ReVival 30

A CRIMINAL OFFENSE

“I beg to differ, Praporshchik Stanislav, I thought the Minsk Tractor Works was the superior tractor factory.”

“Nonsense Alexei, the Chelyabinsk Tractor Plant fulfilled each and every Five-Year Plan and then some!”

Perhaps there’s more interesting conversations to be had, but not if you’re Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan. This debate between them has been going on for decades. The two Russian’s approach the rear entrance of the Footprint Center and continue this debate with one another. The sun has since dipped beneath the horizon, and nightfall begins to envelop Arizona.

But by the time the two men get to within forty feet of the door, all hell breaks loose.

Sirens.

Running footsteps.

Lights.

Two Arizona State Police cars bathe Ivan and Alexei in light as they screech to a halt on either side of them and about eight police officers surround them. The door to the back entrance of the building opens and Lindsay Troy, with arms crossed over her chest, emerges and watches from afar. She says nothing, but the police have plenty to say as one officer approaches the stunned foreigners.

Policeman: Which one of you is Alexei Ruslan?

Ruslan looks at Ivan, and then at the officer.

Alexei Ruslan: My name is Karpov.

The officer looks back at Troy for a moment, and she nods, and he looks back at Alexei. Ivan growls.

Ivan Stanislav: What is the meaning of this? We have work to do…

Two police officers point tasers at Stanislav, who seems unconcerned but remains silent.

Policeman: Alexei Ruslan. Does the name Sopov Yaroslavovich mean anything to you?

Ruslan shrugs.

Alexei Ruslan: Nope.

Policeman: Do you know it’s a felony to slash ambulance tires? That includes putting someone else up to it.

Alexei Ruslan: Nope. But if I ever wish to take up tire-tread carving, that is good to know. Are we done here?

The officer shakes his head.

Policeman: ‘Fraid not. Our friends in New Mexico have some questions for you. So we can do this one of two ways: You can come with us peacefully, or we can drag you with us. The choice is yours.

Stanislav bellows over the officers at Troy and hollers to her in Russian.

Ivan Stanislav: Иди сюда и прекрати это, Трой, пока я не начал бросать полицейских! (Get over here and stop this, Troy, before I start yeeting police officers!)

Lindsay Troy: (shrugging) Go ahead, Ivan. I’m sure no harm will come to you whatsoever if you do.

Ivan sets his jaw and curses under his breath. He clenches his fists as the officers brace themselves for a worst-case scenario. But it’s Alexei who grips Stanislav’s forearm and squeezes.

Alexei Ruslan: Let them take me, Praporshchik. This is all bullshit, you know it, but I look forward to making horses-asses out of all of them.

Stanislav speaks loudly for all the officers to hear.

Ivan Stanislav: You will all pay for treating a foreign dignitary with such disrespect!

The officer ignores Stanislav and addresses Alexei again.

Policeman: Do you have any weapons on you before we take you into custody?

Ruslan speaks immediately.

Alexei Ruslan: Nope.

Ivan stares at Alexei. Hard. Ruslan relents after a moment and with a flurry, removes a multitude of items and hands them to an officer.

A baton, handcuffs, taser, zip ties, duct tape, a bottle of chloroform, a razor blade, a switchblade knife, piano wire… he finally pauses and looks at Ivan.

Alexei Ruslan: We could be here for a while. Praporshchik, you go on ahead. I’ll talk to you afterwards, okay?

Stanislav frowns and nods.

Ivan Stanislav: I see you soon, Alexei Gregorovich. At least this night cannot get any worse, right? (gazing up beyond the guards towards the entrance with a growl) And as for you, Lindsay Troy…

But she’s gone. He grunts and pushes through the officers, leaving his friend behind and entering the arena.

Surely this night couldn’t get any worse for Ivan Stanislav…

….could it?

TROPICAL TURMOIL QUALIFIER: CANCER JILES vs. REZIN

We cut to ringside for the start of our first match.

First though…

IVAN FOR KING BASTARD 2024
OH GREAT NOW WE’RE GOING TO GIVE SID 17 NEW NICKNAMES WITH THE WORD GLUE
THE GLUEMINATI ARE EVERYWHERE
DIG THROUGH THE DITCHES AND LOOK FOR PHIL ATKINS AND SLAM IN THE BACK OF MY GLUEMOBILE
THERE IS NO NUTRITIONAL VALUE IN SAD CAKE
FUCKING JAKE
WE IN PHOENIX DO NOT CLAIM JOE FONTAINE AS ONE OF OURS
AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE PAIR OF FOOTPRINTS AT THE FOOTPRINT CENTER, FOR IT WAS CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON CARRYING YOU
BRING ON THE UNDULATING STEEL
I BOUGHT A TICKET FOR THIS SHOW BUT I WILL SELL THIS TICKET FOR THE REVIVAL 31 SHOW BECAUSE AERIAL KICKBOXING
THE COLTONS ARE NO WALTONS
BENNY COLTON HAS A FOREHEAD FETISH
BRING BACK MUSSY
HEY FLAMBO, I’VE GOT A NECK YOU CAN COLLECT RIGHT HERE
SIR, I’D LIKE TO SEND BACK THESE CHICKENTENDERS I ORDERED; THEY ARE WAY TOO HARD
REV THIRTY IS THE NEW REV TWENTY TWO

Nick Stuart: Welcome one and all to ReVival Thirty, live in Phoenix, Arizona! We are on the doorstep of a MONUMENTAL Pay-Per-View event, Tropical Turmoil!

Richard Parker: Every one of those handsome sons of guns in the Glueminati will cash in their opportunity at singles gold – pretty soon we may ALL be swimming in glue!

Nick Stuart: Putting that mental image aside – we will also see the Turmoil Match, six competitors facing off elimination style to determine the new #1 Contender for the Universal Championship!

Richard Parker: Paxton Ray and Jared Sykes – maybe two of the most polar opposite guys I can think of in PRIME – are already in. Tonight, we found out who fills out the rest of the field!

Nick Stuart: Any predictions, partner?

Richard Parker: I don’t care what happens as long as ol’ Caner Jiles gets eliminated from this thing.

Nick Stuart: And don’t forget our main event tonight – tag team action! Winds of Change shocked the world when they viciously assaulted Coral Avalon at ReVival 29 and aligned themself with the Glueminati. Tonight, Joe Fontaine of the Winds tags with Lord Farthington for the first time ever against another unique duo, the Universal Champion Brandon Youngblood and Justine Calvin!

Richard Parker: Oh, look at this poor idiot walking down the ramp!

Continuing a recent trend, they all done goofed with Cancer Jiles’s usual entrance. He’s a little more controlled, a little more Cool, than the last time this happened in a COOLympic Curtain Jerk, but the volume is all messed up and “I Am The Cool” is alternately way too quiet and blaring extremely loudly for a moment out of a random arena speaker. They didn’t even pretend to get pyro for him this time. But hey – at least this time, he’s not already in the ring when we first see him.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Tropical Turmoil Qualifier! Introducing first, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania…he is a former Universal Champion…THE GREEK GOD OF COOL! CANCERRRRRRRR JIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILES!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: I appreciate that you’re not even trying to use your words anymore.

Richard Parker: BOOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“I Have Prepared a Statement” by Whores blasts with full clarity and pristine audio quality as pillars of smoke shoot up along the edges of the entrance ramp. We see clips of a ship being pulled over a mountain and a damn fine cup of coffee on PRIMEview as Rezin emerges – emerges is the wrong word, he stumbles – into frame. We’re not sure what exactly he’s saying but we can tell it’s about normies and he’s very adamant about punching the shit out of the air in his immediate vicinity as he pratfalls and stumblesaults down the ramp.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…hailing from Indianapolis, Indiana! He is ALSO a former Universal Champion…THE ESCAPE ARTIST! RRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!

Nick Stuart: Rezin doesn’t look like he wants to waste any time!

Richard Parker: He keeps falling on his face but he’s getting to the ring faster than he would if he were walking!

On cue, Rezin stumbles under the bottom rope, roars and gives a well-intenioned Double Bird to the fans in attendance before smashing Jiles in the mush with a closed fist! Referee Timo Bolamba signals for the bell!

DING DING

Nick Stuart: Rezin is firing away!

