CANCER JILES vs. DON WINTERS

LIVE! From the Greensboro Coliseum! It’s REVIVAL! 38!

We zoom around the arena, because it’s time for… SIGNS!

WRESTLING HAS FINALLY RETURNED TO GREENSBORO
NOW IS THE WINTERS OF OUR DONSCONTENT
CRAIG WILL YOU PLEASE PUT THIS SIGN ON THE SHOW
SECRET CANCER OR CANCER JILES: WHO YA GOT
KAEL ADOPTION SERVICES: YOU MAKE’EM, WE PICK’EM
FOR SALE: SLIGHTLY USED FARTHINGTON JIZZ POD
I BET IVAN STANISLAV COULD EAT ONE FARTHINGTON JIZZ POD
FARTHINGTON JIZZ PODS, THE SAVORY GUSHER
I ONLY CHEER FOR THE WRESTLERS THAT HAVE OVERLY ELABORATE TATTOOS
UNSUBSCRIBE
WE ARE CLOSER TO 2050 THAN 1980
REMEMBER REMEMBER THE 3TH OF NOVEMBER
ON WEDNESDAYS WE WEAR PINK, CALL IT MEANSBORO
WE LOVE PAWS! BEANSBORO FTW!
I’M STILL WAITING FOR THAT FISH FUND PPV FROM 15 YEARS AGO, CHAD
I REMEMBER WHEN TERI MELTON WAS MISS HOOTERS AND LOVED THAT GIMMICK, DO NOT LET GETHARD GASLIGHT YOU

Nick Stuart: Welcome to the first match of the night, an Almasy Tournament second round contest and we are going to kick it off huge!

Richard Parker: I saw what match is listed as the opener. We are definitely not going to “kick it off huge”…  not with him coming out.

Nick Stuart: Sour note to start off the entire night, huh?

Richard Parker: Let’s get this over with.

The scene switches to ringside where Vince Howard stands in the middle of the ring.

Vince Howard: This is an Almasy Tournament match! Introducing first, from Detroit, Michigan, weighing two-hundred-fifty-four pounds… DON WINTERS!

The first upbeat notes of “Movin’ On Up” sound through the darkened arena and as the words “my light shines on” are sung, a spotlight points to the entrance where ‘The Revelator’ Don Winters stands. He stomps his right foot, claps his hands, and throws his head back, arms out in a crucifix position as boos begin in earnest. He composes himself and struts to the ring with the beat of the music, ignoring the jeers from shouting fans. He climbs the ring steps, vaults over the top rope and slumps to his knees in the center of the ring before throwing his arms out in the crucifix one more time.

Nick Stuart: Jiles is going to have his hands full with Winters, who has the size advantage for sure.

Richard Parker: Light at the end of the tunnel. Otherwise, I don’t think the fans are going to enjoy this one at all.

Nick Stuart: Since when do you care about the fan experience?

Richard Parker: Don, you’re my only hope.

With Winters warming up inside the ring, Vince Howard walks to the center of the ring once again.

Vince Howard: And his opponent, from Coolympus by way of Philadelphia, weighing two-hundred-eighteen pounds… he is THE COOL… Cancer Jiles!

A cool breeze moves through the air, the bright lights slowly draw to a dim, a sold out audience rises to their feet and a rotating cartoonish GOLDEN TICKET appears up on the Crumbotron.

Nick Stuart: Is tonight the night?

Richard Parker: We get to meet Him?

Then, an all too familiar guitar riff screams its way into eggsistance, and an egg shaped spotlight illuminates the entrance ramp.

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!

Nick Stuart: That’s a lot of pyros for our FIRST match.

Richard Parker: Typical shitbag peacocking.

I AM THE COOL!

The Maestro of COOL emerges from the back. Flanking him are loyal Bandit enthusiasts Bobby Dean and Coral Avalon. 

BOOOOOOOO!!! 

Nick Stuart: Looks like you’re right, Richard, and the former Universal Champion is trying to intimidate Don before the match even starts.

Richard Parker: I’m not surprised, since I’m very rarely wrong.

The Crown Prince of COOLYMPIA poses for the enjoyment of his raucous detractors, insults a young MESSIAH fan sitting along the entrance ramp, then glares at Richard Parker before finally sliding underneath the bottom rope.

Nick Stuart: Do you owe him money or something?

Richard Parker: No, he’s just being a jerk off if I had to guess.

After a brief conversation, Coral daps up his cohorts and heads back up the ramp to return presumably to the eGG Den. Hard Boiled does have a Round 2 matchup of his own later on tonight, and it’d be a shame if something accidental were to happen to him beforehead.

I mean beforehand.

DIN-

Before the bell can ring, Jiles starts to berate the everliving shit out of Timo Bolamba; all while pointing back at Bobby Dean. It’s obvious the Eggsecutioner is still not over how things went down at ReVival 37 in regard to the Youngblood versus Dean match. Eventually, though, he turns his attention to Don Winters, and Timo is able to officially call for the bell.

DING DING

Richard Parker: Knock the piss out of this prick fast, Don!

And Don almost does. It’s like he hears the color commentator because Winters marches right up to Jiles, while The COOL is STILL mouthing off at Timo…

POP!

And pops him square in the nose!

Blood immediately GUSHES from Jiles’ nose as he wanders around the ring, waving both hands and trying to shout more obscene remarks to Bolamba, saying he wasn’t ready, Winters is a crumb, he should be disqualified and whatever other annoying shit most people tune Cancer out for.

Richard Parker: Starting off HOT, I like it! This might warrant the opener after all!

Winters hurls Jiles into the ropes and since both of Cancer’s hands are still on his face, it’s very easy for Winters to hit a running back elbow smash. It knocks Jiles’ hands further into his nose and allows for more blood to rush out.

Winters with an exploder suplex. Winters floats over and begins drilling Jiles with forearm smashes!

Nick Stuart: Winters came to play! In only his second match here, the vet is certainly making a name for himself rather quickly!

Winters lifts Jiles and tosses him into the ropes but what isn’t caught by Bolamba is the dick punch Jiles connected with right before he was pushed into the ropes. This is likely because, from the side of Timo’s eyes he sees Bobby make a play for the apron and then shoos the Bandit away.

Jiles hits the ropes and leaps over top of Winters and lands behind him. He takes his hands from his face for a brief second, connects with a side Russian leg sweep and then places both hands directly on his nose again.

Cancer kips to his feet and the crowd boos. He looks into the bleachers and scowls.

Cancer Jiles: Ivan is a crumb!

Richard Parker: Sooooo original.

The Maestro of the Main Event (despite being on the opener) bounces into the ropes again and this time he connects with a missile dropkick to the side of Winters’ temple, while both hands remain on his face.

Finally, The COOL takes a moment on his knees. He double checks his nose and sees he has stopped bleeding. So he takes both his hands and places them around Don’s skull.

Jiles looks for a headbutt but Winters blocks it. Both men are on their feet and Winters begins chopping Jiles into the corner. Some of the crowd cheers, mainly the ones who hate Jiles so much but others boo, as well.

Nick Stuart: Winters is new here and after defeating Crash Jackson, someone whom the crowd has taken a liking to, I don’t think he’s THAT well received.

Richard Parker: Of course not.

Winters hooks Jiles’ arms underneath his own body and then performs a double underhook DDT! Winters slides across the mat, lifts Jiles up and looks for a suplex when the former Universal Champion wiggles out of the move, pokes Winters in the eyes and then dropkicks the right knee out from under him. For added impact and in one completely swift motion, as Winters falls to one leg, Cancer hooks Don’s head under his own arm and also lands a DDT!

The COOL gets to his feet and checks on his nose. He walks to the edge of the ring and asks Bobby if he’s bleeding. Dean shakes his head no but then shouts “LOOK OUT” as Don Winters comes charging in.

Inside out clothesline!

Jiles flips in the air before he meets the mat face-first.

Nick Stuart: Oh dear, wouldn’t want to get your nose busted AGAIN.

Richard Parker: I’d be okay with it.

Nick Stuart: I was being sarcastic.

Jiles tries to stand but he’s overwhelmed by forearm shots coming in at a rapid pace. Winters hurls Jiles into a corner and then charges in himself… expect this time Cancer gets a knee up. Jiles props himself on the second rope, leaps off-

Right into a spine buster slam and a pinfall attempt!

ONE.

TWO.

KICKOUT!

Richard Parker almost has a stroke because the kickout was surprisingly very late. Winters nods to himself. He rises and asks Timo to backup a little bit. He latches onto Jiles’ body and hooks him into a double underhook. Before Don goes for an impact move, he delivers numerous knees to the face of Cancer.

Nick Stuart: Great call. Jiles is completely unprotected here. He can’t cover up and absorb the blows.

Richard Parker: I wish Jiles’ father didn’t go unprotected.

Nick Stuart: Can we just call the match, okay?

Finally, Winters looks for a double underhook suplex and lands it. Cancer skims across the mat and ends up landing near a corner of the ring. Winters rushes in, lifts the former champion and places him on the second rope. Then he goes onto the second rope WITH Jiles.

Followed by the top rope!

Winters stands on the top buckle with Cancer in his arms…

Scoop slam moonsault!

Nick Stuart: THIS COULD DO IT! We have a cover!

ONE!

TWO!

SHOULDER UP!

Richard Parker: Will this man ever die!?

Winters looks up at Bolamba and the referee ensures it was two. The Revelator nods albeit also grunting as he pulls Jiles up along with him.

The COOL lands a desperation backdrop!

With Jiles laid out on the mat and Don Winters recovering as well… it could be anyone’s game.

Winters is up first, however. And as he leans down to peel Jiles off the mat…

Bobby Dean jumps onto the apron!

Richard Parker: I’ve seen this song and dance before!

Bolamba rushes over and DEMANDS Bobby get down or he’s going to be kicked out. Meanwhile, as he is pulled to both knees, there’s a clever, coy, shit eating smile crossing Cancer Jiles’ face.

WHAM-

No!

At the very last second, Don Winters closes his knees together and traps Jiles’ arm underneath his legs, right before he connects with an obvious low blow.

Meanwhile Bobby Dean is scared as fuck on the apron and Timo turns back around. Winters hammers Jiles in the side of the head a couple of times and then tosses the leader of the Egg Bandits halfway across the ring with a wicked looking exploder suplex!

Winters encloses.

Bobby Dean sweats buckets.

Jiles’ nose starts bleeding.

Timo readies for a call.

Winters hurls Jiles into the air and then lands a definitive blow to the side of his head. Jiles goes limp dick in the center of the ring… and Don Winters takes a moment to fall down onto his own knees and hooks a leg.

ONE.

TWO.

REVERSAL BY JILES!

HE HAS THE TIGHTS!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

The crowd bought the finish for a brief moment, as Don rolls upright and has a shocked look on his face. Meanwhile, even though there’s some trickles of blood still dripping down Cancer’s nose, he has a smug suggestion, as if he was playing possum and the forearm shot DIDN’T knock him the hell out like he originally tried to convey.

Nick Stuart: You have to hand it to Cancer, there’s a reason he’s a former Universal Champion.

Richard Parker: I don’t have to hand Jiles anything.

Winters knows he is still in the driver’s seat, however. He also kicked out while Jiles took a handful of his own tights. Don knocks Jiles in the side of the head and whips The COOL into the ropes.

Jiles with a flying poke to the eyes!

Bolamba didn’t see it because Cancer put his other hand in front. Jiles smirks and mutters something about Ivan. He snatches Winters’ arm and rips it down, sending Winters on all fours.

Jiles tries for Terminal Cancer but Winters moves! Don shoots upright but runs into another eye poke. The COOL rolls Don up but places both feet on the second rope!

ONE!

Timo stops counting once he sees what’s going on. He kicks Cancer’s feet off the ropes and the two start shouting for what seems like the tenth time.

Winters drives a spinning elbow into Jiles. The Detroit native then tosses his opponent into the ropes.

While Cancer ducks the first clothesline and hits the next set of ropes, he leaps off them and is caught by Winters.

But Bobby Dean hops onto the apron.

Winters drops Jiles, races over and shoulder blocks Bobby off the apron and into the guardrail!

Nick Stuart: Oh no!

With the referee not turned around in time, Winters walks right into a low blow.

Nick Stuart: Jiles got it this time!

Cancer loads up for Terminal Cancer-

SWOOSH!

Winters ducks!

Winters hits the ropes!

Winters with a spinning heel kick!

The newcomer gets to his feet quickly. He bounces off the ropes and looks for a running knee strike-

BBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Nick Stuart: DAMMIT!

Jiles pulls referee Timo Bolamba in front of him as Don Winters is forced to put on the brakes!

Jiles shouts at Bolamba. Finally, The COOL discards the referee to the side and while the ref tries to regain his whereabouts…

SPEWWWWWWW!

Jiles sprays the mist all over Winters’ face.

Don can’t see a thing. He also can’t see the superkick coming.

Terminal Cancer.

Jiles falls on top of Winters’ face, ensuring Timo can’t witness any of the mist whatsoever… and once Bolamba sees what’s going on, he slides into position.

ONE.

TWO.

THREE.

DING DING DING

Richard Parker: (Heavy sigh)

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… CANCER JILES!

Nick Stuart: A serious, solid effort by Don Winters but you can’t keep up with the cheating.

Richard Parker: I’d say Winters escaped about five different shortcuts by Cancer. What a POS, see you in round three.

Winters rolls to the side of the ring while Timo receives another ear full from Cancer. This time, however, it’s strategic because Jiles doesn’t want Timo to see the mist remaining on Don Winters’ face. Bobby Dean even thinks about running over and scrubbing it off Don with a paper towel (Bobby has since recovered on the outside) but even the big guy knows better.

Revival goes elsewhere.

BRO, IT’S JUST ANOTHER NEWS PROGRAM

Cancer Jiles vs. Don Winters? Check. 

That can mean only one thing.

Intense news music begins to play. You know the type, starts with maybe a little high key synth before the drums kick in. Beeps, boops and dun-dun-duns galore as the screen pitches PRIME blue. 

WON ACTION NEWS TEAM

The words flash across the screen in bold white letters. 

As the music continues we are introduced to our segment one news team. 

Ulsa N. Couth, Weather

We are treated to an arc shot of Max’s ornery old hag of manager, arms crossed and scowling at the camera. She looks utterly unimpressed to be where she is. An unlit cigar is clamped between her wizened lips. 

Violent Purple, Sports

With her striking red hair pulled up into a bun, Purple is wearing a form fitting black suit with a tie that matches her hair. She throws a few punches at the screen before cracking a half smile. 

Eddie Cross, Human Interests

This shot isn’t fancy, it’s actually someone filming Eddie eating a bagel at an airport. The person filming appears to be hiding behind a small fern. 

Max Kael?, Lead Anchor

Of all the shots so far, this appears to be one with the most effort put into it. Max starts kneeling down before he rises, throwing the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM gang signs with both hands. Fireworks explode behind him as he does so. An owl attempts to attack Max but is intercepted by a murder of crows while a sick guitar lick plays. 

Brought to you by MEAT?, now in CRUNCHY Texture!

The music slowly fades as the shot as the MEAT? ad ends. Max Kael? Is behind a glossy news podium grinning broadly at the screen. 

Max Kael?: PRIMEmps and prostiPRIMES, welcome back to our long and storied program, WON ACTION NEWS TEAM. Ever since segments have been on television, Segment One has existed. And ever since Segment One has existed WON ACTION NEWS TEAM has been here to keep you informed. ON TO THE NEWS!

We cut to a different angle shot of Max Kael? as a small stack of papers manifest in his hands. 

Max Kael?: Ivan Stanislav, Universal Champion of PRIME and Arthur Pleasant mark, bless his soul. But what do we really know about him? After some investigating we here at WON ACTION NEWS TEAM discovered he is from a humble, tiny little nation most people have never heard of called Russia. Interests include the color red, products based on potatoes and totalitarian regimes. Did you also know he was my best friend? ON TO THE WEATHER!

Couth is in the middle of lighting her cigar when we cut to her standing in front of a map of the Greensboro Coliseum. Speaking between clenched teeth as she puffs away on her cigar, Ulsa points to different seating sections. 

U.N.Couth: Without my client, Max Kael? Wrestling tonight the people in the front row paid WAAAAAY too much for their tickets. Suckers. The people on the floor also paid too much for their tickets. Suckers. The people waaaaay back here in the nosebleeds probably paid the right price but it sucks to suck, no Max Kael? wrestling tonight. SUCKERS! Back to you. 

Max is nodding in agreement as we cut back to him. 

Max Kael?: Couldn’t agree more, Ulsa. Maybe they could make up for it by buying some fresh MEAT?, available in the parking lot out of the MEAT? Truck. Just look for the truck with the big MEAT? on it. Here in Greensboro I imagine there are a lot of unwanted kids. I bet there are a ton of them here at the Coliseum tonight! Parents, I want you to know that we understand. The Kael Adoption Agency takes all children, no questions asked! From freshly baked to dumplin’ in their diapers at age 103, the Kael Adoption Agency will take any of your delic-du.. unwanted.. family members. Contact the Kael Adoption Agency at 1-800-843-6328! Operators are standing by!

A new angle on Max, a new news story critical to PRIME’s success. 

Max Kael?: Hoarding. It’s a problem sweeping the world as capitalism and greed become cornerstones of our identity. Filling the dark void in our hearts left by modern society with food, toys or other Earthly pleasures has become the number one to cope with an insane world. Recently PRIME’s current resident religious nutsack, Don Winters, was sighted recently purchasing all the eggs in a grocery store. Food, toys or Earthly Pleasures? Why not all three? Authorities warn that if you see Don Winters, do not approach him. He is considered armed and minacious. 

The screen flashes red before it washes away in white and blue. Max Kael? is now coming from a new angle which means, you guessed it, a new story. 

Max Kael?: We now go to our Humanities anchor with a special report from the field. Eddie?

We cut to a scene of Eddie Cross snoozing on a plane. He has a sleep mask over his face as he snorts lightly. The scene goes half and half with Eddie sleeping on one side and Max, grinning broadly, on the other.

Max Kael?: Eddie Cross, a pleasure to have you back. 

Eddie Cross: zzzzz… zzzzz… zzzzz…

Max Kael?: Of course. Now from what I gathered earlier, you say that Coral Avalon is a big poo and you plan on eating his face like you just smoked two grams of bath salts? 

Eddie Cross: zzzzz… zzzzz… zzzzz…

Max Kael?: And you’ve been putting eggs in places they shouldn’t be, around him? Well there is one mystery cracked wide open. Thank you, Humanities Anchor Eddie Cross!

Eddie Cross: zzzzz… zzzzz… zzzzz…

The split screen ends as the napping Eddie vanishes and we focus back on Max Kael?. 

Max Kael?: And now to Violent Purple, with Sports!

We cut over to Violent Purple who simply flips off the camera.

Violent Purple: Fuck off, I’m not doing this stupid bit. 

Naturally we cut back to Max who has a failing smile on his face. 

Max Kael?: Okay! And now onto our final story. Daytona Diamonds. Named after a city that just won’t die and chunks of carbon. He is known as the Rhinestone Cowboy and yet I have yet to see him ride a rhinestone cow. They call him the King of the Rodeo but I haven’t seen a genealogy report of his purported loyal lineage. They call him the only Daddy that’ll walk the line but nobody will tell me where the line is. Too many questions, not enough answers. We’ll bring you more on this story in the future, no doubt. 

One last final cut as we can see the full cast of WON ACTION NEWS TEAM. Max in the center, U.N. Couth plucking mustache hairs to his left. Violent Purple on her phone to his right. And a badly drawn stick figure labeled as Eddie Cross is taped to the wall behind Max. 

Max Kael?: For everybody here at the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM, stay PRIME-al, I’m Max Kael?. 

Credits roll over Max Kael? shifting through his notes while it appears Ulsa N. Couth berates him. There is no sound, however, so it’s impossible to know for sure what is happening. As for the Credits, all credits are for a man by the name of Benny Harvey. 

We then cut elsewhere backstage.

BURN THE SHIPS

Fade into a small corner of the locker room reserved for the characters filling the dark matches and spillover belongings of the stars and their entourages. We get a very square, old-school frame of Rob Williams standing with his back to the camera. John Gordon stands beside him, hand on his shoulder. Both men are in blue jeans, Rob shirtless with cowboy boots and John with a finely pressed white oxford shirt. 

His back tells his story without saying a word- weathered and colored like the treetops across a chiseled mountain ridge in peak foliage. A large cobra with a bright red belly makes eye contact with the camera. Rob takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes, and reaches deep down inside to that little spark.

Rob Williams: Can you feel it? 

Rob turns around to face the camera, his heart pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears. They don’t have live TV promos in the places Rob’s been bouncing around the last few years. He knows, though, that he’s still got it. 

John Gordon: Feel what, buddy?

Rob Williams: That bubble in the stomach, John. That gnawing and scratching. The fuse is lit, baby. America’s mouth is watering and throat is tightening – the natives have grown restless.

John Gordon: Oh, buddy, that. You mean “The Legend” Rob Williams lacing up those size 12 white boots again?

Rob lovingly moves John’s hand off his shoulder. He speaks calmly, staring directly into the camera as if he’s personally reaching out to the fans watching at home.

Rob Williams: No, John. Well, yes, but also no. It’s the kid crying, but you’re too damn tired to appreciate holding him cause you’ve been working two jobs. Walking out in the sweltering heat or the freezing cold and turning that key, praying that the engine turns and those balding tires hold up one more paycheck just so you can go make some other joker rich. It’s turning on the news and watching the “leaders” of the “free world” gamble away your future over petty squabbles.The endless lobotomy of ADHD inducing “entertainment” they force down your throat, streaming non-stop to keep you from feeling a damn thing. The system of diminishing returns for the everyman we’re all stuck in.

Now Rob reaches his other hand out, holding the camera. His voice is building in momentum. Calm, steady. 

Rob Williams: I know it, and you know it. We’re tired of the chores, of wearing the suit of civility. I been down bad, too, jack. Hustling with two-bit low lifes just to stay on the fringes of this business. But a change is coming, baby. Can you feel it? I can feel it. And I know, I know, that you can too. I’m here to be the accelerant. That little thing that’s been missing. 

The spark burns brighter and larger, encompassing more of Rob’s gut in its hypertrophy. Rob now puts both hands on the camera. He smiles with surprisingly whole and white teeth, a reassuring and doting smile. This feels like a “father-knows-best” moment. 

Rob Williams: I woke up early this morning in a cold, dark hotel room. Pitch black and silent. My heart was beating fast and I couldn’t catch my breath. And I know that you at home know this feeling. But we’re not going to feel it anymore, baby. It’s always darkest before dawn and this is your watershed moment and I am the usher.

His soul is now ablaze, passion teeming from every word. Every molecule is a supernova as Rob’s eyes bore into the camera. With every word his voice rises in volume and sharpens in tone. He has gone from a loving father delivering a reassuring message during a teachable moment to the raging alcoholic woken up to a terrible hangover.

Rob WIlliams: This may not look like the salvation you expected. No, I’m not some flashy, punk-ass kid. But this (releasing the camera and holding his arms out in a sacreligious cross) this is what salvation looks like. Hold your goddamn kids, cancel the streaming service, and quit your job because we’re going to burn it ALL down, because I will be the accelerant that tears down the entire system. 

The lens nearly fogs up with Rob’s breath as he gets intimately close. 

Rob Williams: Witness me, PRIME, for I am enduring. 

Abruptly the camera drops to the ground, watching Rob’s snakeskin cowboy boots disappear from view before cutting back to ringside.

JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL VS. GARRY RAY-RAY BOLAMBA

The Almasy…CONTINUES!

“I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing” by Aerosmith begins and the Greensboro crowd boos LOUDLY. From underneath a lift in the middle of the rampway, and a twirling lift at that, Jonathan-Christopher and Vickie Hall are revealed to be arm-in-arm, nuzzling each other’s chests.

Nick Stuart: I believe they have referenced to this as…a Love-A-Vator.

Before the Amazing Life Partners lift their heads off each other, a film crew rolls out from behind the curtains. There are three men with cameras in their hands, attempting to capture every moment and detail between the two. The cameramen are dressed in gray outfits with an ‘ESPN’ tag on the back of their jackets.

Richard Parker: This crew has been getting as much footage as they can. The pomp. That pageantry.

Finally, Vickie releases her hold on Jonathan-Christopher but it’s clear he wanted to have more physical contact. Nevertheless, Vickie leads the way down the ramp as her honey buns and the camera crew hurry after her.

Vince Howard: This second round match in the 2023 Seymour Almasy Invitational is set for one fall and has NOOOOOOOOO time limit. Introducing first…being accompanied to the ring by Vickie Hall and the ESPN 30 For 30 crew…  he is The Forever Man… JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL!

Vickie can’t stop spinning around and giggling into the cameras as they follow her and Jonathan-Christopher to ringside. Hall slides into the ring and then opens the top and middle rope for Vickie to enter. Dressed in the most adorable PRETTY PINK© little onesie, the polarizing manager (well, JCH offsets all the hate with love so, hence, polarizing) struts to the center of the ring and performs the splits, as PRETTY PINK© sparklers shoot off behind her and her man from the ring posts. Jonathan-Christopher helps Vickie to her feet and then opens the ropes again as she exits.

And then…

The opening cymbal from “Carmina Burina: O Fortuna” by the London Philharmonic Orchestra crashes throughout the Coliseum. The lights in the Coliseum immediately fade to an eerie white light emanating from the advertising board and multiple bright white spotlights shooting to one spot on the stage.

Richard Parker: I don’t like this any better than I did on the last ReVival he appeared…

Vince Howard: And his opponent, standing 6’9” tall and weighing 235 lbs… he hails from Bolambaland by way of Nelson County, Kentucky. He IS the leader of the sovereign nation Bolambaland, He IS the Generalissimo of the Monster Menagerie. HE IS THE BANG! HARDWEIGHT CHAMPION! HE IS A SECOND GENERATION SUPERSTAR! THE BEST SON OF TIMO BOLAMBA! GAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYY RAAAAAAY-RAAAAY BOOOOOOOOLAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMBBBBBBAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: Confetti. Again. Falling from the rafters?

Richard Parker: Not confetti. They’re small pictures of Dale Earnhardt with the Winston Cup.

Nick Stuart: You mean the NASCAR Series Cup.

Richard Parker: No…the Winston is clearly underlined in red ink here, Nick.

During the Vince Howard’s introduction, (looks like you got two, Brock) the Bolambaland’s Monster Army lined the way to the ring, in full Dale Earnhardt themed military attire. The music continues on, because this is a long fucking song.

The Generalissimo finally steps out from behind the curtain. Black steel heeled boots appear first before finally the giant Kentuckian blesses us with his presence from the back. He stands at the top of the ramp staring down at Jonathan-Christopher Hall in the ring. His eyes never waiver but a snarl creeps across his lip.

Nick Stuart: Garry is down a few of his trusted associates here. No Rory Hayes. No Big Blue Bug. No Lord Kurosame-sama.

Richard Parker: Where’s the bike with the deer antlers? 

Probably somewhere in Greensboro, killing. 

Finally the Monster Army snaps to attention, raising their arms to their heads and offering a salute, Garry begins his march to the ring and stops and salutes each member of the Menagerie. a mysterious birdman folds in behind Garry and walks down to the ring behind the Generalissimo. Garry rounds the corner and marches slowly up the ring steps. He pauses and wipes his boots off, before stepping his teenager cosplaying M. Bison looking ass through the ropes.

Jimmy Turnbull quickly checks both competitors before signaling for the bell. 

DING DING

The Timid Tiger versus The Generalissimo. A slave to the Monster Army versus Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba. You know the inference. Vickie Hall is a monster. She belongs in the Monster Army. Perhaps she is the true monster to rule beside the powerful rightful heir of not just the name Bolamba, but the visionary ruler of Bolambaland. FOR VICTORY! FOR MONSTERS! Dale Earnhardt looks on high from Heaven and sheds a manly tear across his GMC Goodwrench jumper. His boy done good.

And you know how?

From the slapping. SO MUCH SLAPPING. Bolamba isn’t here to size up Jonathan-Christopher. There’s no Alpha v. Alpha energy here. We got Alpha v. Beta. A man who pisses in the wind versus a man who asks his Captain Hadley if it’s okay to take some tinkles. The Generalissimo, the lanky Bird of a man, strides as though he is running up the court on the fast break before stopping and popping to drain a midrange jumper, absolutely smothering JCH with a bevy of slaps.

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

Richard Parker: OUCH! OUCH OUCH OUCH!

Nick Stuart: Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba making it known, CLEARLY, his strategy.

WHACK

WHACK

Richard Parker: It’s all in the flick of the wrist. The motion. I mean, he’s got so little experience in the ring, but…he isn’t wrestling you. He’s SLAP FIGHTING you! And before he became the leader of Bolambaland, he made his bones in Nelson County Kentucky, laying slaps and wrecking corn fields!

Nick Stuart: Ray-Ray smothering Jonathan-Christoper, absolutely ASSAULTING him with these slaps. All over. Angles upon angles. 

