PRIME THAT SHIT

From the unexpected singles debut of King Blueberry and commercial break, ReVival returns from black to see the sentient suplex machine, Brandon Youngblood, making his way down the MGM Grand Garden Arena’s backstage corridors. Still dressed in street clothes, the former Universal Champion is looking much less like a beaten down sack of potatoes, his face healed save a few negligible scars around the nose. He carries himself as always, with a distancing intensity. Knowing where he’s going, he stops, knocking on one of the locker room doors.

Brandon Youngblood: Caes?

The fans have been cheering from the onset of the segment, but hearing the name of Nova? That only keeps it going. From behind the door, we can hear the voice of the Risen Star.

Nova: What’s the password?

For a moment, the Tower of Babel pauses. He sighs, because, well, he’s not exactly renowned for his comedic timing. More his smashing timing. He opens the door, stepping inside, seeing Nova seated on the lone bench spanning the middle of the room, cigarette in hand, his eyes trained upwards.

Nova: I could have been naked.

No response.

Nova: I mean, I could have been.

The Risen Star takes a drag, the smoke billowing from his nostrils.

Nova: I think Lindz would probably have liked that. Get it on tape. Private collection stuff. 

Brandon Youngblood: I’m not Karl Hungus.

Nova: So you’re not here to fix the cable?

Another pause. More smoking. More staring. And then…

Brandon Youngblood: Is hard to verk in zese clozes.

Nova, for his part, can’t help himself from laughing, coughing in the process.

Nova: Wasn’t…wasn’t expecting that.

Brandon Youngblood: Guess I’m full of surprises in my old age.

Just two dudes comfortable in their own skin. Nothing wrong there. Nothing to see here. Somewhere, in the Northeast, a certain young Italian woman is screaming at her screen, demanding these two kiss, all while she enjoys the rush of an edible high. 

This says nothing of the Polish guy with the Kool-Aid blue hair saying the same thing, all while stone sober.

Youngblood suddenly stares around the otherwise empty locker room.

Brandon Youngblood: Isn’t Wade Elliott, like, your babysitter?

Nova: He’s otherwise occupied, but…

Nova gestures over at a baby monitor, positioned at the edge of a steel folding chair.

Nova: …if it picks up anything concerning, he has Dam on stand-by to come check things out.

The walkie-talkie next to Nova on his locker room bench crackles.

Dametreyus: Here if ya need me, boss. Over.

Nova takes a drag and holds it up to his mouth.

Nova: Roger that, Big Dog. Over.

He turns back to Youngblood, mouthing “Love that guy.” Then he takes another drag and pauses for a moment.

Nova: Obviously, you ain’t here to be bullshitting. 

Brandon Youngblood: Not really…

He grabs his own chair, setting it up, taking a seat near his former arch rival. Something like this would have been unfathomable nearly twenty years ago. But a lot has changed. People change. But the memories? Well, they can leave scars, even if the wounds that caused them have long since stopped hurting.

Brandon Youngblood: Me and you…we ain’t been in the same ring since that night in Honolulu. A bunch of us…fighting to get a crack at the mountaintop. Hungry. Angry. Young. Ignorant.

The inference towards self is clear.

Brandon Youngblood: If I’m honest with you, this isn’t how I saw this going down. The run back.

Nova grins and shrugs, gesturing down to the GPS bracelet secured around his ankle.

Nova: Me neither, bud…but here we are.

Brandon Youngblood: What a time to be alive.

Nova: Beats the alternative. We have shuffled the deck chairs, and circumstances do not closely resemble the world we lived in back in August of 2005…

He takes a drag.

Nova: …but we have a job to do, and the outcome matters to us both. A lot. You’re looking for momentum to stay at the top…

The Risen Star’s eyes look away for a moment, then refocus. Another smile.

Nova: …and I’m just looking for a sign that I still belong. 

Youngblood clasps his hands together, straightening his back.

Brandon Youngblood: You still belong, Caes.

Nova: (taking another drag) Then I shouldn’t have anything to worry about, right? 

Brandon Youngblood: Wish I could say that…

He trails off for a moment, thinking how he wants to choose his next words carefully.

Brandon Youngblood: You should have won a few shows back. Regardless of bullshit platitudes about your opponent wanting to vacate tainted wins. We all know the only reason that went down like that was because of Shanahan…

A touchy subject? Maybe.

Brandon Youngblood: I know you’re at a bit of a crossroads. In a lot of ways. And I could bullshit and say I am too, but all I got to worry about are championship belts. You? You got people hounding for your blood…

He continues.

Brandon Youngblood: Look, we both know how things are. We’ve never had anything handed to us in PRIME. Everything, we had to fight for. Scratch and claw for. Had to go through each other at times for. That’s just the sport. She knows us both. Is going to make us continue that to get what we want. And there’s a few ways that could go. It could go like it did back then…

He winces at the thought.

Brandon Youngblood: But it ain’t gonna happen like that. This is a dream match for a lot of people. The two pillars left. What we want…who we want…Atken…Shanahan…Bathory…the Glue Factory…MESSIAH…the Universal Championship…our own peace…there’s a chance what we’re fighting for has to go through the other. And we know that. But steel sharpens steel. I need you…you need me…to bring the absolute best out ourselves. To be the best versions of ourselves in that ring at Ultra Violence. Not to answer questions. Not to settle our score. But to face the monsters on our horizon.

His eyes look deep into those of the Risen Star.

Brandon Youngblood: And after we do? Who knows. Maybe it’s just a bump in the road. But I don’t think so. I know you. Know what you’re capable of. More than anyone here. You belonging? Heh. These walls stand because of you. I know you’re gonna bring it. And I am looking forward to it. Clean. Nothing getting in the way. You feel me? Because as much as they want to tear this all down…they ain’t PRIME. You feel me?

Having snuffed out his last butt, Nova shuffles another cigarette out of his pack. He lights it and gives Youngblood a nod before taking a drag and extending a gloved fist.

Nova: Well then let’s PRIME That Shit.

A rare grin from the Tower of Babel, who extends his fist to meet the Starchild’s.

Brandon Youngblood: PRIME That Shit.