Rezin begins throwing these wild raining haymakers towards Jiles’s head and upper body. A few catch Jiles and he’s forced to take a step or two back before he immediately falls to the mat and curls himself into a protective cocoon near the ropes! Rezin is relentless in his frenzied assault as Jiles sneaks a few fingertips onto the bottom rope. Bolamba begins a five count for Rezin to back off, which Rezin sells like his mother’s honor has been insulted (which – ok, let’s not get into that one, that’s going to really divert our attention). Rezin is soon barking his head off at Bolamba as he steps away – Jiles seizes the opportunity and lunges forward, clipping Rezin’s leg and dropping him to the mat.

Nick Stuart: Picture Perfect Knee Clip! Clever sequence to flip the script by Jiles there.

Richard Parker: Don’t overcompensate for how much I speak my truth about Jiles by showering him with all this praise, Nick – I hope Cancer Jiles stubs his big toe twice a day!

Nick Stuart: Jiles is mounting some offense here, but wait – Rezin has slipped out of Jiles’s grasp! Jiles immediately goes for a thumb to the eye – Rezin didn’t like that one!

SLAP

OHHHHHHH!

Richard Parker: Rezin just slapped Jiles in the mouth for poking him in the eye!

Nick Stuart: Frustration already at a boiling point!

The two begin trading blows back and forth in the middle of the ring – open palm strikes from Rezin, knife edge chops from Jiles. After an extended and increasingly heated exchange, the two men’s chests both glow pinkish red and they come nose to nose, roaring like a majestic lion and a pissed off goat at each other. The roar ends when Jiles grasps and rips a truly awful nipple twist. Rezin clutches his chest and falls back to the mat like he got hit by a cinder block. Jiles closes the distance and goes for the cover!

ONE!

TWO – Rezin rolls into the ropes!

Still clutching his chest, and crying out in agony, he kicks and writhes and slips his way out of the grasp of the Coolympian before falling out of the ring and onto the floor. Jiles is…displeased. He takes a moment, runs his hand through his maybe-more-white-than-blonde-these-days-but-otherwise-perfect hair and follows Rezin to the outside.

As Jiles’s feet hit the floor…

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KICK!!

Richard Parker: HA! Rezin suckered him in!

Nick Stuart: More haymakers onto the fallen Cancer Jiles, and he’s connecting with all of them! He’s got him by the head now, rolling Jiles into the ring, and here he goes! Top rope time!

Richard Parker: PUT HIM IN A BODYBAAAAAAAAG!

Rezin gathers his balance on the top rope and measures the prone Jiles. As he gathers himself, he looks out upon the raucous crowd and throws up the devil horns, positions himself with his back to Jiles, and then he LEAPS~~

…

Nick Stuart: REZINSAULT FROM THE TOP! HERE’S THE COVER!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-KICKOUUUUUUUUT!

Jiles shoots his shoulder up at two and a half to the crowd’s dismay. Rezin doesn’t let it deter him and wastes no time – he grabs Jiles by the face and launches forward with a headbutt! Another one! And now Rezin just bites Jiles right on the top of his skull! Timo Bolamba has no choice but to initiate another five out to get things under control.

Timo Bolamba: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR – Rezin, no teeth, you know that!

Rezin: YOU DAMB NORMIES ARE ALWAYS OPPRESSING THE USE OF THINGS THAT COME FROM NATURE, COME ON – IT’S NOT LIKE I HAVE SCIMITARS IN MY MOUTH LIKE ARTHUR PL-EARHGHGHHH!

Jiles connects flush with a high leaping dropkick that sends Rezin staggering! He rebounds off the ropes – German Suplex by Jiles! Rezin somehow rolls with the momentum of the slam and staggers, stumbles, and whiffs as he swings wildly in the air – a second German Suplex! This one keeps Rezin down on the mat. Seeing the opportunity to let loose with some frustrations, Jiles reveals not just one, but TWO curled index fingers that protrude from the very hands he uses all the time in his daily life. He positions himself behind Rezin, reaches down, and one index finger is in each cheek, pulling violently outward.

Richard Parker: Look at this disgusting tactic! I hope Rezin bites his fingers off!

Nick Stuart: Bolamba calling things tightly here, he’s already begun counting to get Jiles to release this illegal hold – Jiles releases at three there. You know, how many times can a wrestler toe that five count line before the referee might go for the full disqualification?

Richard Parker: It depends on the referee, but if it was ME – I would have DQ’d ol’ Caner Jiles by now.

Nick Stuart: For what?

Richard Parker: Pick a reason.

Jiles works over Rezin’s shins with some driving stomps, and after stepping on Rezin’s left hand for good measure, he pulls Rezin to his feet…gets a headlock on Rezin…and drops him with a Very Basic Bitch-Ass DDT! He covers and hooks both legs!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Rezin pops up, and he’s a raging ball of fire! – until he realizes that his brain was just spiked on the ground, and he needs his brain, so he stumbles through the ropes to the outside again. Jiles is now PISSED. He storms out of the ring, makes a beeline for the staggering Rezin (who’s acting like he’s blind in both eyes and somehow also his nose), and does the thing.

Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER!

Richard Parker: NO!!

Rezin splats hard to the mat, and maybe it’s the earlier brain attack, maybe it’s just his damn heart, but he’s immediately working very very hard to get back to his feet…and he does! His fists are up! He’s ready to pay Jiles back in a big way! He’s a righteous warrior of VENGEANCE and he’s stumbling over his own boots, and yep. He just cracked his own head into the ring post…but he’s still on his feet! Until…

CRACK

Nick Stuart: TERMINAL CANCER AGAIN!

Rezin, for a moment, seems Light As A Feather, Stiff As A Board, before he suddenly crashes face first to the floor. Timo Bolamba actively leans his torso outside the ropes and yells at the wrestlers to bring it back into the ring. For a while Jiles is too cool to listen, and Rezin is too dead to listen. As boos rain down upon him, kING eGG finally chooses to exert the effort necessary to heave Rezin back into the ring. Rezin flops and rolls and writhes almost like a dying trout. Jiles goes for a pretty casual cover.

ONE!

TWO!

…

TH-ROLLTHROUGH! Rezin has Cancer in a Crucifix! High stack!

ONE!

TWO!

…

THRE-ELBOW GETS FREE! Jiles gets the elbow free! A few stiff shots into Rezin’s face, another cover!

ONE!

Rezin pops out, and locks in the Cabrón Clutch on the mat! Both men are fighting through this submission hold HARD, but Rezin refuses to release his grip! Timo Bolamba is right on top of the action, looking to see if Cancer Jiles submits!

TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

Richard Parker: TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!

Nick Stuart: Rezin is about to become the next entrant in the Turmoil Match!

This hold is in DEEP, and Jiles’s face is fuschia. He’s huffing and puffing and doing everything he can to stay conscious in the hold as the fans continue expressing their wishes for this man to tap out.

Of course, many in attendance would be equally OK with Jiles being legitimately choked out, but that goes without saying.

Jiles seems to catch a bit of a second wind and starts fighting back. As the men flail and jerk around and do everything in their power to either Hold On or Get Out, we see Jiles tilt his head forward before violently swinging it back – cracking the back of his head squarely into Rezin’s nose! Rezin clutches at his nose as a trickle of blood comes down! Cancer wastes no time and goes to bite Rezin right in the hands that he’s using to protect his face!

Timo Bolamba: One! Two! Three! Four – Cancer, you know it too, no teeth!

Timo physically pushes Jiles off of Rezin and the Coolympian gets to his feet. The two begin to argue as Cancer motions to stay on the attack – Timo’s head is underneath Jiles’s outreached shoulder as he tries to help create space.

Rezin: YOU GODDAMB BASTARD I’M GONNA BLEAKRHG!

And Bolamba doesn’t see it.

The yellow mist.

Nick Stuart: Oh no, that’s the Coolympian Yoljk! Rezin’s been blinded!

And it’s a third Terminal Cancer.

Richard Parker: No, NO! KICKOUT REZIN!

ONE!

TWO!

…

…..

THREE!

DING DING DING

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, advancing to the Turmoil Match at Tropical Turmoil…Cancerrrrrr JILES!

Richard Parker: Well partner, my night is officially ruined.

Nick Stuart: There’s a reason Rezin became Universal Champion – he’s one of the best in the business, he’s the toughest competitor pound-for-pound in any locker room he’s in, and he’s more slippery than a damp frog in a bowl of Jello! But tonight, Jiles was willing to go that one slimy step further.

