as he leaves his huge hand open, devoid of her hand.

Ivan Stanislav: It has been so, so nice to finally see you, beautiful unblemished Justine. You wish me luck, eh? I always appreciate good luck from a beautiful girl!  

Stanislav winks and walks away, letting his shadow recede from atop Justine. Ruslan winks at her and whispers. 

Alexei Ruslan: We see you around, hm? Do not be stranger, sweetheart.

Ruslan waves, turns, and catches up to Ivan as they make their way to the ring. 

NOVA VS. IVAN STANISLAV

Nick Stuart: Next we have an incredible matchup between two very accomplished performers. Nova and Ivan Stanislav both have very impressive careers, and it’ll be interesting to see how this match turns out.

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

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

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

The stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the field of stars comes together to form the word “NOVA,” Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain” lilts over the PA system.

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp where Nova is knelt, one fist raised in the air. The smoke wafting up from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth swirls iridescently under the hot glare of the spotlight. 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 and flicking his cigarette away.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Parts Unknown, weighing in at 240 pounds…NOOOOOOVAAAAAAAA!

The lights come up.

Next, “The Soviet National Anthem” by the Russian Red Army Choir erupts as Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Rulsan emerge from the backstage area. Stanislav and Ruslan raise their arms, side by side, roar at the crowd, and pointedly make their way towards the ring. Stanislav points and jaws at several fans along the way, while Ruslan points and hawks at the greatness of the Russian Bear.

Stanislav steps over the top rope and thunders into the ring. He raises his arms over his head and bellows at the camera.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Arkhangelsk, Russia…weighing in at 400 pounds…IVAAAAAAN STAAAAAANIISLAAAAAAAV!

DING DING

Nova runs in for a shoulder tackle, but the big Russian is ready, swatting Nova off like a bug. The Risen Star gets to his feet but is immediately scooped and slammed by Ivan, who lets out a huge laugh as the fans boo.

Richard Parker: Ha! Ivan is treating the Hall of Famer like yesterday’s garbage!

Ivan doesn’t spend much time gloating. He immediately begins to stomp on Nova’s body. The viciousness in Ivan’s snarl is apparent as he goes to work.

Nick Stuart: The seven footer is angry, Richard. Ivan Stanislav and his mouthpiece Alexei Ruslan have said several bad things about Nova recently, and Ivan finally gets him in the ring now. 

Ivan clubs Nova on the back, then another. Nova flattens onto the canvas, and Ivan lifts Nova up before grabbing him.

Nick Stuart: Is it time for the Red Scare already?

It is not.

Nova escapes from Ivan and sends a dropkick to his knee. Ivan stumbles, and Nova bounces off the ropes and knocks Ivan back with a shoulder tackle.

Nick Stuart: Nova getting some offense in here, but it’s so hard to take the big Russian off of his feet.

Richard Parker: It’s because he’s strong, it’s because he has an undeniable will, it’s because…

Nick Stuart: It’s because he’s 400 pounds.

Richard Parker: Yes, that too.

Still Ivan stands. Nova kicks him in the thigh, and then again, and then he runs to try another tackle.

Rather, I should say he tries to run. Because Ivan grabs the hair sprouting out of both sides of Nova’s head and pulls down. Nova crashes hard onto the mat, grabbing his head, and once again Ivan lets out a laugh. Alexei laughs as well. 

Nick Stuart: It’s a tough task to take down a man that large, and The Russian Bear certainly uses it to his advantage.

Richard Parker: What is he going to do, Nick? Shrink down eight inches?

Ivan lifts Nova up, then slams him down in a backbreaker. He barks at Jimmy Turnbull to get in position as he covers Nova.

ONE!

TW…

Nova gets the shoulder up.

Nick Stuart: We knew that Nova would have a tough time with this mountain of a man, but make no mistake, Richard, The Risen Star is more than up to the task.

Richard Parker: Nova is a Hall of Famer, a multi time champion in this federation, and honestly he has some big wins on his resume in the ReVival era, but this is different, Nick. This is the man who should be the Universal Champion!

Ivan rolls Nova onto his back, then grabs his arms before standing on his back in a standing surfboard. Nova screams in pain as Turnbull asks him if he will give up. Everyone knows he won’t, of course, most of all Ivan. So Ivan eventually releases the hold and turns to the crowd, raising his fist in the air.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

Nick Stuart: This man is incredibly full of himself.

Richard Parker: Of course he is, and he has reason to be!

Nova slowly tries to get to his feet. Ivan meets him and tosses him into the corner, then follows him with a running splash into the corner. Nova slumps, but doesn’t get a chance to do much else as Ivan tosses him to the other corner. Ivan waits a moment before running after him, but it was exactly the moment that Nova needed.

Nick Stuart: The Risen Star moves! Ivan crashed into the corner!

Ivan turns in time to eat a kick from the face, which gets him out of the corner, dazed. Nova comes from behind and grabs him.

Nick Stuart: Dying Star Drop! And the big man is down, Nova with the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Woah!

Ivan kicks out forcefully, leaving Nova to fly in the air for a moment. Alexei claps on the outside. 

Richard Parker: Does that count as a yeet? I think that counts as a yeet.

Ivan gets up, but Nova has already recovered. Nova blasts him back with a kick, then tries to lift Ivan over in a T-Bone suplex – which he sort of does. He doesn’t get all of it, but Ivan does fall backwards.

Nick Stuart: What strength from Nova! That’s a lot of man to be tossing around.

It seemed to take a lot out of the Starchild though. He stands slowly, winding his arms around as he approaches the fallen Bear. As he attempts to grab Ivan, though…

Nick Stuart: Stanislav was playing possum! He’s got Nova by the throat!

Richard Parker: He was hibernating!

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: You know…bear. Sleeping. Hibernating. 

Ivan stands up with his hand still around the throat of Nova. He lifts him up and slams him down in a chokeslam, then covers.

ONE!

TWO!

Nova kicks out.

Nick Stuart: Nova has fought hard tonight, and Ivan has certainly taken his fair share of damage, but right now the Starchild is in a lot of trouble. 

Ivan steps on Nova, then puts all of his weight on him as he steps across, unleashing another laugh. He does it a second time, and Nova convulses.

Nick Stuart: The full weight of the Russian Bear right on Nova’s sternum! That can’t feel good.

Richard Parker: …I’d let him do it to me.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Just once. Just to see how it would feel.

It appears that Ivan is going to give Nova another taste of Richard Parker’s dream as once more he puts his foot on Nova’s chest. But this time, Nova is ready.

RRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!

Nick Stuart: Nova grabbed the ankle and took Ivan down! And now he’s moving to the front…he’s got it locked in! It’s the Horizontal Face-Pull Neck-Stretch Inverted Hurt-Plex Lock Bomb!

Richard Parker: You know, if someone wanted to hit their word count easier, Nova should just use that move like sixteen times in a match.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: What?

As the boys banter about whatever weird shit Richard just said, Ivan is in pain. Nova is applying the arm-trap crossface, straining. Ivan is nowhere near the ropes, but unfortunately for Nova, the ropes are not the only way Ivan can break a hold.

Nick Stuart: Ivan bit him! Nova is breaking the hold!

Both men get to their feet around the same time, but tie goes to the Russian. He grabs Nova and very quickly lifts him up, then flattens him with a clothesline.

Richard Parker: Yes! Iron Curtain!

Nick Stuart: Nova looks to be out of it, and Ivan’s not done!

He grabs Nova, then throws him.

Richard Parker: That DEFINITELY counts as a yeet.

Nick Stuart: Red Scare! This one is over!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Vince Howard: Your winner…IVAAAAAAN STANIIIISLAAAV!

Junior referee Jimmy Turnbull stands with the victorious Ivan Stanislav and he raises the enormous Russian’s arm up high by the forearm. Alexei Ruslan immediately leaps to the apron and climbs into the ring for what one might think is a chance to celebrate. But no. It’s a chance for revenge. Instead of joining Ivan, Ruslan, with contempt in his eyes, puts the boots to Nova instead. Turnbull catches the attack and tries to intervene, but Stanislav places one big hand over Turnbull’s chest and glowers at him. The junior referee is out of his depth, not to mention the match is technically over, and he shrinks back. 

Nick Stuart: Come on!

While the crowd boos, Ruslan hefts Nova up and holds him in a full nelson. Stanislav stares and laughs. 

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!

He points at Nova and laughs again, before turning his back to him and looks to the crowd.

Nick Stuart: Why is Ivan doing this? I mean besides being a jerk!

Richard Parker: I mean, he did piss Ivan off attacking him in that brawl a few weeks ago. Not to mention he took out Alexei. Still, I dunno about this…

Ivan Stanislav: Here is your Hall of Famer! Here is your hero! PRIME’s own! Nova!!! DYAAHAAHAA!! 

Nova is down, but he’s not out. He stirs and struggles while Ruslan tries to interlock his fingers. One mule kick later and Ruslan is doubled over and grabbing his rubles. The crowd pops, and it clues Ivan into the fact that something is amiss. Nova plants Ruslan with a stiff double arm DDT just as Stanislav turns to see the commotion. 

But as Nova rises and turns, Stanislav completely annihilates him with a roaring lariat. The Risen Star corkscrews in the air and falls on his side. Stanislav curses down at the downed Nova in Russian, before he leaps and drops the full four hundred pounds of his left knee over The Starchild’s chest. Nova grabs his chest and flops about like a fish as Stanislav rises. 

The Bear roars to the crowd once more. 

Ivan Stanislav: Maybe he should not have gotten in our way!?! DYAAHAAHAA!! Maybe I should have been Universal Champion?! You asked for this, PRIME! I am just getting started! Cry for your hero!

Then it gets ugly. 

Stanislav brutally stomps Nova, over and over, without any hesitation or restraint. He drives his full weight and strength behind each stomp, moving from his chest up to his head, and boots his left temple with a sickening CRACK. He lifts Nova and slaps him across the face, before sending him across the ring into the turnbuckle. Nova hits with tremendous velocity but refuses to go down, instead staggering out into Ivan’s huge arms. The Russian Bear lifts him with one hand and launches him across the ring. 

Nick Stuart: He just threw Nova like a shot put!!

Nova sails slowly through the air and lands hard on the mat. Ivan walks over, almost nonchalantly, and wraps his huge hand around Nova’s throat. He starts to lift him, but The Starchild is a stubborn man. Through sheer reflex kicks Ivan in the knee and claws at his huge forearm. Alexei watches, but doesn’t intervene while Ivan shakes Nova forward and back by the throat, throttling him, and chokes the fight out of him. 

Richard Parker: Okay this is probably enough now, uh, comrade…

Nick Stuart: Why don’t you get in there and calm them down, huh? You’re their friend, right? 

Richard Parker: I don’t want to forsake my journalistic duty by leaving my post! Let someone else be the hero!

Turnbull has little options at his disposal, but he does call for the timekeeper to ring the bell. The bell clangs over and over, but Stanislav doesn’t care. He headbutts Nova once while still choking him and wraps him up in a side headlock. 

Finally, someone from the backstage area emerges to try to bring this to an end.

Jared Sykes. 

The Dragonslayer rushes down the entryway and the crowd roars. 

Nick Stuart: I have no doubt that with the size of this show most of the roster is busy preparing for their matches, but at least someone can help put an end to this!

Stanislav watches Sykes run down from the backstage area and cranks the headlock on Nova. When Sykes slides into the ring he makes to approach. Stanislav laughs uproariously, almost madly, and cranks the headlock on more and punches Nova with his free hand. It’s a warning that Jared immediately recognizes, and he takes one step backward. Ruslan twirls his baton and stands next to Ivan as a standoff ensues. 

Nick Stuart: I’m not even sure Nova is conscious!

Sykes yells at Ivan to calm down, but the Russian Bear just laughs. His deep, bass voice cuts through the booing audience. 

Ivan Stanislav: Who is laughing now? Not you, Sykes?! Not Troy! Not Mr. Hero, Nova!! DYAAHAAHAA!! This is what happens when one interferes in our business!!

Jared tries to approach again, and Ivan once more brutally punches Nova with a sickening crunch. Then, he hooks his fingers into Nova’s mouth and wrenches it open painfully wide.

Ivan Stanislav: GRRAAAAHHHH!!!! Do you want him? Do you want Mr. Hall of Fame?

Sykes nods, hands outstretched, with concern, frustration, and rage in his eyes. Ivan torques Nova’s head again and bellows. 

Ivan Stanislav: No funny jokes, Jared? No silly drawings, hm? Not so funny when I can rip his head off?!?! It is serious now, is it not?!

Jared bites back his anger and nods while watching Nova’s unconscious, battered face. 

Ivan Stanislav: Take him!

Ivan is the first to make his move. He turns slightly to the ropes next to him, and while holding Nova effortlessly with one huge hand, pulls the middle rope above the top rope and shoves Nova’s head through the ropes and releases. The top and middle rope constrict around Nova’s neck and he kicks helplessly. Jimmy Turnbull rushes to try to pull the tightened ropes from Nova’s neck, with no luck. Stanislav boldly walks straight towards Sykes, as if daring him to attack… 

Richard Parker: What the hell?!

Nick Stuart: Nova is being choked by the ropes! He’s barely conscious already! 

…and Sykes rushes past Ivan to help Nova. The two Russians walk up the entryway while Sykes and Turnbull work to open the ropes and free the Hall of Famer. By the time the battered, beaten, and semi-conscious Hall of Famer is free, Stanislav is standing at the entryway. He stares at the crowd and raises both of his arms high above his head as Nova collapses to the mat in the ring. Turnbull and Sykes check on him before Sykes climbs to his feet, staring up the entrance ramp at the Russian Bear as the scene fades to commercial.

COMMERCIAL: THE MADHOUSE

The Fistfight at High Noon is over, and the Madhouse has closed its doors. So many people took part in the insanity, but now they have all gone.

Except one.

Let’s meet the founder. He sits in a small room, hunched over a desk, scribbling away with a pen and muttering to himself.

“Flag Match, at the United Nations…”

He is not scribbling on paper. He used that all up…which is just as well, because his pen ran out of ink ages ago. Now, he is scratching his thoughts into the desk itself.

“Would they fight inside the train, or on top of one?”

His name is Brian McCoy, and twenty years ago he had the world at his feet. He’d been put in charge of a major promotion, despite being half the age of most people in such a role and having no real experience.

Why?

Because Brian McCoy has ideas.

“Philadelphia Street Fight. Of course they’ll have to reroute traffic…”

Under his stewardship, the Pacific region constantly led the entire National Wrestling Council in ticket sales, viewership, and top-tier title reigns. When the NWC collapsed, Brian quickly rebranded his territory as the Diamond Wrestling Syndicate, turning it into a national brand on the strength of a loaded roster, innovative matches, and strong sponsorship ties.

“They’ve got to have those set pieces around somewhere. So, American Gladiators or Double Dare?”

Brian was heralded as a visionary…but it would turn out there was one area where he had a startling lack of vision. He tried to deal honestly with his roster, and expected them to do the same.

“We can rent a bouncy castle…we’ve got a skunk-a-pult…”

In less than six months, the Diamond Wrestling Syndicate was a distant memory. Torn apart by rampant egos, changing trends, internal plots, and spies. Always with the goddamn spies.

“I wonder how many people can fit on Henry Keyes’ airship.”

The wrestling business has taken everything from him. His career, his family, his mental health. It has left him a fractured soul, broken so completely that the pieces can never be reassembled. Unable to face the world, and only able to sustain himself through the charity of those who remember what he used to be.

“How many scuba suits could we get on short notice?”

Brian wishes he could leave it all behind. He would love nothing more than to find a regular job, live a normal life, and forget that he was ever part of this bizarre carnival where every ride turns into a sausage grinder; every animal act ends in blood and tears. He wants to leave so very, very much.

But he can’t.

“No, we couldn’t get him; he’s dead. But if Charles can get his time machine back…”

Because Brian McCoy has ideas…

THE MADHOUSE
WILL REOPEN
APRIL 2024

HOMECOMING

Back from a commercial with Matt Mills waiting in the ring.

Matt Mills: Ladies and gentlemen.  At this time I’d like to introduce a young wrestler who grew up just a few miles away from here… a hometown boy from nearby Warrensburg, Missouri. … ADAM ELLIS!

The crowd pops when the chorus of Garret Biggs ‘Mama Didn’t Say No…” comes on and Adam and his wife Ginny Van Lear come out from the back 

“Oh, I might be a little rough around the edges
From the outside lookin’ in it might seem helpless.

Adam sees some people he knows and stops for a second to say hello before moving along.

I’ve been blessed with a strong backbone – I never coulda made it on my own.
But if there’s one thing that I know – Momma didn’t raise no…”

Once both are in the ring, they walk over to Matt.

Matt Mills: Adam, first, nice ovation from the fans.

Adam Ellis: Matt, it’s great to be back in the state of Missouri. 

Adam pauses for the crowd to cheer.

Adam Ellis: It’s great to be near home again.  This is where I grew up.  This will always be my home.

Matt Mills: How does it feel to come out tonight and see all your friends and family here?

Quick cut to show Adam’s friends and his mother and father in the audience, cheering him on.

Adam Ellis: It means the world Matt. I want to give a shoutout to all of my friends and family who came out to see me tonight. Their support means everything to me. I grew up in Warrensburg, and I’ve been a fan of wrestling since I was a kid. I used to watch it on TV with my father… mom didn’t care for it but I watched with my Dad and dreamed of one day stepping into the ring myself. When I graduated from high school, I started training at a local gym and working hard to improve my skills. It’s been a long road, but here I am.

Matt Mills: Adam, I know Culture Shock didn’t go the way you hoped it would… I know you were very disappointed with your performance, but you came back two weeks ago and put on quite a show against Cecilworth Farthington.

Adam Ellis: Well no, Culture Shock was a big disappointment.  I was very upset with the way things went but a couple of cooler heads talked me off the ledge and I went back to work.  Yes, I was very pleased with the match two weeks ago.  Wished I could have won. But, still very pleased.  I just have to learn to do that every time I go to the ring.

Matt Mills: That’s the key isn’t it?

Adam Ellis: Yeah. I need to bring the same intensity with me to the ring every time I go out there..

Matt looks over at Ginny Van Lear.

Matt Mills: Ginny, good to see you here tonight.

Ginny Van Lear: Thank you Matt.  And dontcha worry, I ain’t packin’ tonight.

Matt Mills: Well, that makes me feel better. 

Ginny grins and puts her arm around Adam.

Matt Mills: Adam, is there anyone else you’d like to thank for helping you along your journey?

Adam Ellis: Absolutely. I want to thank all of the people who’ve trained and helped me along the way.  Ray McAvay. Joe Bergman. John Sektor. Charlie Blackwell.  Dawn McGill for coming in two weeks ago and helping out. There’s no doubt in my mind that without their guidance and support, I wouldn’t be standing here today. Lindsay Troy, for giving me the chance to come to  PRIME.  My wife Ginny who’s been a rock and stood by me every step of the way.  And of course, I want to thank all of the fans out there who come out to see us wrestle. You’re the reason we do what we do.

Matt Mills: All right.  Adam Ellis everybody. 

I DON’T THINK PERCENTAGES WORK THAT WAY, DUDE

The live feed goes backstage, where a smiling Simon Tillier is standing by near the Argyle position. Standing stoically beside him, tattooed arms are pensively folded across the illegible band name on his shirt, is his interview subject, Rezin.

Simon Tillier: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Simon Tillier here backstage, and with me now I have the former Universal Champion, “The Escape Artist” Rezin, moments away from action in our evening’s next contest. Rezin, many are predicting a doozy of a match. How are you feeling, going into this?

Tillier holds out the mic, but the Goat Bastard doesn’t immediately answer. His face is hidden beneath the bill of a black cap.

Rezin: …“former”, huh? 

The Goat Bastard tilts his head up, revealing 

Rezin: Is this now what I have to look forward to for the remainder of my PRIME career, Simon? Always bein’ referred to as the guy that used to be on top? Constantly bein’ reminded of my failure? Gotta say, that really gums up my grinder…

Simon Tillier: No offense meant, Rezin. I was just acknowledging your status as one of few who have accomplished–

Rezin cuts both hands through the air to cut him off.

Rezin: Nah-nah-nah, Simon… ya got it wrong there. See, I ain’t the kinda guy that lives offa past accomplishments. Leave the formalities of “former” to all the self-snobs, and the try-hards, and the ego-strokers… the ones that need the constant reminder. So that they can keep feelin’ relevant even after their time has passed. 

He shakes his head and points to his chest.

Rezin: If I’m gonna be recognized for anything, Simon, it ain’t gonna be for something I did in the past! I’m all about what I’m doin’ NOW! And RIGHT NOW, ain’t any title in this world that can compare to continuin’ to be the most PUNK ROCK muthafugger in PRIME, and ALL of wrestling! 

The junior reporter nods

Simon Tillier: Hardly one to rest on your laurels, I see. Well then, let’s focus on “right now”. Here in just a few moments, you’ll be going up against one of the most reviled and feared members of the PRIME roster, Paxton Ray. Given how dangerous the reigning Intense Champion has proven he can be in the ring, are you at all worried about your physical well-being going into this match?

