“Whatever happens tonight, I’m ready for what happens next.”
With a hard snap, the scene shifts from pitch black to the image of the cell. The one that will cage the Goat, the Bear, and the Black Hole.
Standing in front of the looming structure, the former Universal Champion, eyes drawing across the steel.
Hayes Hanlon: There’s a shift in the air. I can smell it.
The empty arena seats flicker, and serve as a backdrop for a variety of images, like a massive projector. Grainy and distorted, but clear enough to see.
Hayes Hanlon: When PRIME returned, we planted our flag in the ground to let everyone else know that they were, once again, in the minor leagues. And buddy, we were successful. We’re the mountain top.
Images of Brandon Youngblood, Phil Atken, Cancer Jiles, and Hayes himself, all holding the Universal Title overhead. Footage of Rezin, Flamberge, and Nate Colton with the Five Star. And Eminence, Tag Titles held proud.
Hayes Hanlon: Not Missouri. Not SHOOT. Not sVo. And definitely not High Octane.
The logos of PWA’s member feds swipe by, before landing on the mother of em’ all.
Hayes Hanlon: PRIME.
Hayes Hanlon: And now everyone wants a piece. TAB. Pleasant.
Footage of Arthur Pleasant in the ring flashes forward, followed by Tyler Adrien Best’s arrival in PRIME.
Hayes Hanlon: Ivan.
The arena turns red, revealing Stanislav and Ruslan, faces glowering.
Hayes Hanlon: I didn’t get much time to wave the PRIME flag with the Big Strap, but don’t worry. I’ve got a long career ahead of me.
Footage of the fall, The Escape Artist pinning the Event Horizon. For the second time, taking away his Universal Title.
Hayes Hanlon: But Rezin said it best, didn’t he? He said I was like a star that rose in so much mass, that I’d inevitably collapse on myself. And disappear from view.
Those images warp and mold into an enormous dark circle. Shaking and shuddering. The accretion disc of light forming around it. A black hole.
Hayes Hanlon: And he was right. Except that last part. Because I’m not going anywhere.
It shakes the screen, rattles the rafters, rumbles the ring.
Hayes Hanlon: You all better hope I walk out of that cell with the Universal Title. Because if I don’t, if I complete my collapse…
It starts eating the arena, seat by seat. Screw by screw. Falling in on itself. But not before the camera zooms in on the hard, dark eyes of Home Run Hayes.
Hayes Hanlon: I promise you’re gonna see something new.
And then, it explodes.
Leaving the screen buried in white light.