Richard Parker: I hope Cancer Jiles has a beautiful child one day that loves Lego, and always leaves them on the floor, so every day when he wakes up he steps on a whole PILE of them.

Nick Stuart: Healthy emotional processing here at ReVival 30!

We then cut backstage.

BULLY FOR YOU

The camera is trained on the wrestler’s entrance at the Footprint Center in Phoenix. It creaks open, and stepping through is one Arthur Pleasant, carrying his duffel bag, followed by the massive Russian Yuri Reznikov. They walk with purpose until they aren’t anymore. Their stoppage is because something is in their path.

Or more like someone. The camera reveals The Anglo Luchador, arms crossed over his uncharacteristically plain gray t-shirt.

Arthur Pleasant: Oh look, it’s The Mask. Are you here to end my career outside of the ring, you bully? I listened to that podcast and…

TAL: Shut the fuck up. It’s my turn to talk now.

Yuri lurches ever so slightly forward as if he’s going to take care of a problem before it becomes one, and the Luchador is just as ready to swing on someone even though he has a foot and several pounds on him. Before the tension can spark, Pleasant holds his charge back.

Arthur Pleasant: All you do is talk…

TAL: No, we’re not doing this again. I said shut the fuck up you gaslighting piece of shit.

The luchador shoots Yuri a look pointed with daggers at the end before continuing.

TAL: I’ve had fucking enough of this bullshit. I can take you trying to gaslight me like I’m some kind of wet-behind-the-ears groundling, because you’re stupid enough to try and play games with someone who can put you in the ground. But you fucked with my family. And that “can” is teetering dangerously close to “will.”

Arthur swiftly jams his words into the minuscule breath between beats in the Luchador’s monologue.

Arthur Pleasant: See, Yuri? He’s bullying me again! I’m surprised since this isn’t Ja-

TAL: I said shut. Up.

He picks up a water bottle and flings it past Pleasant and Yuri with Jose Alvarado speed and Ricky “Wild Thing” Vaughn proximity to their ears.

TAL: You put my family in danger, and all this bully talk? It’s about to become real. Too real. I will show you how much of a goddamn bully I can be. Whether or not you can comprehend it afterwards depends on how well your body can recover, but I’m sick of this shit. Sick of it. There’s a contract waiting for you for a match at Tropical Turmoil in Lindsay Troy’s office. You will sign it.

There’s a pause. Arthur looks around mockingly before answering.

Arthur Pleasant: Well then. And if I don’t? Hmm.

TAL: I didn’t think you’d be brazen or stupid enough to dodge the challenge since you fucking with me is sign number one that you wanted this match in the first place. But you know what, I’ll humor you for a second. Look me in the eyes.

Arthur Pleasant: Oh geez, now he’s going to act tough…

TAL: I fucking said LOOK ME IN THE EYES, YOU SPINELESS SACK OF SHIT.

Yuri grumbles again looking to get into a fight backstage, but again, Arthur holds him back.

Arthur Pleasant: I get it. I get it. Fine. I’ll go sign your stupid contract. And…

TAL: Save it for someone who still has a capacity to listen to you. I’m done. You’ve talked to me enough, dickhead. See you in San Diego.

The Luchador turns around and walks off with purpose. Arthur turns to Yuri, who is looking pensively for the first time in this run. Arthur, however, grins like the Cheshire Cat.

Arthur Pleasant: Yuri, my boy, I think we’ve got him right where we want him.

The camera cuts to elsewhere in the arena.

IT WASN’T THAT HARD TO GET A SWORD, TAL

Deep within the halls of the Footprint Center in Phoenix, AZ, The Muse is busy unboxing merchandise and loading her PRIMEporium wares off of a pallet and onto a 6 wheel cart.

She furrows her brows as she reads a box written in crayon that says “NOT STANDING 4 JON TEE SHIRTS,” and opens the box, which clearly is exactly what it states it is not. After throwing the box in a garbage bin, she looks up and waves as Eddie Cross walks up.

Anna Daniels: How’s it going, Ed?

Whichever of the Multitudes is leading tonight is trying to keep things casual, given all the chaos that is sure to ensue.

Eddie Cross: It’s good. You seen Gamble? I have a fist-sized present for him.

As if to emphasize the point, he holds up his hand and curls it into a fist, then stereotypically cracks his knuckles for effect.

Anna Daniels: No. But if you want to wreck something in the meantime, you can always dig his shitty t-shirts out of the trash.

The vessel points to the trash can.

Anna Daniels: And you shouldn’t be cracking your knuckles. Too cliché. Not to mention your hands pay the price for it later.

In a way, she’s relieved that his focus is on Gamble. Fuck knows this boy has a tendency of jumping into stuff that isn’t really his problem. And making too many enemies too quickly would only get his ass kicked down the line.

Eddie looks at the trash then back to The Muse.

Eddie Cross: That sounds like a problem for future me. Right now, the only thing I am worried about my hands paying the price for is messing up Tony’s face more than it already is.

Anna can’t help but smile as she stocks up on the ever increasing mounds of t-shirts and miscellaneous nonsense to sell. She hastily throws some Kohime Mori Frozen Pork Buns (“Your mouth don’t want none unless it’s pork buns, hun!”) in the microwave and begins the cooking process.

Anna Daniels: Listen, it’s great that you’re keeping your focus on who you need to. Honestly, given some of the stuff around here, we were a bit worried about that. But you gotta save that shit up for when you get him in the ring.

A pause.

Anna Daniels: Or at least when you get him alone. You know as well as we do he has his mooks on standby. He wants you to come after him now that he thinks he has the upper hand. We won’t always be around to help, so don’t charge yourself into an ambush if you can help it.

Of course, there’s always a doubt that he can help it. He’s a youngster with a lot to learn still. Besides, even some oldheads never learned that lesson. The timer on the food nuking machine goes off.

Anna Daniels: But if you’re going to do it anyway, at least attempt to be aware of your surroundings and get the first swing in so you don’t look like a coward.

The pork buns are offered on a paper plate. She motions the plate towards him.

Anna Daniels: Want one?

He shakes his head at the pork buns and relies with his gravelly voice.

Eddie Cross: I suppose you are right. But I’m not likely to get him one on one unless I get Lindsay to agree to ban GAS from the ring.

Suddenly he has a look of either having a great idea or perhaps he shouldn’t have had that burrito for lunch.

Eddie Cross: If I can prove to LT that the odds are never going to be in my favor, maybe she will make them a little more even.

There’s a shrug from the Muse as she chomps into a pork bun. Frozen can never be quite as good as fresh, but they come close. She swallows.

Anna Daniels: We would think it would be obvious, right? Even with Morty and us out of the mix, as we should be, it would still be…what? Three on one with those laughing matter goons lurking about? In the words of a wise man, the numbers don’t lie and they spell disaster for you.

And somewhere in the distance, you might be able to hear a man rambling about genetic freaks and booty daddies and FAAAAT ASSES. If the owls pop up, just say he’s talking about Jared Sykes or something. She shakes her head.

Anna Daniels: Then again, she might’ve been busy with the other eight hundred acres of bullshit to spot this even with her flurry of murder owls. So how are you going to make her notice this problem?

He shrugs and pulls his fist up again.

Eddie Cross: So, there is this really old movie where the main guy says “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Except the him in this case is a her? I haven’t worked that part of the analogy out yet.

He grabs one of the pork buns and takes a bite. Not bad. He paces a bit before swallowing and continuing.

Eddie Cross: I don’t know Lindsay real well, but I do know she isn’t a fan of Gamble. However, I think she IS a fan of seeing him get his ass kicked. The way I see it, the only way I am going to prove that I won’t ever get to him while they are around is to actually go after him.

The vessel’s brows raise for a moment. It’s a stupid idea. But sometimes, you have to be stupid to get your point across.

Anna Daniels: If by our life and death we can protect you, we will.

She snatches her pork bun and wanders to the shadowy backrooms of the PRIMEporium. Munching on the food some more, the Intense champion scrounges through her black market backstock of deathmatch weaponry. He’ll need something he can wield halfway decently, light, and somewhat easy to hide. Finally, her hand snags a kendo stick from the bargain bin of kendo sticks. Swallowing the last of the bun, she marches back to the pondering Edward and hands the stick to him.

Anna Daniels: You have our sword.

Settle down, Aragorn. This ain’t even that serious.

He blinks twice as he looks down and takes the weapon.

Eddie Cross: But the Kendo Stick is analogous for a katana, not a two handed long sword so this is more like… oh what is it that MacLeod guy is always saying on that show Dave likes? “There can be only one?”