Rezin lets out a gravelly chuckle. It’s meant to be dismissive, but one can still hear a tinge of nervousness in it.

Rezin: Dangerous to all the other normies in that locker room, maybe. 

His bloodshot eyes, filled with latent fury, find the camera.

Rezin: But to a crazy, chaotic muthafugger like ME!? Who cut his teeth as a youngling in backyards across the Midwest, gettin’ beat with light tubes and thrown offa roofs through flamin’ tables? Who only lost the Universal Title after bein’ DROPPED through the roof of a cell? Danger is the definition of my entire career, Simon! I LIVE for danger! And I’m willin’ to bet there ain’t a DAMB thing that Paxton Ray can do to me that I ain’t survived before!

Simon Tillier: I suppose that remains to be seen, but real quick, you mentioned the drop through the cage you suffered at Culture Shock. Even after that violent fall, you surprised many by appearing in the battle royal the following night, despite whatever injuries you may have sustained. But now I have to ask, Rezin, is your body at one hundred percent right now?

Rezin scoffs.

Rezin: Where my body is doesn’t matter, Simon! What’s important RIGHT NOW is that my MIND i goin’ at FOUR HUNDRED and TWENTY percent!

Simon Tillier: I’m… not sure I follow you, but I’ll take your word for it, Rezin. In any case, sir, best of luck to you tonight.

Ready to scrap, Rezin rolls his shoulders, cranks his neck, and snorts like a draft horse before disappearing into the Argyle. Tillier finds the camera again and smiles before the sign-off.

Simon Tillier: You heard it here, ladies and gentlemen! Undaunted by defeat, the notorious “Escape Artist” is committing himself to keep his inne fire burning! We’ll see how this shapes out after the bell rings in a few minutes, but right now, let’s go elsewhere, where I’m being told something is about to unfold!

FUCK AROUND, FIND OUT

We cut from… whatever Rezin was saying… to…

Boots? Laced.

Tights? Painted on to the thiccness.

‘Stache? You know it’s pristine.

And the Universal Title? Shiny and glorious as ever.

The man attached to said Universal Title, Hayes Hanlon, sits on a bench in his locker room. Legs bouncing, distracting himself on his phone. (He promises it isn’t OnlyFans.)

The arrival of a certain Battle Royal victor provides further distraction.

TAB: Hayes Hanlonnnn. What up my guy?

The Event Horzon’s dark eyes lift up to see Tyler Adrian Best, stepping in through the entry.

Hayes Hanlon: (leaning forward to reach out for a fist bump) You’re looking at it, my dude. Just hiding from the world and doing my best not to puke my guts up.

Tyler nods his head, hardly hiding a smirk as he gives Hanlon a half hearted fist bump. 

TAB: Cool cool cool cool cool. That’s what’s up, don’t wanna puke on those boots or whatever. Big crowd. Lot on the line. Lot of people watching. Just wanted to say good luck out there tonight, you know? 

The smirk falls off his face, his expression turning a little cold. 

TAB: …never know who you might see out there. 

The Comeback Kid bows his head a touch, and follows with a short laugh through his nose and a smirk of his own. He pushes himself to his feet, (give him a sec, everything still hurts from Culture Shock.) setting his posture, with a tilted grin behind the ‘stache.

Hayes Hanlon: You know, I’ve been getting used to that. People showing up on my stage. Uninvited.

He reaches over to the bench, taking grip of the Big Belt.

Hayes Hanlon: And hey, I get it. Kinda goes that way when you’re at the top.

The Event Horizon sets the strap over his shoulder, adjusting it into place.

Hayes Hanlon: But if that’s how this goes, Tyler, you’ve still got a tough decision to make. Because at Tropical Turmoil, you either get me…

Right on queue, a nearby TV monitor flashes a hype video for the evening’s main event, with Brandon Youngblood’s deadly glare burning holes through the screen.

Hayes Hanlon: …or HIM.

Clearly, Tyler has already tuned out, pulling out his cell phone and meandering toward the exit. Hayes looks on, releasing another amused snort, as Tyler takes his leave, then shrugs his shoulders.

Hayes Hanlon: Fuck around. Find out.

We then cut to the ring, where we see Vince Howard ready for the next match.

REZIN VS. PAXTON RAY

Vince Howard: The following non-title match is scheduled for one fall…

As Vince Howard begins the ring introductions the camera catches a glimpse of a collection of people standing near ringside for this match. Normally the PRIME medical team waits backstage in case something happens to a competitor, but when one of the people in the match is Paxton Ray the rules change a bit. In these cases, they send a small cadre of staff out towards the ring, so that if something catastrophic happens then can try to address it all the sooner.

Speaking of Paxton…

“They say it’s good to start a story with a tragedy.”

The chunky guitar riff of “Fistfight” by The Ballroom Thieves kicks in as Paxton Ray walks out under the PRIMEView. He sneers as the fans boo, then slowly holds his hand up in the air.

The day I finally met you like I knew I would
You raised me from the wreck of my doubts
You were smiling to yourself as if we both understood
The silent language of the anguish of a heart that sings but doesn’t make a sound

Paxton slowly walks towards the ring, looking around as the crowd rains hate down upon him. He steps up to the apron and steps over the ring ropes, then leans back against them and closes his eyes.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 245 pounds…he is The Bayou Butcher…PAAAAAXTOOOOONNNN RAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!

The lights cut.

“I AM BECOME DEATH, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS”

BANNG!!

Off the sound bite, an exploding pyro rocks the arena, leaving behind a rising mushroom cloud of smoke over the stage.

Vince Howard: And his opponent… Weighing in tonight at 205 pounds…

“I Have Prepared A Statement” by Whores pumps in over the PA. The PRIMEview cycles through footage of nuclear explosions, weapons of war, burning cities, riots in the streets, and in-ring highlights of the Goat Bastard being his daring and dastardly self. Blinding white light fills the entry-way as the silhouette of a man steps through the curtain.

When the solo hits, the stage lights come up, revealing “The Escape Artist” Rezin. He stands in place for a few moments, defiantly staring down the jeering crowd with his arms outstretched into a cross pose, and then begins the trip down the ramp. Reaching the ringside area, he does a loop around the ring and works the fans standing at the barricade with a heat-inducing exchange of trash talk.

Vince Howard: The Goat Bastard… The Escape Artist…

Satisfied by their seething hatred, he slides into the ring, wraps his arms between the ropes when he stands up, and rolls himself back into an inverted cross pose.

Vince Howard: REEEEEEEEEEZZZZZIIIIIIIIINN!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: There’s our opening bell, which means this one is officially underway. Fans, I feel like I should warn you. If you’re just tuning into us for the first time, welcome. But you should also know that one of the men in this match, Paxton Ray, is one of the most violent competitors we’ve seen in years.

Richard Parker: We won’t say what he did, but he will not be going to the happy place when he dies.

Nick Stuart: And the other, Rezin, is a former Universal Champion and in all the time he’s spent in PRIME we have yet to figure out if he has an “off” switch.

Richard Parker: What my man is trying to say, is this could get weird in a hurry. Or violent. Probably both to be honest.

Nick Stuart: So, if this is your first time with us…

Richard Parker: Yes, our ref is wearing facepaint.

There’s no chain wrestling, no feeling each other out. The fans watching this match aren’t being treated to an exhibition of scientific grappling and transitions. There is no feeling out process. Instead, both men meet in the center of the ring like the collision of a warm and cold front slamming into each other in the atmosphere, and a hurricane of punches ensues.

Richard Parker: And we’re off to the races, apparently! The punch races.

Paxton employs some dirty boxing. Punches thrown in the clinch. A forearm is raked back and forth across the bridge of Rezin’s nose. An elbow pops the former Universal Champion in the cheek. A rabbit punch just narrowly misses before Rezin ducks out of the way.

There’s a flurry from the other side. A kick to the thigh gets Paxton to lower his hands for a moment, and an open-palm strike lands flush on his ear. A forearm lands on his lower lip. A combination of a left, a right, and then a kick to the midsection causes the Bayou Butcher to take a step back.

Nick Stuart: Maybe we should get both of these guys corner men and do this in rounds, the way tonight is going.

Richard Parker: Wrestling? In rounds? Pfft.

Paxton snarls as he charges in, but Rezin ducks low and takes out the bigger man’s legs with a sweep. A snap leg drop connects with the back of Paxton’s neck before he has a chance to get his bearings. Rezin bounds to his feet and looks to push on, but Paxton has already rolled onto his back and a flailing upkick catches the Goat Bastard in the side of the head.

Nick Stuart: Things already looking ugly here.

Richard Parker: Okay, I know that these guys are both problematic in their own way, but you don’t need to get personal, Nick. Words hurt.

Nick Stuart: What? That’s not what I meant at all.

Paxton rolls to his feet, and then blasts Rezin with an uppercut clothesline. In an instant the Escape Artist finds himself flipping in the air ass-over-tea-kettle from the strike. He’s quick to his feet, but no sooner is he standing does he simply fall forward and face plant onto the mat. The Intense Champion snakes an arm around Rezin’s throat and pulls him up into a sleeper hold.

Rezin: WHAAOHHTHANKSAWAITADAMBMINHHHHHKKKKHKKHKKKHKKKHKK!!!

Richard Parker: What did he just say?

Nick Stuart: It sounded like, “Oh, thanks. Wait a damn minute,” and then he trailed off into choking sounds at the end there. Why?

Richard Parker: Huh.

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: I had no idea you were fluent in Crust Punk.

Referee Bolamba gets in close – well, as close as he can while being out of range of a flailing Rezin – to make sure that the hold isn’t straying too close towards being an illegal choke. One of those flailing limbs catches Paxton in the eye, and then Rezin – with Ray still on his back – charges towards the nearest corner and ducks down as he throws himself towards it. Paxton isn’t able to break the hold in time before his face is introduced to the top turnbuckle.

Rezin hops onto the second rope and leaps towards Ray looking for a tornado DDT, but he’s thrown off just as he starts the rotation. The Lafayette Bruiser reaches out with two hands, grabs Rezin by the throat, and lifts him straight up into the air. Naturally, an admonishment from the referee follows, because trying to hang a man is against the rules.

Nick Stuart: If he keeps going on like this, Paxton might be on the fast track to get himself disqualified.

Richard Parker: What’s the over-under on whether or not he cares?

Before that can happen, Paxton heaves Rezin off and throws him into the buckles. When Rezin stumbles out of the corner looking for more, Foster’s Psychotic Meal Ticket grabs him by the throat again, only this time he tosses his opponent towards the ropes. It’s only thanks to a last-second grab that Rezin doesn’t take an awkward tumble between the ropes to the arena floor.

With Rezin caught halfway between being in and out of the ring, Paxton reaches around his head and pulls him forward, using the top rope as a makeshift garrote.

Rezin: YMMABLAWHATTAYADOINBLHHHHHHHHHH!!

Timo Bolamba is quick to begin his five count, admonishing Paxton Ray every step of the way for whatever good that does. The Bayou Butcher doesn’t seem to care about the slowly rising numbers, only in cutting off the air from his opponent.

Nick Stuart: I think someone needs to remind Paxton Ray that this isn’t an Intense title match.

Richard Parker: Cool. You let me know when you find someone who’s ready to throw their own life away.

Paxton breaks the hold before the five count and Rezin slides to his knees to catch his breath. The lecture from PRIME’s head referee continues, but the Lafayette Bruiser pays it little mind and steps right past Bolamba to get back at Rezin. For his part, the Escape Artist has spent the last few seconds walking on his knees towards the corner.

The Intense champion charges in with a European uppercut, but Rezin ducks out of the way in time to avoid the blow. As Paxton starts to turn he’s might with a wicked enzuigiri that staggers him towards the ropes where he tumbles over and to the arena floor.

Nick Stuart: Could be a big momentum shift here for Rezin. He’s managed to weather the storm of Paxton Ray so far, and now he has an opening!

Richard Parker: Which means this might turn into a car crash.

The Goat Bastard grins and then vaults up onto the top buckle. Video clips of what happens next will be uploaded to social media by no less than thirty people who would rather record things with their phones than watch the match.

Nick Stuart: Rezinsault to the outside!!

Richard Parker: Beep-beep goes the jeep-jeep!

Nick Stuart: Fans, I can’t believe what we just… wait… huh?

Richard Parker: What? The jeep? I said it would be a car crash. Don’t ask me about the truck.

Nick Stuart: (Sighing) What about the truck?

Richard Parker: It goes vroom.

Rezin is the first to his feet. He stumbles towards the ring and slides in, then waits a moment for Paxton to start to get back up. Once the Bayou Butcher is up, Rezin hits the opposite ropes and charges across the ring for a suicide dive.

OOOOOOOOOOH!!

But as soon as his upper body starts to push through the ropes he’s met with a discus elbow from Paxton on the floor. When you’re 6’5”, these are the things you can do. Rezin slumps against the ropes, and he’s soon joined in the ring by the Intense Champion.

Nick Stuart: And just like that, Rezin’s attempt to press the advantage has been thwarted. You know it’s been pretty even between these two so far, Richard. Trading move for move ever since the opening bell.

A left hand catches Rezin under the eye.

Richard Parker: Speaking of trades, I would like to swap a slightly used Paxton Ray for a human being with empathy. How do we make that happen?

Another left staggers the Escape Artist, but before he can fall to the mat Paxton Ray stamps down on his foot and quickly reaches out with his right hand.

Rezin: NGHWHOAAAAAFUGOOOWWHHH!!

And snatches Rezin by the beard. With Rezin’s feet functionally stapled to the mat, the Lafayette Bruiser pulls him in by the beard. As he gets close, Ray unloads with another shot from his left hand but doesn’t break his grip.

Nick Stuart: How many more of these shots do you think Rezin can take, Richard?

Richard Parker: Based on what I saw it take to put him away at Culture Shock, Nick? A lot. A whole Hoyt-damn lot.

A third punch connects. Then a fourth, this one busting open Rezin above the right eye. Referee Bolamba moves to admonish Ray for the hold he has on his opponent’s beard, but the Bayou Butcher is only stalled for a moment. He sneers at Bolamba despite the ever-rising count, and pulls Rezin in yet again.

CRACK!!

Only this time Rezin puts all of his momentum into lunging at Ray and drives a headbutt into the bridge of the Intense Champion’s nose. Paxton crumples to the mat and brings a hand to his face only to pull it away wet, his own blood now staining the canvas.

Nick Stuart: What a counter by Rezin! He knew that Paxton was expecting dead weight, but Rezin put everything he had into that strike.

Richard Parker: There’s a reason they call him the Escape Artist, Nick. Sometimes it’s subtlety and guile, sometimes it might as well be sorcery.

Nick Stuart: So how do we qualify this one? A judicious application of physics?

Richard Parker: Nope, magic. Tada!

As Paxton tries to shake off the cobwebs, Rezin darts towards the ropes before leaping on the second and flipping back. Both feet land on Paxton’s shoulders and drive him face first into the mat with a moonsault stomp. Rezin rolls Ray onto his back, revealing a red smear on the canvas from the impact, and hooks the near leg.

Timo gets down on the mat immediately for the count.

ONE

Nick Stuart: Incredible move by the former champion!

TWO

Richard Parker: NOW DO IT AGAIN!

THREE?

There’s a collective groan that comes off the crowd as they realize as one that Timo’s hand was about to hit the mat for a third time before he gestures to the bottom rope, especially the part where Paxton’s far leg is resting.

Richard Parker: Goddammit, Nick. I thought that was it. I thought Paxton Ray was about to join his manager in the Cool Helmet Club.

Nick Stuart: Judging by the reaction from this crowd, you’re not alone.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but I’ve seen behind the curtain. I know how these people operate. I have seen how the hotdog is made, Nick.

Nick Stuart: That’s… not a phrase.

An irritated Rezin rises to his feet, but before he gets fully vertical Paxton grabs him by the waistband and pulls him through the ropes and out to the arena floor. The Bayou Butcher spits a gob of blood onto the canvas before rolling under the bottom rope.

The Goat Bastard tries to stand, but a hard kick to the temple puts him back on the ground. Paxton moves to his downed opponent and drags him back to his feet. After wiping some of his own blood on his hand, he snaps off a jab that connects with Rezin’s jaw. This time Rezin finds his beard snatched by two hands as he’s violently pulled towards the ring steps.

Rezin: YNHWGHUNNADOTHISAGAIANWWGNGNHHH!!!!

That’s the sound Rezin makes when he’s snatched up by the face hairs.

THUD!!

And that’s the sound his body makes when it collides with the ring steps, dislodging one half from the other and sending it toppling over.

Nick Stuart: Fans, we know that Rezin is resilient…

Richard Parker: You’re supposed to pronounce it “Rezilient.” It’s like the thing that Zion does with the Z’s in words, but less cringey.

Nick Stuart: …but we’ve seen what Paxton Ray can do to people in situations like this, when he’s not confined by the ring.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but… oh shit he’s coming over here!

Indeed he is. The Lafayette Bruiser storms past the broadcast tables and rips the folding chair out from under the timekeeper before the poor sap even has a chance to stand up. He bangs it against the ring apron twice to signal what’s about to happen, and then raises it over his head.

One problem.

This isn’t an Intense championship match. Those relaxed rules that won him the championship? They don’t apply here.

So when Paxton rears back with the chair and starts to swing it down towards Rezin, he’s surprised to find there’s resistance. Then he looks up to see Timo Bolamba reaching over the ropes and holding the top of the chair with both hands. What he says isn’t caught by the ringside mics, but the intent is clear. No weapons.

Richard Parker: Here’s something I never expected to say tonight: thanks, ref!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t going to go… OH!

Paxton pulls the chair towards him then shoves back hard enough to not only break the referee’s grip on the chair, but clip him in the chin with the top of it. He turns to once again level the chair at Rezin.

CRACK!!!

Instead, the chair is punted directly into the face of the Bayou Butcher.

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KICK! CLOVEN HOOF KICK!

Both the chair and Paxton Ray fall to the arena floor, but he’s not allowed to stay there for long. Rezin pulls him up and rolls him under the ropes with a healthy shove that sends the Intense champ a few feet away, then pauses on the ring apron to catch his breath.

Richard Parker: Get in there and end it!

Nick Stuart: When did you become such a Rezin fan?

Richard Parker: Look, how can I say this delicately… Paxton Ray should be forced to sit in a locked room and listen to Jace Parker Davidson’s course on how to talk to women. On repeat. Forever.

Nick Stuart: Oh. Well then.

Richard Parker: With no bathroom breaks.

Rezin grabs hold of the top rope and springboards over it and onto the second rope inside the ring before vaulting off and executing a Rezinsault.

Richard Parker: Yeah! Rezinsau… oh godDAMMIT!

Nick Stuart: Paxton Ray got the knees up! I don’t know how, but Foster Nackedy’s pet jackal somehow managed to get his knees up.

Paxton stands, but then stumbles back to one knee. He pushes himself up again and this time brings Rezin with him. A European uppercut connects with the Goat Bastard’s jaw, and Rezin collapses forward using Paxton’s torso to keep from falling over. The Bayou Butcher grins through a bloodsoaked beard as he tucks Rezin’s arm and drapes an arm behind his neck.

Nick Stuart: Oh come on, not this…

The boos rain down from the crowd as they start to sense what’s going on. Paxton grabs the waistband of Rezin’s pants and prepares to lift him into a vertical position. A cup of soda sails into the ring and explodes against the Intense Champion’s shoulder before he can lift Rezin up.

Nick Stuart: If he hits this tonight…

Richard Parker: I will totally storm the ring… In my imagination.

The Escape Artist is lifted off of his feet.

Nick Stuart: No, no, no…

When he’s raised above Paxton’s shoulder, he spins his hips and reverses the facelock onto Ray himself. When he snaps down to the mat, the momentum is enough that Ray is spiked hard on the back of his neck.

The crowd erupts.

Nick Stuart: INTO THE VOID!!

Richard Parker: Hell yes!

This time Rezin hooks both legs.

ONE

He pulls back with everything he’s got left.

TWO

This time…

THREE!!!

It’s enough.

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… REZIN!

The medical team that had been nearby throughout the match now moves to check on both men, but Rezin brushes them off before beginning his journey to the back.

Nick Stuart: A big win tonight for Rezin in this non-title match, as this makes him the first person in PRIME to take down Paxton Ray in a sanctioned singles match!

The last shot before cutting backstage is of a seething Paxton Ray glaring up the ramp from his place in the ring.

PRIME RULE BOOK: SECTION 4, CATEGORY B, “SUPLEXES”

We return backstage following the conclusion of Rezin’s war with Paxton Ray to find Coral Avalon in a locker room somewhere getting himself prepared for his big match later in the night against Nate Colton. Hanging conspicuously in the background is his big fur cloak that he wears for his entrances, and a furled battle standard set in a lean next to it.

He’s working on his pre-match stretches, loosening up before his match. There’s a look of grim determination on his face. The determination of a man who is planning to do everything he can to walk out of Kansas City with the extra heavy luggage.