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

WHACK

This isn’t an exaggeration. If Cecilworth is the the artisan of arm breaking, if Youngblood is the master of the suplex, if Jiles is the king of being a crumb, then Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba is THE GENERALISSIMO of slaps! From angles you can’t imagine. It’s XARM. It’s POWER SLAP. It’s SLAUGHTER SPORT. And Jonathan-Christopher Hall can’t take it. His Ken doll body and tan is turning straight purple. His yelps and screams are like that of mutilated children. He falls and tries to get back up, only to get slapped down again. a mysterious birdman calls out. 

a mysterious birdman: 0¿0 

Jonathan-Christopher Hall tries to take a powder, but a singular massive downward slap puts a stop to that. The screeching Vickie Hall gets on the apron and starts going absolutely batshit fucking ballistic. As in, all Pumpkin Spice has been destroyed forever. No more lattes. No more mochas. No more frappes. No pumpkin spice. Pumpkins still exist. But the spice? We forgot how to make it. And if someone was to get close to being able to replicate how it is made, they will suddenly be eaten by Bobby Dean. Like he’s Jaws. Speaking of which, Lord Kurosame-sama isn’t here because he’s busy with Bang!’s TC-X Tournament. 

All this to say, Vickie is PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSED. And Garry, hearing some besmirching of The Good Lord Dale, maybe?, just about mollywhops Vickie. She lets out a shriek. Like, another shriek somehow in the midst of her constant banshee scream. The Generalissimo stops just short of hitting the wonderful and pure Generalissima to be. And he stops. He manages to stop himself. 

Only for Jonathan-Christopher to grab hold of Garry and roll him up, getting a lot of gear in the process.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!

Garry kicks out at two of the pinfall attempt because this match isn’t being written by a mark, but before he can really try to continue his ascent through SlapsleVania, he gets hit with an atrocious, sloppy spinning wheel kick that looks like it should blow out the ass of his board shorts. The way it connects causes The Generalissimo to curl up like he just got bodied by Bill Laimbeer, and without the ability to have a basketball to chuck back at him in response, merely struggles. Charging forward, JCH, seeing the opportunity, takes off, and hits a running leg drop. He then quickly covers.

ONE

KICKOUT!

Jonathan-Christopher Hall is in shock! Beside himself. He’s starts to cry. How could such a move not advance him forward? The most devastating move in all of professional wrestling no less! 

Nick Stuart: Jonathan-Christopher Hall is trying, he’s trying to get an advantage here, after that barrage of slaps…

Richard Parker: I think he took bits of skin off him!

Nick Stuart: The bigger thing is…Hall needs to keep himself going. As much as people might view him in a certain way given the Love Convoy, given his relationship with Vickie Hall, Jonathan-Christopher has wins over former Intense Champion Anna Daniels, over two time Universal Champion Hayes Hanlon–

Richard Parker: HE ANNIHILATED CANCER JILES!!!!!

Nick Stuart: I wouldn’t go that far–

Richard Parker: DESTROYED! CRUSHED! PEED ON! POOPED ON! VOMITED ON! AS HE SHOULD! AS WE ALL SHOULD! BECAUSE IT’S JILES!

Wiping away his tears, Jonathan-Christopher punches the canvas, getting angry. Furious. He stands up and starts laying the lumber on Garry. Boots all over. Like a drunken, sloppy as hell Garvin Stomp. And Garry lays there, in agony, unable to take it. He grunts and groans as the Psycho Power leaves his body. The Monster Babies of Bolambaland cry blood or acid or whatever the fuck they do in a small island country that totally exists. And then, JCH grabs hold of Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba in the true deadliest move in all of professional wrestling.

Seated.

Rear.

Chin.

Lock.

The crowd in Greensboro boos. Vickie Hall swoons over her Amazing Life Partner realizing THEIR wrestling dream. And as Jonathan-Christopher yanks back, he blows a kiss to his true love.

Richard Parker: Ugh…this is…

It is in the throes of outright agony that Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba almost quits. He almost gives up. A submission of this magnitude would be devastating to Bolambaland, towards his quest. It would undo the grabbing of The Jowl Man and the boot to his face and the sinister undertones behind Garry’s continued descent into madness. But he can barely hold on. Barely survive. That is, until he hears the creed from his legion of Monsters surrounding the ring.

Monsters: THE WINNER AIN’T THE ONE WITH THE FASTEST CAR, IT’S THE ONE WHO REFUSES TO LOSE! THE WINNER AIN’T THE ONE WITH THE FASTEST CAR, IT’S THE ONE WHO REFUSES TO LOSE! THE WINNER AIN’T THE ONE WITH THE FASTEST CAR, IT’S THE ONE WHO REFUSES TO LOSE! 

The Creed of Dale. The Generalissimo’s eyes light up. He begins to shake violently. His arms shoot up skyward. Reaching to the Heaven’s, Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba starts to rise with Jonathan-Christopher Hall doing little to impede him. He is shook. Bewildered. Such a display of raw will and determination. Garry, being a taller man, is able to break the hold just by standing up. The Timid Tiger just stares at his hands, absolutely mortified, and screams.

It’s only then that he realizes too late that his just got hit with a brutal axe kick.

Nick Stuart: Oh my word! What a blow from that kick from Bolamba! And now he is lifting him up…vertical suplex! 

Richard Parker: Given how tall Garry is, that suplex was from WAY on high!

Nick Stuart: Remind you of anything?

Richard Parker: Yeah…that commercial for McDonald’s where two Olympic basketball players where playing a game of horse to win a Big Mac.

Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba is feeling it! And Jonathan-Christopher Hall is not! The record speaks for itself. Jonathan-Christopher is a terrible wrestler, but his number of wins and his competition speak to just how massive an upset this could be. As unskilled as he may be, most expected him to move on. But perhaps it isn’t meant to be. Perhaps The Generalissimo is the true terror in JCH’s dreams. Perhaps, for the second year in a row, the Amazing Life Partner’s Almasy True Love Holiday Victory Parade is dashed. And as Hall starts to wobble to his feet, Ray-Ray readies to blast him with his kill shot.

Nick Stuart: Hall is lined up…Bolamba with the spin–

Richard Parker: And HALL IS STUMBLING FORWARD RIGHT INTO–

Nick Stuart: BLOOD ON THE–

Richard Parker: WAIT!

Turnbull doesn’t see it.

The booing fans in Greensboro do.

Power fist lifted, activation in the pills. The Generalissimo must not have worn his jewel encrusted Bolambaland supporter. His eyes cross.

Richard Parker: CHASING AMY!

Nick Stuart: HEAVY running flying back elbow–

Richard Parker: Garry doesn’t know–

Bolamba gets up too soon. The decision as ill advised as being in French Lick Indiana in the winter time and shoveling your mother’s driveway. Hall grabs him and hooks him.

Nick Stuart: STAND BY ME! STAND BY ME! COVER!

ONE

TWO

THREE

DING DING DING

Why did the Monsters do nothing to Vickie Hall? Well, Monsters know when to be afraid of other Monsters. And Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba pays the price as a result. Flopped on the canvas, grabbing his head, The Generalissimo is unaware of what just transpired. Jonathan-Christopher? He gets up, falls down, then darts out of the ring, trying to get away from all this craziness as quickly as he can…completely blind to the worse craziness that he’s attached at the hip to.

Vince Howard: Your winner…and moving on to the QUAAAAAAARTERFINALS! OF THE 2023! SEEEEEEEEYMOUR! ALMASY! INVITATIONAL! JOOOOOOOOOOOONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER! HAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!

Nick Stuart: This one–

Richard Parker: Absolutely weird. But the Almasy only has fourteen now…and one of them is Jonathan-Christopher Hall.

We go elsewhere, all as Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba is surrounded by his Monster Army, asking them, in an apparently daze, one simple question.

Garry Ray-Ray Bolamba: 🦈

We then cut to commercial.

COMMERCIAL: 24 HOUR RULE

MEAT?ING OF THE MINDS

The camera cuts to the same place it was a few shots ago, the official trailer of MEAT? Wagon. Max Kael? sits inside with Ulsa N. Couth and Violent Purple quietly discussing something. The name Eddie Cross comes up a few times but it’s hard to tell what is being said for sure. Their conversation becomes lively until they are interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the MEAT? Wagon door.

Max is quick to scramble the door peeking through the peephole. 

Max Kael?: Oh! It’s the.. The.. Anglo guy. Luchador? Like the Pirate King I guess.

The door creaks open, and one Anglo Luchador, wearing jeans, sneakers, a snapback trucker hat with the CSWA logo on the front, and a t-shirt that has Bart Simpson holding a phone to his ear with the caption “You have selected regicide. If you know the name of the king or queen being murdered, press one” below the pic.

TAL: Good evening… uh, Max? And uh, ladies?

Everyone is still dressed in their news outfits though VP and UNCouth give TAL a cold reception. The Questionable Kael, on the other hand, is quite excited to see TAL at the door.

Max Kael?: Don’t mind them, they’re generally unpleasant. Too much time in the radiant sun that is moi. Now.. What brings you to the WON ACTION NEWS TEAM and MEAT? Wagon? Looking for a free sample?

Kael’s grin stretches into an uncomfortably sinister way while he retrieves a small tin simply marked MEAT? Pudding, dangling it out in front of him toward TAL.

TAL: Actually, I was looking to procure some of that, uh, MEAT? Seems as it was a hit down at LUCHA ESPECIAL 4. Someone set up a pop-up tent and it was selling like hotcakes. Plus, I owe Gavin Yum a meal and figured why the hell not.

The Luchador looks around the wagon with an unsure look seen through the eyeholes in his mask.

TAL: So, uh, what kind of incense you have burning in here? It smells… unique.

The old hag of a woman seated with Violent Purple pipes up finally.

U.N.Couth: It’s called Geruch des Röstens unerwünscht. It’s like bacon and salmon blended together. Grows on you, like untreated fungus. 

Max Kael: She’s wonderful isn’t she?  

TAL: You know, I had my reservations about her being here but…

The camera cuts to U.N.Couth cleaning underneath her fingernails with a switchblade.

TAL: …this is all great. Kosher too! Anyway, about MEAT? Do I talk to you about getting a bulk rate on it? How quickly does it spoil? And will Border Patrol confiscate it if I try to bring it into Mexico?

Max quickly retrieves a card from his wallet, fumbling with it before handing it over toward TAL. 

Max Kael?: We usually sell to third world countries in bulk, places like, you know, Jattlantis, but we’re also happy to supply local warlords and private citizens as well! I got a guy, on that line, you hit him up with the numbers and textures you are looking for and I’m sure we can set you up with something zesty!

The Luchador’s eyes light up.

TAL: Zesty, you say? I didn’t know MEAT? came in different flavors and textures. Do you have anything in, say, a beef bourguignon? Or maybe pecorino romano? If I get the pecorino romano, it’ll still smell like Joel Embiid’s foot after a double-overtime game against the Celtics, right? It’s important that I maintain some bit of authenticity here.

The Kael with the Question Mark nods his head to whatever TAL is asking through he clearly is not understanding the references by the end. 

Max Kael?: Legally I’m obligated to say yes to anything you say involving MEAT?. If we can’t do it, I’ll let U.N. Couth deal with it back there but between you and me? I haven’t had a MEAT? Product that I haven’t.. Eaten? Yes, that’s the word, eaten. Yes sir, right in my mouth and between my teeth. Yum, yum, yum. 

The Luchador turns his head quizzically.

TAL: Are you okay? You’re talking like someone who just learned how to be a sentient creature five minutes ago.

He looks over at Violent Purple.

TAL: And what’s her deal? Does she always have, uh, how do I put this lightly so I don’t get stabbed, uh, R-B-F?

Max Kael?: I’ll be very honest, sentience has been a real hard concept to grasp and I’ve only had a few months to wrestle with it, pun intended, so I guess the best way to answer your question is.. Yes? As for Violent Purple, she’s here to hit me when I don’t behave like a rational sentient creature.

Around this time Max is struck in the side of the head with a can of MEAT? courtesy of Violent Purple herself. The sound is akin to a piece of tin cracking off a solid chunk of bone. Max crumbles to his knees groaning in pain before he notices the can.

Max Kael?: Oh sweet, Sweet Corn Pizza.. New flavor, thanks Violent.

Max stands back up offering the can of Sweet Candy Corn and Pizza flavored MEAT? In Crunch Texture toward TAL. 

TAL: No thanks, I had some barbecue before I got here. Plus, I don’t accept food from other wrestlers in Greensboro, not since that time with Cameron Cruise and the Eggo Waffles. Never again.

The Luchador looks off into the distance like he just remembered that the gas was on at his house or a dog that he had to put down because they bit one too many mailmen. Even Max? is stunned at how esoteric the scene has gotten. He snaps out of it.

TAL: ANYWAY, I’m here for a reason, and that reason is MEAT?! Is there an order form? Do you have a special MEAT? rep here in the wagon? I’m not about to be murdered and turned into MEAT?, am I?

Kael turned to look at Violent Purple and Couth for an answer on that last question. Max wasn’t sure if they were going to murder TAL and turn him into MEAT? mostly because he had no idea how MEAT? was really made. Violent and Couth give Max that look that says that obviously they are not going to kill and eat someone. At least not with a camera crew there.

Max Kael?: Of course not! Hah-Hah! That’s silly, we would never think of killing someone and pressing their meaty bodies into a fine paste compatible with most types of cans! Absurd! As for a special MEAT? Representative, I mean, I’ve always thought of myself as special but I get that you are looking to make a big purchase. For that kind of buying you’d need to talk to my Legal Handler, Ms. Ulsa N. Couth.

We flash back to Couth who is now picking at her nasty, rotten teeth with the same switchblade. Delicious. The Luchador gags a little. He may have even thrown up in his mouth a little bit.

TAL: Charming. Anyway, it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you and your group. Uh, I hope you, um… you know what, I’m gonna level with you. I have no idea what this deal is, and yet it’s not even in the top five weirdest things I’ve seen in my wrestling career.

Max? goes to speak up, but The Luchador interrupts him.

TAL: Please don’t ask me to name my top five weirdest things I’ve ever seen in wrestling. Because then I might start naming stuff from a company whose tape library mysteriously disappeared, and then I’ll have owls trying to pluck the eyes from my skull.

Beat.

TAL: AGAIN!

There is an awkward pause as Max checks his surroundings when he mentions owls. He had seen an alarming number of them roosting near PRIME shows in the last few weeks. 

Max Kael?: Well that was ominous. So, do you want to speak with Couth or..?

TAL: Yeah, might as well get this done and ov…

TAL hurks again looking over at Couth using the same switchblade to now clean between her toes.

TAL: You know what, why not, life is short.

The Luchador heads over to Max?’s legal handler as the camera cuts to another part of the arena.

THE ONE WHERE THEY TALK A LOT

There’s a certain amount of training one has to do to prepare for the Gentleman’s Games that goes beyond the simple visits to the gym that all professional wrestlers (non-Bandit division) partake in. A lot of gentlemanly behavior is ensuing, and at the center of such behavior are three men, and one… we’ll get to that.

You all know the first two. Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips are gathered around an old office chair, which has the initials “CSWA” on the back. Well, it did, but now it’s been crossed out and replaced with a post-it note that reads “VERY COOL GUYS”. Sid is seated uncomfortably in the office chair, which seems a little too small for him. And Joe is pushing him around.

Sid Phillips: I feel like this shouldn’t be our configuration.

Joe Fontaine: What do you mean?

Sid Phillips: I think that since you’re lighter than me, we’d get more speed if you were the one sitting and I was the one pushing.

Joe Fontaine: We tried that when we took the office chairs, remember? You kept trying to powerbomb the chair with me in it.

Sid shrugs his broad shoulders. 

Sid Phillips: I don’t remember this.

Joe turns to the third man in the room, an eyebrow raised.

Joe Fontaine: Fabby, you remember this, right?

The Fabulous Gold Mask, dressed as he is in his plain gold mask and his cheap ash-gray suit, only shrugs his shoulders. 

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, he remembers this.

Next to Fabby is a vending machine, but not just any vending machine. No, this one has big googly eyes on it. Really big, dumb anime eyes, the kinds that makes the peoples go “kawaii~”. It might even be able to generate sparkles if you stare at it long enough. Oh, and it has a beret on it, and it’s full of nothing except wrapped baguettes.

We’re not saying that Joe Fontaine has completely lost the plot on what FLAMBERGE is supposed to be, because that suggests that Joe Fontaine ever went to a library to look for any plots to begin with. 

Anyway, things are fine with Team Glue and there’s no sense in questioning anything that isn’t fine right now. We’d be here all night if we were. 

Joe gives Sid a big push, and he goes down the hallway lazily like a piece of driftwood along a calm stream.

Before crashing into… something.

CRASH!

See? Told you.

“OI! BLOODY HELL!”

Sid comes wheeling back into the picture, courtesy of Jamaal Ingram and Cory Kensington, two members of KING (the K and I, to be exact). Cory seems to be rubbing his leg as Jamaal keeps his eyes on the powerbomb-happy man. Sid seems to be doing mathematical equations in his head, trying to figure out what is the best angle to powerbomb everyone in his vicinity, including the chair.

Jamaal Ingram: Mate, these things aren’t toys! You could’ve hurt someone.

Cory Kensington: Yeah, like me. 

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah, like him.

Cory and Jamaal look at one another and then back at Joe who seems confused. Surely, he’s heard of the British accent, right? I’m sure he has, Cecilworth speaks it. Still, he’s confused about something. Maybe the accents? Maybe not? 

Jamaal Ingram: What the ‘ell are you lot doing anyways? Racing chairs? Come off it.

Cory Kensington: Yeah, I thought this is where serious things happen. You know, like wrestling.

Jamaal looks over at Cory.

Jamaal Ingram: Like wrestling? Why not just wrestling?

Cory Kensington: Bloody hell bro, fine. Just wrestling. It doesn’t look like they’re just doing wrestling though, innit? 

The brothers look back at the Glue Man Group.

Cory Kensington: What’s your deal? Out with it. You owe me, running into my leg and all. 

Sid calmly stands up from the chair, and utters the one word that defines his entire being.

Sid Phillips: Powerbombs.

Joe Fontaine: His deal is powerbombs.

Sid Phillips: Pretty obvious, when you think about it.

Joe Fontaine: His list of powerbombs and powerbomb-related nicknames requires its own dedicated server space on the PRIME website, after all. Everyone knows what Sid’s all about.

Sid Phillips: The word is on my dick when I go to wrestle.

Joe Fontaine: That’s how you know he’s all about it.

The Glues nod amongst themselves. So does the Fabulous Gold Mask, who joins them. So does Cardsworth, who has inexplicably appeared by Fabby’s side and is only nodding enthusiastically because Fabby is willing it to happen. VENDBERGE does not nod because he is one bad motherf– sorry, I’ll shut my mouth. Even if we’re just talking about VENDBERGE and you should dig it.

Joe looks Kensington and Ingram up and down for a few moments, then exchanges awkward glances with the rest of the retiglue.

Joe Fontaine: So, you guys must be new here. Because this kind of thing happens all the time around these parts. Hi. I’m Joe, this is Sid, and we’re the Glue Man Group. 

Fabby wordlessly holds up his hand.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, right. That’s Fabby, he’s our intern.

Sid Phillips: College accredited.

Joe points at Cardsworth.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, and this is Cardsworth – the official Glueminati secretary…

…and then at VENDBERGE.

Joe Fontaine: …and this is FLAMBERGE.

Sid visibly looks like he has a headache from spending so much of his time trying to correct Joe on the situation, and has made a conscious effort to not even bother.

Jamaal looks at Cory.

Cory looks at Jamaal.

They then look at Joe, Sid, Fabby, Cardsworth, and VENBERGE.

They then look back at each other before Jamaal looks back at Joe.

Jamaal Ingram: Sidebar, give us a moment.

Jamaal and Cory then turn their backs to the Glueminati, usually a dangerous proposition, but they could care less in this moment.

Cory Kensington: So, I know Rose said these blokes were daft, but bloody hell.

Jamaal Ingram: No cap, they lost the plot a long time ago.

Cory Kensington: Do you think that was before or after they started hanging around with a vending machine that they’ve named?

Jamaal looks over his right shoulder and eyes Joe and Sid momentarily before returning to his original position.

Jamaal Ingram: Definitely before, mate. And they seem chuffed about it.

Cory Kensington: So, what do we do?

Jamaal Ingram: Follow my lead.

Cory Kensington: ‘ight. 

Jamaal and Cory turn around, as if they just returned to the room. 

Cory Kensington: You lot are definitely a bit of odds and ends, we can understand that now.

Jamaal Ingram: Odds and ends that should be locked up in the asylum.

Cory Kensington: This bloke over here wearing his jim jams–

He points at Fabby.

Jamaal Ingram: Jim jams is right, he might be the least weird of you bunch.

Cory Kensington: And that’s barely. You lot are hanging out with a cardboard version of the vanilla ice cream man–

Jamaal is pointing at Cardsworth.

Jamaal Ingram: Which could be talking about his sexual style if, you know, he looked like a person who got any. 

Cory Kensington: You don’t think he’s like that Argentian guy, you know, the one who went on that talk show and said he only finishes once every three months?

Jamaal shakes his head.

Jamaal Ingram: That bloke? Nah. That guy is nutty and this cardboard cutout of the most bland man in PRIME — and that’s saying something — somehow looks crazier than that. He looks like he did a year of hard grafting and gave up on ever being loved. Like he sits on 8chan and bemoans the fact that he can’t get any.

Cory Kensington: Right, right. 

Jamaal then walks over to the VENDBERGE.

Jamaal Ingram: And this thing? 

Jamaal then begins to beat on the side of the vending machine, causing Sid’s hips to involuntarily start moving alongside the beat.

Jamaal Ingram: Don’t even got no snacks.

Cory Kensington: With this lot, that shit tracks.

Jamaal Ingram: We might have given you some slack.

Cory Kensington: But your whole shtick is wack.

Jamaal then stops and looks at the vending machine oddly, something off about it.

Jamaal Ingram: Did y’all eat the snacks in this thing? It makes a funny sound.

Cory looks at Joe.

Cory Kensington: Yeah, this walking talking cock-up probably ate them all. 

Jamaal chuckles as he returns to Cory’s side.

Jamaal Ingram: That’s my brother, Cory Kensington.

Cory Kensington: And that’s my brother, Jamaal Ingram. We are…

Jamaal and Cory: [together] KINETIC! INNOVATION!

They then smile at the Glue Man Group and their assorted minions.

Jamaal Ingram: You may have seen us in such popular programs such as–

Cory Kensington: UltraViolence, the night where The Anglo Luchador was drugged and left laid out on the main stage.

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah, yeah. And now, starring in your segment.

Cory Kensington: That’s right brother, we are, aren’t we?

That would be an impressive feat, considering they weren’t in the segment at the start of it and we all know that the person that opens the segment is the star of said segment.

Cory Kensington: We came here to wrestle from a far off place that definitely… you

He points at Fabby.

Cory Kensington: — have never heard of. It’s called England. Should we spell it out for you? Jamaal, spell it for this aloof looking motherfucker.

Jamaal Ingram: E-N-G… LAND!

Cory Kensington: Good shit, good shit. 

Jamaal Ingram: And yet, we find you two milquetoast boys out here rolling around in chairs like you got stoned and ate all the snacks.

Cory Kensington: So what the fuck gives?

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah, what the fuck gives?

They then cross their arms and look at the lot assembled before them, giving them the patented ‘what the fuck gives’ look.

You know the one. It’s the one that precedes the owl coming for your throat. 

Joe Fontaine’s daft-ass smile never falters in the middle of all of that. Instead, he gestures at VENDBERGE.

Joe Fontaine: Bro, bros. Look closer. Look into FLAMBERGE’s cold, dead mercantile eyes, and see all of the delicious baguettes within him. This is a man… machine… manchine that clearly is the snack that attacks back. 

Sid Phillips: Hang on. England? Unimpressive. England is the third-most powerbombable country after Terry Blackquill and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. There’s a rating scale. Actually, a tier list. I’ve been to Tier Maker, so I know how that works. 

Joe Fontaine: Wait, Terry is a country?

Sid Phillips: He is now.

Joe Fontaine: Oh. He’d be so thrilled.

Sid Phillips: His screams of horror when my hands wrap around his waist and hoist him high into the air towards his certain doom definitely suggests that he’s very thrilled.

Joe has taken to spinning the office chair around idly, by the way. He turns his attention back to Kinetic Innovation.

Joe Fontaine: Sooo, you guys work here, or something? I mean, a lot of people have beaten up the Anglo Luchador, that’s not really, like… indicative of being employed or anything. Fabby’s probably done it and he’s… you know, just here for the college credits.

The Fabulous Gold Mask vehemently shakes his head.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, you beat him up twice? Cool, cool, cool.

Fabby continues shaking his head.

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, so our gluentern can do it, too. Thrice! And I’m pretty sure our gluentern can beat up your intern, so there. QED, thus it is proven!

Fabby throws his hands up in the air and storms off with Cardsworth in tow, officially giving up on the matter. 

No one notices or cares.

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah, we work here.

Cory Kensington: Impressed the boss lady against… what do they call them, bro?

Jamaal Ingram: Sworn enemies?

Cory Kensington: Can you be sworn enemies if you keep losing against them? Like, over and over again?

Jamaal Ingram: Probably right. These two are more like insects to them.

Cory Kensington: True, true. Let’s call them sparring partners. Your sparring partners. You know, Jared Sykes and Justine Calvin.

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah, Eminence. 

Cory Kensington: I understand that you’ve had some problems… beating them. Judging by your training regiment, can’t say I’m none too surprised.

Jamaal Ingram: Even your chair racing technique is shit. Do you two just half-ass everything you do? 

Cory Kensington: More like no ass it.

Cory extends his hand for a low-five from his brother and Jamaal does it out of instinct at this point in their lives. 

Joe can only laugh.

Joe Fontaine: Oh, man. Look at the tryhards over here. 

Sid Phillips: Maybe they have to practice that routine in a mirror.

Joe Fontaine: Probably has to be a big mirror with all of the assery going on over there. Says a lot when our half-assing is better than your double-assing.

Joe shrugs his shoulders.

Joe Fontaine: Anyway, you two, it’s pretty clear that you don’t actually work here. But if you’re looking for work, and I know you are, I think they offer Enemigo masks over in HR. I hear the benefits are pretty good and you get to hang out with a lot of like-minded individuals who don’t have any secret underground Enemigo races that I’m definitely not privy to.

Sid Phillips: I’m not allowed to powerbomb those.

Joe Fontaine: The Enemigos, the races, or…

Sid Phillips: Any of it. You powerbomb a man against a boulder twenty-three times to make it go faster, and they hold it against you for all time.

Joe Fontaine: Ah.

Joe taps Sid on the shoulder. Sid takes the hint and rises from his seat.

Joe Fontaine: Anyway, great chatting with you guys. Really. Looking forward to seeing what you do in Enemigo masks! I think there’s going to be fierce competition for that LXIX mask, you know what I mean? But really, look at the time! Hayes is gonna need our valuable moral support soon against the Russians in a minute. 

Sid Phillips: Kenny is from Los Angeles.

Joe raises his fist into the air.

Joe Fontaine: Russian Los Angeles!

With that, Joe and Sid depart from the scene. After a few moments, Joe comes back to retrieve the office chair before rolling it out of the scene.

Jamaal and Cory look at one another.

Jamaal Ingram: Like in one ear and out the other.

Cory Kensington: For sure. We ask them a question, they acted like squirrels in the park who can’t decide where they want to go.

Jamaal Ingram: And no apology for crashing their chair into us.

Cory Kensington: Rude. 

Jamaal Ingram: So, let’s chalk this up as a failure.

Cory Kensington: That’s fine, we’ll get them next time. Too busy focusing on racing chairs against the Masters of the Moscowverse.

Jamaal Ingram: Yeah. Not like they’re going to be wrestling anytime soon.

They begin to walk away as the camera watches them as they become smaller on the screen.

Jamaal Ingram: You know, I think mentioning Eminence to them set them off.

Cory Kensington: Yeah, they’re soft as fuck. 

We then cut to ringside for our next match. 

KENNY FREEMAN VS. HAYES HANLON

We return to ringside at the Greensboro Coliseum to the sounds of the trap remix of the Soviet National Anthem, heralding the arrival of the Masters of the Moscowverse. But the Masters are not alone this evening, because there is a colossus walking out behind them. Said colossus, who casts a mighty shadow over the whole of PRIME and who carries its Universal championship, is Ivan Stanislav.

You guys, there are so many boos.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen, this is a second round match in the Seymour Almasy Memorial Tournament! Entering the ring first… being accompanied to the ring by the PRIME Universal Champion, Ivan Stanislav! Hailing from Los Angeles, California! Representing the RED ARMY! KENNNNNNNYYYYY FREEEEEEMAAAAAAANNNNNNNN!!!!!!

More boos as Freeman rolls into the ring and raises his arms into the air. Ivan, meanwhile, walks around the ring until he sets his eyes on the commentary table.

Nick Stuart: Uh, Ivan is heading our way.

Richard Parker: Well, you’d better be on your best behavior, then. And definitely don’t say anything too disagreeable!

As Ivan takes a seat on a chair not exactly built to his specifications, Kenny Freeman’s opponent makes his presence known.

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WALL!”

I!

WILL!

CON!

QUER!

Turns out, Ivan Stanislav is not the only unpopular guy around these days, because even when the PA system is drowned out by the eardrum bludgeoning that is We Came As Romans’ “Daggers”, you can still hear boos for the Event Horizon.

Hayes Hanlon, the former Universal Champion, has arrived.

And he’s not alone.