He swings it in the air and imagines leaving a wake of samurai behind him like Yojimbo. It’ll do.

Eddie Cross: Either way, I gotta go see a man about a scar.

DICTATED, BUT NOT READ

We cut from the latest events in the saga of Eddie Cross into a pre-taped vignette, evident by the EARLIER TODAY chyron in the top right.

Our scene: a simple table draped with PRIME logos. Behind it, a chair. On top of the table, a microphone.

Shot from straight on, we can see the backs of some people we have to assume are journalists, or because it’s pro wrestling maybe “journalists.” There is a light thrum of whispered anticipation and wondering.

“I said ‘kiss me, you’re beautiful’

These are truly the last days'”

In the arena as the video plays on the PRIME*Tron, there is only one reaction to this cue.

WHOOOOOOOO!

No one in the room remarks upon how strange it is to play walk-out music for a press conference. The C&C guitars play at a frankly elevator music-esque volume for another second and…

WHOOOOOOOO!

The cheer rises, and then ends in….a question mark?

He sits down at the table, the cameras framing that pursed jaw, the jet black hair, the designer sunglasses, the obnoxious athleisure. It’s all there, except…

“Hey, you’re not Chandler Tsonda.”

Right. That. The voice of one of the assembled journalists says the obvious thing: this is a totally different guy.

Handsome, athletic build, Asian-American, real jock energy, but absolutely not Chandler Tsonda. Of note is an AirPod in his left ear.

The man at the podium cocks his head to one side.

“Chandler Tsonda”: Of course I am. You wanna see my driver’s license?

Journalist #1: Respectfully, you aren’t, and I do.

“Chandler Tsonda”: (ignoring the comment) I have a statement that I’d like to read, and then I’ll take questions from everyone except this guy.

This leaves the room with a bizarre vibe and the journalists, many of whom are looking at each other with what we assume are total WTF faces, just watch as the Doppeltsonda reads from a sheet of paper. He has all the authenticity of a guy reading his lines for the first time.

“Chandler Tsonda”: Good afternoon, pimps (gender neutral). It is I, Chandler Tsonda, having a very normal one, and here to fulfill my responsibility to the incredible PRIME fans, and my obligation to Lindsay Troy and the excellent people who make this company run.

The Doppeltsonda looks as if he may be struggling to read behind the thick, dark sunglasses. But he continues.

“Chandler Tsonda”: The last you saw of me was Paxton Ray, an underhanded dick and, even worse, a lousy draw, putting the boots to me like the first day of kickball season. Though my body is ailing, my spirit is not broken. I stand before you here today as the model, nay….The Model Citizen, of resilience.

Doppeltsonda does a weird little finger point to the wrong place, then realizes where the actual camera is, and redirects his finger point so that he’s face to camera.

“Chandler Tsonda”: To all the Tsuperstars out there, I want you to know that if you’re hurt, or embarrassed, or bullied, what we owe each other is to get back on that horse. And that’s why I’m here today, to show I won’t hide my head. I won’t tuck my tail and run. So I’ll have some just desserts for that Lafayette pig shit soon enough. But for now: (pumping fist in the air) I’m still standing. I’m still strong!

Journalist #1: Did you just plagiarize the 2002 film Antwone Fisher?

“Chandler Tsonda”: (taps AirPod) …No?

Journalist #1: Is that a question?

“Chandler Tsonda”: Call the guy Tucker Carlson and tell him you’re only interested in real journalists. Democracy dies in darkness, something like that.

An incredibly awkward pause ensues. It is clear that Doppeltsonda is reciting lines, presumably ones coming over that left Airpod.

“Chandler Tsonda”: That is to say, uhhhh, go do your little song and dance for Elon, Tucker Carlson. Democracy dies in darkness. U-S-A! U-S-A!

No one else chants with Doppeltsonda.

“Chandler Tsonda”: Next question.

And who wouldn’t want to ask a question to an obvious fake? Another person tries a different tack.

Journalist #2: I guess I’ll give this a shot. I imagine that it would’ve been a real storybook comeback moment for Chandler to contend for a shot at the Universal Title in his hometown of San Diego. Can you ask him his state of mind about what’s next?

“Chandler Tsonda”: (incredulous) Ask who?

Journalist #2: Oh c’mon.

“Chandler Tsonda”: You want to ask me, Chandler Tsonda, that question directly?

Journalist #2: We’re really doing this? You’re clearly on the phone with Chandler Tsonda.

“Chandler Tsonda”: (points to ear) I’m listening to a podcast about the history of Juneteenth. Oh, the white mainstream media wants me to silence the voice of black liberation, and the building of a more just society?! Well, I won’t take it. Abolish the policeman in your head, and abolish the policing of my ears. The AirPod stays, Jefferson Davis.

Journalist #2: I don’t even…(sighs) ok Chandler Tsonda, what’s your state of mind, given all the things I mentioned?

“Chandler Tsonda”: Thank you for asking me that question. As a native son of Southern California, a born-and-bred Padre, a dyed-in-the-wool San Diegan, I’m hurting about missing the Tropical Turmoil match. Anybody who knows me knows I didn’t come back to take L’s. But I did, and I’ve got to face it like a man, and take accountability for my results in the ring.

None of the assembled media seem to have the desire, or perhaps the patience, to point out the on-its-face farce occurring.

“Chandler Tsonda”: But I will be addressing Paxton Roy (taps earpiece), sorry, Paxton Ray tonight face-to-face. This shit ain’t over. Next question.

Journalist #3: Ok, why isn’t Chandler Tsonda here tonight?

The Not Sultan of Style looks visibly annoyed, but seems to know a losing battle when he sees one. He answers the question as if it’s been directed at him, not about him.

“Chandler Tsonda”: I came here tonight to show everyone that I’m doing fine! Better than fine, really great. I’m not injured, I’m not embarrassed, I’m not having an existential crisis about what my life means if I can’t compete at a high level in the ring anymore. Natch.

One final brave soul ventures to play this strangest of games.

Journalist #4: Should we expect to see, um, the original recipe Chandler Tsonda at Tropical Turmoil? Is he coming back to PRIME?

A long silence ensues. There are evidently a lot of words coming fast and furious over the airwaves to the Tstunt double, who maybe isn’t being paid enough to improvise. He just puts on a dumb, handsome guy smile and speaks directly into the camera.

“Chandler Tsonda”: I have no fucking clue. Hey, you guys know where to get my parking validated?

That’s the end of that. We then cut back to ringside.

BOBBY DEAN vs. DARIN ZION

Vince Howard: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first…

“Happy Song” by Bring Me The Horizon hits the arena speakers to a chorus of boos, which is a crime because that song absolutely slaps. Seriously, go listen to it right now.

Vince Howard: From Chicago, Illinois and weighing in tonight at two-hundred and twenty-five pounds…

Darin Zion, proud herald of the Love Convoy, steps out onto the stage. The crowd isn’t thrilled, which we now learn has nothing to do with his choice of theme music (which, again, is a banger) but rather the man himself. This makes sense, because when you stan Vickie Hall as hard as ol’ DZ then the contempt comes with the territory.

Vince Howard: DAAAAAAAARIIIIIIIIIN ZIIIIIIIION!!

Zion makes his way to the ring, and despite his attempt to spread the love on his path from the stage the crowd just ain’t having it.

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

“You’re The Best” by Joe Esposito begins to play, and despite his antics the last time he worked in PRIME the crowd seems genuinely happy as the returning Bobby Dean walks out in front of the crowd.

Vince Howard: Hailing from Houston, Texas and weighing in at three hundred and sixty-nine pounds…

Bobby takes his sweet time making his way down the ramp, pausing to grab a fistfull of popcorn from one fan as he makes his journey to the ring.

Vince Howard: BEAUTIFUL BOBBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY DEAN!!!

DING DING

Zion wastes no time in trying to chop down the bigger man. With chops. Also some punches and at least one kick to the midsection which, let’s face it, isn’t going to do a whole lot against that level of padding. Bobby manages to shove him away, but the smaller and quicker Zion doesn’t give him an inch. He’s right back on the attack, trying to club away at the most beautiful Bandit.

Eventually Zion drives Bobby back towards the ropes, then grabs his arm and tries to send him for an Irish whip. Bobby makes it halfway across the ring before he slows, stops, and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Nick Stuart: It’s all Darin Zion here in the early going, and I think the ring rust is starting to show.