He breaks out of his focus when he hears the sound of a door opening and closing off-camera, and when he looks to see who’s paying him a visit, he looks surprised.

Coral Avalon: …Cecilworth.

Standing across from Coral, Cecilworth presents a toothy grin that could generously be described as a smile, the false warmth doesn’t last long, as the smile slides slowly up his cheek.

Cecilworth Farthington: Coral! I’m glad I found you, we haven’t had a chance to meet, yet. I’m Cecilworth, you’re Coral, I get it, you get it. I don’t want to keep you long, I just wanted to wish you the best of luck…

Cecilworth looks at his left hand, which is hovering in the air, and decides against patting Avalon on the back.

Cecilworth Farthington: A lot more pressure, I’d guess. Providing for another mouth. Championship money, that’ll give you some breathing room. That reminds me…

Cecilworth tips his cap in the direction of Avalon. On would, if he owned a cap. He does not. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Congratulations on the little sprog. I know we’re nothing more than new work colleagues, but something tells me that you will be a wonderful father. After all, we’ve seen your mentorship of the Winds…

The look of Cecilworth’s face could be best described as “smug satisfaction” 

Cecilworth Farthington: How are those guys doing by the by? Sorry… I know you’re busy. Little time to chit chat about the children who found their wings… but pass on my well wishes to the lads. They’re what will make you a great father…

Coral rolls his eyes.

Coral Avalon: Glad to see that you’re wasting no time ingratiating yourself among PRIME’s roster. I know you’re a busy man, what with the, uh… Glue Point Oh thing you’ve got going on. So, I have to think that you didn’t really come here to talk about my becoming a father or whatever’s going on with Joe and Sid.

He hesitates, then offers a small smile

Coral Avalon: Oh, unless you want to talk about new products with one of the few customers of the Glue Factory on the roster. Let me tell you, arts and crafts when you’re wearing a silly blackberry mask? Not that easy. Just not a lot of peripheral vision to work with in that thing.

Cecilworth has the kind of half smile of his face where he is definitely completely lost, but doesn’t want to let on. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Th… thanks? I… I’ll let the research department know…

Cecilworth begins to consider how to even approach the mask issue with his team and almost seems caught up in Coral’s world for a moment. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Look, I don’t want to get into the gluemetrics right now. I just wanted to say that I’ll be cheering you on tonight. After all, you embraced The Founder. Bought his products. Used them on cable television, even! Colton, he rejected him, he rejected Mr. Atken…

For reasons not fully understood, Cecilworth looks up to the sky as he says the name “Mr. Atken”. I’d say he made the sign of the cross, but it was more his arm jiggling around to mimic something he probably saw on the teevee.

Cecilworth Farthington: Should the Colton Family decide to demonstrate one of the wide array of underhanded tactics they are renowned for, I will have your back! It’s good news, is it not? You saw what Nate pulled during Culture Shock. 

Coral Avalon: It was a lot of suplexes, it’s true. Just an inordinate amount of suplexes. And just when you think the suplexes end, there are more suplexes.

Cecilworth Farthington: An illegal amount of suplexes. Trust me, I own a rule book. 

Coral Avalon: Wait, you do?

Cecilworth digs into his inside jacket pocket and produces what could be best described as a “My Lil Police Lad” notepad and pen set, but the front page has been covered in masking tape, with “PRIME RULE BOOK” scribbled in sharpie. Cecilworth begins to flick through the pages, tapping his index finger against the book and nodding his head.

Cecilworth Farthington: Yup, says right here. Too many. Illegal. It’s best to accept my protection. 

Coral Avalon: I mean, that is a tempting offer. But, I’m sorry to say, I’ll have to decline and worry about all of the illegal suplexes on my own.

Coral pauses, clearly thinking about all of the illegal suplexes that exist. There’s that one done by the balls, right? Yikes. Coral is snapped back into reality as Cecilworth flips the “PRIME RULE BOOK” closed and clasps his hands. The loudness of the clap frees Coral from his ball conundrum. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Your loss! Well, I’ll still be waving the Avalon flag out there. Rooting and tooting you on. Well, more rooting than tooting. Too much tooting can be annoying to the senses. I just hope you’re right. I hope you get the Nate Colton you want. 

Cecilworth attempts a pat on the back for a second time, it’s about as successful as attempt number one if I’m strictly honest. 

Coral Avalon: The one that doesn’t beat me? Yeah. I hope that, too.

There is a pause, and a smile.

Coral Avalon: Because then, maybe I’d get to test myself against you. Won’t that be fun?

Cecilworth does that shaky head nod you do when you’re trying to think of a response. He holds up his index finger and curls it in Avalon’s direction as he slowly opens his mouth. After letting out an exasperated sigh, Cecilworth drops his head down and spins around on his heel, exiting the locker room. 

Coral Avalon: Huh. Well, I think that’d be fun.

And we move on.

HAIR TRIGGER

We continue the corral of backstage moments as we are now elsewhere backstage.

The chair damn near takes his head off as Jared Sykes steps into the small locker room he shares with his partner.

Had he been paying attention he would have heard the hurried sounds of rubber soles on tile or the metallic twang of the metal folding chair being clamped shut, but in the wake of an extended conversation with PRIME officials about what transpired at the end of Ivan Stanislav’s match with Nova the Dragonslayer’s mind is elsewhere. And were it not for the last-second attempt to duck out of the way, his mind may very well be splattered across the walls and tile. It’s a near miss, but the throw was still strong enough to punch a hole by the door.

Jared Sykes: Jesus fucking Christ!

Across the room Justine Calvin stands with her feet shoulder width apart and both hands balled into fists. Until a few seconds ago she had been sitting on the chair that now lays at her partner’s feet.

Jared Sykes: The hell was that about?

Her eyes dart to an object resting on a bench not far: a red and yellow tulip whose bulb has been carefully wrapped in damp cloth to preserve the soil within. Her posture softens a little when she turns her attention back to her partner. Just as she did earlier in the night, she reaches toward her palm with her thumb and slowly rotates the ring on her left hand so that once again the stone is facing out.

Justine Calvin: Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s been… Ummm…

She inhales deep and tries to steady herself. The night has shaken her, of that there is no doubt. Two weeks ago she sat on the sidelines and watched her partner stand defiant in the face of thinly veiled malice. Tonight it was her turn in the crosshairs, and the threats were far less subtle.

Anxiety gives way to anger.

Justine Calvin: And where the hell have you been? It’s been almost a goddamn half-hour since you stepped out. What’s so fucking important that you had to deal with?

Jared recoils. Her words might as well be another chair.

Jared Sykes: There was an incident after Nova’s match. Ivan kinda lost it. The son of a bitch went completely overboard, just hit after hit after hit. The way he had Caesar compromised it… It kinda reminded me of last fall, and what it was like to be in that position.

Vickie Hall. The Love Convoy. A symphony of rusted nails, molten chocolate, and scars that don’t heal.

Jared Sykes: I couldn’t just let that happen. I couldn’t. So I tried to help, but I don’t think it did much good. Bastard tried to hang a man in the ropes, Cal.

Justine Calvin: Jesus.

Jared Sykes: So, yeah. That’s where I was. And then checking in with the Doc’s team to make sure Caesar was going to be okay, and then there was the debriefing with Dam. Those are always fun.

Justine simply nods.

Jared Sykes: Why? What’d I miss that’s got you trigger-happy with the chairs?

He leans over to pick up the one by his feet, dusting it off as he prepares to unfold it.

Justine Calvin: You should maybe shut the door. There are… Well…

She sighs.

Justine Calvin: The problem might be bigger than you think.

The door to the room closes with a soft click, and we go elsewhere backstage. 

BALL DON’T LIE

Backstage in the T-Mobile Arena’s designated space for PRIME’s medical staff, Nova is stretched out on a gurney, surrounded on all sides by a curtain that has been pulled to. His eyes are closed and his slow, rhythmic breathing is audibly labored. Bands of supportive tape are wrapped around his ribs, the medical team’s reaction to Ivan Stanislav stomping a metaphorical mudhole in his ass only a short time ago.

There is a scraping sound as the curtain is pulled back, and a tall shadow casts itself over the form of the Risen Star.

God’s Champion is making a personal call.

Hoyt Williams pulls the curtain to behind him and takes a step forward, his icy blue eyes trained on Nova’s face.

Hoyt Williams: “I see Russia engaging in a full well laid out assault using all their force occupying Nova with ease. In defeat I see the assault continuing way beyond expectations.”

A pause.

Hoyt Williams: It was foretold. The repercussions continue. Hell WILL follow. How long before the heathens listen when I gift them a prophecy? 

Hoyt steps around the right side of the bed and looks down at Nova, whose labored breathing continues, his taped chest slowly rising and falling. 

Hoyt Williams: I told you to go home. But you no doubt treated that warning as a joke…the same way you’ve always treated the Voice of God.

Hoyt leans down until he is almost nose-to-nose with Nova.

Hoyt Williams: Always “above it.” Always the darling. Even on your worst day.

His frown curls into a sneer.

Hoyt Williams: You were never better than me.

Hoyt’s eyes travel over to the side table where Nova’s personal effects have been deposited into a plastic bowl. He sees an orange golf ball with the word “NOVA” written on it next to keys and a wallet. He grabs the ball and holds it in front of Nova’s face, a broad righteous grin spreading over his own.

Hoyt Williams: You have mocked me for the last time. I have been mocked for the last time. May your Reckoning be a message to all who would plug their ears and ignore my divine message.

The Pontiff takes a step back, clenching his fist around the ball. 

Hoyt Williams: May you be a cautionary tale to all the others. 

He turns and departs through the curtain. The camera focuses on Nova, whose taped chest continues to rise and fall with low, raspy breaths.

The shot fades to black before cutting back to ringside for the next match.

TYLER ADRIAN BEST VS. KENNY FREEMAN

From the two PRIME Hall of Famers, we go to Vince Howard in the ring.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE fall! Introducing first, from Los Angeles, California, weighing in at one hundred sixty pounds… KENNY… FREEMAN!

Suddenly a trap remix of the Soviet National Anthem begins playing throughout the arena, confusing the living daylights out of everyone as Kenny Freeman makes his way out to the stage, shaking his head as if disappointed with the change in entrance music. He eventually walks down the ramp, that frown never quite escaping his face as he enters the ring, gearing up for his match.

Nick Stuart: Uhhhhhhhhh…

Richard Parker: …yeah, I got nothin’, Nicky.

KFree looks as sour as ever as he gets to his corner and gears up for his latest opponent.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, hailing from Chicago, Illinois, standing 5’11” and weighing 182 lbs… he is the 2023 Culture Shock Battle Royal winner, and the number one contender to the Universal Championship…

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. 

Richard Parker: And here comes the Number One Contender!

Nick Stuart: And he will gladly remind you of that!

♫ Hello it’s so good to see you

We met before but nice to meet you ♫

Vince Howard: TYYYYYYYLER BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEST! 

♫ Yeah I don’t really wanna be here like, 

Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah ♫

Richard Parker: I vibe with what Tyler’s putting down here. 

Nick Stuart: What’s that supposed to mean?

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. 

♫ What’s my name do you remember?

I’m pretty sure you have my number ♫

He smirks as he stares into the crowd, he gestures and gets met with a chorus of boos. 

Richard Parker: That’s no way to treat the next Universal Champion!

Nick Stuart: Well, he’s looking down the barrel of a loaded Brandon Youngblood OR Hayes Hanlon, so I wouldn’t be so sure…

♫ So let’s pretend we like each other like, 

Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah ♫

Tyler goes up onto the turnbuckle, smirking at the reaction and appealing to the crowd before coming down into his corner. He begins stretching before the match begins. Jimmy Turnbull finishes checking both men and calls for the bell.

DING DING

The PRIMEates of Kansas City makes their feelings for the number one contender known, as Tyler Adrian Best shrugs them off with frigid hauteur, before sauntering his way to KFree, who has made his way to the center of the ring, as they tie up. Best quickly gets the upper hand, leveraging his way into a standing arm wrench, leading him along in the middle of the ring and walking him almost like a dog!

Richard Parker: That’s your number one contender, showing off that technical skill that got him to this point!

Nick Stuart: Showing his modesty, too.

Kenny Freeman is visibly struggling as he’s lead by his arm, but in a moment of insight he manages to get close to the ring ropes, and reaches with his free arm to grab the top rope and use it as a fulcrum to backflip onto his feet, and use the momentum to toss TAB onto his back! Freeman sees an opening, and grabs the arm of Tyler Best and wraps it around his own leg, before grabbing Best’s other leg and cradling him with La Magistral!

ONE!

TW— No, Best manages to break free rather quickly!

Best gets back onto his feet, only to eat a Freeman dropkick that sends him reeling between the ropes and to the outside of the ring!

Richard Parker: What is that beanpole bolshevik plotting?

Indeed, as Richard says that, Kenny is looking at TAB at ringside, and with a nod, he bounces off the far ropes, and leaps over the top on the rebound with a somersault plancha!

RAAAAAAH!

He lands directly onto Tyler Best, and rolls onto his feet, pumping his fist into the air for a rare pop from the PRIMEates!

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Kenny even knows how to take this in, but after months of teaming with Randall Schwartz he seems to finally be hearing cheers for once!

On a roll, K-Free grabs the stumbling Best and rolls him back into the ring, following suit and covering for a pin!

ONE!

TW– NO, Best kicks out!

Richard Parker: Freeman’s gonna have to do a lot more than that if he’s going to beat a Best!

Tyler Best makes it to his feet without much effort, but his frustration is obvious as his clenched fists rest on the mat. He shoots for Freeman’s legs, and manages to get him onto the mat, mounting him and managing to quickly snap on an armbar, but Kenny almost instinctively grabs the nearby bottom rope! Jimmy Turnbull calls for the break, which only infuriates Best as he bounces to his feet and drives a boot right into Kenny Freeman’s chest! Best grabs Kenny by the hair to his feet, only for Kenny to grab TAB and roll him up for a small package! Jimmy rushes in for another count!

ONE!

TW— Another kickout by Tyler Be–

WHUMP!

Nick Stuart: STREETS SWEEPER! Almost as if Tyler Adrian Best was scouting for an opening, he broke out of that small package rollup, and lined up his shot to down Kenny Freeman with the Streets Sweeper!

A surprise pop fills the air, as Tyler Adrian Best grins cockily into the nearby camera before rushing in to cover Kenny! Jimmy Turnbull is right there for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

…

THR- SHOULDER UP.

For a moment, everything freezes. Jimmy Turnbull stares at both men in shock. Kenny Freeman lays supine on the mat, arm shot up at high as he can get it. And Tyler Adrian Best? He is just as shocked, but his face slowly morphs from an expression of shock, to a surprise of anger. He catches his breath and posts his fists onto the mat before rising to his feet, and driving another boot into Freeman’s back!

Turnbull tries to beg Best off, but the number one contender just stares daggers into him as he grabs Kenny by the hair and pulls him up to his feet, before going on a rampage with an elbow that sends K-Free reeling towards the ropes, followed by a high roundhouse that sends him into the corner! Freeman gets peeled back out the corner, and TAB sends Kenny up and over with a Northern Lights Suplex with a bridge!

ONE!

TWO!

Kenny manages to break free, but TAB is immediately on the warpath, mounting him again and raining down blows to the face!

Richard Parker: Ohhhhh, he is PISSED!

Nick Stuart: Well this is hardly sporting behavior, he is just punishing Kenny Freeman just because one Streets Sweeper wasn’t enough to take him down!

Richard Parker: That’s the name of the game, Nicky; come correct, or get rekt.

The assault continues, and Tyler Best is not satisfied, because he pulls himself off his opponent, pulling Freeman back up to his feet once again and whipping him HARD into the ropes! Freeman tries to surge on, but is met with Best’s not-so-loving embrace before he’s hoisted up onto Best’s shoulders and swung back down onto the mat with the Ty-Breaker!

Best looks down with disgust at Kenny Freeman, before he clinches Freeman’s head and pulls him back to his feet. Best pulls Freeman’s head close to his and appears to whisper some disrespectful words into his ear, before turning around and locking on that cravate hold, before DRIVING Freeman’s face to the mat once again with the Streets Sweeper!

Richard Parker: K-Free may have been lucky to survive that first Streets Sweeper, but there is NO way he’ll survive another!

TAB rolls onto Freeman, and to add insult to injury, he places the palm of his hand firmly against Kenny’s jaw and pushes it in a direction it wasn’t meant to go, as Jimmy Turnbull makes the count.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOO!!!

“People I Don’t Like” plays once again, as Vince Howard makes the call from ringside.

Vince Howard: Here is your winner… TYLER! ADRIAN! BEST!

The PRIMEates serenade the Number One Contender with their feelings about him, but Best shrugs it off and rolls out the ring and shakes his head at them.

Nick Stuart: Well, Tyler Adrian Best with a decisive victory tonight against Kenny Freeman, but he still has the Universal Champion, whoever that may be,  to contend with at Tropical Turmoil.

Richard Parker: Make no mistake, Nicky, Best is going to be watching tonight’s main event intently, scouting for any and every way to become champion himself.

The camera fades to a commercial as TAB stands at the entrance, jawing off at the crowd along the way.

COMMERCIAL: COMICON PART III

PRIME goes to a commercial break but before it does, pages of paper fall from the rafters and down into the crowd.

Richard Parker: What’s going on here!?

The announcers continue to question the events until one of the papers falls on top of Richard Parker’s head. Rattled, he snatches it and uncrumples it with his hands. Nick moves in for closer inspection.

Richard Parker: [Disgusted] It looks like a page from a Batman comic book!?

Richard still isn’t one-hundred percent sure and he’s also not impressed. Then another sheet of paper lands on top of the broadcast table. Nick lifts it up and this also looks like a page ripped out of a comic book, a Hellboy comic book.

Nick Stuart: You’re right, Rich.

More pages fall from the rafters. Many, many pages.

Richard Parker: What the hell is happening!?

One of the nearby cameras attempts to zoom into the rafters. It seems as if someone is running around on the catwalk carefree and throwing pages overboard. Another person is revealed to be doing the same thing. It looks like there are a handful of them up there but their faces can’t be seen as they are wearing dark green robes with their hoods up.

Richard stands and starts to shout into the roof, frustrated and demanding security.

The broadcast feed cuts and goes to commercial.

…

…

…

Which is nothing more than a black screen until the letter C appears.

The C morphs into the word COMICON with a line underneath it. The line moves in decibel waves as a modified voice over speaks.

Disguised Voice Over: Hey guys, thanks for all the comments about COMICON. I just want to say, this will be my last post for a little while and, uh, what this sport has meant to me these weeks, these months, these YEARS, let’s just say none of us are alone anymore, okay?

The voice inhales deeply.

Disguised Voice Over: Tonight are championship matches.

The voice laughs.

Disguised Voice Over: But we all know Brandon Youngblood will win.

The voice pauses.

Disguised Voice Over: Lindsay promised real change, but we know the truth, don’t we? You’ve seen PRIME’s true face now. Together, we’ve unmasked it.

Another dramatic pause.

Disguised Voice Over: It’s fun, it’s exciting, masquerading under the guise of a wrestling company.

A heavy sigh.

Disguised Voice Over: But unmasking is not enough. The day of COMICON is almost upon us. 

In a playful tone.

Disguised Voice Over: And now, it is time.

A long pause.

Disguised Voice Over: To go back to your regularly scheduled programming.

The line underneath COMICON vanishes.

The word COMICON disappears.

Only the C remains.

PRIME, eventually, goes back to its normal broadcast.

SCROOGE MCDUCK MERCH TZAR **AIRHORN**

We return from commercial break to… The PRIMEporium.

You know what time it is.

Anna Daniels: LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!!!!

Airhorns. She’s twirling around in an office chair as thousands of shirts old, new and newer than new begin to fall from the sky like snow. They pile one on top of the other in random patterns until they bury the Merch Lord under one giant mound of mostly cotton goodness. RIP.

No! Wait! Anna Daniels rockets out of the shirt pile and dives back in like Scrooge McDuck! There’s a backstroke in the midst of the fabric. All the GGs and Fuck Your Heads and Freshly Squeezed Inhuman Beings are like waves in a sea. Despite the fact that he doesn’t work here, there is an island of Powerslam Anubis muscle tees. A pirate is sailing on a ship made of Hoyt Williams’ obsession with DILFs. His crew is made of Wrestle Buddies that get blown away by a cannonball of Nackerdy, both No Fun and Google search.

Owls made of copies of Lindsay Troy’s Owl Simulator are threatening to peck out your soul but they get shot out of the air by a bazooka filled with Big League Tchu! Anna lounges with a freshly prepared Kohime Mori Pork Bun in hand.

Anna Daniels: Buy the shirts and everything else too, you fucking cowards.

A beat.

Anna Daniels: Huh. We thought this would’ve been longer on word count. Oh well.

A shrug at the cracked fourth wall as we fade to…

AND I SAID

From the PRIMEporium, we’re now backstage in front of a PRIME-branded backdrop. Ever the professional. Angelica Brooks has a microphone at the ready.