Joining him at ringside are none other than Joe Fontaine and Sid Phillips, the Glue Man Group. The man of many nicknames and the man who calls himself “Smooth Joe Cool” saunter down to the ring behind Hanlon, who doesn’t seem to mind his company as much as he probably should. Instead, Hammerin’ Hanlon marches down to the ring with an intensity and a purpose.  

Vince Howard: His opponent… from West Linn, Oregon! He weighs in at two hundred and sixty-five pounds! THE EVENT HORIZON! HAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYESSS HAAAAAAANLOOOOOOOOONNNN!!!!!!!!

The new crown jewel of the Glueminati – okay, there’s a few crown jewels in that illustrious crown – hops up onto the ring apron and steps through the ropes. He heads for a turnbuckle and, when the song hits its chorus again, he makes the throat-slashing gesture. He moves to another corner and does the same thing.

Ivan Stanislav: Now I get to show you “commentators” how we commentate in Russia, eh? And first thing is you do not try to interrupt me. You can hear by this crowd they finally see how much of charlatan Hayes Hanlon always has been? I did enjoy smashing him to pieces at Tropical Turmoil. 

With Hanlon in the ring, ready to get going, referee Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.

DING DING

Kenny Freeman immediately comes running after Hayes Hanlon and hammering on him with right hands. Hanlon reacts to them in much the same way that an iron golem would react to the devastating attacks of a gnat, standing there and taking it with little reaction.

Undaunted, Kenny keeps swinging until Hanlon buries a knee into Freeman’s gut that doubles him over and sends him sprawling to the ground.

As this is happening, though, there’s activity at the commentary booth.

Richard Parker: Oh no. No, no, no! No!

Joe Fontaine: Hey, Richie, good buddy, good pal! Thought you could use some cool and brilliant company on this fine evening!

The camera cuts to Joe Fontaine, who has taken a seat next to Richard Parker and has an arm around his shoulder like they’re the bestest friends in the whole world. Which they aren’t.

Richard Parker: I’m in hell. This is hell, and I’m in it.

Ivan Stanislav: As if this evening could not get any worse…

In the ring, the Thresher of Hooves is taking his time throwing the much smaller Freeman around the ring like a sack of potatoes. You know, potatoes you’re not planning to boil, mash, or stick in a stew. A beal throw sends Freeman rolling into the opposite corner, and then Hanlon charges him. Freeman ducks out of the way, but Hanlon stops himself from running into the turnbuckles.

This time, Freeman doesn’t go for the right hands. He stuns Hanlon with an enzuigiri, and that allows him time to run into the ropes for an attempt at a step-up hurricanrana. Hanlon, however, holds on and leaves Freeman hanging upside-down.

Hanlon doesn’t go for the powerbomb. Instead, he just flings Freeman to the ground without care in the world, with little technique required.

Joe Fontaine: Yay!

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman is having a tough time out there. He’s yet to figure out how to handle the size difference between himself and his opponent.

Richard Parker: Tee el, semicolon, dee are: He needs to find a version of himself in the multiverse that has a bazooka.

Joe Fontaine: Or one that knows karate. Like Hokuto Shinken. Oh, oh… or maybe the Monster Calamity God Slayer Fist, that one’s pretty good. You could fight the whole S-Class with that. Honestly, there’s actually a lot of different forms of karate, it’s good stuff.

Richard Parker: Yeah, but those are martial arts meant to kill people, and this is a respectable sporting competition. I mean, we don’t want Hayes Hanlon to declare that Kenny Freeman is already dead before he explodes messily. Think of the cleanup!

Joe Fontaine: You’re right, buddy. Maybe Fishman Karate?

Richard Parker: Oh, I think you’re on to something!

Nick Stuart: I have no idea what either of you are talking about.

Ivan Stanislav: I am loathe to admit this, Nick Stuart, but I agree with you…

Back in the ring, Hayes Hanlon had been pounding away at Freeman. He sends Freeman into the ropes and lands his massive, tilting Samoan Drop that drives all of the air out of Freeman’s lungs. Hanlon slides into a lackadaisical cover, and smirks as he counts the three along with the referee.

That’s when Kenny Freeman suddenly springs to life with a crucifix pin.

It only gets two, but Hanlon is rattled by this and he goes to throw Freeman around some more. He hoists him up bodily for a powerbomb, barely even getting set for it, much to the excitement of one Sidney Phillips, the man of many powerbomb-related nicknames. Unfortunately, Sid’s excitement for the actions of Hanlon are premature, as Kenny suddenly and swiftly rips himself backwards and takes Hanlon down with a hurricanrana!

Ivan Stanislav: Well done Comrade Kenny! I taught him this move, called HurricanRussia, in Russia!

Hanlon ends up in the corner, but before he could get his bearings, Freeman manages to hit him with a running dropkick that takes Freeman himself over the top rope and out onto the apron, where he lands on his feet. A leg trip puts Hanlon on his ass in the corner, and then Freeman slingshots himself over the top rope and into a dropkick on the seated former champion!

Freeman grabbed Hanlon by the boot and pulled him from the corner with all of his might. A cover and a two count, but the smaller Freeman had Hanlon on the ropes. Not literally. Oh, wait, now it’s literal, because Freeman makes a point to try and tie Hanlon up in the ropes. This gets a lot of admonishment from Elvis Nixon, but Hanlon’s arms end up tied up in the ropes.

Joe Fontaine: Hey, uh… that’s not cool.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!

With Hanlon trapped in the ropes, Freeman tees up and lands a few right hands to Hammerin’ Hanlon’s face. Then he runs the ropes and hits him with a hard dropkick, the kind where Freeman almost pierces through Hanlon entirely. It’s shockingly vicious from a wrestler like Kenny Freeman, but it’s effective. It also frees Hanlon from his predicament, and allows Freeman to make the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Ivan Stanislav: What is this with these slow counts?!

Nick Stuart: That’s his normal cadence, Ivan.

Ivan Stanislav: *growls* Then his normal cadence is slow, Stuart…

Freeman knows that he needs to do more to keep Hayes Hanlon and his mustache down. Especially the mustache. He steps out onto the ring apron and climbs to the top rope, waiting for Hanlon to get to his feet. When he does, he launches off with a big missile dropkick that… doesn’t knock Hanlon down. Not right away. No, Hanlon is knocked wobbly, and teeters for a few seconds on spaghetti legs. He holds his hand up, finger extended, like he’s trying to make a salient point against the concept of gravity.

Then he goes straight and rigid and slowly falls to his back with a large thud.

Freeman unhesitatingly flies on top of him for another attempt at a pin.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Nick Stuart: Freeman almost had him, but again Hanlon kicks out!

Joe Fontaine: Yeah, it’s gonna take more than that to keep ‘ol Hayes down. I mean, Sid and I have been doing a lot of image training with Hayes to make sure he was ready for this tournament, you know. And, y’know, actual training. But mostly image training. Gotta make sure that mustache is pristine.

Ivan Stanislav: Image training? For record, 10 out of 10 Russians voted that my mustache was better than Hayes Hanlon’s!

Joe Fontaine: Nah, that’s more of a full beard thing you’ve got going on when you think about it. The mustache isn’t really what stands out in that bird’s nest.

Ivan Stanislav: Bird’s nest?! I have had facial hair longer than you have been alive you little…

Back in the ring, Freeman knows he needs to do more to put Hanlon away, but knows he’s not weak enough for the Freeman Special that got him past Darin Zion on the last show. So, he goes to the well again, and heads up to the top rope.

This time, though, Hanlon recovers quick enough that he’s able to knock Freeman off of his perch, crotching him on the top rope. A lot of sympathy pain goes out among the male members of the Greensboro crowd while Hanlon pauses to get his bearings again. Then Hanlon climbs up to the second rope to join Freeman. With a mighty heave, Hanlon flings Freeman across the ring with a huge belly-to-belly superplex!

Ivan Stanislav: Этого сукиного сына надо дисквалифицировать! (This son of a bitch should be disqualified!)

Joe Fontaine: Ahhshakatomonyomtoomofackenfolisamakallimakabrutananadilewski! (My hovercraft is full of eels!)

Hanlon smirks for the crowd as he gets up after landing the big throw, basking in their jeers. With a contemptuous motion, he throws his arms out to the side and slowly begins reaching for the sky. Everyone in the building knows what the Event Horizon is looking for now. It’s the move that’d brought him such success in PRIME. The Epoch.

Once Freeman staggers to his feet, Hanlon tosses him into the ropes.

But Kenny Freeman is a survivor. He grabs the ropes they could send him to certain doom, and kicks up his feet to hit Hanlon when he tries to press the issue. This kick causes Freeman to flip over the top ropes and land on his feet at the apron. Then Freeman surges between the ropes, looking for…

SMACK!

…an early grave.

Nick Stuart: WHAT A KNEE FROM HANLON!

Ivan Stanislav rips the headset off from his head, irate at Hanlon’s luck. The former Universal Champion, who remains the only two blemishes on Stanislav’s record since his return, only smirks at him. Ivan stands to go to the ring to address the issue, but Sid Phillips stands between him and the ring.

And sure, Ivan could maybe swat aside even the Powerbombenheimer himself as easily as he could part an iron curtain.

But that doesn’t matter.

All Sid needs to do is be in Ivan’s way.

Richard Parker: This doesn’t look good for Kenny.

Joe Fontaine: No, I’d say it’s the opposite of good, which is… well. Bye, Kenny.

Freeman gets launched into the ropes by Hanlon, and this time, there is no saving him from…

Nick Stuart: THE EPOCH!

Yeah. That.

Hanlon grabs Kenny’s legs and holds him down after landing the Epoch.

ONE!

Ivan has yeeted Sid out of the way…

TWO!

…but by the time he turns to get a hand on the second ropes, Kenny Freeman’s already cooked.

THREE!

DING DING DING

Ivan Stanislav freezes as the result is rendered. There’s a bitter disappointment in those eyes.

Hanlon slides out of the ring to join Sid Phillips, half-lying and half-sitting against the guardrail after the aforementioned yeeting, and he’s smiling over notching another victory over the hated Red Army.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match, and moving on to the quarterfinals… HAAAAAYYYYYYESSSSSS HAAAAANLOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNN!!!

Joe Fontaine: Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, but we out. Glues, away!

Joe literally leaps out of his chair and away from commentary – and doubly away from Ivan – making his way towards Hanlon and Phillips. The three Glueminati members celebrate the victory with their arms linked and raised.

Richard Parker: This is a disaster for my good friend, Ivan Stanislav!

Nick Stuart: Kenny Freeman definitely brought it tonight, but Hayes Hanlon is one of the most decorated wrestlers in this era of PRIME and he reminded everyone of that tonight! 

Ivan checks on Kenny as the Glueminati make their way out of dodge, and ReVival 38 moves on!

WHAT COMES NEXT

Let’s go to where the action is!

The locker room!

…

Sorry, that’s where the inaction is. And also where we are, so…sorry, again.

Anyway, let’s meet our players.

Here’s Nate Colton, in his street clothes. The Next Diamond has lost some of his shine as of late, both between his personal struggles and his first-round exit from the Almasy at ReV36. He sits on a bench and watches the monitor, waiting to see what comes next for him…if, in fact, anything does.

And here’s Rich Patterson, also in street clothes, black tee, black jeans, black boots. Phone in hand, distracted in equal measure by what’s on the monitor and what’s ongoing in his text thread. He hadn’t expected to see action at ReV37 but found some, anyway — an inauspicious in-ring debut followed by an inauspicious water-cooler interaction with one of the company’s top pricks. It could be going better.

Nate Colton: Kenny and Hayes…man, who do you root for here?

Rich Patterson: They’re both so likable.

Nate Colton: Right? Who better to represent the company–a stooge, or a stooge who thinks he’s not one?

Rich Patterson: There’s a surfeit of those round here, it seems. People who don’t want to be what they are.

Nate Colton: Ain’t that the truth. Seems like the only folks proud of themselves are the ones that shouldn’t be. Stanislav, Jiles, Gamble…

Rich Patterson: (looking up from his phone) Paxton Ray.

The name draws a deep breath and a slow exhale from Colton.

Nate Colton: That guy. I saw you ran into him at the last show too.

Rich Patterson: Your phrasing’s doing a lot of work there.

Nate Colton: Yeah, well. Can’t say what I really think of him, just in case there’s kids watching.

Rich Patterson: I get the feeling the next time Ray “runs into” me, it’s going to be with a car — just in case there’s kids watching.

Nate Colton: Heh. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea of him actually apologizing to people.

Rich Patterson: I get that. Like one well-timed mea culpa might make a man walk again.

Nate Colton: Right. But…

Nate trails off, as he tries to twist two different belief systems around each other so they can fit together.

Nate Colton: Like, saying he’s sorry isn’t enough. It’s nowhere close. But it’s not nothing, either. And it’s a damn sight more than I ever thought I’d see.

Rich Patterson: You know the man better than me. What’s he done by way of apology? Look, if I lived in the desert, and I do, and someone tried selling me sand, I wouldn’t make an offer.

“So he spent about nine months last year trying to kill me in some capacity. Almost succeeded once or twice, too.”

Here’s Jared Sykes, casually leaning against the wall in his ring gear. Hands buried in his pockets. One ankle crossed over the other. For someone known for driving a forklift through a densely-populated casino it’s a minor miracle that he managed to arrive without being noticed. Maybe it was all that time spent amongst spies and spy-adjacent colleagues so many years ago.

Jared Sykes: And then he approached me a few weeks ago and didn’t throw a punch, so who knows. Maybe what he says is true, and he’s trying to be better. Still…

He reaches a thumb inside the collar of his tee-shirt, one still mostly hidden under a hooded black sweatshirt, and reveals a single alligator tooth mounted on a black cord. It’s the same tooth that was still lodged in his back when he returned backstage after his unsanctioned fight with Paxton Ray at Colossus.

Jared Sykes: Not a hundred percent sure I buy it. Old wounds, y’know?

Nate Colton: Yeah, I do. Not sure I buy it either, after everything he did…what he would have done to my sister, if good people hadn’t been there to stop him. It’s just…either of you guys go to church on the regular?

Rich Patterson: I do not.

Jared Sykes: Not counting the random visits, I haven’t been regularly in… Jesus, thirty years? Maybe longer? It’s been a while.

Nate Colton: I don’t make it as much as I should, but…that ain’t the point. I just had one of our pastor’s sermons pop in my head, is all. She was going on about how important forgiveness is… “love thy enemy,” “forgive us our trespasses,” all of that. And told us to think about the person who’d done us the most wrong, and whether they deserved to be forgiven. Now, I had someone in mind for that, and I guess most of the congregation did…and the pastor says, “I bet you’re all thinking that they don’t deserve it.” And we all kinda agreed.

The Next Diamond shakes his head, a little smile on his face.

Nate Colton: So she says, “But that’s the point. The ones who deserve it the least, are the ones who need it the most.”

He shrugs.

Nate Colton: Guess that always stuck with me.

Jared looks down at his hands. At some point during Nate’s story, Jared’s hands had escaped their pocket prison, and now his right thumb was tracing a slow circle over a spot on his left forearm that’s hidden by his sweatshirt. He takes in a long breath, and nods.

Jared Sykes: It’s… yeah.

He lets his head fall back against the wall.

Jared Sykes: It’s a good way to live, it really is. The hard part, at least for me, has always been letting go of the anger and the hurt. I mean the parts that stick with you, that nobody talks about. But it gets complicated, right? Like let’s say I accept his apology for everything that happened to me… for what happened with the mannequin… for the fact that within minutes of getting into that ring, the dude tried to do the same thing to me that he did to Jon. If I can be okay with that, then how do I reconcile it with all the people I know who can’t?

He sighs.

Jared Sykes: Being an adult is the fucking worst.

Rich Patterson: This brand of talk feels like the talk of survivors — people living through profound tragedy, constant grief — the kind who need to take lessons from their suffering so what happened to them is not just understandable but meaningful. That speaks volumes. What happened to you two doesn’t have meaning. Paxton Ray’s a drooling terrorist. If you forgive him, good, but for yourselves. Don’t do it for him. Anything he’s ever done here deserves only what he’s done to others.

Nate Colton: Eye for an eye, right? Makes for better TV, I guess. But as much as I’d love to strangle that bastard, I think I wanna see if he’s on the level. I doubt it…but there’s always hope, right?

Jared shrugs.

Jared Sykes: I don’t know if I’m ready to go all-in on the guy, but I’ve been surprised by people before.

Nate Colton: Look, this whole thing might still be some kind of trick…and if it is, I’ll be the first in line to kick him back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But if my faith is gonna have any meaning, then I have to believe there’s good in everybody. So unless he’s…I dunno, Wyatt Connors or something…maybe he can actually turn his life around.

Jared Sykes: Well then…

He pushes away from the wall and turns towards the door.

Jared Sykes: I think that’s my cue. Y’all have a good rest of the night.

With a nod of acknowledgement to both men, Jared steps through the doorway and out into the corridor.

Rich Patterson: What I know about that man — Rhine’s paralysis, shock collars, the like — is what everyone knows about that man. You’re an insider; I can’t imagine what else you’ve been privy to.

He’s in the doorway now, too.

Rich Patterson: I hate to see good faith punished. But what involvement with Paxton Ray hasn’t ended in punishment? Be careful is all. I know you know.

And into the corridor with a brief token of farewell.

Nate Colton: Good talk, everyone.

He turns his attention back to the monitor, waiting to see what comes next.

Cut.

VVHETTING THE BLADE

We go backstage to Argyle, where we are greeted by our favorite boy in blue.

Simon Tillier: ReVival 38 continues, ladies and gentlemen! Simon Tillier here backstage, and with me now is one of tonight’s competitors in the Almasy Tournament… Kerry Kuroyama!

Standing astride the junior reporter is the aforementioned Emerald Apex. Clad in his silver-and-green robe, Kerry looks loose and focused in the minutes before his second-round venture. The picture of pre-match preparedness. 

Standing close at his shoulder is his unwitting assistant, Scott Hunter, holding ready a towel and water bottle.

Simon Tillier: Kerry, how are you feeling tonight?

Kerry draws in a breath, gazing into something a million miles away. Heavy calm-before-the-storm vibes.

Kerry Kuroyama: Tranquil and tenacious, Simon. And hungry. Like an animal, waiting to be set free from its cage. Ready to extend my claws…

Seattle’s BEAST rubs his palms together.

Kerry Kuroyama: I’ve been waiting weeks for this moment, Simon. To take the next step forward in this tournament, and one step closer to the endgame. To be given the next opportunity to prove my level of exceptionalism, as a powerful and pure professional wrestler.

He rolls his neck and snorts with all the fury of a stallion.

Simon Tillier: Since you arrived in PRIME, you’ve made it no secret that you are a person of great ambitions. 

Kuroyama concurs with a slow and deliberate series of nods.

Simon Tillier: It certainly showed back at ReVival 36, with the relentless performance we witnessed in your debut match… coincidentally, against the man currently standing behind you.

Hunter is aloofly staring at the boom mic hanging offscreen over their heads.

Simon Tillier: But do you feel you can maintain that level of momentum against the high-flying and popular fan favorite, Rocky de Leon?

Kerry lets out a low, singular chuckle.

Kerry Kuroyama: We’re in Greensboro tonight, Simon. A city where the tradition of professional wrestling runs deep. The people here don’t suffer fools gladly. Regardless of whatever buffoonery happens here tonight, whether it be in the ring or back here, you can expect the action to be the consistent center of attention. And as a man you yourself describe as someone of great ambitions, I’m counting on that. 

Kerry’s determined eyes find the camera.

Kerry Kuroyama: Because I define myself by my actions. Not what I dress up as. Not what I shriek out to the fans. What I do. And regardless of what happens tonight, I can promise you, Simon, that what I do to the ptera-dork out there tonight… will not be pretty. 

The junior reporter shifts his attention over to the sycophant hovering close by.

Simon Tillier: Scott, considering you were his first opponent here in PRIME, I would make the case that you know this man’s abilities in the ring better than anyone else in that locker room right now. That said, how do you feel about Kerry’s chances against Rocky de Leon?

Scott Hunter: I have full confidence that my best friend Kerrance Kuroyama can easily handle the lion puncher. You can’t punch lions and get away with it! This cannot stand! We will protect the lions if no one else will, whether they are from Detroit, or they’re cowardly, or they are being punched by Sylvester Stallone. 

Kuroyama gives Hunter a brief side-eye, but says nothing.

Simon Tillier: And what would it mean to you, should the Pacific Blitzkrieg take the next step forward tonight? Will you continue to support him the whole way?

Scott Hunter: Are you dumb?

Scott looks at Kerry.

Scott Hunter: Is he dumb?

Kerry Kuroyama: (shrugs) Probably. 

Scott Hunter: Yours is a question that is both infinitely stupid and ill-formed. Your brain is likely made out of mashed potatoes, and you probably put white gravy on those mashed potatoes instead of brown, like some sort of barbarian. Listen here Hungry Jack, my support of Vae Victis and specifically Kerry Kuroyama is absolute. Do you hear what I said?!?! SPECIFICALLY!

Simon arches his eyebrow back to Kerry.

Simon Tillier: Well, Kerry… I suppose you should consider yourself fortunate to have such loyalty at your back in your journey to the top.

Kuroyama shrugs.

Kerry Kuroyama: “Fortunate”… sure, I guess that’s one way of putting it. Still, there’s no harm in having some back-up…

He casts another doubtful side-eye toward Scott again.

Kerry Kuroyama: …yet.

Simon Tillier: In any case, Kerry, I suppose I should wish you the best of luck in the ring tonight against Rocky.

Kerry Kuroyama: I don’t need luck against cosplay creeps, Simon. I just need five minutes between the ropes, and a ref that can do their job. If that’s all you got, then please pardon me… I have a flyboy to fossilize.

Simon’s expression sours. Kuroyama nods to Hunter.

Kerry Kuroyama: Don’t wait up, Scott. I don’t think I’ll be needing that towel when I’m done. See you back at the clubhouse.

Scott Hunter: ON IT, KERRANCE!!

Kerry holds out his fist for a bump. Scott covers it within his hand and gives it a firm, supportive shake. Kuroyama can only clench his eyes shut and shake his head before heading toward the curtain, Simon scornfully watching him exit.

We then cut… elsewhere.

HOW MANY RUSSIANS CAN YOU FIT IN LINDSAY TROY’S OFFICE?

Elsewhere backstage…

Universal Champion Ivan Stanislav has since left the broadcast position and stands with his hands on his hips as he glowers at an unseen source of frustration. 

Alexei Ruslan is next to him. He removes his hat for a moment and runs a hand through his short graying hair and looks up at his comrade expectantly. 

And next to him is Arina Timofeyevna. The young girl’s dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she wears a striking red uniform with green lapels and gold accents, complete with a red hat. She blinks her vibrant blue eyes and, admittedly, the uniform is a bit too large for her. Her lips are painted red as she purses them together and looks down at the floor.

Alexei Ruslan: Best course of action, Starshy Praporshchik? 

Arina glances pensively between the two Russians. She looks, in a word, nervous. We finally see what Stanislav is staring at: 

The Steel Door O’ Doom with Lindsay Troy’s name upon it. 

He hadn’t expected the same door to move from location to location, but that dent definitely was high enough to have come from only Ivan himself in the past. He growls. 

Ivan Stanislav: We knock.  

Ruslan, crestfallen, nods as he places his hat back on his head and steels himself while Arina quietly looks between the two of them again then down to the floor again. Ivan knocks with three powerful slams of his fist which are perfectly spaced and in perfect rhythm. If one was to describe it the sound and cadence? “Bang” or “Boom” just wouldn’t suffice. “Ivan Stanislav Knocking,” however, seems perfectly accurate. 

He waits. But not for long. 

The Steel Door O’ Doom opens slowly and the grinning face of Ami Troy gazes up at The Russian Bear, whose scowl only seems to intensify. Behind him, Ruslan’s eyes grow murderous, while Arina twists her lips and remains silent. 

Ami Troy: Hiya!

Ivan Stanislav: Great. Hello Ami. I have a meeting with your… mother?

He blinks as he easily looks over her head into the room. 

Ami Troy: I know you do.

She grins, mischievously, then looks at Alexei.

Ami Troy: I don’t think we have any lightbulbs that need replacing, though.

Rapid Russian muttering burbles from behind Ivan as Alexei speaks to Arina. The Universal Champion clears his throat. 

Ivan Stanislav: All right let’s get this over with then, who all do we have in here?!

He lurches forward to make his way into the room, gazing about with a perma-scowl on his face. 

It’s not just Ami Troy. Oh no. Seated behind the desk is, of course, the owner of PRIME, and to her right is The Bad Dog, Wade Elliott. This audience is certainly not what Stanislav expected, and the surprise on his face registers for just a moment before he growls. 

Ivan Stanislav: I did not expect to walk into zoo. (nodding at Wade) We have dog. (nodding at Lindsay) We have goat. (completely ignoring Ami) But they all pale in comparison to bear, eh? DYAAHAAHAA!!

Stanislav places his hands on his Universal Title, which is secured around his thick waist. Wade, meanwhile, shifts slightly from his place against the wall. He is wildly unimpressed.

Ivan Stanislav: I thought I take time out from commentating duties to stop by, Lindsay. First and foremost, why was that idiot commentating with me for Hayes and Freeman? Surely that was not sanctioned by you?!

Lindsay Troy: Who else would have sanctioned it? Last I checked, your boys Kenny and Randall are engaged in Gentlemanly Combat with the Glue Man Group, and as such someone needs to be promoting it. Even if that someone is Joe Fontaine. 

The Queen pauses for a beat.

Lindsay Troy: And don’t call me Shirley.

Stanislav waves a dismissive hand before the entire room as he clearly tries to keep his temper to a slow boil. 

Ivan Stanislav: Shirley? It… it does not matter. What does matter is why I am here. You want to finally lift this stupid situation with Alexei and Jabber, yes, I agree. So here. I show you. Arina? 

Stanislav motions for Arina to stand next to him. The shy Russian woman slides past Ruslan and stands next to Stanislav, gazing up at him with a hint of trust for a moment but doesn’t make eye contact with Troy or the gang. If anything, she looks intimidated by them as she dips her head and her red hat nearly falls over her eyes. She fixes it and keeps her eyes downcast silently. Stanislav pats Arina’s shoulder reassuringly. 

Ivan Stanislav: I want to introduce you to Arina Timofeyevna. You know, she has been calling your office for weeks about this whole Jabber thing, and you ignore her. I think it best to put face with her fine name and realize this poor girl is just trying to do her job. What do you have to say for yourselves?!

Ami Troy: Oh my gosh, you’re super pretty.

The merry little mischief maker skips over and stands next to Arina. This time, her smile is warm and genuine.

Ami Troy: Is that the new Dior Forever glitter lipstick? Deb and I are obsessed with it. She obviously likes the pink but the purple’s more my style.

Wade can’t help but snort, arms across his chest. Ivan closes his eyes tightly and grits his teeth for a moment. Arina’s cheeks redden just slightly as she turns her eyes upwards toward the Universal Champion. She opens her mouth but Ivan’s booming voice rolls over her own.

Ivan Stanislav: Okay we are busy tonight and have business to tend to. So everyone who does not matter: That means you (pointing at Wade) and you (pointing at Ami)? 

He thumbs at the door over his shoulder. 

Ivan Stanislav: Out! 

Lindsay can’t help but laugh. Wade, however, cannot, and the Bad Dog takes a hard step forward.

Wade Elliott: You (pointing at Ivan) better go on an’ fuck yerself ‘fore I make a fuckin’ mess out’ve you an’ yer whole god-damned parade!

Lindsay Troy: (calming Wade with a gentle wave) Alright, everyone take a breath. Ivan, I know you didn’t forget whose office you’re in, so I don’t know why you think you have the standing to dictate who stays and who goes. And before you hit me with the “But I’m the Universal Champ” line, I’m the one who runs the show and signs your checks and books your matches. 

The Southern Sparkplug, eyes still burning, opts to stay put. Alexei’s brown-clad shoulders rise as he prepares to speak, in unison with Ivan as the two Russians are poised to protest, but Arina yelps and speaks up instead, her voice soft but angled and her English is not nearly as polished.

Arina Timofeyevna: Please! Uh, Ms. Troy. Starshy Praporshchik… he just want to fix issue with Mr. Ruslan and Jabber. Please. We travel very very far around globe and this very important to us. 

Ivan frowns inwardly and rests his hands on his hips. Lindsay offers a soft smile to Arina.

Lindsay Troy: Хотите сесть?

Arina’s eyes widen in shock as she looks up at Ivan, clearly not expecting to hear her native  tongue from Lindsay Troy’s lips. Ivan shrugs and nods to her as she looks back at Lindsay with a nervous smile.

Arina Timofeyevna: Yes. Please. 

The Queen rises from her seat, walks around the desk and pulls one of the chairs out for Arina, motioning for her to make herself comfortable. As Arina settles in, a beeping goes off from Ami’s phone. She presses the screen and gives her mother a wink.

Ami Troy: I need to go upstairs and check on the thing for the thing.

Lindsay Troy: Alright. Tell the Boys I’ll stop by later.

Ami Troy: OK. It was nice to meet you, Arina! You should come hang out after the show, it’ll be fun!

With that, she bounds out the door, giving Alexei a nasty look as she does.

Lindsay returns to her chair and crosses her right leg over he left. Ivan glares at Wade for a moment before he cuts his eyes back down to The Queen. Alexei shifts over to take Arina’s place at his side, but Ivan seems to be at his wits end. He winces and huffs. 