Richard Parker: Sure, let’s go with that.

After a few seconds, Bobby stands back up and continues running towards the ropes. He hits, rebounds, and then pauses one more time. All the while Zion looks confused. Just as it looks like Bobby is about to start chugging again, Zion bolts across the ring and connects with a running dropkick that sends Dean to the mat.

Tough Love dashes in and tries to knot up Dean’s legs for a submission attempt, but Bobby kicks off with both feet and Zion has to scramble to get back to his feet.

Nick Stuart: Zion keeping the pressure on. He’s building up a head of steam here.

Richard Parker: Don’t say steam too loud, Bobby will think we’re having a clambake.

Nick Stuart: Wh-why?

Zion connects with a running dropkick as Bobby is just finding his footing, and he’s close enough to the ropes that the impact sends the big man through them and out to the arena floor.

Richard Parker: I don’t know, but it sounded good in my head when I said it.

Outside the ring, Bobby lifts the apron and reaches underneath for something.

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean on the hunt.

Richard Parker: I swear to god if it’s another chicken table…

It is another chicken table. Which is to say, a folding table that someone has adorned with an entire spread from KFC.

Nick Stuart: Snack time at ringside as Bobby Dean gets a treat courtesy of our friends at KFC!

Richard Parker: This talent exchange has gone too far. Way too far.

The beautiful man from Honalee is quite careful to make sure that he doesn’t spill anything while unfolding the legs of the table, which really is an engineering marvel when you think about it. Like that’s a whole-ass table full of food, and not a single bit of it is wasted while both sets of legs are extended. The physics and geometry needed to make that work would surely get math a stern warning in PRIME if it wasn’t already banned for life.

Richard Parker: You ever make a gravy shake, Nick?

The fans at home can’t see it, but right now Nick Stuart is staring at his broadcast partner. He’s not even blinking.

Nick Stuart: What.

Richard Parker: A gravy shake. So the first thing you do is get a container of mashed potatoes, and then a separate container of gravy. You’ll need more than what they normally put on the spuds, otherwise everything gets too thick.

Meanwhile, Bobby is taking the opportunity to recharge his batteries by snacking on a drumstick. Extra crispy, the way the lord intended.

Richard Parker: Then you dump the gravy into the mashed potatoes, and stir the bejesus out of it. Like you’ve really got to get it good and blended.

With that particular piece of chicken done and dusted, Bobby reaches for a biscuit only to have it slapped out of his hand. Enter Darin Zion. If the Colonel’s original recipe has eleven herbs and spices, then the secret ingredient for tonight’s recipe is love. Tough love.

Nick Stuart: And how is this a shake exactly?

Richard Parker: Well then you get a straw, and…

Zion flips the table. Literally. Just flips it right over, sending coleslaw and biscuits across the ringside area.

Nick Stuart: Okay. I think we’re good on the fluid dynamics of mashed potatoes. I’ve heard enough.

Richard Parker: I’m just saying it really hits the spot is all.

It should go without saying that having his snack batted away doesn’t sit well with the Beautiful Man from Honalee. Bobby stares daggers at Zion, who’s too busy berating his opponent to understand the white hot murder only a few feet away. Dean looks down at the scattered remains of his tasty ringside treat, and charges full speed into Zion and sends him reeling into the ring apron. An open handed slap resonates through the arena like a gunshot, and then Bobby rolls Zion into the ring before giving chase.

Nick Stuart: Well, Richard, it looks like you won’t be having one of those “shakes” tonight.

Richard Parker: Okay, real talk? If you thought I was going anywhere near a chicken dinner that a grown man pulled from under the ring then we need to get you therapy. All the therapy.

Nick Stuart: Bobby with a leg drop onto Zion, and now he’s making his way up the buckles.

Richard Parker: Correction, Nick. That’s buckle. Singular. One buckle. Uno buckle-o.

Bobby seems to fall in slow motion, descending ass-first onto the chest of Tough Love with his version of the Banzai Drop. Zion’s eyes go wide as the human hydraulic press crushes him under his massive bulk.

HoOoOooOoOoOOooooooonk.

That’s not his trademark taunt, but rather the sound of all the air being driven out of Darin Zion through every hole in his body.

Yes, even that one.

Richard Parker: All of my internal organs are screaming after watching that, Nick. They’re terrified that could be them one day. And I need them all. For drinking gravy shakes.

Bobby doesn’t stand, so the referee slides in for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

Nick Stuart: Darin Zion managed to get his arm over to the ropes. He’s not out of this fight yet!

Richard Parker: It’s damn impressive. After being crushed like that I don’t think I could continue.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know many people who could.

Richard Parker: Ol’ Dee Zee done got squashed like a pancake. A man-sized pancake. A mancake.

Zion rolls out onto the ring apron as Bobby gets to his feet. He reaches over the top rope to pull Zion back in, but Tough Love grabs him by the head and leaps down from the apron, which snaps Beautiful Bobby’s neck down across the top rope.

Nick Stuart: Smart move by Zion. This should buy him a little time to get his bearings and get back into this one.

Richard Parker: He should take a minute and make sure all of his internal organs are intact. That’s where I’d start.

Zion climbs back up onto the ring apron, then ascends the buckles as he waits for Dean to get back to his feet. Zion leaps from the top, and the missile dropkick finds its mark. Bobby hits the mat with a thud, and Zion quickly scurries over to try and make a cover.

Nick Stuart: Darin Zion showing off some high-flying offense. Could this be all?!

ONE!

Fun fact about Zion: he’s not above cheating a little if the situation calls for it.

Nick Stuart: And Zion has a handful of tights!

TWO!

Richard Parker: Which is dangerous for all of us. What’s the tensile strength of lycra? I’ll tell you – not tensile enough.

THR-

Nick Stuart: Bobby Dean manages to get the shoulder up just in time, and Zion is beside himself.

Richard Parker: Oh god are there two of him now?!

Nick Stuart: What? No. That’s not what that saying means.

Zion begins arguing with referee Ashley Barlow, who is very patient and not at all annoyed that she has to explain how counting works to yet another wrestler. Now back on his feet, Bobby lumbers across the ring.

Nick Stuart: Zion crushed in the corner by a massive body avalanche! He was arguing with the referee, and I don’t think he saw it coming.

Barlow has an expression on her face like she just dodged a bullet.

Richard Parker: Or a train.

Nick Stuart: Zion staggering out of the corner. Bobby with a kick to the midsection…

There’s a twinkle in Bobby’s eye and he grabs Zion and draws him in, taking great care to not expose any of his naughty bits before stuffing the Love Convoy member’s head into…

Ummm.

You know what? Maybe “member” wasn’t the best word to use there, given where Darin Zion’s head is currently positioned in relation to Bobby Dean’s anatomy. Not deleting it, just saying is all.

Richard Parker: I take back every mean thing I said, thoughts and prayers to Darin Zion in this trying time.

Zion flails, because of course he does. Most people would be desperate to escape this situation if they found themselves trapped inside Bobby Dean’s tights.

Nick Stuart: DEANER!

Unfortunately, it doesn’t change much.

Nick Stuart: WIENER!

Beautiful Bobby makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Dean gets to his feet and celebrates his victory.

Nick Stuart: A big win in his first match back in PRIME, and an early birthday present for Bobby Dean tonight!

Richard Parker: You know, someone should maybe check on Zion. That man’s head has been places and seen things. Inhuman things.

Nick Stuart: Fans, don’t go anywhere. We’ll have more action for you coming up after this!

We then cut to commercial.

COMMERCIAL: 24 HOUR RULE

MANATEE OF LA MANCHA – NOT A NATURE DOCUMENTARY

The scene cuts backstage to Matt Mills standing next to the ALIAS/Gamble Champion, Mortgomery Byrnes who has dressed impeccably for the occasion sporting an electric blue double-breasted suit, black dress shirt, and black satin tie (is it a tie we have seen before? Is it not? Only Morty knows for sure).

Matt Mills: Standing—-

Mortgomery Byrnes: Whoa. Stop right there.

Matt Mills: What’s wrong?

Mortgomery Byrnes: It’s obvious that the PRIME media is decidedly against all things G.A.S. up to and includin’ yours truly. Thereunto, we have decided to employ our own interviewer. So, you would be so kind as to fuck off, and allow my friend here the opportunity to audition and who knows, maybe you’ll learn somethin’.