Angelica Brooks: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is-

A hand grabs Angelica’s microphone aggressively and pulls it towards his face.

FLAMBERGE: Oh wow, alors, it is 11 of the goddamn months that have gone by, and at the long last I finally get to have another interview with the PRIME’s greatest reporter, Angelica Brooks! So very good to SEEEEEE you. I was just watching the match between the Tyler Adrian Best and the Kenny Freeman…very interesting, non?

Releasing the microphone, FLAMBO is just wiling out at this point. Teal jacket, off-white turtleneck sweater, gold chain, cheap yellow plastic sunglasses…it’s a lot of distinct choices all at once that seem to be jostling for the title of The Apex Of Pettiness. Brooks is taken aback and clearly does not care for the Frenchman’s tone, yet he persists.

FLAMBERGE: So listen, before you begin with your nonsense…I have realized the true role I have in the PRIME, Angelica Brooks, are you ready for the findings? Can you remove the biscuits from the ears so you can understand? Good, bon – I am the ghost story of PRIME. Nobody talks about me when they consider the true faces of the PRIME of today. Nobody looks at me in the eyes in the locker room for the companionship. I am apparently the persona non grata, the man no one wishes to face, the man who uproots and upends the poor souls Lindsay Troy decides to have deserved such treatment, and I have a theory – it is because the locker room seems to finally register that it has been longer than the seven months since I have been personally defeated here, and to face me, to face the Buzzsaw of the Glue Factory, the creepy crawly that comes in the night, Mister Spooky Scary, the Protagonist of PRIME, means to-

Angelica Brooks: -yes, you have been on a remarkable streak of success ever since you were last pinned by Nate Colton at ULTRAVIOLENCE 2022…

The daggers, whoo. Yikes.

Angelica Brooks: One question on everyone’s mind, however, has to do with the recent emergence of one Cecilworth Farthington, a man with whom you have some shared history as part of the Glue Factory. Have you two been able to touch base? Are the Glue Boys back in action?

FLAMBERGE lowers his convenience-store-ass shades. It’s a hot hot intense heat of anger.

FLAMBERGE: Next question.

Angelica Brooks: Right…let’s talk about the Intense Title. By eliminating Paxton Ray in the Culture Shock Battle Royal, you have guaranteed yourself an opportunity at challenging for the Intense Title which is currently held by a man who some consider to be the archnemesis of PRIME as a whole, Paxton Ray. Word on the street is that Ray defends the Intense Title next ReVival, and you get to cash in your shot against the winner of that match – do you want Paxton to hold onto the championship, or would you prefer a different opponent?

FLAMBERGE: Let me make it clear at this moment, Angelica Brooks. I do not give the shit about what happened tonight with his match against the Rezin – if Paxton Ray finds himself on the losing end of the Intense Championship match next ReVival, that does not mean he is free and has escaped from the FLAMBERGE. PRIME, she is the conquerable, the Intense Title, she is conquerable…and Paxton Ray does not yet know how it feels to be beaten by someone who is truly his better. Et oui, you may look at the FLAMBERGE and point out the 23 years old, or the personal follies you imagine mean to be worth the damn…bon. It is no bother. The Paxton, he has his reasons for acting out as he does. And guess what, Angelica Brooks?

Angelica Brooks: …what?

FLAMBERGE: Fucking so do I. And I plan to eat, and devour, and destroy, and thresh. I will consume this roster, one Future-Glue at a time, until I have had my fill.

The Kid fakes like he’s leaving, before turning back and leaning into the microphone once more.

FLAMBERGE: …andisaidBIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-

Angelica Brooks: -Back to you.

NOW WE GET TO MEET THE REAL YOU

From one backstage area, we cut to… another area backstage.

Eddie Cross: There you are, you crooked smile prick!

Eddie Cross had been searching for most of the show, and finally found his target. Tony Gamble, 100% That Son of a Bitch, saw EC coming and narrowed his eyes. 

Tony Gamble: You sound upset, was the princess in another castle?

Eddie Cross: You know damn well why I am upset, you sucker punching asshole. Couldn’t resist getting into it after my match could you? 

Eddie gets so close to Tony he can smell the pastrami on rye that he ate for lunch. Notably absent is Dave Gibson.

Eddie Cross: I have to admit that I really want to settle this right here right now, but I think that’s exactly what you want. If I take you out, you can slink around and play this game of being a victimized thorn in my side, but that’s not the Tony Gamble I want to fight.

Tony nods, then crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. 

Tony Gamble: You’d rather fight the Ukulele player, am I right? I mean, of all the Tony Gamble’s in the world, that’s the one I’d want to fight. Guy looks like a total loser, and everyone knows only overweight Samoans play the ukulele. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose.

Eddie Cross: I am going to let that cultural insult go, this time. No, Tony, I want the original bastard of PRIME. The multi-time champion. The Hall of Famer. 

He looks Gamble up and down. 

Eddie Cross: When I heard you were back I was pretty excited. When I was a kid, I thought you were pretty awesome and I told myself if I ever did this for a living, I wanted a shot at that guy. But now that you’re standing here in front of me… Hiding behind your lackeys? Selling tee shirts and mouthing off on Jabber? What happened to you, bruh? Is this really just who you are now?

Tony Gamble: So you adored me before adoring me was cool… 

Tony places his hand to his chest, the cheshire like grin wide on his face as he mouths the words… “Thank you.” 

Eddie looks confused as though he can’t believe Gamble is so self centered that was all he heard. 

Eddie Cross: I think you missed the operative part of that statement where I…

Tony Gamble: Did you have posters of me on your wall?

Eddie is clearly not happy with Tony cutting him off, especially with such a ridiculous question.

Tony Gamble: Or action figures…Did they have action figures of me? 

The Grin waves off the question.

Tony Gamble: Who am I kidding, of course they did. Of course you did, because you adored me. I was probably a father figure for you, so that explains a lot. Do you play the ukulele?

Eddie Cross: Tony, shut the fuck up for thirty seconds and listen to something besides the sound of your own voice. 

He pulls off his game glasses and stares a hole in his diminutive counterpart. 

Eddie Cross: WAS. Once upon a time. No longer. Now you’re just a turd that refuses to flush. And the sad thing? You are either in denial or worse you know it and aren’t trying to do a damn thing about it. 

Gamble stands there silent for a few more seconds, his gaze not really focused on Eddie, but something behind him – over his left shoulder. The only thing there though, is a wall with white paint starting to flake off.

Tony Gamble: Okay, I listened, but I don’t remember what you were talking about before besides you sleeping in Tony Gamble pajamas…so none of that made any sense. It sounded like you were talking about how I won’t go down without a fight though, and I have to say that I agree with you. I’m pretty damn resilient. 

Tony’s eyes suddenly shift, and his brow furrows as he stands up straight and makes his way closer to Eddie. His glare never wavering, he leans in close and whispers.

Tony Gamble: If you ever want me to autograph a poster, or even those ridiculous glasses in your hand, you can always come by the locker room. It’s also okay to come to the dark side, I’ll even save you a tee shirt.

EC sighs and steps back. 

Eddie Cross: You’re impossible. Let me be clear; Those days are over, Tony. I see you for what you really are now… just another member of this roster. So I’m going to say this one time: I’m going to find the real you and make that guy fight me. 

Eddie puts his glasses back on and takes a deep breath. 

Eddie Cross: I think by now I have established I’m not a liar and I don’t make idle threats. Between you and me? I kinda hope you have the balls to find him yourself.  

Before Eddie leaves he turns back and takes a moment to leave Gamble with a final thought.

Eddie Cross: They didn’t have action figures of you. I had to draw a scar on my Dad’s GI Joe. He was pretty pissed off.   

We then cut back to the ring.  

ARTHUR PLEASANT VS. JARED SYKES

As the show returns to inside the T-Mobile Arena for more in-ring action, we can see that people have already firmly plunked their little behinds down in their seats, as “Immigrant Song” by the Voodoo Prophets is already blaring out of the sound system, potentially deafening some of the older members of the Kansas City crowd. 

Nick Stuart: Welcome back to ReVival folks. Tonight has definitely been star studded and our next contest is no different.

Richard Parker: That’s right, Nick! We’ve got the badonkadonk against the teeth, a main event in any other week.

Nick Stuart: I don’t want to hear the match described in such terms ever again. 

The feed cuts to the ring where Arthur Pleasant has already placed himself in his corner, referee Elvis Nixon performing the final pat down of Pleasant. Or, he intends to but gets slightly scared off by Pleasant’s smile as Nixon gets nearer. 

Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon seeming a little bit reluctant in performing his final checks with Arthur Pleasant.

Richard Parker: I’d be on edge around Pleasant. He will not be happy about his performance in PRIME so far. He was caught by FLAMBERGE at the last second, he didn’t make quite the Battle Royal splash he was hoping for. He’s going to look to hurt Jared Sykes.

Nick Stuart: I don’t think he’s the only one itching to hurt Sykes right now…

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 201 pounds… 

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

The duo make their way to the ring visibly on edge. Given everything that’s happened tonight with Ivan Stanislav, both Jared and Justine are hypervigilant as they walk the aisle. There is of course a degree of fan interaction, but every so often one of them will scan the crowd or glance back towards the entryway.

As Elvis Nixon performs his final pre-match checks, and Justine takes her place in Syke’s respective corner, it’s clear that Jared’s focus is not solely on Arthur Pleasant, who looks delighted at the levels of preoccupation on his opponent’s face. As Pleasant smiles to himself, Sykes does a quick headpan around the whole arena, snapping back quickly to check behind him. He looks down at Justine for a quick second and…

DING DING

Arthur Pleasant doesn’t want for the formalities to get the match going, and collides into the side of Jared Sykes while he was still partially turned towards Justine on the outside. Sykes bounces off the ropes and Pleasant quickly hoists up Sykes, smashing him into the ground with a snap side suplex. Jared gasps for air as Pleasant attempts to float over and mount Sykes, but the attempt is unsuccessful, with Sykes managing to scramble backwards to the ropes while Pleasant left a gap during the mount attempt. Sykes holds the rope, as Nixon gestures for Arthur Pleasant to give Sykes space. Pleasant ignores this instruction, at his own peril. He pushes Nixon off to the side, and slightly distracted by the yelling in his ear that followed, finds himself collapsing chest first into the second rope, thanks to a trip from Jared Sykes.

Nick Stuart: Arthur Pleasant took quick action in the opening moments of this contest. He saw that Jared Sykes did not fully have his head in the game. A man like Pleasant isn’t going to let you away with that.

Richard Parker: Some may view it as underhanded, but Jared Sykes only has himself to blame. This man hasn’t met a windmill he won’t tilt at. He didn’t need to help Nova, he didn’t need to put himself in a Serbian watchlist. Now he’s in there with a dangerous man who wants to hurt him. He should stop worrying about the motherland and start worrying about his survival!

Sykes manages to roll back up to his feet, just in time to see Arthur Pleasant, clutching at his chest, turn towards him. Sykes bounces off the ropes and launches himself towards Pleasant, but as Sykes leaps towards Pleasant, he gets an elbow to the skull for his troubles. Sykes crumbles down to the mat and Pleasant gives the crowd a preview of his next plan, giving everything what could only be described as a “winning smile” by a loving mother, which I understand Arthur Pleasant did not have. So, in this case, no one would call it a winning smile.

Nick Stuart: We’ve seen the… alterations… that Arthur Pleasant has performed upon himself in his match with FLAMBERGE. 

Richard Parker: After that match, FLAMBERGE got checked for rabies and tetanus, just to be safe. Jared Sykes moveset needs legs. How can he do his moves without legs?

Nick Stuart: Most wrestling moves require legs in some form… I think that’s fair to say.

Richard Parker: You know what I mean, Sykes uses legs moreso!

The T-Mobile crowd make it clear that they do not approve of Pleasant’s next move, his interaction last show with FLAMBERGE still fresh in their minds. Pleasant begins to open his mouth and lean over Sykes, but Sykes responds with a quick kick to the temple. A second, then a third follow, and as Pleasant, dazed, drops his head down, a final kick lands right into the back of Pleasant’s neck. The crowd roars in support of Sykes, as Justine gives him the all clear, her focus still remains on keeping an eye out for unexpected house guests. Sykes looks at Pleasant, who is already recovering too quickly for Sykes’ needs, and decides he needs a decisive move. He leaps up on Pleasant, looking for a step-up Frankensteiner, but Pleasant catches him up high and drills Sykes into the match with a Powerbomb. He almost folds Sykes in half as he jackknifes for the pin. 

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Sykes manages to roll his shoulder up and roll out of the pin.

Nick Stuart: Quick action from Pleasant there, he caught Sykes just as he was starting to gain some momentum in this match.

Richard Parker: He stacked Sykes up like a pancake, that could’ve been the match right there!

Nick Stuart: I’m more of a triangle sandwich guy.

Before any more of that conversation happens, we return to a frustrated Arthur Pleasant looking down at Jared Sykes and insisting to Elvis Nixon that it was a three count. Nixon waves him off, and Pleasant quickly returns to giving Sykes his whole focus. Sykes is leaned up against the ropes and Pleasant delivers a stiff knee to the side of Syke’s chest. He drills in a second knee, a third knee, a fourth knee. A pained Sykes winces with every blow from Pleasant, trying to figure out how to break up the assault. Realising that it may be the only way to get room to breathe, Sykes manages to duck under one of the knees of Pleasant, rolling under the ropes to the outside. Justine Calvin remains torn between supporting Sykes and keeping an eye on her surroundings. Her focus split between encouraging Jared back to the ring, and keeping a lookout behind herself. 

Nick Stuart: It looks like Arthur Pleasant was looking to provide some of an exhibition of his mixed martial arts skills, but Sykes managed to show enough ring awareness to buy himself some breathing room.

Richard Parker: It’s a veteran move but I have to imagine that all Sykes is managing to do right now is frustrate Pleasant. Something tells me ole chompers in there doesn’t enjoy being frustrated. 

Elvis Nixon immediately starts his ten count, but is as quickly interrupted by Arthur Pleasant pushing him to the side. Pleasant looks down and smiles at Justine, giving her a quick wave. Whether some sort of internal siren got set off, or he could just spot it from his angle on the ground, Sykes quickly spots Pleasant’s intentions. Calvin, for her part, looks almost ready for the challenge, the only thing holding her back is a potential disqualification for Sykes. Calvin doesn’t have to be conflicted for long, as Sykes manages to hop quickly onto the apron, then the top rope, and fires his forearm straight into the neck of Pleasant. Pleasant gasps for air and rebounds against the ropes, Sykes leaps up and drops Pleasant with a swinging neckbreaker on his return. Sykes quickly floats over on top of Pleasant for the pin, and Nixon is quick to the count.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Pleasant throws his shoulder up with such force that he manages to push Sykes off of him. 

Nick Stuart: It’s going to be hard for Sykes to keep Pleasant down, Pleasant has the clear weight and height advantages here. He’s going to have to send Pleasant out cold for a chance to get a pin here.

Richard Parker: Sykes has the speed to take advantage of the moment, but the challenge right now is how to hold that moment down. Pleasant has a high pain tolerance, Sykes is going to need a big blow in this match.

Sykes takes a quick check of his surroundings, as Pleasant starts to stabilise. Taking his eyes off Pleasant for a second is enough to get a boot slammed into the side of his skull. Sykes skull bounces off the bottom rope, and Pleasant is ready for its return, slamming a second boot, this time right in the middle of the temple. Satisfied with the damage, Pleasant slowly lifts Sykes back up to even footing. Sykes stands in the middle of the ring, staggering around, held up by Pleasant at the hair. Sykes tries to swipe at Pleasant, but Pleasant tightens his grip on the hair. Pleasant does seem keen to prove he may not be a hair pervert though, so he releases Sykes’ hair.

So that he can ram his skull into Jared’s skull, with a sickening thud that reverberates around the T-Mobile Arena, Pleasant crushes Sykes with a full force headbutt. Sykes tries to keep his footing on the mat, but is suffering from a case of the ole leg wobbles. This allows Pleasant to see that his very sophisticated strategy is working, and so Pleasant slams his skull once more against Sykes.

Richard Parker: Does PRIME’s health insurance cover that surgery where they rinse off your brain? I’m asking for two friends.

Nick Stuart: You can actually sense how uncomfortable the crowd feels after those two headbutts from Pleasant. It was quite an unpleasant noise.

Richard Parker: An unpleasant noise? Think about how Sykes feels! Someone has to… 

Despite every intention of standing his ground and meeting Pleasant for a fight, Jared Sykes legs have a different idea and decide they don’t actually want to hold him up anymore. Sykes crumbles once again to the mat, looking very much dazed by Arthur Pleasant’s skull assault. This time Sykes has less fight to give, and Pleasant manages to position himself in a mount. Sykes tries to break free, but doesn’t have the strength to do so. Pleasant doesn’t seem all that concerned about his opponent’s current health status as he lifts up his elbow, and brings it full force down on Sykes’ brow. Pleasant does this again, and again. Sykes tries to grab Pleasant’s arm, but Pleasant manages to control the situation. Mercifully for Sykes, he has enough self-awareness to know his proximity to the ropes. He manages to free one hand and outstretches it as much as he can, while Pleasant drops another elbow. The elbow misses as Sykes manages to use the ropes to his advantage. Elvis Nixon calls for the break and Pleasant weighs up his next move. Deciding to avoid disqualification, he lets Sykes pull himself back up on the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Sykes managed to show enough awareness to break free of Arthur Pleasant’s elbow onslaught, but is he able to continue?

Richard Parker: If Elvis Nixon had a heart, he’d be calling this one right now. He’s looking like a car full of pudding right now. His legs are like jello! Other things of his look like various deserts, I suppose!

Pleasant decides that he’s going to stop playing around with his food. He sees Sykes defiantly try to stand firm in the middle of the ring, but instead of engaging, he drops down and lifts the shaky Sykes up on his shoulders in a fireman’s carry position. Pleasant takes in the moment, he can smell the victory as Sykes rides across his shoulders. He swings himself to give lift to Sykes and looks to send him crashing down upon his knees. Pleasant has “Calamity Pain” in mind. As Sykes starts to fly into the air, he takes control of his body and manages to flip over and land directly behind Pleasant. As Sykes lands, he manages to hook him around the neck of Pleasant. Sykes digs keep and manages to hoist Pleasant up in the air…

Nick Stuart: OMEGA 13! HE DID IT ON PLEASANT!

Richard Parker: How? How did he manage this? Pleasant was about to send him to cyberspace!

A quick slow motion replay shows the fluidity presented by Sykes as he manages to slip behind Pleasant. The replay is cut short by Sykes keeping Pleasant’s leg hooked.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Your winner of the match by pinfall, at a time of thirteen minutes and twelve seconds… JARRRRED SYYYYKES!

Sykes immediately breaks free of the pin from Pleasant, scrambling up to his feet as Elvis Nixon raises his hand in the air. Justin Calvin joins Sykes in the ring, but the air of celebration feels slightly hollow, both parties still scoping out the T-Mobile Arena for any signs of the colour red.

Nick Stuart: You have to be impressed with Jared Sykes here. He can take a beating, but he keeps fighting until he finds the perfect opening he needs…

Richard Parker: He’s fast. He’s tactical in the ring. He’s also lucky. A breeze blows in a different direction and he’s crashing head first into “Calamity Pain”. Pleasant keeps showing that he will be a menace to the PRIME roster, and they’ll remember him, win or lose. 

As Sykes and Calvin try, and mostly fail, to enjoy the victory, we cut to a smiling Arthur Pleasant nursing the back of his neck. Our final shot is on the couple, clearly caught up in mixed emotions as ReVival moves on. 

We then cut backstage.

KANSAS CITY’S LEGENDARY ALLIGATOR PROBLEM

Moving from the aftermath of Sykes v. Pleasant, our friendly backstage camera finds that growing old is not for sissies.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!

That sounds means that, technically speaking, the camera finds Chandler Tsonda.

Growing old is not for sissies. Nobody knows that more than Chandler Tsonda, forty-seven years youngish, and his first PRIME match in a decade and a half in the books. But that was over an hour ago. Tsonda is not showered and fresh as a daisy, and he steps gingerly through a nondescript backstage area of the T-Mobile Arena. It would be generous to say that he’s doing anything other limping.

Chandler Tsonda: (yelling) ICE PACK! ICE PACK NEEDED FOR HALL OF FAMER!

It’s not exactly silence in return, but there is no one else within the camera’s view nor does anyone appear.

Chandler Tsonda: (still yelling) HELP! ALLIGATOR ATTACK! OH NO SHE’S GOT MY BABY! WHY IS THERE A VICIOUS AQUATIC REPTILE CHOWING DOWN ON POOR BRAYDEN?!

Still nothing. Could be that the backstage staff have been warned that Tsonda is…a bit of an attention-seeker. Or maybe they can’t hear. Or don’t care. Lots of good reasons that the Model Citizen is still standing by himself.

He limps along a bit further, only to stop when he sees familiar surroundings.