Ivan Stanislav: Listen. I have had enough of this. I’m tired of dealing with this situation. I am Universal Champion. Alexei is my manager. He is also my friend. I am tired of his consternation. I am tired of Arina working on this issue. I am tired of having this conversation with you, Lindsay, as I am sure you are with me. This has gone on long enough. Since September! 

Lindsay Troy: August, actually.

She smiles.

Lindsay Troy: It was my birthday present to myself.

Alexei nearly jumps out of his shoes. 

Alexei Ruslan: BIRTHDAY PRESENT?!

Ivan Stanislav: We sent you fruit basket!!!

Lindsay Troy: Yes, that was very nice of you, thank you. But haven’t you ever heard of treating yourself on your birthday? 

She looks at Wade.

Lindsay Troy: They do that in Russia, right?

Wade Elliott: Th’hell should I know?

Ruslan’s face turns as red as his tie. He wags his finger at Troy and steps towards her desk. 

Alexei Ruslan: I didn’t even bug that fruit basket, Lindsay Troy! And DON’T THINK I DIDN’T WANT TO!!!

Ivan reels Ruslan in by the collar and pulls him back with a bellow. 

Ivan Stanislav: Enough!! Lindsay. Entire roster is clawing each other’s eyes out in order to see who challenges me. Whoever has Golden Ticket will have match with me on journey to Culture Shock. I want an end to this! I am sick of all this static!

Lindsay Troy: Alright, alright. Fine. You’re right, Ivan. As much as I’ve enjoyed this – and believe me, I’ve enjoyed this very much – it’s starting to become a distraction. Mainly because I’m tired of you whining about it on Jabber. And, to your point, it shouldn’t be Arina’s responsibility to have to ask me to unban Alexei. 

She pauses.

Lindsay Troy: Of course, if Alexei wasn’t an annoying little gnat, I wouldn’t have had to ban him in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there. Arina, I’m sorry I made your job more stressful than it already is as a government employee. You shouldn’t have been put in the middle of this and I apologize for my role in that.

Arina looks up at Ivan for a moment and simply asks for clarification in Russian from Ivan, who  translates it quickly to her. She thinks and smiles shyly and nods towards Lindsay. 

Arina Timofeyevna: I very much like working for government. But. Thank you. Ms. Troy. It is appreciate. 

Lindsay Troy: Good. Now. My Universal Champion would like his friend and manager unbanned from PRIME’s chat platform. And I have PRIME’s biggest show of the year coming up next month and I need my Universal Champion promoting it. I think we can kill two birds with one stone here, because earlier this week I had a unique opportunity come across my desk for some cross-promotional marketing with a huge global brand. The name at the top of their list that they’re most excited to work with was yours, Ivan.

Ivan narrows his eyes carefully and measures Lindsay from on high. He crosses his arms over his barrel chest and inhales as his suspenders audibly creak. 

Ivan Stanislav: Well… it makes sense that you would have your biggest champion in Universal Title history doing this for biggest show of year. I’m listening. 

Lindsay Troy: I understand that you’re going to have doubts, however this is an opportunity for you to not only continue reaching people around the world as PRIME’s Universal Champion, but to also represent a literary Russian hero. There is nobody else who can do this but you. 

There’s stunned silence between the Russians as Ivan looks over at Alexei and smirks. 

Ivan Stanislav: Once more, PRIME comes crawling to us to save them from fire. All right, Lindsay, who is it?

Lindsay Troy: Ivan…

She leans forward, slowly.

Lindsay Troy: You are the only person in all of PRIME who can dress up as Colossus for Colossus.

You could hear a record needle scratch. Stanislav narrows his eyes and looks over at Alexei, who shrugs, and down at Arina, who is already tapping on her phone. She pulls up a picture of Piotr Rasputin, better known as the X-Man Colossus, and shows it to Ivan. The Russian Bear blinks. 

And blinks again. Meanwhile, Lindsay Troy has an absolute shit-eating grin on her face, while Wade Elliott is pursing his lips together and trying not to laugh.

Alexei Ruslan: I think I just leave…

Alexei frowns as he slowly slinks behind Ivan and disappears from the frame. The Steel Door O’ Doom opens behind Ivan and the top of Alexei’s hat can be seen exiting the room while he shuts the door behind him. Ivan tilts his head to the side, still staring at the picture. 

Ivan Stanislav: He is… strong Russian literary figure, yes… and handsome to boot. And I do this, then this is over and done with?

Lindsay Troy: You do this, and I will unban Alexei from Jabber.

Ivan Stanislav: And… how much of me must be… painted? 

Lindsay Troy: Everything.

Ivan Stanislav: Everything?

Lindsay Troy: Everything.

Ivan stares not at Lindsay, nor at Wade, but at the wall over their heads. Arina’s eyes remain downcast. It’s awkward. Wade is about to burst, and that’s saying something for a dude who never laughs at anything. Ivan’s breath whistles between his nostrils. Arina fidgets. Ivan clears his throat and then, after about twenty seconds of soul-searching, he swallows. Alexei would take a bullet for him, after all, what was this compared to that? Right? Sure. 

The Universal Champion shifts his thick jaw from left to right as he grinds his teeth before finally looking down at Lindsay Troy. He then cuts his eyes over at Wade and smirks as he looks him up and down. 

Ivan Stanislav: First of all… you’re going to need a lot of paint…

Ivan grunts and looks back at LT. 

Ivan Stanislav: Secondly. Lindsay Troy. I say this with utmost sincerity. My skin is like virgin earth of Siberian tundra and upon it, the hairs are much like erect, untouched trees which dot her glorious Russian landscape. Under no circumstances will THIS…

Stanislav grips the neck of his shirt and tears it open, revealing a verdant forest of black and gray chest hair which billows forth for the world to see. 

Ivan Stanislav: …be shaved!

Ivan is breathing hard. Arina stares wide eyed at the floor. 

Ivan Stanislav: Understood?

Lindsay Troy: That’s fine, Ivan. I know it’s been awhile since a woman’s seen you shirtless, but this is the 21st Century and generally, we don’t tell men what to do with their personal grooming.

Ivan rests his hands on his hips and digests Troy’s words. His creased eyes narrow slightly in thought as he imperceptibly chews his lip. 

Ivan Stanislav: Perhaps so.

He shakes away a thought and shifts gears with a grunt and a grin at Wade.

Ivan Stanislav: Do not be jealous, dog. 

Wade Elliott: Keep walkin’ ‘fore I rip all that mess outta yer skin an’ make a pillow with it. 

Stanislav chuckles, but his eyes stare at LT the entire time. He starts to leave while Arina stands. 

Ivan Stanislav: Arina. Have Alexei get me one of my backup shirts, please. 

Arina mutters to LT.

Arina Timofeyevna: Thank you. Ms. Troy. 

Lindsay Troy: Пожалуйста, Арина.

She looks fearfully at Wade but does offer a small smile to Lindsay Troy before scurrying out. From down the hall, Stanislav bellows, unseen. 

Ivan Stanislav: The 20th Century was better!!!

Arina shuts the door, leaving Lindsay Troy and Wade Elliott in relative peace. 

ROCKY DE LEON vs. KERRY KUROYAMA

“Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard” by Streetlight Manifesto cuts through the arena.

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

Nick Stuart: Rocky De Leon has been grinding and working his way up the ladder in PRIME. He’s definitely grown in his time here.

Richard Parker: Yeah, that’s great and all, but he’s got a huge mountain in front of him. An emerald one!

Rocky marches with a purpose to the edge of the ring. He runs up the ring steps quickly and wipes his feet on the apron before nimbly hopping over the ropes and waving to the crowd. Rocky points a finger to the crowd and bounds up the corner to the top turnbuckle, then gives a mighty bellowing SKREEEE! He pumps his fists in the air and hops down, all business.

Vince Howard: From Laredo, Texas!… Weighing in at 215 pounds… “THE FDP” ROCKY DE LEOOOOOOON!

Lights fade.

A tempest rumbles through the darkness.

The sounds of howling wind and pouring rain.

Verdant stormclouds fill the PRIMEview.

A flash of lighting.

A deafening crack of thunder.

And without warning, “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney and Sleep Steady suddenly THUMPS through the PA.

The stage lights up. Flashing strobes. Smokescreen. Green lasers.

A silhouette appears and marches forth from the haze, stopping at the head of the ramp.

The spotlight hits, revealing Kerry Kuroyama, clad in his emerald and silver robe. Eyes forward. Arms up. Knuckles touching, to form a peak over his head.

Rows of white and green fountain pyros erupt at his flanks.

The lyrics kick in.

Focused and fearless, Kuroyama strides down the ramp.

His gaze never leaves the ring.

Vince Howard: And the opponent, hailing from Seattle, Washington, and weighing in at two-hundred and fifty-four pounds, please welcome… the Emerald Apex, KERRY KUROYAMA!!

Kuroyama arrives at ringside. He climbs the stairs, steps through the ropes, and occupies the center of the ring.

He faces away from the hard camera, waiting for his music to build to its climax.

When it does, he tears off his robe in a single, swift motion and tosses it aside, gifting the camera a good look at the a green storm dragon tattooed across his sculpted back.

Then he twirls around to face the camera

His clenched fist proudly held up.

His defiant eyes are full of conviction.

The storm has arrived.

Nick Stuart: Kerry Kuroyama is under a lot of pressure to perform, but he looks ready.

Richard Parker: Of course he’s ready! Kuroyama is the pinnacle of REAL pro wrestling and he’s gonna make sure this mask wearing jerk learns that!

DING DING

Kerry rushes forward, trying to engage Rocky with a collar and elbow tie-up. Rocky ducks up and backs up, bouncing off to the side. Kuroyama glares at the masked man, the tiniest hint of disgust flashing across his otherwise stone cold exterior. The Emerald Apex stalks forward again, but De Leon continues to keep his distance. Unfortunately for the FDP, there’s only so much room in the ring. Kuroyama manages to get Rocky backed into the corner. A juke left? Kerry flashes an arm that way. Try to break right? Kuroyama is ready.

Nick Stuart: KK has Rocky backed into the corner. De Leon wants to keep the pace quick, but Kuroyama won’t just give that to him.

Richard Parker: Not to mention, the kid is just about the embodiment of everything Kerry hates about wrestling.

Nick Stuart: I think that’s a bit dramatic, Rich.

Richard Parker: Hey, those aren’t my words! You keep your ear to the ground in the back, you hear things.

Seattle’s BEAST pushes Rocky back into the corner. Referee Ashley Barlow starts her count. Kerry gives her a glance, breaking on two. That doesn’t mean he gives the Sultan of Skree much room to breathe. Kuroyama sends an open palm slap crashing across Rocky’s chest, the sound loud enough to be heard even in the cheap seats.

OOOOOOH!

De Leon slowly sinks down, clutching at his chest. He gets no reprieve, as Kuroyama drags him back up by the mask. A few quick elbow strikes keep Rocky in trouble. In this case, Ashley Barlow proves to be his guardian angel, as she again backs Kerry off. KK looks to move back in, but is met with a desperation kick to the gut while the FDP clutches at the top rope.

Nick Stuart: Rocky’s going to try to fight from underneath! He’s not in an enviable position, though.

Richard Parker: Nope. Kuroyama has him right where he wants him! He’s gonna help Rocky actually fly by the end of the night, I’d say!

Another gut shot, followed by another. Rocky manages to create just the tiniest opening for himself. Showing sneaky strength and amazing agility, De Leon rolls himself up and over, finding himself in a seated position on the top. Recovered, Kuroyama’s eyes are locked on his masked opposition.

Rocky draws into a crouched position. Kuroyama stays in place, practically daring him to dive off. The stand-off is short lived. With a nonchalant shrug, the Tsar of the Top Rope flies off with a cross body!… That Kuroyama easily catches.

Nick Stuart: Oh boy, miscalculation by Rocky. He’s in trouble!

Richard Parker: He played right into KK’s hands! I know Rocky isn’t the smartest, but that was a dumb move. Even by his low standards!

Kerry casually carries the flailing De Leon towards the middle of the ring. After a quick glance towards the crowd, Kuroyama powers Rocky up into a vertical suplex! Though momentarily stunned, De Leon won’t stop fighting. It works in his favor, as he flops to his feet behind the flustered Emerald Apex.

The Master of Moonsaults opts for the dropkick in this situation, staggering Kuroyama forward. Rocky bounces back to his feet quickly, taking off towards the ropes. He flies back off the ropes with another dropkick. Again, Kerry is in trouble, but still on his feet. Rocky plays to the crowd for just a moment. Another dash towards the ropes and the FPD hurls back towards his opponent with a moonsault!… that Kuroyama walks away from with indifference, sending De Leon crashing to the mat!

Nick Stuart: Well that just looked disrespectful!

Richard Parker: Almost as disrespectful as Rocky acting like a masked goof!

Nick Stuart: Oh light up a bit, Richard.

Richard Parker: Wrestling is serious business, Nick! There’s no room for clowns like Rocky here!

Nick Stuart: Do I need to find that shock collar again?

Richard Parker: Please don’t.

Kuroyama moves to the downed Rocky and puts him into a tight rear chinlock. He cranks on it, Rocky screaming in pain. The Pacific Blitzkrieg drags De Leon up but puts him right back down with a perfectly executed gourdbuster.A few knee drops targeted towards Rocky’s head and neck have the FPD in serious trouble. Kerry stays on De Leon, tying him up in an elevated cloverleaf.

Rocky tries to turn towards his back, but Kerry has the hold applied expertly. He attempts to make the ropes, but dragging the heavier Kuroyama that way won’t be an easy task. Rocky gives it an honest effort, the crowd rallying behind him. He makes progress, drawing closer and closer. His progress slows, though. About six inches away from the bottom rope, Rocky collapses.

Richard Parker: He’s out! He’s out! Kuroyama wins!

Nick Stuart: Calm down, Richard! Ashley Barlow still needs to check him!

Indeed, Barlow is crouched down, checking Rocky’s condition. She raises De Leon’s arm, which goes limp. A second try, same result. Barlow solemnly shakes her head, but lifts the Sultan of Skree’s arm one last time…

YAAAAAAAH!

Rocky’s arm stays up. Placing both arms underneath him, Rocky makes one last lunge forward and just barely gets a few fingers on the bottom rope! Ashley is quick to start the count for the break. Kuroyama disgustedly throws Rocky’s legs down to the mat. The Paragon of Professional Wrestling Excellence darts in to take a leg and drag De Leon towards the middle of the ring.

Rocky doesn’t cooperate, unsurprisingly. He manages to get his free foot underneath him. The FPD is now bouncing up and down on one foot, Kuroyama staring a hole through his foe. Rocky throws his free leg up, catching KK under the chin while flipping himself up and over onto his feet! Rocky takes a page out of Kerry’s book and keeps the pressure on, firing off a hurricanrana that sends Kuroyama crashing onto his back! Kerry slides under the bottom rope and to the outside of the ring.

Nick Stuart: What a series of counters by Rocky De Leon! Say what you want about the way he carries himself, this guy is talented!

Richard Parker: Yeah yeah, whatever! Kuroyama will show him what REAL wrestling is!

Nick Stuart: The guy in a group that quotes Mean Girls?

Richard Parker: Shut up, Nick! What do you know about quality cinema?!

Full of adrenaline, the crowd firmly behind him, De Leon charges towards the ropes, leaping to the top rope gracefully. He flies off at the unprepared Kuroyama, crashing into him with a flipping senton!

FDP! FDP! FDP!

Rocky recovers before KK, though he’s not looking great himself. He pushes the bigger man back into the ring, bolting to the top rope after. The Tsar of the Top Rope rockets off with a Pterricanrana that he holds onto for the pin!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Feeling confident, Rocky lets Kerry slowly recover to a knee. De Leon charges the ropes. He comes flying off towards the still recovering Kuroyama with the Flying Squirrel!

AAAWWWW!

Rocky flops to the mat as KK counters with a desperation Yakuza Kick that catches the FDP in the face! Kuroyama takes a moment to breathe, looking at the downed De Leon. Rocky staggers to his feet after a brief recovery, only to be put back down with the Squall Line Lariat!

Nick Stuart: What a vicious discus lariat by Kuroyama!

Richard Parker: He tried to knock his head off into the third row!

Kuroyama doesn’t go for a cover, opting to rain stomps down onto Rocky’s left leg. De Leon tries to take shelter in the ropes, but KK has had enough of that, dragging him away before Ashley Barlow can call for a break. Kerry sends a few targeted knees right into the FDP’s hamstring, causing howls of pain to escape from under Rocky’s mask.

De Leon does manage to pull himself to his feet, but he’s clearly hobbled. Ever defiant, Rocky tries to send a few low kicks to the leg to back Kuroyama off. They only temporarily stall the Emerald Apex as he draws in close to Rocky.

Nick Stuart: Not a lot of power behind those kicks, Rich.

Richard Parker: Sure isn’t. Look, I’ve given this kid a lot of crap, but I have to give him this; he’s not gonna roll over and just let Kuroyama have his way. Not sure it’s gonna matter in the end, though.

Sure enough, Kerry catches one of the kicks from Rocky. He jerks De Leon forward, locking his arms around his waist and hoisting the Master of Moonsaults up onto his shoulder. Rocky doesn’t sit there long, as he’s planted with a Dominator, the Judgement Bolt Bomb!

Kuroyama rears back and roars in determination. He yanks Rocky up and scoops him up into a fireman’s carry. KK swings him around and plants him with an Emerald Flowsion.

Nick Stuart: Kuroyama Driver II! That has to be it! Cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

Nick Stuart: That was a great effort from Rocky. For a moment, he looked like he could pull it off, but Kerry Kuroyama was just too much.

Richard Parker: He did his best, yeah yeah. No shame in losing to one of the best, kid.

Vince Howard: The winner of this match… The Emerald Apex, KERRY KUROYAMA!

We then cut to commercial.

COMMERCIAL: STILL TO COME

LET LOVE DRIVE

Off a commercial break, the scene switches to outside the arena where a vintage Delorean DMC-12 (custom lime green paint job, though) zooms up to the front of the talent parking lot. The gullwing doors open and none other than Darin Zion pops out of the passenger side. He seems to be in such a hurry that he stops a few feet in front of the car and realizes he left his belongings in there. However, as Zion turns around, the driver’s door floats open, revealing the driver to be none other than “The Vintage” Conor Fuse, or, as he once appeared in PRIME last summer under the alias of COMIConor.

Conor Fuse: [Shouting] Dude!

Conor holds up Darin’s duffle bag.

Conor Fuse: Your stuff, guy!

Zion leans back, rolls his eyes and scrunches his face, in his best Ace Ventura “oh my” GIF reenactment. He marches towards the car.

Darin Zion: Thanks, Conor.

REAL LOVE takes the PRETTY PINK© branded bag off Conor’s hands.

Darin Zion: Sorry, kind of in a whirlwind right now. Vickie said it’s urgent and I HAVE TO be here ASAP!

A rattled Darin takes a moment to prop the bag across his shoulder.

Darin Zion: Also, thanks for the drive.

Conor seemingly takes a moment to reflect and then slowly nods his head like he understands. The Ultimate Gamer leans past his friend and stares at the arena directly in front of them. Conor processes more information.

Conor Fuse: So this is PRIME, huh? Looks like a normal, regular arena to me.

Fuse narrows his eyes to study the Greensboro Coliseum even further.

Conor Fuse: Yep. No prison setting. No Egg Bandit ship [side bar] what was that thing called again? [Back on track] No wrestling ring in the middle of the desert. It’s just your regular, basic arena. Hmph.

Fuse winks at Zion.

Conor Fuse: But yeah brother, don’t worry about the ride. It’s a typical day in Greensboro for me, lol. Comic-Con event and all. Glad we could catch-up, I’m not here often. I mean I was here once and ya know, not really feeling this North Carolina vibe, eh. It’s like, people are way too relaxed around these parts. Can’t park well, either. Anyone go to driving school? It’s also so quiet. I enjoy the hustle and bustle of Chicago or New York City, you see.

Zion’s body language suggests he really has to get going but also wants to be respectful of Conor’s diatribe… until a lightbulb goes off in Fuse’s head.

Conor Fuse: Ah shit, I’m rambling.

Zion returns the wink.

Conor Fuse: Okay dude, well, ya never know. I can feel the aura coming off this place. There’s a lot of evil villains inside. Got a taste of it back at the interfed thing, [puts a finger to his chin] shit what was that called again? [Back on track] I digress. Get in there and go attend to-

Another figure storms into the picture, standing directly behind Zion. As REAL LOVE spins around, the figure is revealed as Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy. TCG has an extremely concerned look on his face, unable to stand still.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Darin, hi.

The Nuzzle Lord leans down so he can look inside the car.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Listen, nice to meet you but we’ve got a very important meeting in mere moments. Vickie has called us all together! I hope you understand.

Conor waves his hand forward, as if pointing Zion towards TCG and the arena, although his body language and tone suggests otherwise.

Conor Fuse: Yeah, you better get going, dude. Jump on over there fast! This meeting can’t start without you… but also… weren’t you like, away from the team for the past couple of months?

Zion isn’t given the space to reply because Gladhappy, whose head is normally in the clouds, takes a step forward and lowers his voice.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Vickie requires Zion’s attendance. She needs him. Vickie always needs him. We’re a tight knit group and when one of us goes down, we pick each other up. When one of us triumphs…

Gladhappy stands upright, revealing a party hat and places it on Darin’s head. Then he brings his attention to Fuse.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: We celebrate!

The Nuzzle Lord stops, lowers his head into his own chest and starts nuzzling himself. Meanwhile, Conor’s eyes bug out, having no clue what the hell he is witnessing. Fuse glances over to Zion as his eyebrows raise and mouth fumbles about, trying to find words. Only when Conor looks back towards Gladhappy, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath… is COMIConor able to respond.

Conor Fuse: Are you having a stroke?

Gladhappy stops nuzzling, completely oblivious to Fuse’s concern and picks up right where he left off.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: The time to celebrate is on but it is for LOVE CONVOY members only. Capiche?

Once again Conor’s eyes bug out of his head.

Conor Fuse: You’re Italian?

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: American.

Fuse shrugs.

Conor Fuse: Same thing.

The gamer shifts in his chair and catches Darin’s attention.

Conor Fuse: Anyway Z, I’ll get outta your way. Listen, this PRIME thing, no bullshit, it sounds like a tits and giggles blast. Are you guys compatible with warp whistles here or something? ‘Cause there’s alotta people I’d like to get my hands on.

Now it’s Gladhappy raising a confused eyebrow.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Warp whistles?

Conor Fuse: Nevermind.

But before Conor’s automatic door fully lowers and locks into place, Tristan-Crispin takes a few additional paces forward, puts out his hand and stops the door from closing any further.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: However, if you ARE interested to ever come back here…

He reaches into his pocket and reveals a PRETTY PINK© pamphlet, reading “JOIN THE LOVE CONVOY!” on the front of it.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: We’re always looking for new members.

Conor sighs, leans forward and while biting his bottom lip, he begrudgingly snatches the pamphlet from TCG.

Conor Fuse: I’m sure you are.

Conor puffs out his cheeks while privately trying to discard the paper out the other side of the window.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Last guy who joined… didn’t really work out.

Conor Fuse: (Sarcasm) No kidding.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: (Deadpan) None.

An awkward silence follows, as Conor’s still trying to quietly jam the leaflet out of sight.

Conor Fuse: Funny, I once knew a boy named Sutler…

Fuse waves his hands around, capturing Gladhappy, Zion and whomever else is part of this CONVOY in one fellow swoop.

Conor Fuse: Whatever you guys got going on, it kinda reminds me of his disposition. [Under his breath] Bunch of dysfunctional idiots all serving a “greater purpose”.

Conor’s head wanders to the roof of his car and his eyes roll back.

Conor Fuse: I liked that SRK. No clue what happened to him, though.

Fuse kicks into the present, presses a button on his car to rescind the passenger door completely and finally puts his hands on the wheel. The window rolls down and Conor once again cocks his head over with a shout.

Conor Fuse: This was fun, let’s never do it again, okay? Enjoy your toxic love triangle! That circle jerk shit ain’t for me. [Mumbling] Rather be in the fucking Bandits or something… [Back to his regular voice] Peace dudes!

Fuse drives into the distance while Tristan-Crispin reveals two party horns. He sticks one in his mouth and then firmly plants the other into Darin Zion’s.

Tristan-Crispin Gladhappy: Let’s celebrate! We’re off to round number three!!!

For TCG, he’s thrilled! Zion, however, can’t help but show a disgruntled look on his face, after losing in round number one again. Nevertheless, Gladhappy puts his arm around Zion as he tickle dances towards the arena, while Darin takes a moment to drift his head around and watch Conor Fuse’s car vanish into the distance.

We then cut to another backstage area.

ASK ME AGAIN

PRIME fans? Not so high on the Love Convoy, as we just saw. 

But this fellow in front of the camera, he of the black athleisure with a suggested MSRP of the nicest vacation you’ve ever taken? The PRIME faithful are, though it sometimes puzzles, pretty high on the hero of Segment 10.

That’s right, baby. The people love Matt Mills.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Matt Mills: Ladies and gentlemen, I am joined by the Numbers Don’t Lie champion, and the man about to face off against Daytona Diamonds…

Oh, so that is who the pop is for.

Matt Mills: Chandler Tsonda, it’s great to see you here in Greensboro. How are you feeling about tonight’s match?

Enter into the frame the prettiest thing walking. Speaking of: the gold “0” edition of the NDL sits pretty on Tsonda’s shoulder. 

Chandler Tsonda: Matt, my guy. Haven’t you ever heard of foreplay?

Matt Mills: (as visibly uncomfortable as a person could be) Well—I mean—How are you—

Chandler Tsonda: Matt. Matt. Matt.

Matt Mills: Yes?

Chandler Tsonda: How are you? 

Matt Mills: (confused) I’m…good? 

Chandler Tsonda: That’s wonderful. And may I say it’s very special to be doing our very first interview together in fifteen or so years. I remember you when you were just this (he does a little gesture to the top of Matt’s head)…well, the same height you are now, but with so much more angst.

The Model Citizen gives Mills a little pat on the forearm, the physical equivalent of a pep talk.

Chandler Tsonda: Now you ask me. 

Matt Mills: (not any less confused) How are…you?

Chandler Tsonda: I’m superb, Matt. And it’s nice of you to ask. This is a great conversation. I’m feeling warmly towards you, you’re simply radiant with the rush of talking to a man who is honestly a bit of a father figure to you, and ratings are skyrocketing as the world’s best and coolest wrestling fans all text their friends to say: “Turn on ACE network, babes. ReV just got good.” 

Matt Mills: (tentatively) So how are you feeling about tonight’s match?

Chandler Tsonda: No, Matt. Not yet.

Matt Mills: This really isn’t how these usually go.

Chandler Tsonda: Yeah, dude. I know. This one’s actually good.

Matt Mills: Well, do you have anything to share about the future of the Numbers Don’t Lie title? There was a lot of excitement after your announcement.

Chandler Tsonda: Attaboy. I think it’s great for the belt that I’ve got a bounty on my head. A long run in the Almasy will only elevate the belt. And I have a feeling the first title defense is going to be historic. 

Matt Mills: Any inside information on who your first defense will be against?

Chandler Tsonda: There’s a lot of fresh faces around here. One of them. I enjoy a new challenge.

Matt Mills: Perhaps Daytona Diamonds?

Chandler Tsonda: Matt, you scalawag! You absolute scamp! I see you with your lil’ professional ass segue. 

Matt Mills: (trying so hard to suppress a smile) So you do think Diamonds would make a good contender for the belt?

The Model Citizen goes relatively stone-faced. The warmth of…whatever is going on with he and the long-time PRIME interviewer is interrupted by a deadpan response.

Chandler Tsonda: Nah.

Matt Mills: Surely, you have to admit that despite Diamonds’ questionable integrity, he has been undeniable in the ring.

Chandler Tsonda: I don’t have to. And I don’t admit it. 

Matt Mills: I mean, there’s—

Chandler Tsonda: Dayton’s got quite the severe case of beginner’s luck. And ol’ Doctor Chan’s got just the cure for it.

Matt Mills: But if he were to win tonight, he would be in line to claim the bounty and get a shot at the Numbers Don’t Lie title after his Almasy Invitational run concludes.

Chandler Tsonda: There’s no after, Matt. His run concludes. It concludes real good. Tonight. In Greensboro.

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Matt Mills: Quite the fighting words. Kaz Troy was a game opponent in Round 1, and Diamonds has as much momentum as anyone in the tournament. 

Chandler Tsonda: Happy for him. Maybe he can put a nice blurb on the accolades section of his bio that he “had as much momentum as anyone in the tournament before he walked into the wood chipper.” Because Matt… (winks at Mills) You and I both know that facing Chandler Tsonda is where Cinderella runs go to die. Now ask me that question again.

Mills looks puzzled. 

Chandler Tsonda: You know. The first one. I’m ready to give you the gamebreaker promo that you were hoping for. Here it is, Matty. That iconic gold mic moment with the best in the business. The one that makes my second Hall of Fame video montage. Hell, this might get you a promotion just for standing near it. Now hit me with the question.

Matt Mills: (snapping to it) So, given all that, how are you feeling about tonight’s match?

The interviewer seems positively giddy to have made it through this gauntlet. Meanwhile, the Sultan of Style gestures for the mic. Gives Mills another love tap on the elbow. 

Tsonda taps the belt. He looks straight to camera, and flashes the grin. You know, the one that brought peace to several minor international incidents. 