The ALIAS Champion nudges Matt Mills off camera and replacing him is a short (five-eight short, short for Morty short). The shortish man with the slicked back blonde hair, pale-to-the-point-of-being-almost-an-albino, has a fashion sense can only be described as Ultra-Slim Tropical – khakis, sandals, and a bright orange tropical shirt with yellow palm trees. He speaks with an indistinguishable accent.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Please welcome, Johnnie Newsman!

Johnnie Newsman: Actually, it’s Juan.

Mortgomery Byrnes: You don’t look like a Juan.

Johnnie Newsman: It’s a long story involving insurgents, tyrannical warlords, civil unrest, and an escape across border resulting in massive bloodbath. It’s super-boring, t-b-h. But we aren’t here to talk about me, we’re here to talk about you, Mister Alias Champion.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Thank you, Johnnie.

Johnnie Newsman: Can I just say…I love the suit. The color, fantastic. There. I said it.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Thanks Johnnie. It’s called Ninety-Eight Blue.

Johnnie Newsman: It gets a hundred from me. A-plus. Now, it’s really super-exciting to be here with you, a member of G.A.S.! It’s…I’m gonna say it….you can’t stop me….no one can stop me….It’s a “Gas” to be here next to you. Tony Gamble, super awesome guy. What’s it like to work with him?

Mortgomery Byrnes: It’s somethin’ that took gettin’ used to but look at me now. A fuckin’ success story.

Johnnie Newsman: But, not many people feel the same way In fact, one might say, they are completely against you.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Absolutely.

Johnnie Newsman: They’re giant shit mountains if you ask me. In fact, they hate you so much they refuse to admit that aside from that battle royal, you are undefeated in 2023.

Montgomery Byrnes: Pretty fucked up, ain’t it?

Johnnie Newsman: Totes fucked up considering how huge accomplishment it is.

Mortgomery Byrnes: It is, Johnnie. And yeah, no one seems to want to acknowledge that. It’s very disrespectful knowin’ my hard work goes unappreciated. Look at where I was a year ago and look at where I am now. Where’s my recognition, huh? Where’s the praise? It’s fuckin’ hurtful.

Johnnie Newsman: O-M-G, that’s awful. Don’t worry, I will cry on the inside so you don’t have to. Your “hitlist”, if I can call it that….the list of names you have eliminated from competing for your ALIAS Championship….Wow. All I can say.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Ned Reform, Kenny Fuckpants, Darin Zion, Eddie Cross, Rodney Leon, they were outmatched and, in the case of Darin Zion, he just got unlucky. Sucks to be him. I beat’em all. And am I in the same conversation as Vickie Fuckin’ Hall, Brandon Youngblood, or even Anna Daniels? No. Why? Gamble Bias, that’s why. These jealous fucks are greener than that Kermit Frog. They say it ain’t easy bein’ green, but it ain’t a fuckin’ picnic bein’ me.

Johnnie Newsman: I can tell. It’s really annoying. I notice you forgot to mention Kohime Mori when going down your list of conquered opponents…..

Mortgomery Byrnes: Did I? Clearly, I miscommunicated. She is, of course, included in the list of those, who, I might remind everyone, will never, as long as I hold this championship, get another shot at it. But that’s in the past.

Johnnie Newsman: I was really pulling for you and Kohime but given choice between her and Tony Gamble? You made right decision. It looks like we’re running out of time, I just have two more questions for you before I let you go.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Go ahead.

Johnnie Newsman: If I get privilege of doing this again, can I get different name? Johnnie Newsman? So blah. Instead, can I get something that kicks balls? Like Johnnie Tsunami or something?

Mortgomery Byrnes: I’ll have to ask Tony and we’ll prognosticate the possibility of a return based on the performance of which you have given today and, if we make the decision to bring you on again, we will discuss the potential of givin’ you a different name de plum.

Johnnie Newsman: That’s super awesome, thank you. Now, finally, tell us what you have coming up. Everyone wants to know.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Unless Lindsay Troy continues this crucible to eliminate any successes of the Gamble Adoration Syndicate by forcin’ another opponent onto me, my next match should be against the motherless fuck that eliminated me from that Culture Shock battle royal, Abe Lick-shits!

Johnnie Newsman: Oh! Very clever! Because he is called Abe the Babe after the little piggie because he is pig with the shits.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Who’s the clever one now?

Johnnie Newsman: No, no, nooooo…I just drew inspiration from you because, come on now, you’re you and he gave eggs to the Cancer Jiles which, in my village growing up, a big no-no. You give another man eggs, you get your weiner chopped off. Yeah, they cut it right off.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Um…okay, anyway, Abe Little Piggie Fuckface got lucky. Right place, right time, circumstances put that prick into a particularly situationally advantageous moment where managed to blindside me and, and I use this term looser than a two dollar whore, earned a shot at my ALIAS Championship. But it’s a gamble, takiin’ me on. See, Abe fucked up. He thought he was just gettin’ a shot. But this is gonna be his only shot. And I ain’t just gonna beat him. I’m gonna pound that douchey fuckin’ face of him so bad, they won’t be able to tell the difference between him and the fuckin’ Elephant Man’s bloated, drowned, decomposed corpse.

Johnnie Newsman: I love that movie. Anthony Hopkins and John Hurt. Fantastic. But I don’t think he drowned.

Mortgomery Byrnes: Not helpin’ your chances, Johnnie.

Johnnie Newsman: Even if I sexed the pooch, I had a great time, for reals. Thank you.

Johnnie Newsman extends his hand to Mortgomery Byrnes who looks at it and walks off leaving Johnnie Newsman smiling and to, perchance, dream of a career as G.A.S.’s personal interviewer and Matt Mills to process what he just saw as the scene ends.

We then cut to elsewhere backstage.

WEEKEND CHECK-UP

As ReVival keeps on keeping on, we find ourselves in one of our many jaunts to the backstage area. The Glueminati locker room is a bit more tightly packed than it was at the last show, is that due to Sid Philip’s significant girth? I’ll never say.

Ask FLAMBERGE.

Anyway, while TAB is tied up probably cackling about something with his grandpappy and FLAMBERGE is out chasing a small fly that caught his line of sight a few minutes back, so instead we have just Cecilworth Farthington, Sid Philips and Joe Fontaine. Just three innocent dudes being guys. Cecilworth looks up from his well-jabbed telephonular device for a few seconds and decides that it’s probably worthwhile to start conversation as he slowly pulls out his gear from his bag, ahead of tonight’s big main event.

Cecilworth Farthington: Lads! Lovely to see you as always. I assume you both had magnificent weekends. I went to Mexico and threw a book at a man, which was rather therapeutic if I’m honest with you.

Joe Fontaine: Sweet! Me and Sid won some tag team titles!

Cecilworth looks at the shiny metal that sits between Joe and Sid on the bench.

Cecilworth Farthington: Of course you did! Never had any doubts of your tag team victory.

Cecilworth coughs for no real reason.

Cecilworth Farthington: Anyway.

Joe Fontaine: Anyway! Uh. Big night tonight! The biggest of nights! Biggerer? Nah. Probably not the right syntax for that word, is it?

Sid Phillips: I can’t with you.

Joe Fontaine: I mean, you can and you are, syntaxually speaking.

Sid Phillips: That’s not even a word. You just made that up. I can see the red line underneath it.

Joe Fontaine: No, you can’t. We’re talking to each other like two – sorry, Farthy, I mean three – cool dudes, as cool dudes would have human conversations. If you want, though, we could talk about the weather. I’m sure that’ll excite you.

Sid Phillips: Anything but that, please.

Maybe Joe and Sid would continue to bicker like the old married couple of brothers-in-law that they are until the end of time, but they do share space with another man, who coughs again.

Cecilworth Farthington: Speaking of red lines… I think we draw a big ole one of those tonight. Tonight, in tag team grappling action, we establish what the new era of PRIME is going to look like by taking down the old guard… and associates. Pesky associates.

Joe Fontaine: I wouldn’t mind taking the middle-aged guard down a few pegs, too, really. Just a lot of guards being broken in general. An all-around festival of guard-breaking.

Cecilworth Farthington: I mostly reserve my rage for the very old and the very poor. I can probably find a bit of space for middle-aged Russia victims though.

Sid nervously adjusts the tie on his very well-tailored suit.

Sid Phillips: How poor are we talking?

Cecilworth Farthington: You know it when you see it.