Chandler Tsonda: Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The camera pans to show that Tsonda has arrived back at the area just outside the curtain and the Arygle position. There is two weeks’ worth of evidence that Chandler Tsonda does not know his way around the bowels of arenas anymore.

Movement catches his eye from off to the left. Tsonda slowly turns, an ungraceful move to face where he sees the flicker of motion. 

Chandler Tsonda: You there! Esteemed roster member in need of dynamic stretching and a cold tub! Where can I…oh.

The flicker of motion reveals itself to be Nate Colton. Five Star Champion, Next Diamond, etc. etc. He’s doing all those little things we often see him do while getting ready for a match. Hopping up and down a bit, shaking out his head and hands, double-checking that he’s not about to go in front of a live audience with any unfortunate stains on his trunks.

It takes a moment for him to register that the Model Citizen is (a) there, and (b) talking to him, but he eventually figures it out.

Nate Colton: Oh, hey. Umm…I think all that stuff is back by the locker rooms.

If either wrestler notes the electricity of two stars of different eras running into each other by happenstance, it goes unremarked.

Chandler Tsonda: Uh, thanks for the directions. I was just messing around and am entirely sound of body and mind. Body especially. Very sound.

The Sultan of Style lets a beat pass.

Chandler Tsonda: Nice to meet you and all the pleasantries and shit. Nate Colton, isn’t it? (points) Nice title.

Nate looks down at the shiny gold belt around his waist and pats it a couple of times.

Nate Colton: Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. Hoping I still have it when I come back here later.

He’s about to go back to his mental preparations, when something dawns on him.

Nate Colton: So if you didn’t get lost looking for the trainers…what are you doing back here?

Tsonda takes on just the slightest, if well-intentioned, air of a used car salesman.

Chandler Tsonda: Don’t stress about me, champ. Let’s get you ready for this big defense. You know that’s the second most important belt in the business. 

Any person with a modicum of familiarity with CT knows, given that “mom, look at me” is 96% of his personality, where this is heading.

Chandler Tsonda: You know that big gold boy was my first singles title? No, I know, hard to believe that a dyed-in-the-wool Aitch Oh Eff-er started in the very same spot you’re in right now. Here, crowd in, I’ll pull up my ReVolution 100 match against Johnny Noble. No no, you know what, you’ve got a big match, so I’ll just text you the link. Here, throw your number in there, big dog. 

Tsonda hands his iPhone to Colton, who dutifully taps at the screen.

Nate Colton: I’ll give it a watch later, thanks. This is my first title too; I just hope I’ve been living up to the standard.

Chandler Tsonda: You’re really it, huh? Just a fuckin’ wholesome amiable dude who’s gonna sell t-shirts all over the Midwest until the heat death of our universe. Well, go give the fine corn-and-cattle enthusiasts of Kansas City a show. 

Nate Colton: I dunno about all that. I just try to keep in mind something my dad told me once. “Don’t be a douchebag; the world’s got enough already.”

The Model Citizen gives a peppy little two fingers to the brow salute to the Next Diamond.

Chandler Tsonda: Genuinely rooting for you, kid. Go nuts out there.

Nate Colton: Thanks, man. Gonna be a hell of a match.

The Tsuperstar walks away from the Argyle Position, leaving Nate Colton alone once more. He goes back to psyching himself up…but he’s smiling a bit more.

Nate Colton: Damn, now I got Hall of Famers coming up to me. This place is wild.

All right, Colton. Back to business. You’ve got the fight of your life tonight.

Which starts… right… now!

FIVE STAR TITLE MATCH: NATE COLTON (c) VS. CORAL AVALON

From the backstage area, we go to Vince Howard, standing in the ring, for announcements.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… the following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the 5-STAR CHAMPIONSHIP!

There is a raucous ovation from the crowd as the lights slowly fade to black in the T-Mobile Arena, and the first few notes of Monster Siren’s “Real Me” hit the PA system. Cell phone lights drifted in the air like fireflies in the darkness, casting scant illumination on the scene.

A bright light emanates from the back of the stage, casting a silhouette on the stage. Smoke billows at the silhouette’s waist as they stand with their back to the ring, holding a battle standard. Even when the guitars pick up, and the floodlight at the entrance is slowly replaced with a spotlight, Coral Avalon does not move.

The last time the man once known as the Kleptomaniac competed for a championship in a PRIME ring, it was still the middle of the first term of the Obama administration. The professional wrestling landscape was full of vampires and gangsters and vampire gangsters, and there was no room for men like Coral Avalon who made his name on his wrestling talent alone. And so, the Kleptomaniac was no more.

Only the Crownless King stands in Kansas City.

Vince Howard: Introducing first… residing in Seattle, Washington… he weighs in at two hundred and fourteen pounds… he is the CROOOOWNLESS KING! CORAAAAAAAAL! AVALOOOOOOOOOON!!!

Avalon flies a battle standard as simple as he is as he makes his way down to the ring. One with five golden stars emblazoned upon it. His message is clear to the champion and everyone watching him. He’s coming for the 5-Star Championship. No matter what it takes.

Avalon jumps up onto the apron and climbs into the ring, his standard at hand and faux lion-skinned cloak over his body. Leaning the flag against the corner, Coral stands in front of the hard camera and pauses. Then he brings his fists together, sticking out his ring and pinkie fingers.

Nick Stuart: Coral Avalon is a former PRIME Tag Team Champion, but he has never competed for any singles championship in this company before tonight. Is tonight his night, Richard?

Richard Parker: Have you seen Nate Colton? Or, more to the point, Nate Colton’s arms? That man can suplex a bear. A bear on PCP. They made that into a movie, right? PCP Bear?

Nick Stuart: No.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

The lights of the T-Mobile Arena once again go out.

The fans erupt in anticipation, and soon their energy is rewarded as the PRIMEView springs to life. On a field of white, three words appear

THE

NEXT

DIAMOND

These fade away, replaced by a logo. It’s the letter C in the shape of a diamond, with a smaller N inside. The logo is framed by the name.

NATE

COLTON

A classic rock riff signals the beginning of “Tryin’” by the Eagles, and the Kansas City fans give out a raucous cheer. Moments later, Nate Colton emerges from the curtain. He holds his arms up high, showing off his blue satin jacket–his family name emblazoned on the back; his first name stitched on the front. He also shows off the Five Star Championship, currently secured around his waist.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nate walks quickly to the ring, stopping periodically to point at groups of cheering fans, or waving his arms to hype up the crowd. There’s just one thing; as he makes his way, alongside the ramp, percussive pyros launch to the sky. 

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton is here, and these fans are on their feet!

He climbs the steps, ducks between the top and middle ropes, and enters the ring. He heads directly to his corner and undoes his jacket, showing off his gear–white trunks that reach his upper thigh with a blue stripe down the side, white boots with blue trim, white MMA gloves, and blue elbow and knee pads. After handing his jacket to a ring attendant and unfastening the title belt, he makes another appeal to the fans–this time, holding the Five Star Championship high above his head.

He hands the belt to referee Ashley Barlow and heads to his corner, where he stretches against the ropes and mentally prepares for his challenger.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Evansville Indiana…weighing in at two-hundred fifty-five pounds…he is the Next Diamond! He is the PRIME Five Star Champion! He is…NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTON!

The music fades. The bombast and smoke ebbs away. 

Ashley Barlow calls for the bell. 

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And with that…we…are underway.

The vaunted Next Diamond stands for a moment, eyes gazing towards the crowd in the T-Mobile Arena, taking in the atmosphere. Across the ring from him, Avalon’s eyes flick toward pockets of the Kansas City faithful, quickly cracking his neck before lowering himself into a wrestling stance. This…is a wrestling hungry crowd, ready for two of the best pound for pound technicians in the sport to get it on. Know how we know?

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

The appreciation draws a smirk from the 5 Star Champion, who steadies himself and turns his attention on the Crownless King, who seems drained of all but focus. Avalon, in such a state, appears rather menacing, his fingers spastic in their movements. Colton gets in a wrestling stance of his own, the size discrepancy apparent, and goes for a collar and elbow tie up. Avalon ducks underneath it, stepping forward from the attempt, the movement quick as a hiccup. Nate grabs a handful of air, nearly stumbling in the process, but catches himself, and as he does, turns his head in the direction of his challenger who just happens to have his hands down, turning on his heel, once again getting into his stance. 

Colton turns, once again going to tie up with the Crownless King, but the challenger merely steps underneath again, this time hopping lightly on his feet before turning around to face off against the 5 Star Champion.

Nick Stuart: We’re going into this contest expecting two men with tremendous respect for each other testing themselves and their ability to grapple. And that looks like what Nate Colton was expecting from the jump–

Richard Parker: And he’s not getting it. And even in that smirk, you can tell he’s getting a little annoyed.

Indeed, there is a little smirk on the face of Colton, even a little shake of the head. And as he goes to face up with Avalon once again, he readies himself in his stance, getting low on his haunches, and as Coral goes to match, there is no attempt at a collar and elbow, but rather, the 5 Star Champion sliding like he would in his amateur days at Indiana University, trying to pick the leg of the Crownless King. He’s successful, getting hold of the leg, but Avalon grabs hold of him on his upperbody and neck, stuffing any sort of takedown attempt by dropping to his own knees with Colton trapped. The Champion tries to use his strength to lift up from the position, but doing so avails his arms in the attempt, and the former Baron Von Blackberry grabs at one of them with both of his hands, using the higher ground, before locking in a side hammerlock, using his shoulder to drive and torque Colton to the canvas. Caught by surprise at how quick the moment happened, The Next Diamond smacks the mat with his free hand before using it to push up, causing a slight jolt that allows him to try and power up and grab at one of Coral’s legs. 

Richard Parker: And…the grapplefest is here.

Nick Stuart: Just not in the way I think any of us expected.

Richard Parker: Avalon caught go about this paint by the numbers. Give it the old sporting try. Not if he doesn’t want to end up like FLAMBERGE, like Anna Daniels, like Tony Gamble and Dusk…

Nick Stuart: Like Tyler Adrian Best…

Colton works himself from underneath, using his massive back and position while under Avalon’s grip of the hammerlock to pushing himself to his own knees, then to try and lift the challenger up, but all the happens is Avalon wrenches on the hammerlock and gets Colton back to the canvas. Once more pinned down, there is a growing sense of urgency trickling through the Champion as he realizes his wounded arm is getting torqued on rather heavily. Getting to his knees, he flops to his backside, and before Avalon can settle in behind him, he grabs hold of him and gets his head locked in a leg scissor. Coral quickly pushes up and headstands, his back falling on top of Nate, Ashley Barlow sliding and counting the pin.

ONE

But before it can go further, Colton muscles Avalon up, arms locked around his midsection, bridging upward and looking backslide Coral into a pin, dropping to his knees, only for the Crownless King to slip just a little free, slamming the Champion’s face into the canvas with a bulldog, maintaining the headlock on the ground.

Nick Stuart: Avalon proving himself to be just a step ahead thus far…

Richard Parker: But Colton’s already fighting to get to his feet.

As much as the 5 Star Champion’s neck is getting wrenched, it’s still early, and he still has a majority of his strength. He pushes up, getting to his knees, both hands locking onto Coral’s before getting enough of an opening to pull him over from his position and onto his back, breaking the hold. Colton is the one grabbing a side headlock to the grounded Avalon, but he kicks with his feet, twisting free, only for The Next Diamond to grab hold of waistlock from behind. He tries to wrench Avalon up for a takedown slam, but Coral hooks his foot around the calf of Colton, getting a ¾ facelock, splaying his hips and getting a facelock takeover, once again taking the commanding position. Colton’s shoulders are on the mat, causing official Barlow to once again make the count.

ONE

TWO

Shoulder’s up, with Avalon letting go of the headlock to grab hold of the wrist of Colton’s wounded arm. He looks to wrench on it, but Nate’s able to lock both his hands around the wrist of Avalon, pushing up against the leverage, both men slowly moving to a stand with the pair both in a tie up wristlock. Colton uses his strength and tenacity to force Avalon to the canvas, pinning him to the mat.

ONE

TWO

Avalon kicks with his legs, breaking up the pinfall, the inertia taking him to his side, and as he rises, Colton grabs hold of him with a side headlock, looking to grind him back to the canvas, but the movement is such that Coral is able to force the Champion into the ropes, Ashley Barlow coming in to call for the clean break. 

Nick Stuart: Hold for hold wrestling at its finest, exactly what the 5 Star Championship is all about!

They rest against the ropes for a moment, Colton and Avalon now sweating profusely, and as the Champion tries to let go, he is hit with a surprise armdrag. 

Richard Parker: That’s what it’s all about too?

Nate Colton rises from the quick armdrag, the joy seemingly drained from his expression, eyes intently staring at his challenger. If he is expecting for there to be a knowing smirk or a nod of acknowledgment, he receives none, the Crownless King nonplussed as he looks to be ready for the next volley.

Nick Stuart: While this has been a sporting contest so far, there seems to be a bit of an edge nobody would have expected starting to come to the surface.

Richard Parker: And why wouldn’t it? Avalon knows this is his one chance. His one shot. Maybe his last real chance at winning major singles gold in PRIME.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if this is his one chance–

Richard Parker: Get serious for a moment here. Coral Avalon is a wrestling transient. He’s more known for wearing some horrifying mask that looks like it’s straight out of the Last Of Us on HBO. A good tag team wrestler. Someone who seemed to have all the potential in the world, but the sand is running out of the hourglass. And…then there’s the reports about his wrestling school having issues. 

Nick Stuart: Through no fault of his own…

Richard Parker: And it doesn’t matter. He’s also an expecting father. You think just showing up and giving Nate Colton a good match is going to put food on the table? Yeah, he can go elsewhere, do what he does in Japan. This is his chance to do something nobody thinks is possible. This is his chance to do what nobody else has managed to do; pin or submit Nate Colton in a PRIME ring. And nobody really thinks he can do it.

Nick Stuart: If nobody thought that, he wouldn’t be in this match. If nobody thought that at Colossus, he wouldn’t have beaten GREAT SCOTT–

Richard Parker: Nate Colton, whatever I may think of him, whatever people might think of him…he’s a phenom in the sport of wrestling. A walking billboard. He’s what Coral Avalon SHOULD have been all those years ago, be it in Action! Wrestling, the Squared Circle…hell…PRIME…and if you don’t think that weighs on his mind, you haven’t been paying attention here.

Nick Stuart: I think you’re reading WAY too deeply into things you WANT to be there…

Richard Parker: Yeah? And if it’s like you are thinking, Nick, then Coral should be a happy little worker bee, give Colton a strong outing so he can get his legs underneath him, and then he can deal with the big fish…like Cecilworth Farthington. And the little Blackberry will go rah rah rah the whole way.

Colton rises, cracking his neck. After he does, he extends his arm above his head, calling for a Greco-roman knuckle lock. The rising roar of the crowd does little to stir Avalon, but seeing a challenge, he locks hands with The Next Diamond. Both men are now shoulder to shoulder, but before Colton can exert his strength, Avalon swings his foot up and breaks the left knuckle lock. Colton does the same with the right. FINALLY, the two lock up in a collar and elbow tie up, and the Champion hits a massive hiptoss that rattles the ring. Avalon scrambles back to his feet, The Next Diamond ready with another collar and elbow tie up, using the discombobulation to get a hammerlock of his own.

Nick Stuart: The height on that hiptoss playing a factor.

He wrenches up on the hold, nearly jerking Avalon off his feet. Coral begins pacing around the ring, slapping at his trapped arm socket with his free hand, leading Nate around in a circle, his hand reaching up at the head of the Champion, grabbing on and dropping immediately to his backside, crushing Colton with a jawbreaker with the top of his head. 

Nick Stuart: OH! What a reversal!

Richard Parker: That was stiff enough to bust some chiclets. 

Nate grabs for his jaw, nearly falling down, only dropping to a single knee before ricocheting back to a standing position, cradling the lower jaw. Coral tries to tie together Colton’s hands and go for another armdrag, but out of instinct, like Hercules, Colton hits him with another MASSIVE hiptoss. 

Richard Parker: You can’t give Colton an inch. Not a millimeter. Not an anything. Nothing. He’s strong. He’s quick. His base is great. And he has a grit and determination we saw in more than flashes against Tyler Best, in the Murder Royal, in so many match ups against PRIME’s elite…

Colton charges at the downed Crownless King, grabbing onto him with a side headlock, his mouth moving, not saying anything, trying to deal with the jolt the jaw received. His arms are like vices, grinding against the head of Avalon, with Coral trying to get himself out of the predicament, only to get planted with a side headlock takeover, pinning him to the canvas.

ONE

TWO

Avalon is able to escape with the use of his legs scissoring the head of Colton, pulling him over to break the grip. Colton once again tries to bridge, but Coral lets go, sending his heel into the arching abs of the Champion, all before nipping up to his feet and looking to hit Nate on the rise.

But not just hit him with anything.

Nick Stuart: RHONGOMYNIAD–

Richard Parker: Colton ducks it–

Nick Stuart: Avalon off the ropes and going for it–

THHHHHHWACK

Richard Parker: OH HOYT!

Nick Stuart: COLTON with a FIERCE double axe handle on the caroming Coral Avalon! And that blow sends him out of the ring in a hurry!

Coral grabs at his chest as he walks around the ringside area, eyes cast back into the ring. Looking back up, he sees Colton nodding his head, beckoning him, ready for the match to keep going. 

Nick Stuart: This match might have just taken a turn with that exchange right there!

And as Avalon walks back up the steps to get back into the ring, we know the match has shifted.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They aren’t booing the two men competing for the 5 Star Championship.

Richard Parker: OH MY HOYT! YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!

They’re booing the sudden appearance, on the entrance ramp, of a pair of figures. Two men that weren’t wrestling this evening, but are choosing now to make their presence known in the midst of this title contest. 

Cecilworth Farthington, the man with a date with the 5 Star Champion at Tropical Turmoil.

FLAMBERGE, the man with a date with the Intense Champion at Tropical Turmoil.

Richard Parker: NICK! NICK! NIIIIICK! YOU KNOW…YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS, RIGHT?!

Nick Stuart: We need security out here RIGHT now! 

Richard Parker: NO! SHUT UP WITH THAT RIGHT NOW! WE ARE BEING GRACED WITH GREATNESS! 

Farthington is dressed casually, dapper, a white sportcoat and a powder blue dress shirt, all with a flourish with a trendy pink tie. His tailored slacks are charcoal, with white brushed leather Oxfords to complete the look. FLAMBO sports a teal blazer with an eggshell white turtleneck underneath. The gold chain around his neck is nowhere near as cheap as his garish bright-yellow-framed plastic sunglasses, copper slacks and a pair of black Oxfords completing his ensemble. The pair stand on the ramp, looking toward the ring, the competitors within staring in their direction. FLAMBERGE is incredulous. Farthington puts his hand out, giving a wave to his fans, then pantomiming for Colton and Avalon to continue with their little contest. Unfazed by the daggers staring in their direction, Farthington reaches into his pocket, pulling out his cellphone. 

Nick Stuart: I can’t believe the audacity of these two coming out now–

Richard Parker: IT’S BEAUTIFUL! THE CHOKE BOYS ARE HERE! THE DOCTOR STOPPAGE DUO! GLUE POINT HOYTING OH BAAAAAAAAAAAAY BEEEEEEEEEEE!

The pair stand their ground, not really making a move to the ring. Enough. Avalon steps back into the ring, and while Colton’s attention is still turned toward the invaders, Coral is grabbing hold of him with a surprise cradle!

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

Colton immediately gets to his feet, and as he does, he throws his arms out, pushing the challenger of the 5 Star Championship over forcefully. There is no grace, no ‘my bad’, just a growing sense of orneriness mixing with a touch of frustration that Avalon would try and take a pin this way. The sudden shock forces Colton to bounce off the ropes, charging forward, obliterating Avalon with a shoulder tackle, sending the Crownless King back to the canvas. A quick yank up by the hair, and The Next Diamond whips Avalon with all his might into the opposite corner, the rush making it so Coral is unable to impede his rush into the turnbuckles, smashing into them chest first. He staggers back, grabbing at his sternum, and as he does, Colton grabs hold of him, wrapping his arms around his hands and neck.

Nick Stuart: COLTON CLUTCH SUPL–

Sensing the danger, Avalon dips as quickly as he can, grabbing onto Colton’s hands, dropping him with a makeshift armdrag that has him utterly shocked and surprised that the Crownless King is so quick to escape. He tries getting up quickly, but the charging Avalon gives him no quarter.

Nick Stuart: RHONGOMYNIAD!

The blow drops Colton to his backside, in the corner. One armament to be followed with another. Avalon charges backward, taking off in a running start, all before diving at the prone 5 Star Champion.

Nick Stuart: SECACE–

Richard Parker: Colton rolled out of the way!

Nick Stuart: OH! Avalon with a full head of steam and he collides with the corner! Oh that might have hurt him bad!

Avalon launched himself like a cannonball into the corner, but Nate Colton escaped just in the nick of time. He’s up to his feet, brushing off the feeling surging through his chest from the boot that hit him, and with little thought, he scrapes Coral from the canvas, grabbing hold of him, all before tossing him overhead with an exploder suplex, quickly following with a cover.