Chandler Tsonda: I’m ready to go. Let’s fucking fight, cowpoke.

And off he goes. In his wake, Matt Mills looks like he just found out that he threw away a winning lottery ticket. That’s life with the Model Citizen. 

We then cut to elsewhere backstage.

I GOT YOU, BRO

Deep in the heart of the Greensboro Coliseum, Max Kael? stalks his prey. To ensure full stealth Max has his cellphone playing the Mission Impossible theme. 

The enigmatic Kael? slinks up to a pillar and peers around, seeing an opportunity for bro-watching, he waves the camera to follow. Max leaps, action hero style, behind a pile of crates and wriggles past them on his belly. 

Soon, he has a clear path all the way to his target, Eddie Cross. Eddie is flipping through some important looking papers with charts and big numbers like 151/99 on them. He sneaks up behind him silently as Eddie critically fails his perception roll. Max stands on his tippy toes to peer over EC’s shoulder and, finally, his curiosity gets the best of him as he breaks the silence. 

Max Kael?: Whatcha looking at?

Eddie starts and spins around defensively which makes Max recoil and take the defensive posture of a frightened cat. Ed quickly shuffles the papers into his jacket pocket and wipes his eyes.

Eddie Cross: Nunya, Max.

Max Kael?: I’ve never seen a nunya before. Is that, like, a Ninja Nun? ‘Cause I could probably use a few of those around for bodyguards. 

Kael? tries to get a better view of whatever Eddie was doing, a wide smile stretching across his face. 

Eddie Cross: No, it’s like… you know what, never mind. 

He takes a deep breath to steady his clearly rattled nerves. 

Eddie Cross: What are you doing sneaking up on me anyhow? And where did you get such a good sneak skill? That shit was like Skyrim Shadow Warrior level good.

Fumbling with his phone, Max disengages the Mission Impossible music before looking back at Eddie.

Max Kael?: Are you doing the thing where you give out compliments to try to avoid talking about difficult subjects that might be near and dear to your heart? The kind of conversations that good friends share with each other? The kind of stuff that healthy men in the year 2023 get off their chest to avoid a mental breakdown?

His brow raises as Max seems to stare directly into Eddie’s soul.

Max Kael?: Cause if so I wouldn’t be able to tell, I don’t understand most social cues. Thanks for the compliment, bud, I learned how to sneak from Anne Wilkes School for Stealthy Observation. I also learned how to use a hammer there, very useful! What’s a Nunya?

Eddie chuckles a little and he does indeed genuinely smile, but his eyes are red and slightly puffy. Max, for his lack of experience in the world, seems to understand some things instinctively. 

Eddie Cross: You and me both, Bruh.

He pulls out the piece of paper from his pocket. 

Eddie Cross: But since you asked, yeah, I am doing the thing. Dave’s not doing so well and I’m trying to focus on this match, but also I just feel isolated and there is a lot of pressure right now and I don’t know how to compound this whole tournament because I’ve never done this and I wasn’t even supposed to be here, and…

Kael? holds up his hands to stop Eddie, shaking his own head while blinking rapidly. 

Max Kael?: Trauma dump much? If I knew the answer was going to be a whole bunch of feelings I wouldn’t have asked. Gotta save the jobs of therapists, M I Rite? 

The former dead man taps his index finger on Eddie’s chest. 

Max Kael?: I haven’t a clue what is going on in your personal life but it sounds like a lot of.. Stuff. Listen, maybe I can help? This Dave guy, sounds like he’s not doing so well and that you’ve made a big decision. I can respect that but you don’t have to do it alone. Hell, if you want, I can even take care of the problem myself.

Having misread that particular situation, Kael? makes the universal sign for strangling the life out of someone, assuming that Eddie was putting his mentor and friend out of his misery. 

Eddie Cross: What? No! Just… I don’t know. I think I feel like I’m walking into a no win situation with The eGG bandits and if I’m being completely honest, I’m a little nervous because I’ve already lost to Coral once. At least in the past I usually had Dave with me at ringside. Now he isn’t going to be able to travel or coach my matches anymore and it’s a lot to take in. 

Max seems to be deep in thought as he listens to Eddie, stroking his chin like an old master. Once Eddie mentions the lack of anyone at ringside, Kael snaps his fingers. 

Max Kael?: You know I can empathize. I was once an undefeated sion in this industry. Famed, adored and recognized the world over.. And then an ancient foe returned from the past and cast me down. CURSE YOU HAYES HANLON!

The deranged madman from Arkham throws both of his arms into the air as he bellows the man who knocked him out of the Almasy’s name. Max composes himself and continues.

Max Kael?: The point of the story is that, if you need someone in your corner, you can count on me. I had already heard that the bandits were going to be in Coral’s corner so, you know, I talked to Purple and Couth, got it cleared with them that I join you for your match. To make sure you get a fair shake at defeating his particular pebble in your shoe. And then afterwards we’ll..

The Questionable Kael cuts his thumb across his neck while making a “KRRZZZK” noise.

Max Kael?: Put your friend Dave out back with ole’Yeller. This will be an evening of HEALING!

Eddie holds up his hands and waves them as if to say “slow down”.

Eddie Cross: Whoa, nobody said we were doing anything to Dave!

He blinks his red eyes and reaches a hand out for a shake.

Eddie Cross: But I do appreciate that you’re willing to be there for me. You’re OK, Max. Worryingly quick to jump to euthanasia…. But OK.   

Max stares down at the hand then back up at Eddie then back down at the hand. He seems thoughtful for a moment before he shakes Eddie’s hand. He begins to sing a showtune from 1976s Bugsy Malone.

Max Kael?: You know I could have been anything that I wanted to be? But don’t it make your heart glad that we decided, in fact I take pride in, I’m the best at being..

Releasing the handshake Max winks at Eddie before slinking away shouting the last line of the lyrics.

Max Kael?: Baaaaaad!

Sitting in Eddie’s hand was the piece of taffy he had given Max the week prior, still pristine delivered from the Questionmark Cowboy during the handshake. 

As Eddie looks down in his hand, he takes a deep breath and steels himself for what is about to come. Win or lose, he has to face down someone that means a lot to him, professionally. Win or lose, this time it’s absolutely about respect. 

The camera stays in place as Eddie pumps his fist and heads for Argyle.

We then cut to ringside.

CORAL AVALON VS. EDDIE CROSS

We return to Richard Parker and Nick Stuart who are standing by. 

Richard Parker: I wouldn’t want that literal man-child watching my back. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t think Eddie Cross can look a gift horse in the mouth, Richard. You know that Coral Avalon is going to be out here with a bandit, it’s a smart plan to have someone to watch his. 

Richard Parker: Then get someone else! 

Darkness hits the Greensboro Coliseum as the opening notes of Monster Siren’s “Real Me” hits the PA system. It’s a familiar scene as fog rolls onto the stage and light floods out from the entryway, casting… two very interesting shadows. 

The first, of course, is the rotund shape of everyone’s favorite loveable(?) idiot, Bobby Dean. He stands in the fog wearing his usual tracksuit, and looks to be in tremendous(ly bad) shape. Next to him, though, is the star of this entrance. His ring gear was still in an electric blue, but his famous fur-lined leonine cloak was back and badder than ever. How is it badder than ever? Uh, one of the lion’s heads has T-shades now. That’s pretty bad.

When the guitars hit, the lights come up, and Coral Avalon makes his way to the ring amidst a still-surprising mixed reaction.

Vince Howard: Residing in Seattle, Washington,standing six foot, weighing in at two-hundred and twenty-two pounds! Representing the eGG Bandits! CORAAAAAALLLLLLLL AVALOOOOOOONNNNNN!!!

Avalon makes his way to the ring, with Bobby Dean trailing behind him like a lost puppy that needs to find a shelter from the rain soon.

Richard Parker: I’m never going to get used to hearing “representing the eGG Bandits” part of that intro, Nick.

Nick Stuart: You and me both.

Richard Parker: I already didn’t like Avalon, you know, so him joining Cancer Jiles is like two bad tastes that become toxic sludge together.

Avalon, oblivious to Richard Parker’s disdain, hops up onto the apron and enters the ring. While the Crownless King poses with his hand-sign in the center of the ring, Dean waddles to a corner that’s designated for Banditry and pulls out a bag of chips from within his tracksuit. 

He’s helping! 

The music slowly dies out as we cut to a..

Green Screen.

Match Start in 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…

3…

2…

1…

– Eliminate Other Players –

The opening guitar to Cross Off by “Mark Morton (feat Chester Bennington) echoes, and the words repeat

“Cross Off the days gone…”

“Cross Off the days gone…”

GONE BYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!

As Mark Morton’s guitars sear through the arena, Eddie “n1ghtcraw1er” Cross steps out of the back and stops to survey the crowd before pumping a fist into the air. He is followed by Max Kael? who has his fingers in his ears, wincing from the loud music. Cross adjusts his custom gaming glasses before walking down the ramp focused on the ring, on Coral Avalon. EC pauses at the ring steps and pulls his backpack off, unzipping it. He removes his sunglasses, placing them into the bag before handing it off to Max. He waits for the transition between verses before psyching himself up. Vince Howard is waiting.

Vince Howard: And from Charlotte, NC, standing six feet four inches and weighing in at 225 lbs, EDDIE “N1GHTCRAW1ER” CROSS!!!

He then runs up the ring steps, wipes his feet on the apron, and enters the ring as Chester Bennington screams into the microphone.

Eddie rolls his neck and prepares for the match as his music slowly fades and the regular house lights come back to life.

Nick Stuart: The last time these two men met in the ring was all the way back in February. 

Richard Parker: Coral has put on six pounds since then going from two hundred and fifteen to two hundred and twenty two pounds. Must be that eGG Bandit diet Bobby has him on. 

Nick Stuart: I’m sure it’s healthy weight gain, Richard. 

We get one last parting shot of Vince Howard before he vacates the ring.

Vince Howard: Your referee is Jimmy Turnbull.

DING DING

The match begins as Howard exits the ring. Both Coral and Eddie come out of their respective corners and circle each other. The fans are mixed though it seems at the moment the crowd is more on Eddie’s side than Corals. 

Nick Stewart: Back when these two met last time it was Coral who had the fans on his side and now it seems that’s changed up Richard.

Richard Parker: I’m not always one to side with the popular opinion but I’m in agreement with the PRIMEapes here tonight. Coral somehow went from bad to worse the minute he joined up with Cancer Jiles

Nick Stewart: Banditry won’t make you popular.

After sizing each other up both young athletes lock up in the center of the ring. Eddie’s height advantage allows him to leverage Coral back into a corner, eliciting Bobby Dean to jump up on the apron, yelling at Turnbull to step in. 

Nick Stewart: And predictably we see Bobby Dean poking his nose into this match early on.

Max jumps up on the other side of the corner and starts complaining to Turnbull about Bobby Dean as the referee suddenly finds his hands full.

Richard Parker: Now the twenty four year old toddler is getting involved! 

Eddie immediately releases Coral and begins to argue with Max about being on the apron. Coral joins Turnbull in expressing their desire for Bobby to get off the apron. Bobby and Max eventually both agree to step down.

Nick Stewart: It looks like neither Avalon or Cross want their respective corner man involved in this match.

Richard Parker: It’s all a ruse from the Bandits, the minute you let down your guard you can bet someone is going to stick their yokey fingers in this match.

Nick Stewart: Only time can tell, I guess. 

Once again Coral and Eddie lock up in the center of the ring as they both jockey for an advantage. The Crownless King drops down to a knee before smoothly transitioning behind Eddie into a waist lock. Eddie is forced into the ropes however he grabs them, reversing the momentum onto Coral, breaking the waistlock. Coral rolls back and up to his feet, charging toward Eddie’s back. 

Richard Parker: In situations like this I actually think Coral has the advantage. While Cross is taller and has the weight advantage, up close Avalon is able to neutralize, even use his smaller size to gain leverage. 

Nick Stewart: You give the technical advantage to Avalon in this then?

Richard Parker: From where we stand right now? Yes, though it burns my ass to give Avalon any flowers. 

Cross hears Avalon’s approach and swings a back elbow where he believes his opponent’s head will be. Coral ducks beneath the attack, snatching the n1ghtcrawl1er’s arm in the process. He manipulates Eddie into a wrist lock only to find the young Samoan reversing Avlon down to the mat in a headlock takedown. The electric blue bandit quickly rolls his body placing Cross into a pinning position!

1!

Eddie rights his body pulling himself out of the pin. 

Nick Stewart: First pinfall attempt for a quick one count. 

Richard Parker: That can get into your opponent’s head, getting that first pinfall attempt.

Hard Boiled Coral Avalon decides to forgo another pin attempt and instead kicks his legs up, managing to trap Eddie’s head in a pair of headscissors. This forces Cross to release the headlock, rolling back and flipping up to his feet, freeing himself from the scissors in the process.

Nick Stewart: Impressive display of athletics shown by Eddie Cross as he escapes the headscissor.

Richard Parker: In this tournament if you aren’t looking to impress then you’re not looking to win. 

Ed charges forward looking to drive his knee into Avalon’s unguarded head; however, the Bandit catches the knee with his chest and arms. From this position the now very Crumby King somehow manages to transition Eddie into an elevated half Boston Crab.

Richard Parker: Damn it, Cross, get away from Avalon! 

Nick Stewart: It seems like Coral Avalon has an answer for everything Eddie is throwing at him.

Cross is quick to crawl on his arms to the nearby ropes which causes Turnbull to begin five count. Surprisingly, Coral breaks the hold around three and backs away. Eddie is quick to get back up to his feet, stretching out his legs a little in the ropes. Both men then begin to circle as the match is reset back to the start. 

Nick Stewart: While Avalon has an advantage in the technical aspect, overall I’d say that neither man has shown a distinct advantage over all.

Richard Parker: Speaking of advantages, where are Max and Bobby?

Outside the ring Bobby Dean and Max Kael? Have struck up a conversation. Max has produced a can of MEAT? Ranch, extra firm texture with Dean using it as dip for his chips. 

Richard Parker: Well that’s disgusting.

Nick Stewart: It seems the two have neutralized each other and I don’t think anyone in the ring is going to complain about that. 

Richard Parker: I guess.

Back in the ring the two young PRIME stars lock up once again with Eddie catching Avalon off guard with a rising knee strike. The Samoan moves to the Bandit’s side pulling him into a Russian Leg Sweep though Avalon rolls through, attempting to apply a cross arm bar!

Eddie S-grips his hands to keep his elbow from getting hyperextended before powering up to his feet. With Coral still fighting to wrench Eddie’s arm free, Cross lifts his opponent up before dropping him down hard flush on his back! Coral breaks the lock as Eddie attempts to steal a quick pinfall!

…..1!

….2!

Kickout!

Richard Parker: And there we see the advantage of power!

Nick Stewart: Eddie Cross manages to avoid the arm bar with a tremendous counter and a near pinfall! 

Coral scrambles away from Eddie, shaking off his hard landing. Eddie doesn’t let up the pressure, grabbing Coral by his electric blue tights and dragging him back into the center of the ring. Using his power advantage to overcome Avalon’s defenses, Eddie begins to toss Coral around with a barrage of Jiu Jitsu throws. 

Nick Stewart: The varied training and styles that Eddie Cross has picked up is on full display here!

Richard Parker: Variety is the spice of life, especially when you’re tossing eGG Bandits!

The crowd grows with intensity after each throw, Avalon’s body crashing down to the mat setting off a new wave of cheers. 

On the fourth hip throw Avalon finally gathers his senses, rolling through and hitting the ropes aiming to cut Eddie down with a clothesline. The n1ghtcrawl1er sees it coming and catches Avalon’s arm dragging him into a Regal Cutter!

Nick Stewart: Eddie hits the RNG!

Richard Parker: Pin him! Pin him!

Eddie grabs the leg!

….1

…2

Kickout!

Richard Parker: I think Turnbull has a slow count, Stewart!

Nick Stewart: The count was fine, Avalon isn’t finished. 

Coral snaps his arm up promptly after two. Eddie doesn’t get frustrated but rather stays focused on his task. Avalon is whipped into the corner with authority before Eddie charges forward looking to plant his knee between Coral’s eyes. 

CRACK!

The Crownless King explodes out of the corner with a European Uppercut that nearly takes off Eddie’s head! The crowd lets out a collective “Oooh!” before it turns over to boos aimed at the Hard Boiled King. 

Nick Stewart: Incredible counter, I don’t think there are many people in PRIME with a better European Uppercut than Coral Avalon. 

Richard Parker: Cecilworth Farthington? He’s actually European. 

Nick Stewart: You got me there, Richard. 

On the outside Max winces while Bobby cheers with his mouth full of chips and MEAT?. 

Coral takes a moment to recover from Eddie’s assault while his opponent is momentarily stunned. Once steady, Avalon is on the attack. With Eddie climbing back up to his feet, Coral launches himself force striking Eddie straight in the back of the head and neck with a stiff kick!

BOOOOO!!

Nick Stewart: I don’t know if it’s Cancer Jiles tutorship or the situation he is in but Coral Avalon has picked up a decided mean streak since being put on ice by the Bandits. 

Richard Parker: I hate everything you just said, Stewart. I just want you to know that. 

Eddie’s body hits the mat hard as the crowd boos the aggressiveness shown by Avalon. 

Avalon slows the pace of the match down as he begins to dismantle his opponent with a series of targeted strikes, elbows and kicks. The focus of Avalon’s attack? The Samoan’s eye and head. He finishes his assault with a wheelbarrow suplex in the center of the ring! Coral holds the bridge as Turnbull jumps into action!

….1

…2

Kickout!

Nick Stewart: Avalon is wearing down his opponent with this assault.

Richard Parker: He is focusing on that damaged eye of Eddie. Wearing that eye patch is basically painting a target on your face. 

Cross manages to throw his shoulder up though it is clear Avalon’s attack has left him dazed. Max Kael? and Bobby Dean both yell support from the outside but appear to be engrossed in the consumption of the MEAT? and chips to offer any help beyond that. 

Back in the ring Coral sends Eddie hard into the corner, following it up with a running European Uppercut. He whips Eddie hard into the opposite corner and once again smashes the young Samoan with another vicious running European Uppercut. 

Nick Stewart: More examples of Coral’s doctorate in the European Uppercut. 

Richard Parker: And yet he is still not European. I don’t even think they let eGG Bandits into other countries. 

For the third time Avalon whips Eddie toward the turnbuckle however this time Eddie counters, whipping Coral chest first into the corner! The Crownless King smashes into the turnbuckle chest first knocking the wind out of his lungs. As he stumbles back Eddie trips him up with a School Boy!

…1

..2

Kickout!

It’s more instinct than a conscious decision for the eGG Bandit to kick out as the crowd lets out a collective sigh of disappointment. Cross doesn’t waste time as he immediately locks on his trademark modified Cobra Clutch, the Silencer!

Nick Stewart: He’s got the Silencer in! A move handed down to him by Dave Gibson and if you know anything about what Eddie is going through right now..

Richard Parker: I don’t and, no, I don’t care to know. I just care that he chokes Avalon out!

Coral’s face begins to turn bright red as he struggles to escape. He begins probing his surroundings with his legs trying to find the ropes but Eddie has him well positioned to avoid escape!

Nick Stewart: He has him right in the middle of the ring!

Richard Parker: It’s at times like this that I bet Coral wishes he was a few inches taller!

Failing to find the ropes, Avalon’s body begins to wilt under the oppressive clutch of Eddie’s Silencer. Using the last vestiges of his strength Coral plants his feet and jumps up, rolling both himself and Cross back putting Eddie in a pinning situation!

…1

..2

Eddie is forced to release the hold in order to break the pinfall. Coral immediately rolls away into the ropes to recover as Cross argues with Turnbull about the legality of the pin attempt.

Nick Stewart: Smart thinking by Avalon forcing Cross to break the Silencer. 

Richard Parker: ..yeah.. Smart.. Damn it.  

Cross follows Avalon to the outside where he continues his assault, hammering on Coral with heavy strikes to the back and head. He rolls Avalon back into the ring before following his opponent in. The Bandit rises, wobbly onto his feet, turning only to meet a massive  Flying Knee Strike

Nick Stewart: TRIGGER WARNING!

Richard Parker: He drilled him right on the chin! The crowd is going wild!

The Crownless King’s body crumbles to the ring as Eddie drops, hooking the leg!

..1

2

..Kickout!

Nick Stewart: Wow! 

Richard Parker: Cross needs to finish this now!

Coral manages to kick out but he doesn’t appear to have much more left in the tank. Eddie takes a moment to catch his breath before he moves to the opposite corner of Avalon, raising his elbow. 

Nick Stewart: Eddie Cross is signaling for the OHKO!

Richard Parker: Just get it over with, Cross!

Both Bobby and Max are staring at the ring. Bobby looks like he’s about to walk toward the ring but Max rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder, stopping him. The two look at each other with Max shaking his head.  

Stumbling back to his feet Coral is in the perfect position as Eddie charges forward!

Nick Stewart: OH KOOO!

Coral DUCKS and hits the rope!

Richard Parker: RHONGOMYNIAD, damn it! 

Avalon smashes Eddie’s face in with a wicked Yakuza Kick.

Nick Stewart: The First Armament has been hit! 

Richard Parker: This is the beginning of how he finished Eddie Cross the last time they faced each other! He’ll be looking for Secace next!

The crowd is booing Avalon as sure enough measures a stunned Eddie Cross for the European Uppercut to the back of the head. As the Samoan begins to climb to his knees Coral hits the rope!

Nick Stewart: SECACE!

Richard Parker: The Second Armament!

Eddie ducks the European Uppercut attempt, tripping Coral in the process! Scrambling onto his downed opponent back he quickly applies a surfboard, applying a Dragon Sleeper!

Nick Stewart: Eddie was ready for it! Incredible counter! I can’t believe Cross just out played Avalon! He has him locked in the Good Game!

Richard Parker: Choke the life out of him! GG! GG!

The young Samoan roars as Avalon desperately fails his grip! 

Nick Stewart: Cross has it locked in deep! You can see Avalon’s face is turning red!

Richard Parker: There is nowhere for him to go! Avalon’s gonna have to perform a magic trick to get out of this!

The fans rise to their feet as Eddie Cross tightens down the sleeper, pulling back with all his might! 

Nick Stewart: Avalon is fading! 

Richard Parker: His body is ceasing to move, you can see the strength draining out of him! Turnbull is going to have to move in to check the arm..

Turnbull lifts Coral’s arm..

……1

The arm drops limp at his side. Referee Turnbull lifts the arm once again. 

…..2

Again the arm falls to the ground. Eddie tightens the hold even further as he roars triumphantly. One last time the arm is lifted.

….

..

Avalon burns to life and manages to shift his weight, pushing himself back over Eddie breaking the hold! 

Nick Stewart: I can’t believe he managed to escape it!

Richard Parker: I hate how smart an escape that was. 

He keeps control of Eddie’s left arm and drags Eddie into an Omaplata Armbar!

Nick Stewart: He’s going for Vortigern’s Pillory! If he locks that in..

Richard Parker: I know, I know, the Second Armament! 

Before Coral can finalize locking in the Second Armament, Eddie rolls his body over, grabbing Avalon’s head in a head scissor. Dragging the Crownless King over into a modified school boy!

1!

2!

Coral shifts his shoulder and twists, breaking Eddie’s cover as he snatches both of the young Samoan’s arms! Performing some kind of weird, wrestling magic Coral manipulates Eddie into a European Clutch!

1!

2!

3!

Eddie manages to break the surprise clutch but it’s half a second too late. 

Nick Stewart: I can’t believe it!

Richard Parker: He’s not even European!

DING DING DING

“Real Me” by Monster Siren breaks out over the Greensboro Coliseum as a chorus of boos joins in. Disappointment falls across Cross’s face as he realizes Avalon snuck past him. Max joins Eddie attempting to comfort the young Samoan. 

Vince Howard: The winner of this match.. CORAAAAAAAAAAL AVALOOOOOOON!

Coral quickly rolls out of the ring and into the waiting arms of Bobby Dean. The Crownless King nearly collapses into his fellow Bandit’s arms as he is helped up the ramp, his arms held aloft in victory. 

Nick Stewart: Despite a valiant effort put up by Eddie Cross it was Coral Avalon who was victorious here tonight. 

Richard Parker: Not for not, though, Avalon was pushed to his limits. Who knows how much he has to throw at his next opponent?

We then head backstage.

NOW IT’S YOUR TURN TO APOLOGIZE

The camera is on Angelica Brooks, who is smiling like the true professional she is.

Angelica Brooks: Hello everyone. I am currently joined by…

The boos, they have started. The camera pans over to reveal the tall, angry form of Paxton Ray.

Angelica Brooks: Former Intense Champion Paxton Ray. Paxton, since your match at UltraViolence with The Anglo Luchador, we have seen a different side of you. You’ve tried to apologize to Jared Sykes, Nate Colton, and Chandler Tsonda. Why the sudden change of heart?

Paxton Ray: Ya ain’t gotta make it sound all formal. I ain’t really doin’ some sorta apology tour. I jus’ know that I ain’t been the best t’deal with since I joined PRIME. An’ I know that one day if I ever want to be a good enough father for my daughter, it starts with being a good man.

Angelica Brooks: I see. It did seem that none of them were particularly eager to accept your apologies.

Paxton Ray: ‘s fine. I did some awful things. I tried t’hurt Nate’s sister. I did hurt Jared’s best friend, an’ tossed another friend through a wall. I looked in the Walgreens and there ain’t no greetin’ card with that sorta message on it. 

Paxton shoots an expectant look at Angelica. Her professional smile finally falters a bit.

Angelica Brooks: Was…was that a joke?

Paxton Ray: Yeah. You’re sposed t’laugh.

She does not.

Angelica Brooks: So you’ve apologized to some people, they haven’t accepted, and you’re okay with that. What’s next?

Paxton Ray: I dunno. Keep makin’ things right, I guess. 

Angelica Brooks: And do you think part of that would be offering an apology to Rich Patterson?

Paxton looks down on Brooks, a snarl creeping onto his face.

Paxton Ray: Ya think I should say sorry to him? For what, exactly? For gettin’ a little hot sauce on his shirt? I already did that. For punchin’ him after he said some shit that was way outta line? Nah, I ain’t apologizin’ for that. 

Now Paxton turns and faces the camera.

Paxton Ray: It’s one thing for guys like Sykes an’ Colton to give me shit ‘bout my choices. They was hurt by ‘em. They earned that judgment a’me. But this newcomer who don’t know shit about shit? Nah, he can’t jus’ run in here and say I ruin nice things. He ain’t earned shit. He don’t know me from Adam, an’ even if he knows my rep, he didn’t even get through half a talk with me to form his own conclusions. So when it comes to Rich Patterson? I’m the one waitin’ on his apology.

Angelica Brooks: His apology?

Paxton Ray: Yeah. I said sorry for gettin’ his shirt red. He should say sorry for talkin’ shit bout me when he doesn’t know me. Then we can move on with our lives.

Angelica Brooks: I have to say, Paxton, hearing you say that is surprising. In earlier days you’d rather settle differences in a ring than out of it.

Paxton smiles and looks down at Angelica as he starts to walk away across the camera.

Paxton Ray: Aww, Angie, ya miss the old me?

Angelica Brooks: Um, no, I…

Paxton Ray: Well if Rich don’t get his apology, ya might jus’ see him sooner’n ya think.

Paxton walks out of frame and Angelica looks at the camera.

Angelica Brooks: All right, let’s head elsewhere. 

We then follow her orders.

EXIT, PURSUED BY VENDING MACHINE

Joe Fontaine: I don’t see what the big deal is…

We open to the Glue Man Group sitting around in old CSWA-branded office chairs, which have – as previously established – been rebranded as “VERY COOL GUYS”-branded office chairs. The entire Glue Man retinue – Gluetinue, if you will – are here. That’s Joe, Sid, the Fabulous Gold Mask, Cardsworth, and… well, the googly-eyed vending machine in a beret that’s apparently FLAMBERGE this week.

Joe Fontaine: It’s just four cool dudes riding around in office chairs across the hall, with no shenanigans whatsoever. I know we’re all really concerned about what FLAMBERGE here can do. The less we talk about what went on in the break room, the better.

Sid Phillips: Some things can’t be undone.

The Fabulous Gold Mask silently nods in agreement. The Masters, however, well…

Randall Schwartz: If one of you did something to the Food-O-Matic 3000, so help me I’ll–

Kenny Freeman: Shush, they didn’t break the Food-O-Matic 3000. It’s fine. Anyway, I wanna get whatever all…this is, before I get yelled at or yeeted again. It hurts when I get yeeted. 

Joe Fontaine: We didn’t do anything to such a precious commodity as the Food-O-Matic 3000. Heavens, no. Be that as it may, we’re all here to get this race started. Does everyone know the rules?

Sid Phillips: No. You never explained any of the rules. You just said “office chair race” and assumed everyone knew what the fuck you were talking about.

Joe turns towards the Glue Man Group’s so-called “intern”.

Joe Fontaine: Fabby! I thought you sent out pamphlets! You had one job!

The Fabulous Gold Mask shrugs his shoulders, and then just walks away. Everyone watches him leave… and then ducks out of the way as a trash can is launched at them from off-screen. There’s a lot of yelling and screaming from the four competitors as the intern’s display of trash can accuracy is shown.

After a few moments, everyone comes back together again.

Joe Fontaine: I swear, that guy.