Joe Fontaine: So, Rezin?

Cecilworth thinks about this for a second, in a “The Thinker” level of deepitude and thoughtreadyness.

Cecilworth Farthington: I think that dude does it out of choice… and I don’t know how to feel about that.

Sid Phillips: I suggest that you should feel powerbombs. Uh, I mean, not that you should take them, ‘cause we’re all friends here. Just a general powerbomby feeling.

Cecilworth stops in his tracks and looks up and down at Sid, clearly having a “oh, I made this happen” moment of brief regret, but it is still very undeterred by the whole thing.

Cecilworth Farthington: Ya know who could do with some powerbombs? Brando and The Cal-van. I mean for a start, when even is Cal and how do you load it into a van? Exactly, thank you!

Joe rolls his shoulders, a motion that seems all too dangerous considering the expression on his face on the mention of “The Cal-van”.

Joe Fontaine: Farthy? I don’t want to load Cal into a van. I want to load her into an ambulance. Maybe one with the tires slashed by a nice cartoonish Russian man.

Cecilworth Farthington: You’re right, we should continue to get the Russian and the drone owner to all of our heavy lifting. It’s worked out so far! People are WAY madder at them… although I’m not giving Alexei my fucking number. No way, no how.

Sid Phillips: Seems unwise.

Joe Fontaine: That man knows how to use Google. Russian Google.

Cecilworth Farthington: Ruslan google.

Cecilworth chuckles to himself, it doesn’t really feel like he earned it if I’m honest with you.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, shit.

Joe seems awed. Sid… less so, judging from the palm on his forehead.

Sid Phillips: Did we have, I don’t know… a plan for dealing with the Deadbeat Suplex Dad and Lady Calzone? Because I know what my plan is, and I’m not even in the match.

Cecilworth Farthington: That’s very easy when your entire plan is “powerbomb”.

Cecilworth stops dead in his tracks for a second.

Cecilworth Farthington: In saying that, my entire plan is “choke someone”, so I’m not all that more creative when I think about it.

Sid Phillips: We could combine the two. There is, after all, such a thing as a “choke bomb”.

Cecilworth Farthington: Is this a no DQ match?

Joe and Sid don’t reply, instead sharing an awkward look between them.

Cecilworth Farthington: Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. So, Joe, how are you at the ole referee razzle dazzle?

Joe Fontaine: So, the problem with getting trained by a stupid idiot goody-two-shoes is that I’ve never done it before.

Cecilworth throws a fatherly arm around Joe and gives him a reassuring smile.

Cecilworth Farthington: I have so much to teach both of you.

Sid Phillips: Does it involve powerb–

Joe immediately puts a hand up to Sid’s mouth and shushes him.

Joe Fontaine: No, honey. No.

Cecilworth Farthington: It does involve good quality powerbombs but that’s why Joe’s role is so important…

Cecilworth’s “hug” is a little tighter now and he leans in closely to Joe, Cecilworth’s eyes quickly dart back to the ACE Network cameras, who, valuing the continued use of their collective arms, slowly start to leave The Glueminati’s locker room.

GAVE IS SUCH A STRONG WORD

Backstage.

The scene is one that we’ve seen play out countless times in the history of PRIME. Angelica Brooks, the lead member of our intrepid news team, stands with a microphone in her hand in front of a simple backdrop.

Angelica Brooks: My guest at this time is one half of the longest reigning Tag Team champions in PRIME history, and tonight will be competing in her first main event without her traditional partner.

Tonight the subject of her attention is Justine Calvin.

Angelica Brooks: Justine, you’ve found yourself in the crosshairs of Ivan Stanislav and his Red Army over the last few months, first with his comments backstage, and then two weeks ago when things escalated to a whole new level. Could you give us a little insight into what this has been like for you?

Justine stands already dressed to compete. You might not know it to look at her, but on the inside she’s a flood of emotion. While part of her works to get in the right mindset for competition, still another part has to remain hypervigilant against whatever locker room threat tries to descend upon her this week. If there’s anything she’d learned in the year that she’s been here, it’s that you’re never truly safe.

Justine Calvin: That… that wasn’t a good time, and that’s about the nicest way I can say it. I know he likes to throw his weight around; use his size to push people into getting his way. It’s a lot easier to do when you’re four times as big as the person you’re trying to intimidate, I guess. Two weeks ago there was a plan in place, and they executed it perfectly. I’ll give them that. I don’t think anyone likes to have control taken away from them, but being stuck there not able to do anything was… Yeah. That was awful. You know, I’ve been trying to process it, but even now I still don’t know that I have the words for it.

Angelica Brooks: Medical reports after that attack have been sparse to say the least. Is there anything that you’re able to share with us about the health of either Jared or yourself?

Justine’s right hand reflexively, perhaps instinctively, reaches for her left and begins massaging the taped wrist.

Justine Calvin: I had a pretty nasty cut from the cuffs. No infection or anything like that. Thankfully it didn’t go deep enough to do any muscle or tendon damage. Feels well enough that I shouldn’t have any problem hitting anybody, if that’s what folks are concerned with.

She shrugs.

Justine Calvin: About all I can say, really.

Angelica Brooks: And tonight you’re stepping into the ring against the newly-christened “Glueminati” in Cecilworth Farthington and Joe Fontaine.

Justine Calvin: Yep.

Despite the omnipresent danger that a locker room like this can present, she can’t help but to smile.

Justine Calvin: You know, I’ve been thinking about this recently. Joe and Sid, they got to learn from one of the best wrestlers of this generation in Coral Avalon, and they threw that all away when they didn’t get what they wanted fast enough. So now they’ve aligned themselves with Farthington, a world-class talent in his own right, and what’s the first thing that happens? Come up short again when it matters. I thought maybe I should send something nice to Dan Ryan and Jatt Starr for walking out of PWA-2 with those titles, because oh my god the expression on the Winds’ faces when that was over. Different mentor, same outcome, and now those boys are Joe-and-three when it counts. Thanks for the laugh, guys. Your girl needed it.

Angelica Brooks: As we all know, Joe Fontaine is someone you’re very familiar with, but this will be your first time in a ring with Cecilworth Farthington.

Justine draws a long breath and lets it out slowly, nodding to herself before she starts her answer.

Justine Calvin: It will, yeah. I wasn’t blowing smoke when I said he was world-class. The man has the pedigree and the list of accolades to back it up. My style doesn’t match-up so great next to his, so I need to be careful about overextending and getting caught. He’s a dangerous man in his own right, but now he’s got a collection of lost children to watch his back which means there’s a numbers game to worry about. But here’s the thing… I’m not going out there alone. Tonight I’m going to be standing side-by-side with the PRIME Universal Champion, which means I’ve got the best wrestler in the world watching my back. I hope those guys like suplexes, because they’re about to learn a few first-hand.

Angie nods and raises the microphone again, then stops as a third figure enters the frame. Jared Sykes looks quite relaxed for a man who’s spent the better part of the last few months as the target for a very large, very angry Russian. He’s dressed in street clothes tonight. One hand is buried in the pocket of his hoodie, but the other twirls a set of keys attached to a large metal ring.

Jared Sykes: Sorry to interrupt. Need to borrow Justine, if that’s cool.

It’s the first thing his partner notices.

Justine Calvin: I feel like I should be worried right now. Should I be worried? Who gave you their keys?

Jared Sykes: “Gave” is such a stro-

He cuts himself off when he sees the glare aimed in his direction. It’s not uncommon for him to refer to her eyes as “The Death Star,” both because of their tractor beam-like qualities, and also their ability to destroy a planet.

Jared Sykes: Yeah, you know what? Let’s go with “gave”. “Gave” works.

Justine Calvin: Jared.

Jared Sykes: It’s going to be fine, I swear. (pause) I think.

Now wide-eyed and nervous, Justine turns back to Angie.

Justine Calvin: I’m sorry, but I think I need to cut this short. I think something’s about to go sideways. Call it a hunch, or intuition, or… whatever.

The grin on Jared’s face does little to assuage her concerns. For her part Angie simply nods.

Jared Sykes: Sideways… Sideways might work, now that you mention it.

His grin blooms into a full-blown smile, which is disconcerting on its own. But it’s his next words that send a shiver screaming the length of Justine’s spine. To anyone who knows him well enough, it’s the scariest thing he can ever possibly say.

Jared Sykes: Relax. I have an idea.

And with that, we fade to the ringside area.

