The scene is the hallway in the locker room area in the MGM Grand Garden Arena. Many random doors are in view, but The Anglo Luchador has not entered one yet after his brutal match with Anna Daniels. He’s walking slowly with an icepack on his neck when he slows in his tracks to a stop. He looks up to a figure off camera at present.
TAL: I thought I smelled myrrh and sanctimony.
The camera pans over to his right to show the looming figure of Hoyt Williams, the keeper of Balaam, the savior of PRIME, and Richard Parker’s personal Jesus.
TAL: What made you grace us with your presence in leaving your luxury box?
Hoyt’s cheeks are filled like a blowfish while the white owl on his shoulder hoots while eyeing The Anglo Luchador. Suddenly, Hoyt spits out a blue stream of water like a garden hose. The water falls to the ground in front of the luchador.
Hoyt Williams: Forsaken by the Wrestling Gods again. I’ll never understand how the Japanese navigate that mist. Last time I buy a dokugiri kit off of Wish. Listen, Cheap Mask. I know what you’re up to, trying to upgrade that mortal mask for something stronger, and playing politics with the “officials” here in PRIME. The trade papers made millions writing about my politics backstage. I’ll Hoffa you before you can Clinton me. I’m also going to get your buddy the face painted putz wearing the stripes fired. You crossed a line more crossy than a crucifix and now damnation shall engulf you in a typhoon of holy water.
The Old Luchador looks at The Pontiff of PRIME like he’s a Biblically-accurate Old Testament angel.
TAL: What in the name of Xipe Totec are you talking about, you stark-raving mad egomaniac? Did you hit the Vatican’s secret stash? The only mask I have is covering my face right now.
The Pontiff of PRIME gets in the face of the Luchador slightly towering over him. He points in his face.
Hoyt Williams: Don’t use drug humor with me! It contributes to the delinquency of society. Be a role model like me. I’m going to get right to the point. I don’t like you. The Taco Bell luchador, an embarrassment to two cultures. A hard shell with rancid ground beef and fricking lechuga. Cilantro and onions on a corn tortilla El pastor. Authentic. I see you walking around here making friends and it’s disgusting. I see the Thomas the tank engine never die attitude, and I want to cleanse my eyes. Pimples are bacteria that fill empty pores just like the fans fill the empty seats until we pop them. In fact, pimples like you say it all. You have a choice. Leave PRIME in peace. No harm done. Get out of these halls I built, a once mighty empire now a shell of itself with rats like you infesting it. Prancing around for yucks. I’ve seen a prophecy of you lying beat in the ring. Blood spilling from you left ear. The mask gone from your face. Suddenly swallowed into hell. The future is in your hands.
The old luchador looks hella disinterested in what Hoyt has to say.
TAL: As much as I’d like to bend over backwards for the guy who gave me a stigmata because I made fun of him on the in-house social media, I’m the Intense Champion. I plan on having a pretty long reign, and if I’m leaving this company before Ultraviolence, it’s gonna be in a bodybag. So, now that you have been given the Mutombo, what in the dusty plains of Mictlan do you want with me?
The savior of the suplex flashes a wry smile.
Hoyt Williams: The stigmata is a walk in a middle class midwestern park compared to what’s coming. When you get to the Universal Championship level, we can talk titles. Show some respect when talking title reigns, as you are speaking with your GOD and the longest reigning God’s Champion in the history of PRIME, no, in all of wrestling.
TAL: You show me some respect, you halfwit blasphemer.
Hoyt is taken aback by the luchador’s brazen callout.
TAL: You want to get in my face and denigrate me, that’s fine. That’s pro wrestling. I’m going to paint Vegas with John Boy’s blood as a price for your hubris. But accosting me after I went out there and wrestled one of the toughest assholes in this company just to throw false accusations in my face and pretend like I owe you ANYTHING because a long time ago, you beat a less mature, more reckless Brandon Youngblood? Get out of my way. I don’t know a goddamn thing about this mask you talk about, and I sure as hell do not want to deal with you or your hot air tonight.
A tear of blood starts leaking from Hoyt’s eye.
Hoyt Williams: Parum luceat! Prepare for the darkest days of your life.
Hoyt walks off as the bird on his shoulder squawks menacingly at the PRIME Intense Champion.
TAL: I swear to God, if I don’t end that weirdo and his gang at UltraViolence, I am going to have myself committed.
He walks off.