ONE

TWO

THR-NO!

Nick Stuart: THAT was close!

Colton moves to a knee, grabbing onto the arm of Coral Avalon, rising off the canvas before putting his outside knee into the crook of the elbow, driving it into the canvas. As he does this, FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth slowly start making their way down the ramp, making their way alongside the ringside area. Signal flares are going off with the two being in close proximity of the ring, and Nate Colton shouts toward them, ready for the attack. FLAMBERGE flips him off and calls him a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch. Cecilworth? He doesn’t even look up from his phone, brushing the language away with his free hand.

Nick Stuart: What are these two…these jackals…

Richard Parker: Lions! They’re lions, Nick! 

Nick Stuart: Why are these two out here?!

Richard Parker: Well, Cecilworth has a vested interest in the outcome of this bout.

Nick Stuart: And FLAMBERGE? His sights are on Paxton Ray. We heard this earlier in the evening!

Richard Parker: Look, just because two hot, young, virile good boys want to watch some of the pro graps isn’t cause for concern.

Nick Stuart: Says you! The 5 Star Championship is on the line here!

As if answering Nick’s line of questioning, FLAMBERGE is handed a wad of cash. How much is it? Is it hundreds or one dollar bills? Wouldn’t you like to know. FLAMBO hands a pair of fans in the front row the wad, telling them something. Those fans? They vacate, and once they do, Cecilworth and FLAMBERGE make their way over the rail, sitting in the now vacant seats. Farthington puts his feet up on the rail, reclining back on his phone.

Richard Parker:  That…that is a man who is definitely back in wrestling!

In the ring, Avalon starts to try and roll away from Colton, hoping to create some distance between the two. However, seeing both forever rival and potential challenger are not making a move, Colton turns his focus back into the ring, reaching over to Coral, pulling him from the canvas. On his knees, Avalon throws a few quick forearms into the ribs of The Next Diamond, then driving his shoulder upward into his breadbasket.

Doubled over and prone, Avalon gets up to his feet, and in a show of defiance, rubs Nate’s head and hair before loading him up for a european uppercut. Another. And another. The last one bolts Colton upright, his chest reddening, his eyes now wide. This should be a ‘oh shit’ moment.

Nick Stuart: Those blows hitting hard but they only look to be waking Nate Colton up!

Avalon goes for another european uppercut, but is met with a stiff forearm from the Champion. Another. And another. Each successive blow sends Avalon backpedaling, drawing him closer and closer to the opposite end of the ring. Colton snatches his wrist, irish whipping him in the corner, all before grabbing hold of him and yeeting him over the top rope after a hip attack with a back suplex.

Nick Stuart: WATCH OUT!

Richard Parker: CORAL GO SPLAT!

It’s not his back that takes the brunt of the blow, thankfully. He does, however, land on his knees. He stumbles to push himself back to a stand, following back down as he does so.

Nick Stuart: Oh no. That might have blown out a knee!

Avalon does manage to start picking himself up. And as he does?

Richard Parker: WHAT THE?!

Nick Stuart: COLTON THROWING CAUTION TO THE WIND! CROSS BODY TO THE OUTSIDE OF THE RING! And AVALON IS DOWN! COLTON ROARING TO THE FANS AND LISTEN TO THEM! 

Richard Parker: So much for being subtle!

COL-TON

COL-TON

COL-TON

Barlow begins her count, but doesn’t get far, as Colton rolls Avalon back into the ring. Rolling in shortly behind, he grabs hold of Coral, lifting him up before nailing a forearm smash, then spins him around, hooking him by the head.

Nick Stuart: INVERTED SUPLEX!

Colton is feeling it! And he knows what comes next. Grabbing onto Avalon, he jerks him back to his feet, grabbing hold of the Colton Clutch!

Nick Stuart: OH HE HAS THE COLTON CLUTCH LOCKED IN! HE HAS IT–

Survival instinct has Coral grabbing at the hands, the arms, punching them. It’s enough to cause the hold to loosen up. But there is no respite. The Next Diamond grabs onto him with a waistlock from behind.

Nick Stuart: BRIDGING GERMAN SUPLEX!

ONE

TWO

THRE–KICKOUT!

Richard Parker: My precious Cecilworth just looked up from his phone there!

A kick out just in the nick of time. 

But Colton isn’t through! He keeps his arms wrapped around the waist of Avalon, yanking him back up, ready to hit another german suplex, but as he lifts, Coral catches him with a surprise roll up!

ONE

TWO

THRE–KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: AVALON ALMOST STOLE IT RIGHT THERE!

The two stagger to a stand, and Avalon nails Colton with an open palm strike to the head. The blow is enough to catch Colton off guard, enough for the Crownless King to hit a saito suplex. Colton hits hard on the canvas, and as he does, the feisty challenger goes in, quickly trying for a omoplata.

Nick Stuart: Vortigern’s Pillory! Avalon going for that bad arm from Culture Shock–

Richard Parker: And he’s got the arm!

But as he goes for the armbar portion, Colton, persistent, having scouted for exactly this, bridges out as best as he can, causing Avalon to tumble over. Rising up, Colton explodes through him with a shoulder tackle, then yanks him off the canvas and delivers a backbreaker.

The blow is enough to launch Avalon to the canvas. Colton, on his own knees, looks over at his challenger, then to the two men sitting at ringside, FLAMBERGE’s eyes intent on the action, Cecilworth still nose deep in his cellphone.

Nick Stuart: These two…giving it their absolute all! Everything they have!

Richard Parker: And the question is…what’s it going to take? What’s it going to take to beat the other?

Colton rises up before dropping to a single knee. He’s back to his feet again, sweat stinging his eyes, his breathing heavy, and he knows he needs something big to take full control. His fingers grab hold of Avalon, lifting him back up to his feet. He pushes him into the near corner, hitting him with a few forearm shots whenever the Crownless King seems to stir. In the corner, he grabs onto a front chancery, lifting Avalon up onto the top turnbuckle so he is perched.

Nick Stuart: Oh…oh no…

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

LET’S GO COL-TON!

AV-A-LON!

With Avalon now perched on the top rope, Colton begins to make his ascent. Once at the top, he grabs hold of another front facelock, and jerks Avalon to a stand.

One shot to the side almost releases the hold, and then another. But Colton uses a close headbutt, uncharacteristic, to drop the challenger for good. Yanking him back up, his hand latches onto his opponent’s waistband, and, with the Kansas City fans at a fever pitch, slings him over.

Nick Stuart: SUPERPLEX– 

Richard Parker: WAAAAAAIT OH MY HOYT

Nick Stuart: OH MY WORD AVALON GOT OUT AND LANDED ON HIS FEET! COLTON CRASHED TO THE CANVAS ON THE SUPERPLEX ATTEMPT BUT CORAL AVALON ESCAPED AND LANDED ON HIS FEET!

Avalon did land on his feet, his agility legendary. 

Nick Stuart: COLTON TRYING TO GET UP–-RHONGOMYNIAD!

Richard Parker: IS HE–

Nick Stuart: AVALON HAS HIM BEFORE HE CAN FALL OVER DOUBLE UNDERHOOK WAIT WAIT EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR! EXCALIBUR!

The sitout double underhook piledriver connects with full force, Colton’s body limply crashing before sitting back up. FLAMBERGE’s eyes go wide. Cecilworth Farthington? The phone is in his pocket, and he is now standing, as are the rest of the fans in Kansas City.

Two Armaments hit. But there is no cover. Coral Avalon IS a wrestling transient. He has been all over the world, plying his craft, one of the absolute great underground wrestlers there is. After a quick rise to stardom, his once promising future hit roadblocks, unable to achieve what he was able to in his first formative years. Forever a bridesmaid. Crownless. In the past, Coral would go for the pin right here, right now, sure he had done enough. 

He knows he hasn’t. 

It’s why he stands up. Nate Colton sits on the canvas but he is a Champion. The number one rated wrestler in all of PRIME. The man with more ELO points than anyone in history. He is not only the future of PRIME, but also its present. Unbeaten, unpinned. His mind stirs, rebooting, a sliver of life left within him, and if he can get up, if he can just get up, maybe that will grow, will give him what he needs to surmount this deadly challenge.

Avalon sees it. And running as fast as he can to the ropes behind Colton, he springs off them, driving forward.

A third Armament.

Nick Stuart: SECACE! SECACE TO THE BACK OF COLTON’S HEAD! OH MY GOD DID DO IT?!

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! AVALON! AVALON! CORAL AVALON DID IT! 

The crowd erupts as loud as they can. They are witness to history.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match…and NEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWW! PRIME! 5 STAR CHAMPION! COOOOOOOORAL! AAAAAAAAVALON!

Avalon lays on the canvas for a good few moments, the wall of sound, his theme, all of it, along with the sweat and years of toil, grabbing hold of him. He feels a surge of excitement, rising from the ground, backing into the near corner, hands on his head, all before letting out a roar as he pumps his fist in the air, all before crumbling back to his knees.

A glassy eyed Nate Colton looks over, and he knows. Losing space and time means one thing. He slaps the canvas, stumbling after rolling out of the ring, doing his best to push himself back to his feet. 

Richard Parker: This…is about to get spicy!

He doesn’t listen to FLAMBERGE and all the hooting and hollering he’s doing. Hands on his hips, he kicks against the ring steps, cursing to himself, dropping to a knee before getting back to a stand. He makes his way to the timekeeper’s table. Ashley Barlow is going for the 5 Star Championship, grabbing it before going to enter the ring. 

Colton stops her, his hands out.

Richard Parker: OH LOOK AT HIM HE’S ALL GROWN UP NOW GOING TO LAY WASTE TO EVERYONE!

There’s a brief conversation happening, all as Avalon looks to the outside, at what is going on. Barlow hands the belt to Colton, who then rolls into the ring, getting up to his feet the best he can. A brief moment between the two, their eyes locking, no words exchanged. Colton looks down at the 5 Star Championship, cradling it, bringing it to his lips to kiss the face plate. Without hesitation afterward, he hands it right to Coral Avalon, who takes it, giving him a bow. Colton bows back, nearly falling in the process, all before raising the hand of the new 5 Star Champion.

Richard Parker: Oh how damn lame!

Nick Stuart: What an incredible show of sportsmanship between these two incredible athletes!

No longer wanting to take the spotlight, Colton exits stage left, allowing Avalon his moment to bask in victory. The Crownless King takes the belt and goes to the nearest corner, rising up it, then pumping the 5 Star Championship into the air.

And as he does?

His eyes stay firmly locked on Cecilworth Farthington.

We then cut to the backstage area.

BACK IN THE GAME / I’M YER HUCKLEBERRY

Hot off the 5-star duel, we find ourselves in that most magical of places: backstage in Kansas City. 

And a familiar saga continues to unfold, as the picture comes into view.

“Siri, please record my last will and testament.”

WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!

This cheer might seem morbid. But it’s all about who’s saying these morbid words. The same backstage wanderer just seen bumbling about backstage, desperate for a trainer’s attention: Chandler Tsonda.

And now, he is taking it all in stride, being resilient and steadfast in the face of minor adversity. He has an iPhone 14 Pro in hand, and dictates into it.

Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) And so it came, that the great Chandler Tsonda died due to lack of medical attention, in a city called Kansas, confusingly located in the state of Missouri.

As noted, resilient and steadfast.

Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) I want it in my obituary that Tony Gamble lost to me on multiple occasions in increasingly high-profile matches. Make sure to put that really high in the paragraph, and spell his name wrong.

The slightly hysterical Model Citizen continues to limp down a hall as some PRIME backstage crew walk by in the other direction, generally trying to avoid his whole thing.

Chandler Tsonda: (into his phone) And finally, make it clear that if I could have just gotten a goddamn Theragun and some Tiger Balm – see if they’ll sponsor my funeral for this actually – then I surely would have survived to have another spectacular run in PRIME, one so good they probably would have double Hall of Famed me. 

And with that, the Sultan of Style spies a nearby folding chair. With the bearing of an infant who has worn themselves out with a tantrum, he crumples into the chair and lets out a deep exhale.

“I’m the more likely double Hall of Famer. Once as a wrestler, and then maybe again as the muckety muck in charge. What say you, Channy?”

The damn roof comes off at the owner of this voice. The Queen of the Ring, Lindsay Troy. 

Lindsay Troy: (points) Medical’s down the hall if you take that first right, genius.

The Model Citizen’s eyes follow where Troy’s finger points. He sheepishly hits the red button that ends his phone recording.

Chandler Tsonda: …just, you know, some signage would be nice.

Lindsay Troy: (rolling her eyes) Anything else? Heated neck wrap? Chilled water straight from the Big Spring? 

The Sultan of Style folds his arms, but he stays seated.

Chandler Tsonda: Eleven years since we’ve walked these halls together, and we’re just gonna do small talk about backstage accessibility? Where’s the fireworks?! The panache! I was thinking maybe you do “this town ain’t big enough for both of us, pardner.” Wait, should we be wearing cowboy hats? We should, right? 

Lindsay Troy: One Clay Byrd’s enough for me, thanks. C’mon…

She holds out her hand.

Lindsay Troy: See if you can peel yourself off that chair and you can patch yourself up in my office with a couple Band-Aids.

Tsonda rolls his eyes at the apparent dismissal of the severity of his injuries, but eventually takes the Queen’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet. The two walk down the hall, in the opposite direction of Medical.

Lindsay Troy: So how’s it feel to be back in the game?

As they walk-and-talk, it appears that miraculously Tsonda has, if not recovered, then bounced back from the wear and tear on his body from the opening match. He’s just regular amounts of banged up, not about to expire. Fancy that. 

Chandler Tsonda: (rolling his neck from side to side as they walk) Well, I see the appeal of your big wig behind the mahogany desk setup. I got beat to hell out there by three of your younger, springier employees, all of us in the cannibal island of curtain-jerking. And on top of that, I now work for the same broad who ended the first act of my career. 

He lets out a Cheshire grin.

Chandler Tsonda: So I’m happier than a pig in shit, as your paramour might say. (gesturing with both hands at the arena) S’what I was born to do.

Lindsay Troy: You talk to Tyler after Culture Shock?

Chandler Tsonda: This fucking guy. I sent him this long voice memo about the special feeling of doing something with your best friend after a long time apart, getting the privilege to do it when the lights are brightest, and how, yes America, you can come home again. 

The Model Citizen sucks his teeth loudly to show his disdain.

Chandler Tsonda: He texts back fifteen hours later. “Yeah, that shit was cool.” I love him, but he truly has caveman brain. I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir, though.

Lindsay laughs and nods her head.

Lindsay Troy: Yeah. I think he’s mad I didn’t tell him you were in the Murder Rumble, but he’s ass when it comes to keeping secrets. 

She looks at Tsonda.

Lindsay Troy: This gonna be weird at all? Y’know, given how things turned out.

He hand waves the air.

Chandler Tsonda: Please. You think this is the first time I’ve worked for the person who’s been wronged by and then divorced a best friend, all while walking the tightrope of not taking sides and remaining likable and trustworthy?

Lindsay Troy: (deadpanning) Chandler, Danny’s gone, you don’t have to compete with him for the best actor trophy anymore.

The Queen of the Ring stops short in front of a door with her name on it, and so does Tsonda.

Chandler Tsonda: (pointing to the door) I think I’m supposed to kick this thing off its hinges if I want your attention, but my kicking leg is in dire need of percussive therapy. So ladies first.

Lindsay Troy: Listen, (leans in close) I don’t want to jinx it because we’ve still got the main event to go, but I think we’re gonna make it two weeks without any property damage.

She pushes the door open and walks through, smiling at a seated Wade Elliott on the couch, struggling with his phone to figure out the day’s Wordle.

Lindsay Troy: Look who I found dying in the hallway.

Wade Elliott: Oh, don’t I know it.

The Bad Dog stands from the couch and tucks his phone into his jeans, Back within the crowd, there is a burble at these three heroes of yore all in the same place. Especially since…

Wade Elliott: Chandler.

Chandler Tsonda: Elliott.

They…have some history.

Wade Elliott: Caught a whiff’ve yer perfume ‘bout an hour ago.

Chandler Tsonda: Same. I mean, I smelled livestock and knew you couldn’t be far.

And like there always is with old war buddies, or war enemies, or….whatever they are, there’s an ease.

Chandler Tsonda: You spent any of the last eleven years improving your always sunny disposition? 

Wade Elliott: Y’might be surprised. You spent that time gettin’ any dirt under them fingernails?

Chandler Tsonda: (smiling wryly) Just the blood of my enemies.

Lindsay Troy: (teasing) Two weeks. No property damage. Do not start now.

Chandler Tsonda: Two old mangy curs like me and Wade? Our days of throwing hands at each other is done. Unless…

The Model Citizen makes eye contact with the Southern Sparkplug. Both offer their own version of a confident smile that says “but just so you know, I could take you.” 

Chandler Tsonda: …you want to even the score? We beat the everliving piss out of each other three times. Two wins for me, one for you. And that was before I liked you! Imagine the show we could put on, what with our begrudging friendship and all. Your chance to take it to 2-2. Am I enticing you? 

The Bad Dog smirks, and glances over to his Queen. Her eyes shine at the thought, and she gives him a smile and a nod. 

Wade Elliott: (stretching his arms for dramatic fashion) Shit, I dunno, Chandler. I’m sittin’ pretty on an undefeated record here… 

He turns back to the Viet Viper, all smiles behind his grayed beard, and extends a hand.

Wade Eillott: …but hell, if you’ve slowed down a lil’ bit on all the jumpin’ flippy shit, I’m yer Huckleberry.

Chandler Tsonda: You let me catch my wind here. I’m not taking an L before I get warmed up. But once the conditions are right. Say, I get my hands on some gold…

The Model Citizen returns the favor, and back in the arena, there’s a sizable, noticeable pop as the two old-timers put it on a handshake. 

Chandler Tsonda: It’s a date.

Lindsay Troy: Alright, save the rest of the posturing for when we’ve got tickets to move. In the meantime…

She wheels her desk chair over and motions for Tsonda to have a seat, while she settles in on the couch.

Lindsay Troy: …we’ve got a big boy battle for the Uni title about to happen.

The Model Citizen smirks as he sits, kicks his feet up, and the scene cuts.

WHY?

Backstage. Just behind the Argyle position.

The Champ stands back. Belt on his shoulder. Shirtless and in his ring gear. Eyes dead ahead, grit teeth hiding behind a frozen expression.

In front of him, the challenger. The Ace. 

The Tower of Babel.

Youngblood pays him no mind, loosening his arms. With what is on the line, with what is about to take place, to say his attention is elsewhere is an understatement. Even there being this little space between them is a shock. He readies himself, about to go through the curtain to the Argyle Position, but something stops him.

Hayes Hanlon: Hey. Youngblood.

PRIME’s Ace takes pause, turning his head back toward the Event Horizon.

Brandon Youngblood: If you’re lookin’ for pre-match slap, now ain’t the time.

Hayes Hanlon: (smirking) No, nothing like that.

He shifts his feet, and clears his throat.

Hayes Hanlon: I just wanted to say that if I don’t walk out of there with the belt on my shoulder, I’ll be proud that I lost it to you. 

Youngblood offers the smallest of nods, not in the mood for pleasantries.

Hayes Hanlon: But I need you to know…

The shift in tone catches more of his attention however.

Hayes Hanlon: …that this is my chance to prove that I don’t just belong at the head of the ReVival. That I can stand with the ReVolution, too. And I’m not gonna pull any punches.

Youngblood scans him up and down, stepping toward him.

Brandon Youngblood: I’ve waited nine months for this moment…and if you think you’re getting anything but my absolute best? You got another thing coming. 

The time has arrived. The Anger Golem’s music has started to rise out in the arena. Youngblood gives himself a couple chest slaps, and moves to disappear into the Argyle position.

Hayes Hanlon: Pariah.

…but he’s forced to take one more pause.

Hayes Hanlon: Why’d you name Nate Colton the Next Diamond, and not me?

Youngblood looks over his shoulder, his eyes wide. 

Brandon Youngblood: Because I owe his old man more than I could repay. Because he’s a workhorse.

He snorts, spitting off to the side.

Brandon Youngblood: …and because you should know…better than anyone…that you don’t want to be me.

He turns his head, hand ripping through the curtain.

Brandon Youngblood: …because you have the chance to be better than us all.

COMMERCIAL: TROPICAL TURMOIL 2023

UNIVERSAL TITLE MATCH: HAYES HANLON (c) VS. BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD

We come back from commercial to hear…

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: AND IS FOR THE UNIVERSAL TITLE!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: The Main Event of ReVival 27 is here and it is a DOOZY!

Richard Parker: Doozy? I hope Youngblood mercs that sus Hanlon. And that’s saying something because I hate Brandon Youngblood.

Nick Stuart: Merc? Sus? When did you start talking like a kid right out of Fortnite?

Richard Parker: (sighs) You’re so old, Nick.