TROPICAL TURMOIL QUALIFIER: NATE COLTON vs. NOVA

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

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

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

The stormy sky fades, replaced by a field of stars. One of the stars shoots across the screen, and as the field of stars comes together to form the name of the PRIME icon.

NOVA

Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain” powers on.

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

At this moment, a spotlight hits the entrance ramp where Nova is knelt, one fist raised in the air. Smoke wafts up from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, swirling 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.

The lights of the Footprint Center 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.

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.

Vince Howard: His opponent…hailing from Evansville Indiana…weighing in at two-hundred fifty-five pounds…he is the Next Diamond! He is the former PRIME Five Star Champion! He is…NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE! COOOOOOOOOOOOOOLTON!

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, he makes another appeal to the fans.

The music fades.

Referee Jimmy Turnbull calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: And we are underway here with this Tropical Turmoil Match qualifier…the former 5 Star Champion, Nate Colton, looking to rebound after what many would consider and upset at the hands of Coral Avalon…

Richard Parker: Bet Avalon is regretting that now…given that he’s been abandoned by the Winds of Change for greener pastures…

Nick Stuart: I sincerely doubt that’s the case.

Richard Parker: Well Coral sabotaged them. If it wasn’t for him, they’d be PRIME Forever Tag Team Champions. And he did it to two people who looked up to him. He betrayed them. A real Judas move if ever there was one.

Nick Stuart: And across from him is the Hall of Famer, the Risen Star…

Richard Parker: Falling star.

Nick Stuart: Richard–

Richard Parker: Like splat. Like yeeted into the ozone by Ivan Stanislav. And brutalized by Paxton Ray.

Nick Stuart: And how much of that has to do with Hoyt–

Richard Parker: Don’t you DARE take the Lord’s name in vain!

Nick Stuart: Nova is in a bit of a valley. But he’s been there before. We saw that at UltraViolence just a few months ago…nobody thought he had a legitimate chance to defeat Brandon Youngblood, but he defied the odds and got the biggest win of his ReVival career.

Richard Parker: Flukes happen. And then the ball rolls over.

Colton and Nova size each other up, The Risen Star looking up to the Next Diamond. They quickly tie up, with Nate muscling Nova into the ropes, requiring Jimmy Turnbull to call for the clean break. Perhaps it’s a surprise to the former Universal Champion because of what he has been facing recently, but the clean break happens, Colton backing up a few steps before beckoning him forward. Nova obliges, another tight collar and elbow tie up turning into a side headlock from Colton, his hands locking stiff, Nova’s fingers grabbing at the grip. Small joint manipulation allows him to break things up, and, with Colton going for another tie up, he is caught off guard by a deep armdrag takeover.

Nate Colton bounces back to his feet quickly, but Nova is on the scene, throwing himself and hitting another arm drag. The Next Diamond is back to his feet quickly, but not before getting hit with a running dropkick that drives him into the corner.

Nick Stuart: Nova has shown, even if some think his best days are behind him, that he is able to hit with the best of them.

Colton tries to collect himself, but Nova is charging in on him, trying to keep the momentum going. A flying body splash should connect. Should. But The Next Diamond catches him in flight, burying him into the canvas with a stiff STO that shakes the ring. A lateral press quickly follows.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

Colton isn’t surprised by this, grabbing onto a chinlock on the Risen Star. Nova fights back to his feet, trying to get those hands off him, but this time, he struggles. It isn’t until he hits a few elbows backward that he’s able to get some relief, and when he does, he hooks Colton’s arm, hiptossing him back to the canvas. Colton tries to scramble, but is hit in the back of the head with a jumping calf kick to the back of the head. Nova then bounces off the ropes, launching from the bottom rope over with a body splash. He hooks the leg.

ONE

TWO

Nick Stuart: Lot’s of action to start this one off!

Richard Parker: There is a snap to everything. Which is surprising. I mean, Nova is technically dead, and have you seen the pictures of that number following Colton around?

Nick Stuart: Richard…it’s unprofessional to–

Richard Parker: That woman could dance the Charleston…she could beatbox…she could be filming videos shaving her armpits. Doesn’t change anything. Still hot. Indiana boy punching WAAAAY out of his league.

Nick Stuart: I would be remiss to not mention that we here in PRIME do not condone the reporting of one Savannah Scandal in regards to all this.

Richard Parker: Lather them up with Barbasol and just go to town. Someone will pay for it. Not me. Definitely not me. Not even if done with a cheap pink razor.

All this weird fetish talk totally didn’t happen on air, especially not as Colton tries to shake the cobwebs from the blow of the kick. Nova is up, and, with a seated Nate, he throws a kick that sounds throughout the Footprint Center. Lots of ooowies there. A close shave. Wait…no…nothing about that. After all, it isn’t beautiful woman armpits. SO ANYWAYS…Nova goes and hits another kick, and another. Chopping the big ole Hoosier tree. The red outline covers Colton’s chest. He grimaces. Not Grimace. It’s his birthday month. Purple shake purple shake purple shake. Sorry. Must’ve gotten into Nov’s secret stash. Keef Big Mac’s are probably a thing with him, especially after eating a lot of prison food.

Help me.

Another kick, but this time, Nate Colton begins to rise. The next kick fires out, lashing across his chest. The Next Diamond begins shaking his balled fists, as if demanding another. And this time, Nova aims for the head. Colton ducks it. And on the spin?

Nick Stuart: EXPLODER SUPLEX FROM NATE COLTON! COVER!

ONE

TWO

THR–NO!

Colton isn’t stopping, yanking The Risen Star back up with him, hitting a back suplex. No pin attempt. He’s booking it as Nova struggles to get up. WATCH OUT! FLYING HOOSIER COW! HOOSIER DADDY RUNNING FOREARM TO THE HEAD! IT’S A THING! TOTALLY A THING! IT’S NOW IN NATE COLTON’S BIO! HOOSIER. DADDY. I’M HILARIOUS! What isn’t hilarious is how scrambled Nova seems to be from the blow, the velocity, the weight. I mean, the bit isn’t funny either, but hey, the move looks nasty when it’s hit so snuggly.

Another cover.

ONE

TWO

NOOOOOOOO

Nick Stuart: Nate Colton making Nova have to expend extra energy with all these kickouts, forcing him never get a breather.

Richard Parker: I am sure it’s not like Nater has been busy getting close with–

Nick Stuart: Richard.

Richard Parker: What?

Nick Stuart: Stop. It.

Richard Parker: What?

Nick Stuart: You know what. This is a match up between a Hall of Famer and one of PRIME’s young star studs. One of these men could very well be in the main event of UltraViolence vying for the Universal Championship. And here you are, wilding out in the open.

Richard Parker: Wilding?

Nick Stuart: Google it.

Richard Parker: Alright alright…both these men, despite the feeling of latent respect shared given their cornball whitebreadedness…they’ve been throwing some heavy volleys at the other. And it’s clear just how much that shot could mean to both men.

Colton brings Nova back to his feet, whipping into the near corner. With a charge, he launches himself driving his whole body into Nova’s with a Colton Splash. The follow up? The Next Diamond grabs onto Nova, perching him on the top rope.

Richard Parker: Uh oh…

Nick Stuart: Risky maneuver possibly coming up…

Richard Parker: A game changer or a game loser.

Nate Colton begins to climb the ropes, and when he gets up, he latches onto Nova. It’s obvious what he’s going for; a superplex. He grabs a handful of his opponent’s waistband, and goes to lift him up, but Nova manages to deadweight and block the momentum. Another try is met with a headbutt. And another and another. Nate Colton has no chance but to let go. He nearly falls backwards from the top, but manages to regain his balance. In the meantime? Trying to reset position, Nova manages to get him with a double underhook.

Nick Stuart: DOUBLE ARM DDT FROM THE TOP ROPE!

Richard Parker: OH MY HOYT!

Nick Stuart: WHAT A MOVE! WHAT AN UPSET! NOVA WITH THE COVER! HE’S GOING TO TROPICAL TURMOIL AND HAS A CHANCE TO REWRITE THAT CHAPTER OF HIS CAREER! COVER!

ONE

TWO

THREE!

Turnbull’s hand hits the canvas, but at the very last second, and I mean, the last possible second, Nate Colton kicks out.

Nick Stuart: OH MY! OH MY! NATE COLTON IS STILL ALIVE!

Richard Parker: HIS BRAINS HAVE TO BE SCRAMBLED!