Sid Phillips: He’s definitely risking his college credits with his behavior.

Joe Fontaine: Not to mention his future employment possibilities.

Randall Schwartz: Am I the only one here who gives a damn about the rules of this game!?

Kenny Freeman: Yeah man, get on with it!

Joe Fontaine: I mean, it’s really simple. We just race down the hallway, barrelling through everything in our paths, and whoever reaches the finish line first is the victor!

There’s a lot of activity in the path ahead of them, as members of the production crew are trying to make sure that the show is still running on time. God knows, a lot of time has been spent on shenanigans today. So many shenanigans, and some of them are being perpetrated by men in this very segment.

Sid Phillips: The four of us.

Joe Fontaine: Yes.

Sid Phillips: Trying to race down this crowded hallway.

Joe Fontaine: Yuh-huh.

Sid Phillips: In office chairs about as derelict as the company we took them from.

Joe Fontaine: Well, the boss lady didn’t want us to borrow her cool, state-of-the-art office chairs. I bet she races them with Wade and Dam and Killean all the time. I mean, I got the idea in the first place because I found out about the secret underground Enemigo races. Seriously, you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen the secret underground Enemigo races. They use landmines.

Sid Phillips: That’s bullshit.

Joe Fontaine: Enemigos don’t fuck around. Anyway, everyone ready?

Kenny Freeman: Yeah, sure.

Randall Schwartz: What could possib-lie go wrong?

Joe Fontaine: Three, two, one… GO!

Four men, four idiots if you will, immediately move their feet as they try to move their office chairs along the hallway. 

It’s already chaos. 

The space is so narrow that there’s an early logjam as Kenny and Sid collide first, and Randall and Joe ram into them. There’s a lot of limbs as all four men try to break free from the logjam. Eventually, Randall – the most experienced of the four in terms of traveling by a wheeled chair – is able to break free from the pack. 

Hot on his wheels, though, is Joe Fontaine. He’s gaining on Randall with the powers of firing off a fire extinguisher in his wake, which has the adverse effect of blasting both Sid and Kenny behind him in the process.

Where did he get it?

Who cares!

With the assistance of the fire extinguisher, Joe Fontaine is able to catch up to Randall.

Now, we might need a little urgency with Kenny and Sid back there. Seems like they’re just hanging out and letting Joe and Randall take care of things. Well, don’t worry.

Because FLAMBERGE is coming for them.

Sid Phillips: …What the fuck!?

Kenny Freeman: I can’t believe we’re about to be Super Cool Guy’d, what fresh hell is this!?

Propelled forward at dangerous-for-humans speeds, the Fabulous Gold Mask is pushing the vending machine version of FLAMBERGE – VENDBERGE, if you will – in a mad chase after the participants. Clearly, the Glues’ intern isn’t playing around now and is attempting a vendhicular homicide. Scientific term.

Sid and Freeman exchange looks and mutually decide that they have to speed up. A lot. Otherwise, they’re going to get trampled upon by a kawaii-desu French vending machine.

Joe and Randall make it halfway down the hall, neck-and-neck. They’re moving at speeds beyond the scope of what an office chair is designed for, especially not these old-ass ones from a derelict promotion. It could be anyone’s game. Anyone’s Gentleman’s game, I mean. 

Of course, there’s a difference between Joe and Randall in this situation: Joe has a weapon.

And as Joe catches up to Randall enough to be neck-and-neck with him, he points the exhaust of the extinguisher at him and engulfs him in a cloud of fire suppressants.

Randall crashes and burns into a series of production cases, and this allows Fontaine unfettered access to the finish line. Joe crosses the plane and raises his arms in the air in triumph.

Joe Fontaine: BOOYAH!

Yes, he did just shout that. He’s 21 years old, by the way.

Randall spends a lot of his time blindly trying to find his way to the finish line. Behind him, Kenny and Sid are racing to not get run over by the vending machine. Randall recovers just in time to see the vending machine coming, and decides… well, fuck that. He takes off running.

Everyone crosses the finish line, including VENDBERGE, but the Fabulous Gold Mask quickly loses control of the situation and continues running down the hallway, dragged along by the sheer momentum.

CRASH!

Joe immediately stops celebrating, his head turned in the direction Fabby and VENDBERGE had gone… and clearly crashed.

Joe Fontaine: Oh. Oh man. That’s a fine. That’s definitely a fine.

Sid, exhausted from the chase, shakes his head.

Sid Phillips: …His student loans are going to be outrageous by the end of this, isn’t it?

Joe turns to Kenny and Randall and holds out his hand for a handshake.

Joe Fontaine: Good game!

Kenny and Randall give a slow nod in agreement, and shake hands accordingly. Not to be confused with an accordion-ly, which is important because of what the Masters say next…

Kenny Freeman: So uh…karaoke contest for third round?

Randall’s eyes widen, realizing exactly the brilliant strategy being played by the sole Master of the Moscowverse that can carry a tune.

Joe’s smiling expression fades. If you look very closely, you might see him start breaking out in a cold sweat.

Joe Fontaine: Uhhh… sure! Yeah, sure!

Sid can only facepalm.

Sid Phillips: Well, we might get fined without causing any property damage for a change.

Joe tries to reassure his tag team partner that everything is going to be fine, just as the Fabulous Gold Mask runs across the screen. 

Exit, pursued by Enemigos.

Cut, to ringside.

JARED SYKES VS. TONY GAMBLE

Nick Stuart: Oh. Great. What’s he think he is doing making his way down here?

BOOOOOOOO!!!!

He, in this case, and the reason for Nick’s lamentable tone, just so happens to be the Round 3 opponent of whoever wins the up and coming match.

Cancer Jiles.

Nick Stuart: Shit. Okay. He really is coming. I better get this out of the way before he sits down. Up next, Round 2 of the Almasy Invitational continues to roll right along…

Richard Parker: Hopefully.

Nick Stuart: …as we see Jared Sykes taking on Tony Gamble. Both of these men have been around the block and then some. One used a forklift, while the other dates back to the  ReVolutionary War.

Richard Parker: This match should be about as PRIME of a matchup as it gets here; granted a certain cockroach doesn’t ruin it by talking about his hair the entire time.

As if on cue, The GOLDEN TICKET himself plops down at the announce table. He’s changed out of his wrestling gear, and is dressed down in his electric blues. Of course, the T-shades are on and the hair is tip top. Also of note, his nostrils are stuffed with gauze from his earlier gusher against Don Winters.

Richard Parker: What do we owe the pleasure?

Cancer Jiles: Well Dicky boy, I thought it would be a good idea to come on down here and get a closer look at whomever my third round opponent is going to be. You guys don’t mind, do you?

Nick Stuart: So in other words all of the in ring segments were taken again?

Cancer Jiles: Bingo.

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 pair make their way to the ring before Jared slides in under the bottom rope. He throws his hood back and puts the sweatshirt under the nearest turnbuckle. Underneath it is a heather gray tee shirt, the kind that PRIME sells at the arena every time there’s a Universal championship match. This one is from ReVival 22, where Hayes Hanlon unsuccessfully defended the strap against Rezin. After a moment, he removes this as well, but only after the hard camera has had a chance to get a good, long look at what he’s wearing.

Nick Stuart: Jared with a not so subtle message for his old friend.

Richard Parker: Speaking of subtle, here comes the embodiment of the exact opposite.

Cancer Jiles: How about that? I never knew they put a telephone book in front of the first ring step for him.

A shared, raucous laughter ensues among all that are down at the ring. Total knee slap. Even Justine can’t help herself. Same for Jared. And Nick. And Dick. And Ashley Barlow. Then, the harmonious moment awkwardly ends, and everyone reverts back to hating Cancer Jiles.

“Born for this” by Divide Music starts to play through the speakers, as Tony Gamble and Johnnie Newsman step out from behind the curtain. Tony just stands there for a moment, as the chorus of boos continues to rain down on him from the crowd.

When the choice is mine and mine alone
I won’t give in even if you break my bones

The lyrics have started, but it is the sound of Johnnie’s voice bellowing out above those lyrics that drives the crowd to get even louder. 

Johnnie Newsman: HELLLOOOOOOO GRRREEEEENNNBROOOOO!!!

I won’t give in ’till your sins have been atoned
All I see is the flickering lights below me

Tony stretches his arms out wide, welcoming the crowd’s form of adoration as Johnnie continues to speak and his music plays.

All I need is the power to change what I see
If I can give a little, not a second thought

Johnnie Newsman: Coming to your ring, with weight of one hundred and thee eighty nine pounds of lean, mean muskulls on a man.

If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah
All I wanna be, yeah

Tony makes his way down the ramp, ignoring the few smarks in the crowd that actually do like him as he stares at Jared Sykes waiting for him in the ring. Fans reach their arms out, awaiting a slap of acknowledgement that will never come, as Johnnie stays at the top of the ramp.

Yeah, I was born for this
I will keep my secrets high above

Johnnie Newsman: HE BEST THING HAPPEN HERE EVER!!

In the hopes to protect the ones I love
But I wonder where in darkness lies the truth

Johnnie Newsman: BUTCHER OF BAYOU BARBER!!

Of the one who took their lives, you can’t excuse
I don’t fear you, I won’t let you take my home

Johnnie Newsman: YOUR FUTURE CHARLIE BUCKET!!

Tony climbs the steps, giving a quick glance at his not too distant future opponent at ringside. He turns his attention back to the man that is in the way of that future, before looking out at the fans that have not quieted down at all since he stepped out from behind the curtain. They love to hate him, and he loves it. 

I will climb through to wherever you may roam
I won’t give in, you can even break my bones

Johnnie Newsman: THEE TINY MOUSE RUSSIAN ELEPHANT FEARS!!

What is within is a strength you’ll never know

Johnnie Newsman: TOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!

All I see is the flickering lights below me

All I need is the power to change what I see

Tony steps in between the middle and top ropes to get into the ring, making his way to the center without turning his attention away from Sykes.

Johnnie Newsman: THEEEEE GRRRRRRIIIINNNNNNNN!!

If I can give a little, not a second thought
If I’m stuck in the middle, I will take the shot, woah

He drops down to one knee, lowering his head as he does.

Johnnie Newsman: GAAAAAAAAMMBLLLLLLEEEEE!!

All I wanna be, yeah

Then stretches his arms out once again, pointing toward Jiles while he lifts his head and stares at Jared, welcoming the hate from the crowd. 

Yeah, I was born for this

The crowd is swooning for action. Ashley Barlow gets Jared Sykes and Tony Gamble to find their respective corners. She then goes over the rules with both of them, and when she is done, Tony removes the cotton balls from his ears for all to see. 

Dejected, Ashley calls for the bell.

DING DING

Tony and Jared begin to circle one another in the ring. Gamble comes to a stop, smiles coyly, and raises his arm as if to challenge Knight-Errant in a test of strength.

Nick Stuart: What do you think here Jiles? Should Jared accept, what move will Tony do next? Eye poke? Kick to the gut? Low blow? You are the authority.

Cancer Jiles: I don’t think Tony can reach Jared’s eyes, not easily anyway, and it’s too early for a low blow. So, I’ll go with a kick to the gut. Seems most logical. This way, you can also bait Jared into catching it, and then Tony can counter with an Enziguri to really take control of the match early on.

Richard Parker: Well I guess we’ll see what happens, Cancer Avalon.

Jared slowly reaches his left hand up to meet Gamble’s right. Before they can finger fuck, Gamble tries to be a sneak and throws a kick towards Jared’s gut. Sykes, being the well rounded wrestler that he is, catches it. Gamble goes for the Enziguri just like Jiles had predicted, however Sykes is able to duck underneath it causing Tony to over rotate and land belly flat on the mat.

Richard Parker: Close.

Not one to waste time, Dragonslayer drops the point of his elbow in between Tony’s shoulder blades, and then squeeze’s Tony’s melon tight with a side headlock. Gamble waves his arms around in a fanatic attempt to escape the hold. He eventually does so by grabbing a hold of Jared’s hair, and pulling him backwards into a pinning combination.

Barlow is right in there in position to make the count!

One.

Two.

Sykes releases the headlock and rolls away. Happy Heelmore scrambles to his feet and tries to clothesline Sykes’s midsection. Jared, because he already used his duck under, showcases his athleticism by jumping over Tony’s arm like it were a hurdle; then quickly reaches back and drops the shell-shocked Gamble with a vicious neck breaker.

Cancer Jiles: Noted.

Nick Stuart: You almost sounded impressed there.

Cancer Jiles: Why? Because the beating Heart of PRIME is beating up on a man half his size? If he even tried something like that on me I’d end his sorry ass right then and there– and then I’d walk his girl back up the ramp and take her out for a nice steak dinner with the boys.

Nick Stuart: Is that so?

Cancer Jiles: That is so.

Richard Parker: Say, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t out here for Coral’s match? Trouble in paradise already, or were you still getting your nose looked at? Ya know what, don’t bother answering. I don’t want to start any trouble.

Sykes quickly rolls over and hooks the leg.

One.

Two..

Gamble kicks out at a short two!

Justine slams her hand on the mat a couple of times encouraging her life partner to continue the attack. Sykes gets back to his feet, reaches down to pull Tony back up, and while doing so Gamble surprises him with a sitdown jawbreaker that sends Sykes reeling into the corner. The Capotavola springs to his feet, charges in, and drives his shoulder into Sykes’ gut!

Nick Stuart: Tony starting to mount some offense here! Can he take advantage!?

With Sugar Milk buckled over in the corner, The Grin slyly blows Justine a kiss from in between the top and second turnbuckles. He then cautiously backs out of the corner, winds up, and slaps the facial hair clean from Sykes’ face. Tries too, anyway. Still not done with the onslaught, Gamble starts to rake at Jared’s eyes which causes Barlow to get between them and break up the hold.

Nick Stuart: He’s trying to blind him!

Cancer Jiles: This idiot! He’s got to get his index fingers in the corners furthest from the nose! That’s how you pop an eyeball out and/or cause a subdural hematoma. If you gouge the corner of the inner part of the eye it actually clears the sinus! Tony’s doing him a favor!

Richard Parker: Is that true? 

Cancer Jiles: Let’s me and you find out.

John Rhine’s favorite wrestler moves back in, grabs Jared by the arm, whips him across the ring and into the opposite corner. Hard. Jared stumbles out from the impact, and Tony plants him with the best spinebuster of his career.

Cancer Jiles: Noted.

Gamble drops down for a pin. He grabs a hold of the tights, and even props his legs up on the second rope for added leverage.

Cancer Jiles: Good form. Extension is just right. He might actually have him here.

Barlow drops down for the count.

One.

Two……….

Thr—

Ashley Barlow stops her count when she notices Tony’s outstretched legs using the ropes for added leverage. The two get into a small argument, which brings Justine Calvin onto the apron. You know, girl power and everything. Gamble is getting it in both ears, and his Italian face grows redder by the second for it. Before he does something to get disqualified, Jared sneaks up behind and surprises him with a School Boy!

One.

Two.

Thre— KICK OUT by GAMBLE!

Nick Stuart: That was as close as it gets!

A picture in picture instant replay shows Gamble escaping at the last second.

Gamble gets to his feet, clutching at his neck that has finally started to hurt. Sykes also gets to his feet, however he’s easily breathing through his nose since his sinus cavity is clear. Justine is no longer standing on the apron. Ashley Barlow is quickly retying her shoe. Jiles has both feet up on the announce table, and is doing his best to look unimpressed by what he sees. Dirty Dick and Saint Nick don’t seem too enthused by his actions. Mainly because his legs and feet are across their part of the announce table.

Then.

Instead of locking up, Jared and Tony just start beating the shit out of each other. Haymakers. Chops. Slaps. Kicks. Knees. Gamble even headbutts Sykes directly in the sternum.

Cancer Jiles: Jared’s lucky he’s not in there with Coral or else he would be dead right now. Like, DEAD-DEAD.

All of the blows are precise. 

All land with purpose, and impact. 

All want to move on to the next round.

Finally, the tremendous flurry ends when Sykes blocks a left, and with a left of his own knocks Tony backwards.

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times a lady, or in this case a punch to the face. Gamble reels all the way to the ropes, and Jared moves in to clothesline him over the top. Gamble, though, falls down to the mat and pulls the top rope with him; causing Jared to go ass over teakettle onto the outside.

Nick Stuart: Just when Jared was starting to get some momentum back.

Cancer Jiles: I’ll give Gamble this much– he’s got uncanny ring awareness. There’s no doubting that. If only he was twenty-three inches taller.

Barlow starts to count. Tony gathers himself for the final push. He can see the opportunity in front of him. The GOLDEN TICKET. Yes, he’s staring at Jiles so it’s meant to be taken in a more literal sense but still. Justine is checking in on her man, and trying to get him to circle the wagons because right now he is exactly where Tony Gamble wants him.

Prone.

On the outside of the ring.

Gamble shakes free from his luster, and decides it’s time to take this match to the next level. Also meant to be taken literally, seeing as he ascends the turnbuckles all the way to the top. All Justine can do is watch, and plead, and all Tony can do is laugh and point. Like an ice skater he swiftly turns on a heel, and launches himself high into the air.

MOON. fucking yolo. SAULT.

Nick Stuart: He must be over fifteen feet in the air!

Cancer Jiles: Just imagine if he were a normal height… it’d be like thirty!

Like an elegant dove, Tony soars the air. Then, like a blind archer, he totally misses the mark when Sykes rolls out of the way at the last second.

Nick Stuart: After seeing that, what do you have to say about Jared’s ring awareness?

Cancer Jiles: That wasn’t awareness. That was survival instinct. Trust me, I know about that, too.

Gamble is just lying there, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Probably because he knocked himself out. Jared gets back up to his feet, and referee Barlow reaches a count of seven before he’s able to roll Tony back into the ring. Then, after joining his foe back inside the squared circle, The Slayer of Dragons reaches out and covers Gamble with one arm.

Barlow drops down for the count.

One.

Two.

Thre…. KICK OUT BY GAMBLE!!!

Nick Stuart: How in the hell?

Richard Parker: It might take a bullet for someone to win this match at this point. MY GOD!

Justine again pounds on the mat, urging her man to push forward. Sykes uses the ropes to get upright, and shakes the webs occupying the cob on top of his neck. Tony is starting to move. Well, one of his legs anyway, and like a predator waiting on its prey, Jared is lying in wait for him. After realizing though that Gamble is just buying time, Sykes moves to attack only to of course be surprised with an inside cradle.

One.

Two.

Thrrrrrrrrrre————-

————

—…………….KICK OUT BY SYKES!

Nick Stuart: Okay. Now that was as close as it gets!

Both men race to be the first to their feet. Gamble, still a little wobbly from the botch, is last, and in this case being last means death. Sykes swoops in, finds his friend named Fortitude that resides within him, and hits Gamble with a snap suplex. He then rolls through it, seamlessly changes his grapple around, hoists Tony up, and spikes him down to the canvas!

Nick Stuart: OMEGA 13! That should do it!

Sykes sticks the landing, keeping Tony tucked for the pin.

Barlow drops down to count.

One.

Two.

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Vince Howard: Here is your winner, Jared Sykes!!!!!!!!!

Justine hits the ring to celebrate while also checking in on the well being of her man. Ashley Barlow raises Jared’s hand in victory. 

Richard Parker: Gamble is going to need a good, waterproof pillow for later on tonight I think.

Nick Stuart: In the end Tony was close, but they call it high risk for a reason. Jared Sykes moves on to face you, Cancer Jiles, in round three. How do you feel about that?

Cancer Jiles: I’m tingling.

Cut to COMMERCIAL.

COMMERCIAL: GOLDEN PRO WRESTLING PRESENTS – GOLD STRIKE 7

GPW Presents: Gold Strike 7

Another action packed episode of Gold Strike is here!

Flip Costa gets distracted before his Pure Gold #1 Contender match while the Pysch Ward hunts for escaped mental patient, Abel Unstable.

In other action, Golden Ben Miller takes on upstart Fuse Makoto, Sicko goes toe-to-toe with Crosscheck Beck, and the Bounce Squad makes its GPW debut against Your Captains.

https://goldenprowrestling.com/event/gold-strike-7/

Golden Pro Wrestling
GPW
Gold Strike 7

CARE FOR A DRINK?

Back from commercial.

The Anglo Luchador once again is spotted, this time backstage talking to a production assistant. He’s still wearing his Simpsons shirt, jeans, and sneakers, but gone is the hat. It probably clashed with his mask. You ever try wearing a mask with a hat? Neither have I, but it’s gotta be pretty clunky.

TAL: Alright, so people make fun of JJ Abrams for lens flare spam, right? But when you’re shooting a guy like Winters, y’know, man of God, you want to use stuff like that to your advantage. Really sell his ethereal connection with The Lord.

PA: Wow, that sounds pretty good.

TAL: Yeah, I don’t have a lot of experience in production, but you kinda have to get the basics of selling the wrestlers down pat when you promote shows, even in Mexico. Even the ones you don’t like and wish would lose, you still have to make them appealing to the crowd or at least their downfall appealing enough so that if they do lose, the guy who beats them really feels like they put down a monster.

PA: Seems like the bad guys win around here all the time anymore.

The Luchador looks down momentarily for a beat, slightly shaking his head.

TAL: You know what, who cares, right? It’s just on us to do better at beating them. Who knows, maybe B will put Glue Boi Alpha on his ass tonight.

PA: Yeah. Anyway, thanks!

The Luchador nods and turns around, only to recoil in deep surprise at who is standing right behind him.

David Noble: What’s with the getup? Didn’t you have a hat on earlier?

The brute force of KING, Noble looks The Anglo Luchador up and down, a bit confused as he slips his hands into his jean pockets and leans back, taking a good look at the former Intense Champion. 

David Noble: Before we get too far, don’t have a cow, dude.

TAL: Make it quick. I don’t wanna spend too much time doing small talk with people who’ve assailed me. Especially not about my novelty shirts.

The Luchador’s focus turns into a glower.

David Noble: Fair enough, have it your way. Rose heard what you said last week, not the bit about fuck off and die like you said in the office, but what you said in the ring about wanting a match. She’s got no problem with that and if you want it at Colossus, she’s game for that.

TAL: Cool. I’m glad she’s game. You too. The whole gang. Doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll fight all five of you at the same time if I need to. But one of you is enough for me.

David Noble: Sure. Meet us in the ring in two weeks time and we’ll do a contract signing. Make it official and all, okay?

David extends his hand, but The Luchador looks at it like a ticking time bomb.

David Noble: Fair enough. The whole business with drugging you and dragging you out onto the stage like that? My apologies for that. 

TAL: Apologies?

The Luchador turns around, snorting through his nose, before rapidly turning about face again to look at Noble.

TAL: APOLOGIES? YOU DRUGGED ME WITH ENOUGH ROHYPNOL TO LAST A SHITTY FRATERNITY A WEEK, AND YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SAY SORRY?

David Noble: Just thought I would offer it, Tom. You enjoy living in that glass house of yours. I look forward to bashing your face in at Colossus, you fucking prick. 

The Luchador looks like he’s going to roar, but instead, he turns to the wall, leans his head and right arm against it, and turns his head to bow downward.

TAL: Do me a favor, David. Get the fuck outta here before I do something I regret, please.

Noble turns to go, but the Luchador turns around with a devious look on his face visible through the openings in his mask.

TAL: Actually, hold on a second. You’re right,  you’re right. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t accept an apology.

Noble looks confused.

TAL: In fact, think of this as a peace offering, from me to you. A drink between rivals.

He reaches into a backpack on the ground and grabs a can with unfamiliar labellng on it.

TAL: Here, have a cold one.

He tosses the can to Noble, who catches it. The Luchador turns to walk off.

David Noble: What, you’re not going to stay and have a drink with me?

TAL: Oh, oh no, I’d love to, but I’m helping with production tonight, trying to get some nice seasoning for LUCHA ESPECIAL and maybe another project I’m thinking about. But by all means, throw it back.

The Luchador walks off. Noble shrugs, cracks the can open, and chugs before spitting it out all over the hallway area near him.

David Noble: What the fuck is this? This tastes like salami left on the counter and the ashtray of Patty and Selma. What did that asshole give me?

He looks at the can and the label reveals that it is MEAT?-Brand Alcoholic Beverage (ABV 24.8%, 2,000 IBUs).

David Noble: Well, damn. [yelling out to no one] Anyone know where I can find Bobby Dean?!

The camera cuts to another backstage area. 

WITH REGARDS TO JOHN B. STETSON

Wouldja look at that?

It’s a door.

Well, sorta.

The arena-provided door has been removed from its hinges.

In its place? Well, there’s a pair of swinging saloon doors.

Above those swinging saloon doors? Well, there’s a wooden sign. 

What does that wooden sign say? Well, it says this:

THE DIAMOND MINE
A HONKY TONK SALOON
IF YOU GOT THE HONK, WE GOT THE TONK!
TROYS ALLOWED, BUT STRONGLY DISCOURAGED

…I guess you can see where this is going.

From above and below the doors, darkness emanates from within. The lights are out, but there’s the sound of movement, rustling. Through the arena’s speakers, “Goin’ Out West” by Tom Waits begins to play. The PRIMEates begin to boo. Yadda, yadda; you know the drill. What’s really important is a red carpet rolls out from beneath those doors on cue. What’s really important is the doors swing open, also on cue. What’s really, really, really important is Daytona Diamonds emerges from The Diamond Mine in all his rhinestone-bedazzled glory, a sneer already on his lips and his hands balled into two determined fists.

Except, y’know, something’s missing.

Something important.

Let me ask you a purely rhetorical question: What’s a cowboy without his hat?

Well. I guess we’re about to find out, huh?

Sure enough, Daytona’s hat is missing. Gone. Vanished. By all accounts, it should be there, but it isn’t. Daytona, for what it’s worth, doesn’t acknowledge it; he just marches forward, cracking his neck and snarling his lips, throwing a few quick punches in the air as the camera backs away from him. The whole time, his music plays, Tom Waits growling about voodoo and karate as Daytona flexes and points finger guns and just… looks like an asshole, man. Obviously, as he walks, he starts talking shit.

Daytona Diamonds: Chandy! Oh Chandy! You’re ’bout five minutes away from the ass whoopin’ of a lifetime, pardner! This is the goddang Rhinestone Era, baby! Ain’t you fuckin’ heard?! 

He turns a corner towards the Argyle Position and suddenly… Daytona stops, dead in his tracks. His eyes go wide. His jaw falls open. He looks like he’s seeing a ghost… 

The camera pans around.

And there’s Ami Troy.

But more importantly, there’s Daytona’s hat. 

Oh, the rhinestones are still there. Somewhere. See, they’ve been covered up by dozens and dozens of patches and stickers. Little ditties like a milk carton that says “MALE TEARS,” a happy little sunshine and rainbow with the words “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU WERE TAUGHT, UNLEARN THAT SHIT,” a picture of Ron DeSantis above the phrase “IF EXPLOSIVE DIARRHEA WAS A PERSON,” and a cute holographic cartoon hamster eating a big bowl of ramen (a Kohime Mori contribution, obviously). The embroidered “DD” has had its stitching removed and replaced with bright pink thread in the letters “PP&F” for “PINK POSSE & FRIENDS.”

Perhaps the most important change isn’t what’s on the outside of the hat, but what’s on the inside. Upon closer inspection, it’s filled to the brim with tortilla chips, queso, lettuce, tomatoes, beans, jalapeños, sour cream, salsa, and pulled pork. Ami reaches in, takes a couple smothered chips and brings them to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Then she holds out the hat to Daytona and smiles, sweetly.

Ami Troy: Want some?

Now, here’s the thing. Daytona? If there’s one thing he loves more than wrestling, it’s a funny sticker on the back of a car. In fact, somewhere on an impound lot in Chicago, his truck still sits with a sticker on the bumper that says “GARTH BROOKS IS MY CO-PILOT.” And if there’s one thing he loves more than funny stickers? Well, it’s nachos, obviously. Jot that down. It’s canon now.

But… but… want to know what he loves more than nachos?

His custom-made cowboy hat.

The one Ami Troy has turned into a nacho bowl.

His heart, as I’m sure you can imagine, aches.

Daytona Diamonds: You… you didn’t… I… oh… you… 

He can’t even get the words to come out right. A mouthful of vowels, each one rising in volume until… if this was a cartoon, there’d be steam coming out of his ears. His face turns as red as a fire engine, his eyes bulging out from their sockets. When he speaks, he somehow manages to scream through his teeth. It sounds every bit as off-putting as you might imagine, somewhere between a screeching toddler on a plane and polystyrene rubbing together.

Daytona Diamonds: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO YOU GOD DANG BOTTOMFEEDIN’, SCUMSUCKIN’, GRASS BELLIED CUNT?! WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUUUUUUCCCCCK?!

Ladies and gentlemen, PRIME is proud to present… Daytona’s Epic Meltdown 2023.

There’s an audible GASP from the PRIME production crew members who are in earshot of the Rhinestone Cowboy calling the Boss’s daughter the Big C Word. Daytona doesn’t hear them, though, because he’s very busy stamping his feet and screaming while spinning around in a circle, incensed at the moxie of this young woman.

Ami watches Daytona’s hissy fit for a minute before shrugging her shoulders.

Ami Troy: More for me, I guess!

She walks off and leaves Daytona to his rage. He doesn’t even notice her leaving. He’s too busy punching a door; don’t worry, it isn’t the saloon doors, those are safe. When he finally turns around and sees that she’s left, he tries to collect himself… but fails miserably with the sudden realization that his music is still playing and he’s still supposed to be in the ring and he still has a match to attend to.