The Arena darkens. The shift in ambiance has the fans rise to their feet, the sound rising. And then, cutting through it all, The Battlecry.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
LET THE GALAXY BURN

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

From the very start of Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH, Brandon Youngblood surges from the curtain and into the well of sound filling the arena. Through the blinding blue and white strobing light cutting through the darkness, the Tower of Babel powerwalks, his eyes trained forward, an oppressive scowl of intensity a hallmark painting his face.

His shoulders sway with the bravado of his BMF walk, a spotlight lighting his path. The 2022 Wrestler of the Year is quick down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the arena floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring, his eyes locking toward the curtain.

Richard Parker: Is it just me or does it look like Youngblood has built muscles upon muscles upon muscles?

Nick Stuart: I imagine training for Youngblood at his home back in Wisconsin has been intense these past two weeks since it was announced to the world that he would be receiving a Universal Title shot tonight.

Richard Parker: Seriously, what kind of diet do you have to be on to get muscles like that? Or do you think it’s the ol’ shoot ‘em up?

Nick Stuart: Heroin?

Richard Parker: No, you dolt, steroids!

Nick Stuart: He is not doing steroids.

Richard Parker: He should! It’s working on me wonderfully.

Nick Stuart: Rich, I saw you eat three Chalupas backstage while on the toilet.

Richard Parker: That’s what we call PRIME training.

The lights return, and as they do, the Suplex Daddy readies himself in an amateur stance, his hands on his thighs, a snarl of disdain curling his lips. If looks could kill, the next person out is already dead. He then locks eyes with FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth Farthington, who are still in the front row.

Nick Stuart: Since losing the Universal Title against Phil Atken at ReVival 13 back in August 2022, the road hasn’t been easy for Youngblood. He lost against Nova, which saw Nova get a title shot against Cancer Jiles —

Richard Parker: — HA! HAHAHAAHAHA! HA! HAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHA!

Nick Stuart: — a narrow loss to Great Scott, a draw against Anna Daniels, and not able to capture the Five-Star Title at Colossus.

Richard Parker: 2023 has been the return to a strong start that we’re accustomed to seeing from Youngblood though.

Nick Stuart: Correct. Victories against Tony Gamble and Matt Ward, a tag team victory when he teamed up with Jared Sykes against Nate Colton and Rezin, holding titles at the time, and finishing fourth in the Murder Rumble!

Richard Parker: And now this…

Distorted guitar heralds a black hole emerging on the PRIME*View, dangerously close to the screen; hanging in the void among planets and nebulas.

Sirens accompany as the screen shakes, pulling us in violently, until the lyrics scream throughout the PA system.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAAALLLL!!!”

And huge, white block letters fill the screen:

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

The speakers and amplifiers hold on for dear life as “Daggers” by We Came as Romans absolutely bludgeon the eardrums. And speaking of explosions, those planets and stars on the PRIME*View do just that, bursting into blinding eruptions of violent light. It carries into the arena, rumbling flashbulbs explode in various points throughout the building; in the ceiling, in the stands, one after another.

And then, from the ramp, the Event Horizon.

“I SEE THE MOUNTAIN AHEAD, I FEEL THE THUNDER ROAR!
I FEEL THE FURY WITHIN, BUT LOUDER THAN BEFORE!”

The Champ marches forward, Universal Title comfortable on his shoulder. He keeps those dark eyes focused, ‘stache on point, while the fans around are on the brink of a literal mosh pit.

Nick Stuart: And the Universal Champ is here and he looks READY for the fight of his life.

Richard Parker: Oh, he better be ready because you’ve never seen a shark quite like Youngblood. Brandon sees a way back to the top of PRIME and the one person standing in his way is the Event Horizon.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon shared some words with Tyler Adrian Best, who he will be facing off with at Tropical Turmoil if he manages to defend his title successfully here tonight.

Richard Parker: Big ‘if’ considering that Hanlon lost this very title to Rezin in his first defense after winning it at Colossus. If he loses here tonight against Youngblood, it shows that he might be able to rise to the occasion, but isn’t able to stay there.

Nick Stuart: Which is not the reputation a young star like Hanlon wants, that’s for sure.

Hayes climbs the apron, steps through the ropes, and b-lines for the turnbuckle.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Up one rope, then the second, chest and jaw jutting out, and a thumb to his neck..

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

…and he drags it across his throat with the chorus.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN! TO FIND THE POWER!”

He hops down, making way to the next post to repeat the process one more time.

“DRAW! THE! DAGGER!
CUT OUT THE PAIN!”

He remains on the ropes, and in unison with the crowd, beats his chest four times while roaring out the crescendo.

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

The Comeback Kid stays for a moment, eyes out to the roaring crowd, allowing the music to reach its breakdown. He then locks eyes with FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth Farthington as well.

Vince Howard: Introducing first, the challenger!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: Hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 265 pounds… he is…THE DIIIIIIAMOND! OF THE REVIVAL! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: And his eyes are focused upon Hanlon and the Universal Title. I’ve seen many variations of Youngblood, most of them frightening, but this one is a step above all of them combined.

Richard Parker: Hanlon better be ready because he’s about to face a hurricane.

Vince Howard: AND HIS OPPONENT!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: FROM WEST LINN, OREGON! STANDING SIX FEET, THREE INCHES AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE POUNDS!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Vince Howard: HAMMERIN’ HANLON! HOME RUN HAYES! THE EVENT HORIZON!! THE UNIVERSAL CHAAMMMPPIIIOONNN!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Vince Howard: HAAAAYEEEESSSS!!! HAAAAAAANNNLLLOOONNNNNN!!!!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Hanlon holds the Universal Title high as Youngblood and Hanlon come nose to nose as Timo Bolamba quickly separates them. Hanlon hands him the title as Timo walks over to the ringkeeper area and hands it to the ringside attendant.

Nick Stuart: The fans here in Kansas City, inside of the T-Mobile Arena… are READY FOR A FIGHT !

Richard Parker: No kidding. I think they’ve been pretty spoiled with this stacked card and now they get this match? In Kansas City?! No one does it quite like PRIME!

DING DING

At the sound of the bell, both competitors walk towards one another with Hanlon extending his fist. Youngblood looks at it briefly before acknowledging the Universal Champion. They immediately enter a collar-and-elbow tie-up, pushing each other into the ropes and struggling to gain position over the other one. Youngblood is pushed into the corner and immediately digs his heels into the mat, pushing Hayes backwards into the opposite corner. Timo, content to let them find their footing, allows this to continue until Hanlon manages to grab the wrist of Youngblood and put him into a hammerlock.

Richard Parker: That’s your big move? A hammerlock?

Nick Stuart: You’ve got two people in that ring that are basically the same in size —

Richard Parker: Like I said, Youngblood’s muscles have muscles!

Nick Stuart: That is not a real thing.

Hanlon stands directly behind Youngblood, who tries to fire off an elbow. Hayes ducks underneath it though and rams Youngblood chest first into the corner. Brandon’s chest collides with the top turnbuckle. Hanlon puts Youngblood into a waist lock, but the former Universal Champion connects with a back elbow to his jaw. Hayes breaks the hold and Brandon spins around before planting his knee into his midsection, doubling over the champ. Youngblood then connects with a clubbing forearm to the exposed back of Hanlon. Hayes drops to one knee from the sheer force, but Youngblood grabs him by the neck and brings him to a standing position.

Brandon then pushes Hanlon into the corner and rubs Hanlon’s chest before cracking it with a knife-edge chop that echoes through the T-Mobile Arena. The pain written across Hayes’ face tells the story as he doubles over from the shot only for Brandon to push Hanlon back up and connects with another knife-edge chop.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: Hanlon does not want to take too many more of those shots.

Richard Parker: You think?

Nick Stuart: Hanlon needs to keep Youngblood off kilter or else he’s going to be bruised, black and blue —

Richard Parker: And no longer the Universal Champion.

Youngblood grabs Hanlon by the wrist and goes to whip him across to the opposite corner, but Hanlon manages to reverse and sends Youngblood instead. Hayes then runs full speed at Youngblood, going for a clothesline, but is met with a boot to the face instead. Hanlon stumbles backwards as Youngblood hops onto the second turnbuckle. He goes for an elbow to the back of Hanlon’s neck, but Hayes spins around at the last second and plants his fist into Brandon’s abdomen. The Diamond of the Revival crashes to both knees from the shot as Hanlon sizes him up and connects with a stiff boot to the side of the face. Youngblood remains in the same position, just feeling the effects of a boot, before Hanlon bounces off the ropes and connects with a running knee to his face.

Richard Parker: Well, that’s probably more in the direction that Hanlon was looking to go in.

Nick Stuart: More than likely, at least. Hanlon is definitely showing Youngblood that he can eat a punch knife-edge chops and come firing back with more of his own.

Richard Parker: You know, everyone has a plan until —

Nick Stuart: They get punched in the face?

Richard Parker: No, until they face Brandon Youngblood and his 237 protruding muscles.

Youngblood sits up and as he does, Hanlon plants his boot into his chest. Youngblood rolls onto his side as Hanlon helps him to his feet and drives his knee into the midsection of the PRIME Hall of Famer. Hanlon then connects with a butterfly suplex to the doubled over Youngblood. As Youngblood begins to make his way to his feet, Hanlon bounces off the ropes and connects with a flying crossbody that sends both competitors crashing to the mat. Hanlon isn’t down for long as he gets up to his feet and catches a rising Youngblood with a stiff forearm to the face. As Brandon turns away from Hanlon, Hayes puts him into a rear waist lock and connects with a German Suplex before rolling through it and deadlifts Youngblood into another German Suplex!

Nick Stuart: What an impressive feat there from the reigning Universal Champion! Getting Youngblood into one German Suplex is impressive enough, but having the strength to deadlift Youngblood into another one?! I’ve never seen such a thing.

Richard Parker: Well, I guess Hanlon is going to throw everything he has at Youngblood in order to secure the victory.

Nick Stuart: I’m thinking that you’re correct.

Brandon rolls to the edge of the ring and is lying under the bottom rope as Hanlon gets up to his feet, impressed at his own physical ability as he looks out at the fans. He walks over to Youngblood and snaps his boot across the chest of Youngblood, rolling the Tower of Babel out of the ring. As Youngblood makes his way to his feet, dazed from the shots he’s taken thus far, he looks up and sees Hanlon running off the ropes and connecting with a suicide dive that sends him crashing into the barricade! Hayes gets up to his feet in a hurry before hoisting Youngblood into the air and dropping him throat first across the barricade!

Richard Parker: Okay, this is a Hayes Hanlon I can get behind! Rip! Maim! Torture! Defeat!

Nick Stuart: You sound like you’re coming straight out of a straight-to-DVD torture porno.

Richard Parker: Look, I will have you know—

Nick Stuart: No time for that, Richard! Hanlon whips Youngblood into the apron and Youngblood just exploded forward with a clothesline that flipped Hanlon inside out.

Richard Parker: (muttering) Fine.

Hanlon stumbles back to his feet as Youngblood takes a moment to gather his breathe before kicking Hanlon in the midsection and whipping him back under the bottom rope. As Youngblood climbs up to his feet, Hanlon pushes through the momentary pain as he bounces off the ropes and connects with a forearm to the face of Youngblood, sending him flying off the ring apron and crashing chest first into the ringside barricade! Hanlon steps through the ropes and stands on the ring apron as Youngblood turns around, clutching his chest, and connects with a flying clothesline to Youngblood’s neck.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon has come in double-cocked and ready to successfully defend his Universal Championship.

Richard Parker: Let me tell you Nick, you can’t win the match in the opening stanza, but you can definitely lose it.

Nick Stuart: …how?

Richard Parker: By exactly what Hanlon is doing now! Don’t you pay attention?

Nick Stuart: To you? No.

Hanlon rises to his feet and plants his boot into the face of Youngblood repeatedly before yanking him off of the mat and rolling him back into the ring. Hanlon slides in after Youngblood and ducks a wild haymaker from BY. As Youngblood spins back around, Hanlon hoists him onto his shoulder and tilts Youngblood. He holds him there for a moment before connecting with a Samoan Drop that shakes the ring. Hanlon then goes for the cover on Youngblood as Timo slides in for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Hanlon sits up and looks at Timo who confirms it was only a two count. As he starts to get back up to his feet, Youngblood reaches up and pulls Hanlon into a schoolboy roll-up.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Kickouts from both competitors here as Timo is finally able to do something in this match.

Richard Parker: Not going to lie, I forgot he was even in this match.

Nick Stuart: Rude.

Richard Parker: No, you know what’s rude? I asked him for five bucks, five bucks, and he acted like he didn’t have any money on him. The man has a private jet and I can’t even get five dollars? You think you know someone sometimes.

As Hanlon gets up to his feet, he drills Youngblood across the face with a forearm strike. Youngblood drops to one knee from the shot. Hanlon then bounces off the ropes and as he gets close to Youngblood, Brandon is ready for him as he connects with a release overhead belly-to-belly suplex that sends Hanlon flying across the ring! As Hanlon scrambles to his feet, he is clotheslined into the corner by Youngblood who follows it up with a series of boots to the midsection until Hanlon is sitting in the corner. Youngblood yanks Hanlon up to his feet and hotshots him across the top rope before dropping him with a German Suplex into the corner.

Nick Stuart: Ouch!

Richard Parker: Blood for the Blood God, Hanlon is next up on the list!

Nick Stuart: Youngblood is already back up to his feet and is stomping away at Hanlon, each boot heavier than the last.

Richard Parker: Yeah, it’s all of those muscles on top of muscles!

Youngblood then yanks Hanlon off of the mat and drills him with a stiff forearm that nearly puts Hanlon out on his feet. He plants his boot into the midsection of Hanlon before connecting with a snap suplex. Hanlon sits up, but is immediately yanked down to the mat as Youngblood goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Youngblood wastes no time as he gets back up to his feet and drags Hayes up with him before connecting with a stiff right before whipping him into the ropes and connecting with a clothesline that lifts Hayes into the air before sending him crashing to the mat. Hanlon pushes himself back up to his feet, but is met with a slicing elbow across the face that drops him to one knee. Youngblood wraps his arms around Hanlon before connecting with a gutwrench suplex into a power bomb, going for another cover in the process.

ONE!

TWO!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Youngblood just abusing Hanlon in the last few moments here with a flurry of offense that has definitely shaken Hanlon, but not put him down for the count.

Richard Parker: You’ve got to stop Youngblood before he gets on any kind of roll. That momentum causes his muscles to grown even more.

Nick Stuart: Stop it.

Richard Parker: What?! I read it in a book!

Youngblood, instead of getting up to his feet, quickly mounts Hanlon and pummels him with a series of open-handed palm strikes to the face and jaw of the champion. Youngblood then reaches down and grabs the back of Hanlon’s skull before pulling him off the mat and smashing his face into the top turnbuckle. Youngblood hoists Hanlon onto the top turnbuckle and clubs him repeatedly in the back.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

Hanlon sits on the top turnbuckle, dazed, before he falls backwards with his boots hooking on the top turnbuckle, putting him into the Tree of Woe. Youngblood moves to the opposite corner before running full speed at Hanlon and connecting with a running knee to the exposed midsection.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon looks like he’s in a world of pain now.

Richard Parker: Yeah, no kidding. He just had the air driven out of him, his muscles are contracting, and he is helpless to do anything about it as he is just hanging there!

Youngblood runs to the opposite corner and then connects with another running knee to Hanlon’s midsection. Hayes groans in pain as Youngblood unhooks the boots of the young star. Hanlon lies on the mat, coughing into it, as Youngblood stands above him. He reaches down and yanks Hanlon up to his mat by the back of his pants before drilling a forearm into his lower back. Hanlon drops to both knees from the shot, but Youngblood pulls him up and connects with another one.

CRACK!

Richard Parker: Youngblood is looking to dismantle Hanlon before our very eyes. There’s no remorse in what he is doing, he is simply doing what he must to get what he believes is his.

Nick Stuart: We all know how much the Universal Title means to Youngblood. Since losing it to Phil Atken last year, his mind and mission has been on one thing and one thing only — getting the title back. He hasn’t had another chance since then and he’s not letting this one slip through his fingers.

Youngblood looks at Hanlon, on both knees, before he bounces off the ropes and slams his boot into the face of the Universal Champion. Hanlon slumps forward from the shot as Youngblood reaches down and deadlifts Hanlon off of the mat and into a Belly to Back Suplex!

Hanlon lies there on the mat, his body exhausted, but Youngblood isn’t done with him as he yanks him off of the mat and whips him into the ropes before connecting with a ring-rattling, soul-crushing spinebuster in the center of the ring!

He then covers Hanlon.

ONE!

TWO!

THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Hanlon manages to get his right shoulder up just in the nick of time.

Richard Parker: That’s impressive considering the ass-kicking he’s received here for the last few minutes.

Nick Stuart: I have no idea where Hanlon finds it sometime, but you can tell he is going to have to be destroyed beyond recognition if he’s not walking out of the T-Mobile Arena tonight as the Universal Champion.

Richard Parker: I don’t think Youngblood will mind doing that if it comes to that.

Youngblood sits on the canvas, looking at Timo, but not questioning the count. He looks over at Hanlon, whose red chest is heaving. Brandon makes his way up to his feet and drags Hanlon up with him. Youngblood pushes Hanlon into the ropes and Timo warns him to pull Hanlon off of the ropes. Brandon shoots him a look and Timo slowly backs away.

He then connects with a knife-edge chop to the bare chest of the upstar champion.

THWACK!

Youngblood fires off a forearm to the face of Hanlon for good measure.

CRACK!

Brandon looks at Hanlon, who is still standing, but in a world of hurt before he connects with another knife-edge chop and forearm combo.

THWACK!

CRACK!

And again.

THWACK!

CRACK!

And again.

THWACK!

CRACK!

As he loads up for another one, Timo steps in between and orders Youngblood to stand down. Brandon’s jaw hardens as he looks at Timo, but holds his hands up as Hanlon collapses to both knees. Blood trickles out of the fresh wounds from the hardest-hitting knife-edge chopper in the game.

Nick Stuart: Pure brutality from Youngblood there!

Richard Parker: Youngblood is teaching Hanlon a lesson and it is a lesson that Hanlon will never forget. When you have the top title in the game, you’re going to get everyone’s best shot and there will always be somebody ready to take the title away from you.

Nick Stuart: That’s a harsh, but much needed lesson.

Richard Parker: It’s just life.

Nick Stuart: Are you okay?

Richard Parker: Never better.

Hanlon, knuckles pressed into the mat, pushes himself off of the mat and uses the ropes to help himself up. Youngblood moves around Bolamba and cracks another knife-edge chop across the chest of Hanlon. Hayes grimaces from the shot, but shakes his head as he walks away from Youngblood.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Youngblood follows after him, grabs him by the shoulder, and spins him around before connecting with another knife-edge chop.

CRACK!

Hanlon continues to shake his head, refusing to let the pain overcome him any longer as he walks away from Youngblood.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Youngblood, refusing to let the young star away from him, comes up behind him again and spins him back around. Specks of blood fly off from Hanlon as he does so and Youngblood connects with another knife-edge chop.

CRACK!

Hanlon stands there, blood dripping down his chest, with his jaw set and his eyes large and enraged.

HIT ME AGAIN!

Youngblood smiles as he connects with another one.

CRACK!

Hanlon shakes his head.

HIT ME HARDER!

Youngblood is more than happy to oblige.

CRACK!

Hanlon grins before he smashes his head into Youngblood’s, stunning the challenger. Hanlon then drills him with a right hand that rocks Youngblood into the ropes. Hanlon walks over and connects with an open-handed palm slap across the chest of Youngblood.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: Holy hell, these two are just beating the shit out of one another at this point.

Richard Parker: And the fans love it!

Nick Stuart: Well, maybe not all the fans as we still have Farthington and FLAMBERGE sitting in the front row and they don’t look amused.

Richard Parker: You will not speak of the GREAT AND MAGNIFICENT CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON LIKE THAT!

Youngblood stumbles away from Hanlon, who doesn’t give him an inch, and connects with a scoop slam in the center of the ring. The Diamond of the ReVival is right back up to his feet, but Hanlon is ready for him and connects with another scoop slam! Brandon gets right back only to be scoop slammed to the mat again.

Richard Parker: YES! THE GREATEST MOVE EVER! THE SCOOP SLAM PARTY!

Nick Stuart: You only like it because Hanlon used it on Jiles for what felt like twenty minutes.

Richard Parker: And then won the Universal Title! Of course I love it!

Nick Stuart: Well, I don’t think Youngblood would agree with you.

Richard Parker: To be fair, he doesn’t agree with me on anything.

As Youngblood gets back up to his feet again, Hanlon hoists him onto his shoulder and holds him there while walking around the ring. He then moves to a corner and explodes out of the corner before connecting with a running power slam! Youngblood lies prone in the middle of the ring until Hanlon hooks his leg for the pin.

ONE!

TWO!

THR—NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Not sure how Youngblood kicked out right there!

Richard Parker: Much like Hanlon, you are going to have to wheel Youngblood out of here on a stretcher if he’s leaving here without the title. One of these men will not be the same after tonight.

Hanlon wastes no time as he gets up to his feet and starts to pull Youngblood up to his feet only for Brandon to plant his fist into the midsection of the Universal Champion. Hanlon stumbles away as Youngblood gets back up to his feet. Brandon follows behind him and puts him into a side waist lock. Hanlon plants his fist into the forehead of Youngblood, but it doesn’t deter the Tower of Babel who hoists Hanlon up and drops him with a backdrop driver!

Nick Stuart: He just dropped Hanlon on the back of his skull and I don’t know if Hayes is going to be able to continue on in this match.

Richard Parker: You want to go tell Hanlon that? Because I promise you that kid isn’t going out like that.

Youngblood gets back up to his feet and watches as Hanlon, eyes glassed over, pushes himself up to his feet and holds onto the ropes. Hanlon stumbles, falling down to one knee as Youngblood walks over to him and helps him up. Youngblood looks at the young star, the man with his title, and then looks over at Timo.

YOU SEE HIM?! YOU’RE GOING TO LET THIS CONTINUE?!

Timo walks over, looks at Hanlon, who definitely doesn’t look right. Hanlon though pushes Timo away and then smashes his forearm into the face of Youngblood. The shot rocks Youngblood who takes a few steps backwards as a result of the shot. Brandon places his hand on his jaw and as he takes a step towards Hanlon, he is met with a discus elbow that drops Youngblood to one knee. Hanlon grits his teeth as he looks down at Youngblood and pulls him up before connecting with a spinning forearm that puts Youngblood flat on his back.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Hanlon ROARS to the crowd as he slams his fist into his chest, flecks of dried blood flying off his body as he does so. He reaches down and yanks Youngblood off of the mat before whipping him into the rope and connecting with a lariat that stuns the Tower of Babel as he bounces back into the ropes. As he rebounds off the ropes, Hanlon connects with another lariat that sends Youngblood crashing to the mat. Brandon pushes himself back up to a vertical base and Hanlon begins to tee off on him with a series of big right hands that rock Youngblood, sending beads of sweat flying off his forehead and into the crowd.

Hanlon then spins his forearm around, each rotation faster then the last before he connects a haymaker that sends Youngblood flying onto his shoulder and flips over onto his stomach.

Nick Stuart: THE EVENT HORIZON IS ALIVE!

Richard Parker: Man, I would be in the fetal position.

Nick Stuart: You were in the fetal position when Anna Daniels took one look at you backstage.

Richard Parker: For… reasons.

With Youngblood dazed, Hanlon takes a few steps back, the swagger fully back in him now. He begins to recall his golden days as he kicks the imaginary dirt and acts like he is fixing the gloves on his hands and points at Youngblood as if he has a bat in his hand. He holds it there for a moment as Youngblood, unaware of all of this, gets to his feet, dazed. He then connects with a double axe-handled baseball swing to the jaw of Youngblood that rocks the former Universal Champion.

Hanlon darts out of the ring as Youngblood seems out on his feet and runs around the ring before stopping in front of Farthington and FLAMBERGE, smiling at both of them, before he slides back into the ring. He rushes at Youngblood who plants a boot straight in his midsection. He then spins Hanlon around and connects with a Half-Nelson Suplex!

BOOM!

He then drapes an arm across the chest of the Universal Champion.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THR—NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: HANLON JUST GOT HIS LEFT SHOULDER UP IN THE NICK OF TIME!

Richard Parker: You play stupid games and this is what happens! You are in a match to defend the Universal Title — WHY ARE YOU DOING ALL OF THESE THEATRICS! PUT YOUNGBLOOD OUT AND RETAIN!

Nick Stuart: That might just be the difference in this match. He had Youngblood exactly where he wanted him and ended up wasting a golden opportunity.

Richard Parker: Just foolish. AND DON’T STOP AND GRIN AT LORD FARTHINGTON! THAT IS FOOLISH IN ALL THE WAYS!

Timo checks on both men, chests heaving, but exhausted. After he is satisfied that both men are still in the match, he begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

Youngblood is the first to stir, aware of what is happening as he tries to sit up, but feels the pain wracking his body.

THREE!

FOUR!

Hanlon’s eyes shoot open, as he realizes the colossal mistake he just made. He rolls onto his stomach, wanting to take an ice bath in the worst way possible.

FIVE!

SIX!

Brandon plants his knuckles into the mat and begins to push himself up, though his body betrays him a bit.

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Hanlon grabs onto the middle rope and begins to drag himself up to his feet.

NINE!

Youngblood stands.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Hanlon stands.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Count is broken and they lock eyes with one another, both beaten and battered, but neither out of it quite yet.

Nick Stuart: And both men are trading punches with one another, with neither man wearing down or willing to give an inch.

Richard Parker: If these two kill each other in the middle of the ring, can Farthington come in, pin them both, and take the Universal Title?

Nick Stuart: …no.

Richard Parker: Damn.

With each shot the two trade with one another, sweat flies off, dried blood chips away, and the crowd is riveted. Youngblood connects with a stiff forearm that rocks Hanlon, pushing him into the ropes. Hanlon uses the ropes to rebound and connect with a forearm of his own that Youngblood eats in the mouth. Brandon’s head snaps to the side and he stands there for a moment before spitting out the pooled blood onto the mat. He then rocks Hanlon with a stiff uppercut that sends Hanlon crashing into the corner.

As Youngblood rushes full speed at Hanlon, the Universal Champion gets his boot up and stops him dead in his tracks. Hanlon puts Brandon into a full nelson and looks to be setting him up for a snap dragon suplex, but Youngblood blocks it and manages to hip toss Hayes to free him from the full nelson. Hanlon gets up to his feet and before Youngblood is able to react, Hayes connects with a knee strike to the face that drops Youngblood to one knee.

Hanlon then slips behind him, puts him into a full nelson, and connects with a snap dragon suplex into the corner with Youngblood’s skull crashing against the middle turnbuckle.

Hanlon then drags Youngblood out of the corner and goes for the cover.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THRE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: I have no idea how, but Youngblood manages to get a right shoulder up just as Timo’s hand was coming crashing to the mat for a third time.

Richard Parker: After the way that Youngblood’s head collided with the turnbuckle, I thought that it was over.

Nick Stuart: I think so did Hanlon as he is looking in disbelief as Youngblood managing to stay in this match.

Richard Parker: You’ve got to put Youngblood six feet under! This is what he does, he lives for moments like this, and there are few big match wrestlers that step to the plate exactly like the Tower of Babel does.

Hanlon sits there, shaking his head, before he gets up to his feet. He drags Youngblood up to his feet and connects with a forearm shot before he whips Youngblood into the ropes. He pops Youngblood into the air and looks for The Epoch only for Youngblood to come down, wrap his arm around Hanlon’s neck and spikes him into the mat with a DDT!

Nick Stuart: NO WAY! Youngblood looked like he was going to be Epoched and he managed to flip it into a DDT!

Richard Parker: The word flip and Youngblood in the same sentence never go together.

Youngblood rolls Hanlon over and goes for the cover.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THRE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: COUNT FASTER, TIMO!

Nick Stuart: It looked like Hanlon was out for it and he managed to get a right shoulder up! He’s digging down deep and refuses to see his second reign end as quickly as his first reign did.

Richard Parker: I just… I have dinner reservations! Let’s go!

Nick Stuart: …with who?

Richard Parker: I mean, I invited Farthington. I hope he shows.

Youngblood makes his way up to his feet, his eyes laser focused upon the Event Horizon. The Tower of Babel pulls down the top half of his singlet and leans down before hoisting Hanlon off of the mat and holds him upside down before spiking him head first into the mat with the Karelin Lift!

Nick Stuart: That has to be it!

Richard Parker: We might need an ambulance for Hanlon!

Youngblood then goes for the cover.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THREE!

…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: HANLON GOT HIS RIGHT FOOT ON THE BOTTOM ROPE! TIMO JUST SAW IT AT THE LAST MOMENT AND HE IS INFORMING YOUNGBLOOD!

Richard Parker: Oh, if LOOKS could KILL! Youngblood looks like he wants to YEET Timo out of the ring and I don’t think I would mind in the least bit!

Youngblood is on his feet, hands on his hips, as Timo confirms he got his foot on the rope. Brandon shakes his head as he looks down at the leg still stradling the bottom rope. Youngblood smashes his boot into the knee of Hanlon, who immediately pulls it back and starts groaning in pain. Youngblood shakes his head as he yanks Hanlon up to his feet and is met with an uppercut for his troubles.

Brandon fires back with a stiff knee to the body. He goes to whip Hanlon into the ropes only for Hayes to reverse it. As Youngblood rebounds off the ropes, Hanlon pops Youngblood into the air and connects with the 180 degree spinout chokeslam!

Nick Stuart: THE EPOCH! HANLON IS GOING TO RETAIN!!

Richard Parker: WHERE THE HELL DID HANLON PULL THAT OUT FROM?!

Hanlon then collapses on top of Youngblood.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THREE!

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…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: THIS TIME YOUNGBLOOD MANAGED TO GET HIS FOOT ON THE BOTTOM ROPE!

Richard Parker: WHY ARE YOU SO LOUD ALL OF THE TIME?!

Hanlon rolls off of Youngblood and stares up at Timo, not believing that Youngblood managed to kick out after all that.

The ‘Hammerin’ One looks at Youngblood, his chest heaving from the hell that they’ve put their bodies through in this match. He gets up to his feet and drags Youngblood up with him. How Youngblood managed to get his foot on the bottom rope baffles Hanlon considering the amount of dead weight he is having to carry in this moment.

Hanlon goes to whip Youngblood into the ropes, but Youngblood manages to reverse it. As Hanlon comes back to him, Youngblood lifts him up over his head and holds him up there. Youngblood, face determined, holds him up there for what feels like an eternity in an impressive display of strength before he lowers him slightly and then launches Hanlon into the air. As Hanlon comes crashing down to Earth, Youngblood bounces off t he ropes and connects with a spear to the ribs of Hanlon, driving him into the mat in the process.

Nick Stuart: Where did Youngblood manage to get the strength to do that?! He looked dead to the world just a moment ago.

Richard Parker: I think it’s time to fill you in on the truth, Nick.

Nick Stuart: What are you talking about?

Richard Parker: Youngblood is a robot and is controlled by ChatGPT.

Nick Stuart: …go away.

Youngblood lies next to Hanlon, his chest heaving, before he slowly sits up. Brandon begins to pull himself up to his feet and as he reaches down to grab Hanlon, the Universal Champion pulls him into a small package and Timo immediately begins his count.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THR— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Youngblood just manages to kick out! He’s now back up to his feet and Hanlon isn’t too far behind him, grabbing his ribs in the process. Youngblood kicks Hanlon in the midsection, bounces off the ropes, and goes for a knee to the side of the head, but Hanlon just moves out of the way!

Richard Parker: Good call there by Hanlon because his brains would have been scrambled.

Nick Stuart: Youngblood turns around and Hanlon connects with a jumping shoulder sit-out jawbreaker!

Richard Parker: Where did he pull that out from?!

Having connected with the Flash Point, Hanlon crawls over and drapes an arm across Youngblood’s chest.

ONE!

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TWO!

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…

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THREE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: Youngblood managed to kick out and Hanlon’s eyes are about as wide as they go.

Nick Stuart: Disbelief etched across the face of Hanlon, who thought that was it.

Richard Parker: I don’t even think Youngblood has opened his eyes. He just acted out of instinct there!

Nick Stuart: This is why Youngblood is a legend, he’s got another gear in there that most people simply can’t fathom.

Hanlon sits on the mat and looks over at Youngblood, who is starting to open his eyes and looks around. He slowly sits up and locks eyes with Hanlon, whose mustache is drenched with sweat. Hanlon gets to his knees and Youngblood slowly starts to do the same. Their eyes are locked as if they are two wolves bound to battle to the death. As they get to their feet, Timo backs up, not wanting to get in the middle of what is about to happen.

Youngblood explodes out of his stance and drives his shoulder into the stomach of Hanlon and drives him into the nearby corner. The Tower of Babel proceeds to slam his shoulder repeatedly into the midsection of Hanlon until Hanlon is virtually sitting on the middle turnbuckle. Youngblood takes a few steps back and then rushes at Hanlon who rolls out of the way. Youngblood collides with the turnbuckle and bounces back into an uppercut from Hanlon.

Nick Stuart: The youth and agility of Hanlon has come in handy at key moments in this match and none may have been bigger than in that moment!

Richard Parker: Yeah, but Youngblood is on his knees and he needs to do something in a hurry.

Hanlon hops onto the second turnbuckle and leaps off, looking for a double axe-handle to the back of Youngblood’s neck only for the Diamond of the ReVival to plant his fist into Hanlon’s stomach. Hanlon stumbles away from Youngblood, but the crafty Youngblood yanks Hanlon back and connects with a Half-Nelson Suplex!

He then goes for the cover on Hanlon.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THREE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: And Hanlon JUST manages to get his shoulder up!

Richard Parker: Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Youngblood slams his fist repeatedly into the mat as he thought he’d put Hanlon away there. Hayes rolls onto his stomach and his head is buried into the mat. Youngblood immediately floats over to the back of Hanlon and wraps his massive forearm around the throat of Hanlon and pulls back, looking to choke him out.

Nick Stuart: And Hanlon is flailing wildly, trying to get the beast off of him.

Richard Parker: Easier said than done if you ask me!

Nick Stuart: Hanlon isn’t giving up though, even as Timo is asking him. You can see that Youngblood has it cinched in tight and Hanlon’s face is starting to turn blue.

Richard Parker: Tap, Hayes, just tap!

Hanlon though can’t hear Youngblood. He tries to turn his hips to get Youngblood off of his lower back, but Youngblood has the positional advantage. He reaches out with his right arm to get the bottom rope while he tries to peel off Youngblood’s arm from his neck.

Hayes looks at the bottom rope, right there, but yet so far away. His finger tips graze the bottom rope, but they need a bit more length to get there.

And he fades.

Fades.

Fa—

F—

…

…

…

…

…

And then he lunges forward and manages to wrap his hand around the bottom rope.

Nick Stuart: And Timo is beginning his count for the rope break!

Richard Parker: Youngblood quickly breaks it and gets up to his feet. He is deadlifting Hanlon off of the mat and looks to be going for another belly to back suplex.

Nick Stuart: That he is, but Hanlon is holding onto the rope and Youngblood is having difficulty extricating him from it!

Youngblood drops Hanlon on the mat and walks over to Hayes, standing over him in the process. As he does, Hanlon explodes off the mat and lifts Youngblood onto his shoulders before slamming him onto the mat with a Samoan Drop. Both men scramble to their feet with Hanlon managing to get his boot into Youngblood’s midsection before connecting with a Death Valley Driver. Hanlon then hooks Youngblood’s leg to begin the count.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THREE— NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Youngblood out of nowhere with the kickout!

Richard Parker: These two are going to be dead and we’re going to have to have a tournament to crown a new champion at this rate.

Hanlon pushes himself up to his feet, the exhaustion settling in. He reaches down and grabs Youngblood, bringing him up to his feet. Youngblood throws a punch into Hanlon’s midsection, but the Event Horizon follows it up with a stiff knee to the midsection. Hayes then connects with a clubbing forearm across the back of the Tower of Babel.

Hanlon then hoists Youngblood onto his shoulders in a torture rack. He holds him there for a moment, his eyes narrowing, as he walks over to the second turnbuckle and ascends.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon setting Youngblood up for the Super Massive. If he hits this, we might need a stretcher for the Diamond of the ReVival!

Richard Parker: Youngblood fighting back though, throwing elbows to the side of Hanlon’s head.

Hanlon tries to brush the shots off, but Youngblood uses everything he has left in his tank to repeatedly slam his elbow into the side of Hanlon’s skull until Hayes has no choice but to let Youngblood go. Brandon lands on the mat as Hanlon takes a moment to gather himself.

Youngblood then leaps to his feet and rushes to Hanlon, standing on the bottom turnbuckle. He wraps his arms around Hanlon’s waist, who is still on the second turnbuckle. Youngblood climbs onto the second turnbuckle with Hanlon and then…

Nick Stuart: RANDALLPLEX OFF THE SECOND TURNBUCKLE!

Richard Parker: Hanlon got dropped on his head HARD!

Nick Stuart: If Youngblood can get to Hanlon, he could win this thing!

Brandon, his body running on empty, crawls over to Hanlon and hooks the leg after the Randallplex from the second turnbuckle and Timo begins his count.

ONE!

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TWO!

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THREE!

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…

…

…

DING DING DING!

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Nick Stuart: THE TOWER OF BABEL, THE DIAMOND OF THE REVIVAL, THE SUPLEX DADDY HIMSELF HAS DONE IT! HE HAS REGAINED THE UNIVERSAL TITLE!

Richard Parker: Absolutely surreal.

Vince Howard: YOUR WINNER… AND NEW UNIVERSAL CHAMPION… BRANDON! YOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUNG! BLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Youngblood is slow to his feet as Timo Bolamba gathers the title and walks over to Youngblood before raising his arm in victory. He then hands the title to Youngblood who can’t believe he has captured the title for a second time. He holds the title up high for everyone in the T-Mobile Arena and then clutches it against his chest before collapsing onto the mat, falling to his knees.

As he is kneeling with the Universal Title, he just looks at the title he has battled to reclaim as Hanlon lies next to him, his chest heaving.

Nick Stuart: What a hellacious match from these two.

Richard Parker: That is an understatement. These two laid it all on the line and we now have our second Universal Champion in the ReVival era.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon has nothing to be disappointed in—

Richard Parker: He couldn’t successfully defend the title for a second time! That’s going to eat away at him.

Nick Stuart: Yes, but—

Voice: What is this, a re-run?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

A STICKY SITUATION

The words stop Youngblood’s music as soon as it’s started, replacing it with a chorus of boos as a man steps out into the stage with a microphone in his hand. 

Tyler Adrian Best. 

Nick Stuart: What the hell is he doing out here?!

Richard Parker: The main event of Tropical Turmoil is about to go face to face!

Dressed in his street clothes, with a mile wide shithead smirk across his face, the Grandson of God slowly makes his way down to the ramp, monologing all the way. 

TAB: Brandon Oldguard, PRIME Universal Champion. I can hardly believe my eyes. It feels like just yesterday, when I was tossing your dusty ass over the ropes and eliminating you from the Culture Shock Battle Royal. Anyone remember who won that thing? Anybody? Hello, is this thing on?

Tyler taps on the microphone, sending ear piercing feedback throughout the arena as the crowd absolutely boos him into oblivion. Youngblood is still catching his breath, sitting on his knees holding the Universal Championship in his arms. Tyler slides into the ring, and Brandon Youngblood gets to his feet. Sweat is still pouring down his body. Meanwhile Hayes Hanlon is barely starting to come to across the ring. 

TAB: You know, it’s fitting, Brandon. You were always the monolith white knight that charged himself with protecting PRIME from the big, bad Best Family. And now it’s my time. Now it’s my shot. Now it’s you holding onto the Universal Championship, and let me ask you something, bud. Who exactly… is going to protect you, and everyone you care so much about?

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Youngblood darts up into TAB’s face. Nose to nose.

TAB: Brandon, on god, no cap, I don’t think you understand how sticky of a situation you’re in.

The camera zooms out to reveal FLAMBERGE and Farthington standing over Youngblood’s shoulders. Youngblood lunges forward, but Farthington, FLAMBERGE, and Best descend on Youngblood like a pack of wolves. FLAMBERGE kicks Youngblood’s knee out, Farthington drives a right hand across his face. TAB drives a foot into Youngblood’s midsection. Farthington peels off, and smashes Hayes Hanlon. Rapid fire kicks to the stomach fire off as FLAMBERGE has Youngblood in a full nelson, sitting on his knees.

Nick Stuart: You still a Farthington fan now, Richard?

…

Richard Parker: Of course, Nick. They are destroying Youngblood! Look at this! It’s brilliant!

Tyler bounces off the ropes, and comes back, planting a knee across Youngblood’s face. TAB jumps up to his feet, and hugs FLAMBERGE while Youngblood skids halfway across the ring. The Universal Championship lying in the middle of the ring.

Richard Parker: I KNEEEEEEEEED A HEEEEEEEEERO!!!!!

Nick Stuart: What?

Richard Parker: Kid just hit Youngblood with his Dad’s move! Ha!

Farthington drives a few more boots into Hanlon, before spilling the Event Horizon to the arena floor. He walks back towards the two young lads and places his arms firmly around the two young men’s shoulders.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

The three look up, and see Nate Colton and Coral Avalon sprinting down out of the back. Colton and Avalon slide into the ring, and the three glue men slide out of the ring, FLAMBERGE kicks a downed Hanlon on the way by, as Colton lunges over the ropes reaching for him. FLAMBERGE grins at Colton and winks. The three glue boys unite on the ramp. Farthington, FLAMBERGE, and TAB. Another big group hug, and smiles all around as they walk to the back.

Nick Stuart: This is a thing.

Richard Parker: Oh yeah, pretty big thing.

ALL

IS

GLUE