Daytona Diamonds: Shit, shit, shit!

In a sudden whirlwind of movement, The (Perturbed? Yeah, we’ll say Perturbed) Rhinestone Cowboy rushes towards the Argyle Position on shaky legs, the camera following after him as we cut to ringside…

CHANDLER TSONDA VS. DAYTONA DIAMONDS

Vince Howard: The following match is one fall and is a second-round Almasy Tournament match!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Our co-main event of the evening and it is a doozy.

Richard Parker: LET’S GO, RHINESTONE COWBOY!

Nick Stuart: …why are you like this?

Richard Parker: BECAUSE HE’S THE RHINESTONE COWBOY!

Vince Howard: Introducing first…

…and, well, then Daytona stumbles out from behind the curtain. 

He looks mad as hell. Veins bulging on his (hatless) forehead, face gone red, cursing and spitting as he looks over his shoulder at the curtain. He stands there at the top of the ramp for an uncomfortably long time, stomping his feet and shouting intelligible gibberish. It would be embarrassing, if he had any shame at all.

Boos. Just tons of boos. By now, his music has played to the very end, fading out to uncomfortable silence. Finally, thankfully, Daytona shouts out one more profanity-laden insult in Ami Troy’s general direction before making his way towards the ring, clearly flustered.

Vince Howard: Making his way to the ring… weighing in at two hundred and forty-five pounds… hailing from Carson City, Nevada… THE RHINESTONE COWBOY, DAAAAAYTONA DIIIIIAMONDS!

Daytona climbs the ring steps, already trying to take off his jacket, but getting tangled in the process. When he finally pulls it off, he chucks it out towards the ramp, pacing the ring like a rabid dog.

No fancy lights.

No fancy pyro.

No fancy poses.

Daytona walks over to his corner, pushing his hair back away from his eyes. With no hat to place on top of it, the turnbuckle remains bare. He turns his attention towards the entrance, grinding his teeth and still muttering curse words beneath his breath.

Nick Stuart: Diamonds doesn’t have an owl permanently attached to his head, so it appears that he has made it through Lindsay Troy largely unscathed.

Richard Parker: Troy knows MONEY when she sees it. Daytona Diamonds is MONEY!

Nick Stuart: Well, he’s going to have a hell of a challenge in front of him, squaring off against the Numbers Don’t Lie champion, Chandler Tsonda.

Richard Parker: Meh. Tsonda is washed. Daytona is going to take his spot in the third round, take that Golden Ticket that gets him a title shot for the NDL title — dumb name — and take Tsonda’s lunch to boot.

Nick Stuart: You won’t find two hotter wrestlers right now, as both men are riding strong winning streaks — Diamonds hasn’t even lost yet.

Richard Parker: YEAH BABY!

Vince Howard: And his opponent…

“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: Weighing in at 187… svelte… pounds and standing at an… illustrious… inch short of six feet… he hails from San Diego, California via Hanoi, Vietnam! He is the NUMBERS! DON’T! LIE! CHAMPION! CHANDLER! TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSOONNNNNNNNNNNNNDAAA!

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 Daytona Diamonds. Tsonda bounces on his toes, mouthing something that’s inaudible to anyone but him.

Nick Stuart: You can see the focus that Chandler Tsonda has; he looks like Tsonda of 2008. He’s locked in, and he sees his goal on the horizon.

Richard Parker: He’s about to enter a mid-day showdown with a cowboy; Tsonda better make sure his focus is on the gunslinger in front of him.

Nick Stuart: Okay, this is borderline ridiculous. 

Tsonda hands over his title belt and bounces off the balls of his feet, getting his body ready for the upcoming battle. Elvis takes the title and hands it to the ringkeeper and signals for the start of the match.

DING DING

Both men circle one another, cautious, before Chandler goes in for a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Daytona slips behind him and puts him into a rear waistlock. Tsonda immediately fires off a series of back elbows that catch Diamonds flush across the jaw, loosening his grip on the NDL champion. Chandler spins around and connects with a Northern Lights Suplex, bridging it to get the early pinfall. 

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Nick Stuart: Tsonda getting the best of Daytona right there.

Richard Parker: The best of him? Ha! Daytona is simply feeling out Chandler. This is far from over.

Nick Stuart: Didn’t say it was over, just that Daytona is facing a higher caliber of talent, and he will need to stay on top of the ball. That Northern Lights Suplex is about as crisp as we’ve seen.

Richard Parker: Pish posh, get your head out of your ass.

Both men return to their feet quickly, and Tsonda is met with a forearm shot across the jaw from the Rhinestone Cowboy. 

CRACK!

The shot backs Chandler up into the ropes. Diamonds races towards Chandler, looking for a clothesline, but the Model Citizen dips his shoulder down and sends him over the top rope. Daytona manages to land on the ring apron, but as he gets up to his feet, Tsonda springboards off the middle ropes and connects with a dropkick that sends Diamonds spilling to the floor.

Nick Stuart: The match not quite starting off the way that Diamonds wanted it to. This could be dangerous for Daytona if he finds himself too far in the hole.

Richard Parker: (mocking) If he finds himself too far in the hole. {His usual self} Come off it, Nick. You’re hating on Daytona because you’re in the pocket of the Troy empire.

Nick Stuart: Empire? How much time are you spending with Crash Jackson?

Richard Parker: That’s slander and I will sue.

Nick Stuart: You are in a mood today. 

Daytona makes his way to his feet, shaking his head in the process, while Chandler sizes up his opponent. Diamonds turns towards the ring and sees Chandler bouncing off the ropes. Diamonds rushes into the ring as Tsonda grabs the top rope closest to him and launches himself over the top rope. Tsonda, with the agility that would make a twenty-year-old jealous, changes his mind in mid-air and lands on the ring apron. Diamonds bounces off the ropes, though, and connects with a stiff forearm to the face of the NDL Champion, which sends him crashing to the floor mat. 

Richard Parker: YEAH BABY!

Nick Stuart: Aren’t you supposed to be neutral?

Richard Parker: When has that ever been the case?

Nick Stuart: Fair point as Tsonda is smarting after that last shot. He doesn’t want to take too many of those from the… Rhinestone Cowboy.

Richard Parker: Look at you, getting in line with me! Welcome to the bandwagon!

Nick Stuart: That is not what’s happening.

Diamonds slips through the ropes and connects with a boot to the face of Tsonda, who is trying to get to his feet after his body collides with the ringside barricade. Chandler rolls away from Daytona, who senses blood in the water and slams his forearm across the back of Tsonda’s neck. The Model Citizen collapses onto the mat, clutching at his neck, as Diamonds reaches down and pulls Tsonda to his feet before sending him careening into the ringside barricade with an Irish Whip. Tsonda’s body collides with the barricade, and the impact sends him face-first into the floor mat. 

Richard Parker: Take that, Chandler! Daytona Diamonds can match you any day of the week.

Nick Stuart: …do you have money on Diamonds? Is that what’s going on?

Richard Parker: Why would you even suggest such a thing?! And do you want in on the action?

Nick Stuart: Deplorable. Meanwhile, Elvis is in the middle of his count and the two competitors better get back in the ring, or else this will be a kerfuffle. 

FIVE!

As Elvis begins to count six, Diamonds grabs Tsonda and rolls him back into the ring. As Chandler starts to rise, Diamonds grabs him and pushes him into the corner before connecting with a knife-edge chop that rings throughout the arena. With Tsonda dazed, Daytona connects with a European Uppercut that sends spittle flying from the mouth of the NDL Champion. 

The Model Citizen stumbles out of the corner as Diamonds stalks him before putting him into a rear waistlock. He goes for a German Suplex, but Tsonda manages to wrap his leg around Datyona’s leg, blocking the suplex attempt. Daytona unloads with a series of forearm strikes to the back of the neck, dropping Chandler to one knee. 

Diamonds then reaches down and hoists him up to his feet before lifting him up for a German Suplex. Chandler, though, manages to land on his feet and immediately connects with a dropkick between Diamonds’ shoulder blades, sending him face-first into the corner!

Nick Stuart: And Tsonda with the much-needed counter to keep Diamonds from gathering too much momentum.

Richard Parker: Hijinks! Cheating! This is disgusting behavior from a champion in PRIME. 

Nick Stuart: Please keep that energy when Ivan returns for the main event.

Richard Parker: He’s a different case.

Nick Stuart: How so?

Richard Parker: He’s scary! 

Tsonda grabs Diamonds by the right heel and drags him out of the corner before bending his leg at the knee, yanking up as hard as he can, and then driving Daytona’s knee into the canvas. 

CRACK!

The Rhinestone Cowboy rolls under the bottom rope, flexing his leg in the process. He places his boot on the mat, and as he tries to take a step, he collapses onto the floor. Elvis Nixon orders Tsonda back and slides under the bottom rope, checking on Daytona Diamonds, who is pointing at his knee and shaking his head from the obvious pain he is in.

Richard Parker: Can you believe this?! BAN CHANDLER TSONDA! I can’t believe some of his reputation is even ALLOWED in PRIME!

Nick Stuart: …this can’t be real.

Richard Parker: You question a man that just had his leg bashed in by Tsonda recklessly?! I can’t believe you. Diamonds might be seriously injured!

Nick Stuart: No, your reaction.

Richard Parker: I’m SHOCKED!

Chandler steps out of the ring as Daytona tries to pick himself back up but collapses onto the mat. Nixon orders Tsonda to stay back, but Chandler sidesteps him and tries to help Daytona up to his feet, only for Diamonds to grab him around the waist and launch him forward into the ringside barricade. Diamonds gets back up to his, clearly fine, before driving his forearm into the neck and shoulders of the NDL Champion. He then yanks Chandler from the barricade and connects with a single under-hook suplex into the ring post. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: What about your hero now? Faking an injury! I should have doubted he was actually injured.

Richard Parker: He is a GENIUS! Just because you can’t understand the depths of his thought process doesn’t mean you should slag him. Come on, you’re better than this!

Nick Stuart: And you’re good with the suplex into the ring post?

Richard Parker: Of course I am! That’s fair game.

Nick Stuart: Alright then.

Diamonds rolls back into the ring and Nixon restarts his count. 

ONE!

TWO!

Daytona dances around momentarily as Chandler is laid out outside the ring, barely moving. 

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

As Nixon reaches the six count, Tsonda makes his way to his knees, clearly dazed. 

SEVEN!

As Nixon reaches the eight count, Chandler slides underneath the bottom rope. Daytona immediately plants his boot into the back of Tsonda’s skull before yanking him off the mat and whipping him into the ropes before dropping him in the center of the ring with a sidewalk slam. Daytona makes his way up to his feet and begins mocking the crowd.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Diamonds struts around the ring before turning his attention to a slowly rising Tsonda. Daytona plants his boot into the ribcage of the Model Citizen, dropping him onto his mat wincing in pain. Diamonds bounce off the ropes and plant an elbow across the sternum of Tsonda, driving Tsonda onto his stomach. The Rhinestone Cowboy goes for a second elbow, but he hits the canvas instead as Tsonda rolls away and underneath the bottom rope. 

Chandler makes his way up to his feet as Daytona stumbles back to his feet. The Model Citizen then springboards off the top rope and connects with a springboard dropkick that sends Diamonds skirting across the ring.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: Tsonda getting the pendulum to swing back on his side.

Richard Parker: How can you take his side in all of this?!

Nick Stuart: There are no sides, Richard. Though, I think the fans appreciated the springboard dropkick to Diamonds.

Richard Parker: They’re biased; you can’t take their opinion into things!

Daytona makes his way back up to his feet and is met with the right shoulder of the NDL Champion into his gut, driving him into the corner. Diamonds immediately retaliates with a series of forearm strikes across the back of the Model Citizen. Chandler isn’t fazed, though, as he drives his shoulder into Diamonds’ midsection again, driving the air out of him. He then plants his boot into Daytona’s midsection, doubling him over before connecting with a stalling lift implant DDT. He then rolls over and hooks the leg for the pinfall.

ONE!

TWO!

THR– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Tsonda hits the Golgotha Drop, and it is almost enough to put Diamonds away!

Richard Parker: Not even close. He’s saving his energy. The longer he can rest, the stronger he will be towards the end of the match.

Nick Stuart: …do you even believe what you’re saying?

Richard Parker: Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?

Chandler drags Daytona into the center of the ring before bouncing off the ropes and dropping a leg across the throat of his opponent. Daytona rolls over onto his knees, grabbing at his throat. Tsonda drives his knee into the side of Diamonds before driving his forearm into the back of his neck. Tsonda pulls Daytona to his feet and whips him into the ropes before stopping him in his tracks with a spinning back elbow that dazes Daytona. Diamonds stumbles backward and uses the middle rope to propel him forward before launching himself at Tsonda with a rebound lariat.

Richard Parker: SIX SHOOTER! HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, NICK?!

Nick Stuart: You are insufferable. Both of these warriors are trading blows back and forth and the fans are eating it up every step of the way.

Richard Parker: It just shows how much Diamonds is able to elevate everyone’s game when they’re in the ring.

Nick Stuart: …what?!

Tsonda pushes himself up to his knees slowly, shaking the cobwebs free. Daytona then whips his body around the NDL Champion and scoops him into a pin but only gets a two-count. Both men rush to their feet, with Tsonda narrowly dodging a clothesline as he runs to the ropes, springboards off the middle rope, and looks for a springboard crossbody, except Diamonds counters with a dropkick to the midsection. Chandler drops like a bag of weights from the sky and lands on the canvas. Daytona grabs the legs of Tsonda and immediately puts him into a Texas Cloverleaf. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: CHANDLER TSONDA IS GOING TO TAP! THIS IS GLORIOUS!

Nick Stuart: You have gone way around the bend. The counter from Diamonds there was massive in giving him the opening to lock in the Texas Cloverleaf. You have to imagine that Diamonds has researched Tsonda and is aware of the back issues the NDL Champion has had in his career.

Richard Parker: He’s going to put Tsonda on the shelf! I can’t believe it!

Nick Stuart: Okay, calm down over there. 

Chandler claws at the mat, trying to find traction to push himself towards the ropes. Elvis Nixon checks on Tsonda, asking if he wants to submit, but Tsonda refuses, shaking his head. Daytona wrenches back, causing Chandler to grimace in pain as he can feel the shooting pains through his shaky back. Tsonda drives his forearms into the mat and drags himself a few inches closer to the ropes, but Diamonds loosens the hold slightly and re-centers Tsonda in the ring before tightening the hold. 

TSON-DA!
TSON-DA!
TSON-DA!

Tsonda slams his hand into the mat but refuses to tap as he drags his body again towards the ropes. Daytona once again loosens the hold to re-center Tsonda, but as he does, Tsonda uses his legs to push Daytona toward Chandler’s head, and Tsonda manages to flip himself over in the process. Chandler blocks a kick and connects with a superkick of his own, with both men falling to the mat. Chandler’s body lands on Daytona, and Elvis begins the count!

ONE!

TWO!

TH– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Tsonda almost managed to get the victory right then and there! Diamonds just got his shoulder up in the nick of time!

Richard Parker: You mean Chandler almost stole the victory from Diamonds. What is Nixon doing counting in a situation like that? That was accidental! I’m going to log a complaint with Timo after this match!

Nick Stuart: Well, you have fun with that.

Both men are slow to their feet, with Diamonds connecting with a knife-edge chop when they reach a vertical base. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Tsonda stumbles backward, rubbing his chest in the process, before firing off a forearm strike to the face of the Rhinestone Cowboy. 

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Daytona’s knees buckle slightly, but he remains standing before firing back with a second knife-edge chop. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Tsonda roars in fury as he goes for another forearm strike, but Diamonds manages to block it. He then grabs Tsonda’s forearm and whips him into the corner hard, causing Tsonda to slide into a sitting position as he grabs his back. 

CRACK!

Diamonds takes the opening as he rushes at Tsonda and connects with the running basement dropkick (Boot Scootin’ Boogie). He then drags Tsonda out of the corner and goes for the cover (gets 2.5). 

ONE!

TWO!

THR– NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Richard Parker: WHAT KIND OF COUNTING IS THAT?! ARE WE SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

Nick Stuart: Wow. Let’s calm it down over there. The Boot Scootin’ Boogie hit to perfection, but wasn’t enough to keep Tsonda down.

Richard Parker: Because his hand RPMs weren’t fast enough! He’s not meeting the standard industry.

Nick Stuart: What are you talking about?

Richard Parker: If Diamonds loses this match, I will file this with the commission and demand a hearing.

Nick Stuart: …alright then. 

Tsonda struggles to his feet, his body drained. Diamonds watches as he does so, sizes him up, and explodes out of the corner, where he connects with a lariat on the Model Citizen. At least he does, as he connects with Tsonda’s neck, but the NDL Champion uses Diamond’s arm as a bar and flips around it before spiking Diamonds on the mat with a DDT! Tsonda makes his way up to his feet, grabbing his lower back, before dragging Diamonds to his feet and connecting with a forearm strike that sends Daytona falling between the ropes and landing on the ring apron.

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Nick Stuart: These two men are beaten and battered! They’re giving it everything they can!

Richard Parker: Chandler should be out of this match. That back of his could easily be something that Elvis ends the match over. Nixon is being derelict in his duties.

Nick Stuart: I hope Elvis slaps the taste out of his mouth. 

Richard Parker: I’d like to see him try. 

Chandler watches as Diamonds rises to his feet, a bit dazed. Tsonda sizes Diamonds up and grabs the top rope, looking to slingshot himself over it, but Diamonds slams his elbow into the left leg of the Model Citizen, causing Chandler to jump backward and land on the mat. Tsonda grimaces a bit, shaking his left leg a bit. Diamonds tries to re-enter the ring, but Tsonda catches him with a running knee to the jaw, which sends Diamonds back onto the ring apron on his knees. He rubs his jaw a bit as he makes his way back up to his feet. Chandler times it again and slingshots himself over the top rope, and connects with a spiking DDT on the ring apron!

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: What a MOVE from Tsonda! My goodness, Diamonds might be done after that DDT onto the ring apron.

Richard Parker: What an ILLEGAL manuever! Using the ring apron like that is despicable! That should be treated like a foreign object.

Nick Stuart: It’s part of the ring.

Richard Parker: SO?!

Both men lay on the floor mats, Diamonds looking completely out of it, and Chandler wondering why he does the things that he does. Tsonda slowly moves up to his feet, hearing Elvis’ count but ignoring it. He grabs Diamonds and rolls him under the bottom rope. Chandler slowly climbs to the top turnbuckle and watches as Daytona pushes himself up to his feet. As he turns towards Tsonda, the NDL Champion soars through the air and goes for a flying crossbody. Diamonds though, acts out of instinct and drags Nixon in front of him! 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: Oh come on! What is your excuse for this?!

Richard Parker: I saw a snake about to bite Nixon’s foot. Daytona was simply saving his life.

Nick Stuart: And where is said snake?

Richard Parker: Clearly, gone! 

Nick Stuart: Well, now Elvis is knocked out.

Richard Parker: A small price to pay for living!

Tsonda checks on Elvis while Diamonds rolls out of the ring and slips under the ring, looking for something. He re-emerges with the steel chain wrapped around his hand. 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Nick Stuart: What the hell?!

Richard Parker: He must have seen the snake again! Stop jumping to conclusions, Nick. It might just happen to be on the back of Tsonda’s neck or skull.

Nick Stuart: Likely story. 

He slips back in under the bottom rope and cocks his hand back, ready to blast Tsonda in the back of the skull. He pauses, though, and looks at his hand. Diamonds shakes his head and unravels the chain, throwing it back outside of the ring. 

Richard Parker: NO! YOU FOOL! What are you doing?!

Nick Stuart: Seems like he’s thinking against knocking out that snake. 

Richard Parker: The snake is Chandler Tsonda, you fool!

Nick Stuart: Oh, I’m so surprised.

As he does, Tsonda turns around, sees the chain in Daytona’s hand, and races forward before connecting with the turnbuckle forward somersault three-quarter facelock jawbreaker (Runway Vault). Elvis comes to as Tsonda covers Diamonds. 

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING DING DING

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Richard Parker: This is the worst day of my life.

Nick Stuart: I feel like you say that every show.

Richard Parker: And this time, I mean it!

Vince Howard: Your winner… and advancing to the next round of the Almasy Tournament… CHANDLER! TSSSSSSSOOOOOOONNNNNDAAAAAAAAAA!

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Chandler rises to his feet and Elvis grabs his hand, slowly, and raises it in victory as Diamonds is laid out on the mat.

Nick Stuart: A tough match for both men, but Tsonda pulls out the victory here tonight.

Richard Parker: Yay.

Nick Stuart: And he will face off against Coral Avalon, who won his match earlier tonight. That should be one exhilarating match.

Richard Parker: Cool. 

Nick Stuart: Well, while Richard tries to pull himself back together, let’s head backstage.

We then cut to said backstage area. 

TO NOT BE IN ONE’S PLATE

Following the match and the advancement of Chandler Tsonda in the Almasy, the camera cuts backstage to Don Winters standing in one of the arena’s back corridors. He’s changed back into his white suit and crimson button-down, his auburn hair has been slicked back neatly once more and he looks tired. Despite a shower, dark circles hang ominously beneath both of his eyes. The Revelator sighs loudly, staring wearily into the camera.

Don Winters: I have failed Him here tonight. There are no excuses for being tricked by the devil. I cannot admit Cancer Jiles is the better man, the better wrestler, because I refuse to believe those things in my heart. However, I have unequivocally failed His Word and Light, and there will be consequences.

The Revelator leans his weight against the cool concrete wall.

Don Winters: I know Jiles thinks this is over. That he can just move on to the next round of the tournament, hold on to his Golden Ticket for another couple of weeks and never think about The Revelator again. I want PRIME and specifically Cancer Jiles himself to know that I am not done with him. His Word and Light is not finished. False idols may win battles, but they cannot prevail in a war. It might be weeks, or months before we cross paths again, Jiles, but I will not forgive and I will not forget. He demands your absolution and I must grant it.

Winters pounds a fist against the wall, and his eyes narrow. The anger is building.

Don Winters: I deserved this tonight. It should have been mine. Cancer Jiles doesn’t DESERVE this. He hasn’t EARNED this. There is something sinister at play here, something bigger than all of us. Jiles is a demon that must be banished, he and his unholy prophets cannot be allowed to…

The Revelator trails off as the very familiar set of omnipresent brown slacks, overcoat and pointed military hat appear on frame and pass down the hall. The Russian takes one step past Don Winters and pivots around to face him, a wry grin on his face.

Alexei Ruslan: Oh! It appears that little Charlie Buckets has failed to win Golden Ticket?

Don Winters is exhausted, beaten up, annoyed and ready to go home.

Don Winters: Bucket. It’s Charlie Bucket.

Alexei Ruslan: Buckets? Whatever. Do not fret, dear boy. I am sure you prayed long and hard to win match, did not you? 

Ruslan smirks. 

Alexei Ruslan: How did that work out for you? Did you know Ivan Sergeiovich did not pray for his match against Brandon Youngblood and he won Universal Title with ease. Something to think about, hm?

Winters has resigned himself to having to listen to this play out.

Alexei Ruslan: Cancer Jiles did you big, big favor tonight, preacher man. Ivan would have broken you in half without a second thought. быть не в своей тарелке (To be not in one’s plate), preacher man. Or as you might say in your filthy English language, you are fish out of water. Consider for a single moment what our Universal Champion would do to someone like you. Someone who misplaces their faith in imaginary things! Believing in ghosts, spectres and the make believe? Best to believe in something true and glorious like The Red Army!

Winters pushes himself off the wall and stands at his full height, a full inch taller than Alexei himself. His attempt to make himself intimidating makes Alexei giggle. He knows the Revelator is no threat and he’s enjoying the game.

Don Winters: If that’s the case, Alexei, you must have bigger fish to fry somewhere else around here, no? Or should I be grateful that you’ve decided to take time out of your busy schedule to visit with me.

The sarcasm is beginning to bite through the usually reserved Winters.

Don Winters: We could go back to my locker room together, and have an impromptu confession. I’m sure there’s a lot you’d like to get off your chest. I’m sure there’s a lot of things you do for Ivan that hang heavy on your conscience. I can help ease that pain, Alexei.

Alexei spits on the concrete floor and sneers at The Revelator. His eyes twinkle with a barely hidden malevolence and glee.

Alexei Ruslan: On no, dear Mr. Winters. I represent The Red Army, the Universal Champion, and Mother Russia. Yes, I have done some awfully terrible things in my life. And I have enjoyed every one of them. Keep your false prophets, preacher man. Pray to your empty God for thanks in fact that Jiles beat you, but know your words flitter away into nothingness.

The Russian continues unabated, with Winters watching him with a mix of amusement and confusion.

Alexei Ruslan: Furthermore, you should be so incredibly grateful that I decided to even give you the time. Did you know that I was once World Champion? Yes, Mr. Winters, I was. Here I am, minding my own business, walking down hallway to find you and cameraperson taking up all the space, crying into your Bible. So, being nice man I am, of course I decide to say hello to you. Why? 

Don doesn’t reply, but he knows that rascally Russian is on a roll.

Alexei Ruslan: Because this is as close to greatness as you will ever be. So take care, Mr. Winters. I am sure we will not be meeting so soon again, for your sake. Hah!

With the squeak of his heel, Ruslan turns and begins to walk away while the grin he wears on his face radiates satisfaction.

Don Winters: Alexei, one last thing.

The Russian spins around on his heel to face the Revelator.

Don Winters: It may not be me, and it may not be anytime soon, but Russian giants fall just as easily as Philistine giants. Remember this and maybe someday both you and Ivan will be granted absolution.

Winters watches with a wry grin as Ruslan walks away and we cut to commercial. 

COMMERCIAL: THE BELMONT CLASSIC

The screen fades up from black to show the smiling face and bespoke outfit of “Rock & Roll” Johnny Belmont, beloved wrestling legend.

Then, a voice-over.

“The founder of our organization, Jonathan Belmont, had two great loves in his life…professional wrestling, and rock & roll music.”

His personal history says otherwise, but that’s not something we’re going to get into for this commercial.

“At their heart, these things are very similar. They are the pursuit of a dream.”

Another still, this time of Johnny at the height of his popularity. Shaking hands with rock stars, actors, and…is that the Pope?

“The dream of performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, to gain the love and adoration of millions all over the world. Not just to live, but to be larger than life. A taste of immortality.”

The night of his final match, Belmont stands in the ring in the middle of the Los Angeles Coliseum, his arms outstretched, soaking in the cheers from the massive crowd.

“In two weeks, we will announce the field for this year’s tournament. Thirty-two hopeful souls who will get the chance to live that dream.”

Pictures from the first few years of the Belmont Classic, where the charismatic legend shook hands and smiled with many of the young hopefuls who competed in those years.

“At the end of the year, they will gather…and whoever wants it the most, whoever is willing to shed their blood, sweat, and tears, whoever can show the most skill, talent, determination and heart…they will see that dream come true.”

THE BELMONT CLASSIC

Chaifetz Arena
St. Louis, MO
December 28-30, 2023

The heart of rock & roll is still beating.

CECILWORTH FARTHINGTON VS. BRANDON YOUNGBLOOD

The PRIMEview shifts from the ring to the locker rooms, the percussive beat of Trust Me by Brad Fiedel powering through the Greensboro Coliseum sound system. The capacity crowd of over 20,000 rises to their feet as a door explodes open, roaring when they see the Soul of the PRIME, Brandon Youngblood, step through to the other side.

The mood and tenor changes, as inside the Coliseum the stadium lights have dimmed. All attention is paid to the screen, the stride of the Tower of Babel resolute, his expression focused and intense. Even still, his movement is askew, his left arm, a white compression sleeve covering it from wrist to under the shoulder, haphazardly droops.

Nick Stuart: The moment is here. The last second round contest in the Almasy Invitational, and it’s a match up wrestling fans never thought they’d see. A battle out of time.

Richard Parker: The greatest pure grappler and submission wrestler in the HISTORY of the sport, Lord Cecilworth Farthington. The 5 Star Strangler. The figurehead of the most dominant force in all of wrestling…

Nick Stuart: And on the other side…

Richard Parker: A thorn in the side of the Gluemaniti. The only active PRIME competitor that Farthington hasn’t stood in the ring against and broken. A Hall of Famer. The man who has held HIS title more times than anyone. The only man to win the Jewel in the Crown or Almasy TWICE. The Universal face of PRIME, and despite what I may think at times…his place in PRIME is without question. Brandon Youngblood…

He moves, undaunted, through the hallway as it transitions from locker room doors to the backstage, to the metal supports and the black drapery making up the lead to the entrance ramp. Youngblood never wavers, despite the apparent pain etching his face. Every movement seems to cause small agonies.

Nick Stuart: At stake tonight is more than just moving on to the quarterfinals. Cecilworth Farthington carries, into the ring tonight, a bounty on his head. The 5 Star Bounty…and if he loses…not only does his run end…not only is he no longer undefeated in PRIME…but he may well have to defend his prize against Youngblood in the future. 

Richard Parker: And if I’m Cecilworth, with that arm? I like my odds.

Ivan Stanislav: Farthington had better thank me later. I’m the one who ruined that arm. 

The PRIME Battle of 2022 returns, this time with a true heir.

Over a year of anticipation. 

Will it live up?

The things I hope

The failing dream

Has finally got the best of me

I wish that I could be there

I want to be the one to watch you die

The Tower remembers.

Bloodsport (World Domination) by HEALTH. A wall of dominant noise surges through the stadium, an absolutely raucous ovation erupting within the Greensboro Coliseum as Brandon Youngblood appears on the entrance ramp, bathed in flickering red and white lights.

Nick Stuart: And here he is!

Richard Parker: Held together by glue!

There is no pause from Youngblood to soak in his cheers, instead, with purpose, The Last Diamond marches to the ring as best he can manage, his eyes forward. His oppressive scowl of intensity says it all. 

Vince Howard: This contest is for one fall and has NOOOOOOOOOO time limit! Introducing first…hailing from Bandera, Texas by way of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada… weighing in at 265 pounds…THE TOOOOOOWER! OF BAAAAAAAABEL! BRAAAAAAAANDON! YOUNGBLOOOOOOOOOD!

One shoulder sways with the bravado of his BMF walk, the other limp, a spotlight lighting his path. The 2022 Wrestler of the Year makes his way down the ramp, his gait swinging him around the stadium floor, to the ring steps. There is no slowdown as his feet pound the steel, stepping between the ropes and exploding upright as best he can. Once inside, he begins pacing around the outside perimeter of the ring, his eyes locking on the entrance.

The lights return, and as they do, the Suplex Daddy readies himself in an amateur stance, his good hand on a thigh, a cutthroat stare in the direction of the oncoming Lord.

Richard Parker: Youngblood’s got that sleeve on his arm. Someone tell the ref to check that sleeve and make sure there’s no foreign objects in it. 

Ivan Stanislav: The objects are bad because they are foreign, Richard Parker?

Nick Stuart: Well here we go… 

Richard Parker: I love foreign things… 

Vince Howard: And his opponent… 

The lights in the arena extinguish and a single spotlight appears on the ramp while white fog begins to roll across the entrance way. “Choke” by I Dont Know How But You Found Me begins to play. 

Vince Howard: Hailing from Buckinghamshire, England, he also stands at six foot, and weighs in at one-hundred eighty-seven pounds… He’s your Five Star Champion, the Financier of The Glueminati… 

Richard Parker: This is the best part. 

White sparklers begin spraying into the air and a smirking Farthington appears in the fog engulfed spotlight, his face just above the ‘Dusk’ level cloud.  

Vince Howard: CEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECILWORTH FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTON! 

Farthington begins his approach down the ramp, the smirk fades and a stern glare replaces it as he begins walking down to the ring. Youngblood is in the ring staring up the ramp, and Farthington has locked on. 

Richard Parker: This is it, this is the main event of the second round. 

Nick Stuart: You’re right Richard. This is IT.  The main event of the second round of the Almasy, and the winner of this match will join Cancer Jiles, Jared Sykes, Coral Avalon, Chandler Tsonda, Jonathan-Christopher Hall, Kerry Kuroyama, and the man that is waiting for them in the second round. 

Farthington and Youngblood haven’t blinked yet as Farthington walks up the steps and goes under the middle rope. He takes off his black hoodie, and resumes the stare down with Youngblood as Timo begins to pat him down. 

Richard Parker: Hayes Hanlon. 

Nick Stuart: Two time Universal Champion, former Five Star Champion, the newest member of the Gluminati… Hayes Hanlon. 

Richard Parker: I have goosebumps thinking about it. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t think these two have stopped trying to stare a hole through the other since Farthington appeared through that cloud. 

Richard Parker: I haven’t taken my eyes off of him either…

Timo brings the two men together in the center of the ring and goes over instructions. The words “when I say let go, you let go,” are clearly heard over the microphone on the camera, and both men just smirk. Timo begins to walk back towards the ropes and Cecilworth Farthington holds his left arm out to shake Brandon Youngblood’s hand. 

Richard Parker: What a gentleman. 

Ivan Stanislav: Never trust a capitalist, Richard Parker. You take that hand and snap it off. 

Farthington smiles at Youngblood who takes a step forward getting close to Farthington and takes his hand. Youngblood clearly has a good grip but Farthington maintains a smile, he reaches his right arm out and gives Youngblood’s sleeved left arm a good squeeze and shake. 

Nick Stuart: This cannot go well… 

Youngblood’s grip loosens and the two step away, Youngblood snarling and Farthington smirking. Timo calls for the bell. 

Richard Parker: Surprisingly well… 

Ivan Stanislav: It will not last, Richard Parker. Brandon Youngblood is a snake and Cecilworth Farthington is Englishman. One and the same. 

DING DING

Youngblood explodes across the ring, and shoots after Farthington’s left leg, keeping his left arm and shoulder tucked under Farthington’s waist. Farthington sprawls, stopping Youngblood’s momentum, but the larger Youngblood takes the opportunity and slides around Farthington’s waist taking his back. Youngblood tries to lift from the waistlock but Farthington is ramming his entire arm into Youngblood’s left shoulder. 

Nick Stuart: We’re starting fast here tonight. 

Youngblood winces and it’s enough for Farthington to rip at Youngblood’s hands and remove himself from the former Universal Champion’s grip. Farthington manages to get himself turned around, but Youngblood is already rampaging forward and he delivers an absolutely toe curling knife edge chop across the chest of Cecilworth Farthington. Lord Farthington stumbles backwards into the corner, Farthington’s back barely touches the turnbuckle and he shoves himself out of the corner and pastes Youngblood under the chin with a european uppercut. 

Richard Parker: Nice shot Farthy! 

Nick Stuart: Did you just call him what Fontaine calls him? 

Richard Parker: Joe’s in the fan club, it’s fine. 

Youngblood takes a dazed step back, but catches the following up Farthington with another knife edge across the chest that drops him to the canvas in a heap. Farthington grabs his chest and rolls onto his stomach kicking his feet. Youngblood pounces down onto Farthington but Farthington’s hips are like lightning and he whips around and spins Youngblood to the ground looking for an armbar. 

Richard Parker: He was playing possum! 

Ivan Stanislav: We call that playing English in Russia. 

Youngblood to Farthington’s shock dives through the attempt while managing to keep his arm clutched in tight to his side. Youngblood ungracefully lands his somersault and pirouettes around, he is immediately caught with an absolutely indignant slap in the face from Cecilworth Farthington. 

Nick Stuart: Oh… 

Youngblood’s like a bull and charges forward from his kneeling position to take Farthington to his back. Farthington manages to wrap his legs around Youngblood and keep him inside of a closed guard, Youngblood lunges in with his left arm, using it to sweep away Farthington’s hand and looking for a way to clear a path for a right. Cecilworth strikes and tries to fold the injured arm back behind Youngblood with a kimura but Youngblood manages to land a right elbow that allows him to pull his left arm free of Farthington’s clutches. Timo smacks the mat. 

ONE! 

Richard Parker: Oh c’mon! He’s just resting! 

Farthington shifts a shoulder up as Youngblood ponders what to do next from his kneeling position. He tries to sweep away Farthington’s hands again but Farthington goes for the arm right away. 

Nick Stuart: It’s like sticking a bloody arm in a starving piranha tank. 

Richard Parker: Or a bear trap… 

Ivan Stanislav: Excuse me, Richard?

Youngblood pulls his arm back away from Farthington leaving the two men back at the same standstill. Youngblood goes in with his right arm first, but as Youngblood tries to posture up and throw the left hand, Farthington slips his feet underneath Youngblood’s thighs and uses Youngblood’s momentum to rip his base out from under him. Youngblood’s left handed blow connects but he cringes and Cecilworth manages to roll the baseless Youngblood off and onto his side sending the two men into a scramble. 

Nick Stuart: Incredible grappling from both men. 

Ivan Stanislav: I have grappled better…

The two race back to their feet, both men breathing heavily and sweating from the effort. Farthington pushes his now sweat soaked hair from his face as Youngblood wipes his hands on his singlet. They explode again. 

Richard Parker: We– OH! 

The two men collide, Youngblood swings a violently intentioned right hand at Cecilworth who manages to slip to the side letting the blow glance off of his face, Farthington fires a forearm into Youngblood’s face but Brandon slips his injured arm into the way of the blow, letting it lose most of its force glancing off his own forearm. Another right hand flies and Farthington backs away into the ropes, he springs off at Youngblood and throws a lariat that solidly thuds Youngblood across the chest. The Pariah roars in Farthington’s face and smashes his chest as Farthington hits the ropes again. 

Nick Stuart: SUPLEX! 

Farthington comes back for a european uppercut attempt this time, but Youngblood slips behind him and wraps Farthington into a german suplex, Youngblood tossing Farthington over his right shoulder. Farthington hits the canvas and grabs at the back of his neck as Youngblood lumbers his way back to his feet. The Tower of Babel snarls down at Farthington and stalks in again. Youngblood reaches down with his right arm and yanks Farthington to his feet. 

Nick Stuart: Youngblood has bad intentions for Cecilworth Farthington. 

Richard Parker: Yeah, Timo, he’s got bad intentions! Tell Brandon he needs better intentions! 

Youngblood sends Farthington into the ropes, Youngblood takes a big swing for a right armed lariat as Farthington comes back and ducks under. Youngblood uses the momentum and continues forward running the ropes, Youngblood pulls back for a big right handed lariat swing, but Farthington gets his foot up just in time and kicks Youngblood in the left shoulder. Youngblood grimaces, dropping to a knee and Farthington is all over him. 

Richard Parker: YES! GET HIM! 

First a standing double ax handle to the back of Youngblood’s head, as Youngblood yanks his head up Farthington smashes him with a forearm across the orbital bone, and then a standing knee to the face slumps Youngblood into a seated position. Farthington goes to the ropes and comes back with a slapping penalty kick across Youngblood’s chest. Youngblood clutches at his chest as Farthington sits him up for a second time and launches himself to the ropes.

Nick Stuart: Oh… Farthington is looking to humiliate Brandon Youngblood here…

Richard Parker: BREAK HIS NOSE LIKE PHIL DID! DO IT FOR PHIL! 

Cecilworth pulls back with everything and swings for Youngblood’s face but Brandon lunges forward and takes the shot to his right shoulder instead of his face. He yanks himself towards Farthington, wrapping him up, then lifting him up and over the top for a thunderous Exploder suplex. 

Nick Stuart: I think Farthington just bounced. 

Ivan Stanislav: I would bounce Farthington much higher, Nick Stuart.

Richard Parker: OW-OW-OW! NO! 

Farthington collides neck first with the canvas and crumples to the mat while Youngblood lays on the mat breathing heavily. Timo checks on Farthington first, and then walks over to Youngblood. 

Nick Stuart: This is a very physical encounter. 

Youngblood nods and crawls over towards Farthington and drapes his arm across Farthington’s chest. Timo begins to count. 

ONE! 

TWO!

Farthington throws his shoulder into the air. 

Richard Parker: Youngblood had to know that wasn’t going to do it. 

Nick Stuart: I think he just wanted two more seconds of air without Timo starting a five count. 

Youngblood slowly gets up to his knees and then up to his feet. Farthington follows him, using the ropes for leverage to yank himself up. Youngblood comes in with another skin tingling knife edge chop, and then another that sends Farthington stomping away with two gigantic red marks across his chest. Youngblood catches Farthington and spins him around, locking him into a collar and elbow tie-up. Youngblood throws Farthington backwards into the corner. Cecilworth’s  back connects with the turnbuckle and Youngblood flies in right after with a short arm clothesline. 

Nick Stuart: Farthington’s in rough shape, and Youngblood is all over him. 

Youngblood pulls Farthington out of the corner and tries to take him over with a belly to belly, but Farthington manages to grab the ropes as the two men spin around. Youngblood tries to readjust his grip to yank Farthington over, but Cecilworth ducks under and whips Youngblood to the ground by his left arm with a short arm drag. Youngblood lands and Farthington instantly wrenches back on the left arm of Youngblood as hard as he can. He keeps Youngblood’s left arm in his grasp and pushes downwards on Youngblood’s left shoulder. He moves his knee forward and pins the shoulder to the mat while Farthington begins to contort higher up The Tower of Babel’s arm. 

Richard Parker: It’s like being in the ring with a porcupine, Nick. Everything you do, he has some way out. 

Ivan Stanislav: You know, Richard, if I were in this match I would have won already. But I had to go win Universal Title, so we have to waste our time here…

Youngblood shouts and grabs at Farthington’s hand. Cecilworth slides his knee across Youngblood’s collarbone to the other shoulder, he lets go of the left arm and sets his eyes on a different prize shifting his entire body. He plants one hand on Youngblood’s right shoulder, the other on his right elbow. He lifts himself up into the air and crashes down with a knee into Youngblood’s arm. He lifts himself up again and crashes back down a second time. 

Nick Stuart: Farthington is trying to break Youngblood’s other arm… 

Richard Parker: If this works, he’s a genius, Nick. 

Farthington smirks and gets to his feet, he stomps on Youngblood’s right arm, once, twice, and a third time. Youngblood yanks his arm in finally and begins to roll to his feet. Farthington comes in and kicks him in the left shoulder causing Youngblood to grimace and slide himself backwards towards the ropes, he hooks his arm around the bottom rope just as Farthington bends down to grab Youngblood. 

Nick Stuart: Smart wrestling. 

Ivan Stanislav: I hate to say this, Nick, but I am inclined to agree…

Timo shouts at Farthington who backs away smirking with his hands up, Youngblood pulls himself to his feet on the ropes and Farthington flashes in underneath Timo’s arms with a kick to the midsection. He grabs the bald man by the back of the head and marches him down the ropes and slams his skull into the top turnbuckle. Youngblood turns around dazed and Farthington fires off a big chop to Youngblood’s chest. Farthington grabs Youngblood’s right arm and hooks it around the top rope, he steps back and kicks him as hard as he can in the right shoulder. 

Richard Parker: I told you, Youngblood’s in there wrestling Tesla. 

Ivan Stanislav: Did you know old Nikola was practically a communist? And before you make any smart mouthed jokes, no, I was not alive when he was around. 

The Financier takes a few steps back this time to the center of the ring, he rushes forward and sticks his foot out again, but Youngblood rolls down the ropes and Farthington smashes thigh first into the top turnbuckle. Youngblood grabs Farthington with his right arm and yanks him out of the corner, he whips him across the ring as hard as he can and Farthington smashes into the turnbuckle face first. 

Nick Stuart: Big power, and great resilience shown by Youngblood. 

Youngblood roars in from behind and crashes into the back of Farthington with a short arm clothesline to the back of the head. The Financier slumps and Youngblood drives Farthington’s face into the top turnbuckle once, twice, three times before spinning The Five Star Champion around. Farthington slumps onto the middle turnbuckle and Youngblood picks him up, setting him up onto the top rope. The Pariah steps up to the middle rope and locks Farthington in a front face lock. 

Richard Parker: Oh… oh no… 

Youngblood grabs Farthington by the tights and leans backwards pulling Farthington up and over his right shoulder, dropping Lord Farthington onto his skull and the back of his neck from the middle rope with a brainbuster. Farthington shakes like he was being electrocuted. 

Nick Stuart: BRAINBUSTER! AVALANCHE BRAINBUSTER! 

Richard Parker: Oh no…. Oh… oh… oh no… (more weird unintelligible mouth noises)…

Ivan Stanislav: I do not know this language…

After being hit with a stun gun, Farthington lies there blank eyed staring up into the lights. Clearly, nobody is home and Farthington is busy in his own mind finding out about money stores with his dearest friend Max Kael. The Diamond of The ReVival era spins over and plants a knee across Farthington’s chest, grabbing a leg. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

….

………..

………………….

…………………………

………………………………..

………………………………………..

THR-……………………………………………..

KICKOUT! 

Richard Parker: Thank Hoyt he’s not dead. Thank Hoyt he’s not dead. 

Nick Stuart: Farthington’s still in this! 

Youngblood smirks and gets to his feet. Farthington begins to roll around on the canvas clutching at his neck. Brandon Youngblood stalks over to Farthington and reaches down to grab him. He pulls him up by the back of the neck, half dragging Farthington to his feet. Youngblood pulls back and delivers a knife edge chop to Farthington’s chest that drops Farthington to his knees. Youngblood bends down and pulls him up to his feet again. He leans back again and comes forward with another chop, Farthington ducks under and comes back up with a european uppercut. 

Richard Parker: He’s still fighting! Let’s go Farthy! C’mon Ivan!?

Nick Stuart: I don’t think that’s a good… 

Ivan Stanislav: COME ON FARTHINGTON! GRIND UP THAT BROKEN DIAMOND!!! DYAAHAAHAA!! (massive feedback ensues)

Farthington with another quick shot that gets Youngblood to turn enough that the left shoulder is exposed. Farthington lashes out, a double ax handle across the top of the collar bone, another one, and another, finally Youngblood drops to his knees. Farthington kicks the shoulder again, and again. 

Nick Stuart: Farthington still using that shoulder to stop Youngblood in his tracks. 

Cecilworth places his foot on Youngblood’s left shoulder and shoves it down to the mat. Farthington walks over and twists his heel on Youngblood’s left shoulder. He steps to Youngblood’s head and spins all the way around, bringing his left leg to bear on Youngblood’s right shoulder. 

Nick Stuart: Another big blow for Farthington. 

Cecilworth takes the same position, this time driving his right forearm across Youngblood’s face, and with his left arm still on Youngblood’s elbow, he lifts himself up, and crashes back down on Youngblood’s right shoulder. Farthington grinds his right forearm into Youngblood’s face, and lifts himself up again, he comes crashing down with another knee across the right shoulder. The Five Star Champion sits Youngblood up and tries to wrap his arms around Youngblood’s neck. Youngblood scrambles away from Farthington, his right arm now being held tight to his side like his left. 

Nick Stuart: Lot’s of pain tonight for Brandon Youngblood, Farthington is a technical marvel in that ring. 

Farthington rubs his neck, and looks back at Youngblood. The two collide again. Collar and elbow tie-up, Farthington reverses to Youngblood’s back, he tries for an arm wrench but Youngblood reverses and wrenches Farthington. Cecilworth rolls forward, untwisting his arm and then tries to step between Youngblood’s legs for a judo throw, but Brandon won’t go over, he grabs Farthington around the waist. He barely lifts him up over the right shoulder and dumps Farthington onto his head and the back of his neck with the highest angle Randallplex he can muster. 

Richard Parker: NO! NO! 

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if he got all of it, but my God… 

Timo slides over as Youngblood hooks a leg. 

ONE! 

TWO! 

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THR-……………………………………………………………………………..

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Farthington throws his shoulder up! 

Nick Stuart: I think Richard Parker might have had a heart attack. 

Richard Parker: (Brown paper bag breathing noises)

Youngblood gets up holding his right shoulder and grimacing in pain. He looks over at Timo who shakes his head no. Youngblood nods his head with determination and looks back over towards Farthington who is still on the mat staring up at the lights. He walks over and gingerly reaches down with his left arm and starts to pull Farthington up but grimaces, he lets him down and reaches down with his right. He doesn’t stop the pained expression as he drags Farthington back to his feet. Youngblood leans back and comes forward with a knife edge chop, and while Farthington staggers backward, Youngblood walks away holding his shoulder as well. 

Nick Stuart: Brandon Youngblood’s in a lot of pain here folks… 

Ivan Stanislav: I think I could watch these two beat stuffing out of each other all night, Nick!

Youngblood rubs his arm and goes back towards Farthington, he reaches back and sends another chop across Farthington’s welted, bruised, and now slightly bleeding chest. Youngblood grimaces again but Farthington stumbles backwards into the corner. Brandon comes forward and once again sets Farthington up onto the top rope. He climbs up to the middle rope and Farthington begins to respond. First a weak punch to the shoulder, but it’s enough to pause The Diamond, and then another, this one more fierce. Finally a forearm to the left shoulder followed by another. Youngblood stumbles off the middle rope but Farthington holds the left arm. He steps up onto the top rope and jumps off, bringing his arm crashing down across Youngblood’s left shoulder. 

Richard Parker: So much joint violence… 

Farthington stumbles to the far corner and breathes deeply while Youngblood holds his left shoulder on the mat. 

Nick Stuart: I think he’s grimacing because it hurts for him to support his left arm with his right arm. 

Richard Parker: That’s an entirely different kind of pain. 

Farthington stumbles across the ring as Youngblood is on all fours and getting to his feet, Farthington sweeps his right arm out from under him and Youngblood’s left arm gives out sending his face crashing into the mat. Farthington smashes Youngblood with a kick to the back of the shoulders, and then begins wailing away with double ax handles, pulling all the way back and swinging down as hard as he can on both shoulder blades. Youngblood manages to get to a kneeling position and bull rushes Farthington backwards into the corner. 

Nick Stuart: No waistlock for Youngblood, or an attempt at a leg there. 

Youngblood leans back and fires a shoulder into Farthington’s midsection, he pauses grimacing at the camera. He pulls back again and fires the right shoulder forward again. He pauses, Farthington drapes himself across his back. Youngblood collects himself for a moment before sitting up right and causing Farthington to whip backwards in the corner. He comes forward with a headbutt. 

Nick Stuart: Oh… 

Ivan Stanislav: There you go. When fancy holds give out, it comes down to who can hit the other the hardest! Hit him harder!!

Farthington clutches at his head as Youngblood comes back with a small cut across the top of his forehead. Blood begins to pour down the side of Youngblood’s face, but he tries to straighten up Farthington again. 

Nick Stuart: Timo might want to stop this… 

Richard Parker: I… I… yeah someone stop this… 

Ivan Stanislav: Nyet! Let them kill each other!

Youngblood lunges forward again, but Farthington slams him in the left shoulder with a right hand. Youngblood stumbles backwards and turns away from Farthington. The Financier takes advantage springing onto Youngblood’s back.  

Nick Stuart: That’s not where Youngblood wants to be! 

Farthington rides Youngblood to the canvas, and  Youngblood scrambles to a seated position. Cecilworth tries to slide his arm around Youngblood’s neck, but Youngblood manages to keep his chin down. Farthington switches his grip and targets Youngblood’s left arm with his, while keeping the right arm across Youngblood’s chin. He pulls the left arm back, locking it back with his leg. He rips at Youngblood’s chin again, but the right arm is enough to keep the hand away. 

Nick Stuart: Youngblood’s shoulder is at a real bad angle here… 

Farthington drives his chin into the back of Youngblood’s right shoulder as hard as he can while ripping at Youngblood’s hand with his own right hand. Farthington gets his right leg around Youngblood’s right arm and pulls it back tight, squeezing Youngblood’s arms with his thighs. 

Ivan Stanislav: Uh oh…

Richard Parker: Oh my Hoyt… 

Farthington finally gets the hand in under the neck and locks in It’s A Tarp! Brandon Youngblood instantly taps out on his foot but Farthington keeps the hold on. 

DING DING DING

Farthington lets go of the neck but keeps squeezing Youngblood’s arms backwards for a few extra seconds as Vince Howard and Timo rush over to remove Farthington. 

Vince Howard: And your winner by submission… 

Farthington lets go and immediately collapses to the canvas holding his neck, his chest heaving. 

Vince Howard: CECILWORTH FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTHINGTON! 

“Choke” begins to blare as Farthington rolls towards Howard, gets to his knees to have his arm raised and falls back down. Youngblood is breathing heavily and rolling around on the canvas. Youngblood rolls his way out of the ring and begins to storm up the ramp as Farthington finally makes it over to the corner. He rolls out of the ring, and the camera zooms in on Farthington’s face for our show close. 

Richard Parker: What a match… what a match… 

Nick Stuart: Absolutely incredible encounter here… if Youngblood is 100% going into that who knows how it goes… but wow… just wow… And now Farthington has to take on fellow Gluminati member Hayes Hanlon! 

Ivan Stanislav: It was somewhat fun, gentlemen. Now I go back to Russia. 

Farthington flashes a little smile and we… 

FADE 

TO

RINGSIDE?

COMMERCIAL: REVIVAL 39

NOT SO FAST

As Farthington makes his way up the aisle, Stanislav leaves the announce position and makes his way around the ring. He waves to the crowd, as if somehow expecting them to appreciate his attention, before an all-too-familiar voice rings out in the arena. 

Lindsay Troy: Not so fast there, Ivan. 

The Boss walks out from the back to a chorus of cheers.

Lindsay Troy: Since you like being down at ringside so much, why don’t you stay there a little longer?

The Russian Bear freezes with his huge paw in the air, mid wave. He cuts his eyes to the ramp and watches Lindsay Troy slowly saunter towards the ring. 

Lindsay Troy: We wouldn’t want you to miss out on some extra spotlight, would we?

Nick Stuart: I don’t know what this is all about, folks, but Ivan is NOT happy. 

Richard Parker: Well, you know, Russians don’t do well with surprises, or opponents, or sobriety…

Stanislav’s expression is still one of bewilderment as he narrows his eyes and takes a step up onto the apron, and then fluidly steps over the top rope into the ring. By this point, Brandon Youngblood has also made his way toward the back. Troy is unafraid of the Universal Champion as she ascends the steps and climbs through the ropes. 

Lindsay Troy: After all, you’ve been coming down here and sticking your nose in everyone else’s business, so I’d say turnabout is fair play.

Stanislav bellows in her direction, loud enough that his roaring words are heard on her mic. 

Ivan Stanislav: What is this about, Lindsay Troy?!

Lindsay keeps a foot between herself and Stanislav as she stares up at him, microphone in hand. Stanislav puffs out his chest while Alexei Ruslan emerges from backstage and makes his way down the entryway, his head cocked to the side as he watches this unfold. 

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if the Queen knows that Alexei is there, but you never want that man in your blind spot. 

Lindsay Troy: I know you must think that since you’re the Universal Champion now, that all of this is for you. This tournament, the Golden Ticket, and everything else that happens on MY show. But you’re wrong, Ivan. It’s not all about you. As a matter of fact, you haven’t done a whole lot of anything since you got that title, have you? So much for being a “working man.”

Ivan’s face turns nearly as red as his favorite flag, while Ruslan slides into the ring behind Troy and straightens his right arm behind him to summon his baton. The Queen doesn’t take her eyes off the towering goliath before her. 

Lindsay Troy: Take that baton out, Alexei, and I’ll break it off in your ass. 

Alexei’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s been caught. Stanislav tilts his head to the side, once, and Ruslan instead makes a large circle around Troy and stands, fuming, next to his comrade. He produces his own microphone and hands it to the Universal Champion. 

Ivan Stanislav: Lindsay Troy, I would be more than happy to wrestle, but every active member of roster is busy with tournament. And those who have lost do not have right to challenge me for MY Universal Title. Do not blame me for situation created by Almasy Tournament. 

Lindsay Troy: See, that’s where you’ve got it wrong, Ivan. Maybe your intelligence is faulty…

She smiles sweetly at Ruslan, whose rage nearly sends his own hat into orbit. 

Lindsay Troy: …but regardless, I think I have just the person to challenge you for the Universal Title…

Troy gestures towards the ring entrance – we don’t know when it got there or who put it there, but at the top of the ramp, there’s something odd.

…?

It’s a beat-to-shit vending machine that looks like it’s been duct taped back together after a car crash. With a beret on top. 

It’s the same one from earlier tonight.

Stanislav is now angry AND confused, and is about to rip Lindsay Troy a new one, when a simple piano riff plays throughout the arena.

♫…♫

♫…♫

♫…♫

♫……oh shit.

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

OOH LA LA, AH OUI OUI

The drums kick in, a false door behind the rows of chips smashes open, and a Neck Collector emerges! The crowd erupts!

Nick Stuart: IT’S FLAMBERGE! LE PROTAGONISTE IS BACK!!

He’s gone shirtless beneath a bright copper suit jacket, the dazzling silver gleam of the PRIME Intense Championship shimmering around his waist. He’s also wearing a pair of electric teal shiny pants imprinted with dark lines made to look like lizard scales. You know those pants had to cost untold dozens of euros from the Clothes For Dangerous Weirdos store.

But the most striking thing we see is a big change – FLAMBERGE has grown a beard. It’s only a few weeks’ worth of growth, but it’s got pretty good facial coverage for a guy in his early 20’s.

Richard Parker: PRIME’s got a Bearded Dragon now, and he looks like he wants to bottle up a few gallons of Red Glue!

Nick Stuart: FLAMBERGE and Ivan Stanislav – the two top-ranked wrestlers in PRIME today, two champions, and two men who have gone unbeaten in singles competition for over a year! Is this for real??

FLAMBERGE, with an unblinking (or incapable of blinking?) stare, slithers towards the ring.

Ruslan is apoplectic next to his much larger comrade. He rips his hat off and nearly stomps on it, while Stanislav inclines his head and scowls, staring daggers through Troy and into the young interloper who slides down the ramp. He shifts his wide jaw from one side to the other, grinding his teeth and flaring his nostrils. 

The Frenchman skips the lap around the ring and instead slinks up the steps and onto the apron. Measuring the distance between himself and Stanislav at every moment, he slowly steps through the ring ropes. 

Stanislav stares down at the young lizard. FLAMBERGE stares up at the old bear.

It’s at this moment that the size difference between the two really comes into full view – not only is the Russian Mountain a full foot taller than the French Phenom, he’s nearly double his weight. 

The camera frames the faces of these two men – FLAMBO in the bottom left corner, Stanislav in the top right – and in the middle, a grinning Lindsay Troy and the frenzied PRIMEates of Greensboro Coliseum behind her. 

Nick Stuart: That’s all for this edition of ReVival! So long, everyone!

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.

COMMERCIAL: COLOSSUS NIGHT TWO MAIN EVENT