THE RED DAWN

Our view is of the rear entrance of the AT&T Stadium, just as a large, nondescript black bus pulls up and screeches to a halt. On one side of the bus is a large, custom sliding door which opens and, you guessed it, none other than Ivan Stanislav stomps out. The bus lurches this way and that as it deals with the shifting of his prodigious weight. 

Stanislav is already dressed for battle, with his black pants and shirt, red suspenders, and of course customary soviet insignias in all the right places. He carries a large military duffle bag over his left shoulder. The few employees who mill about the area take one look at The Russian Bear and choose to make themselves scarce as he lumbers towards the stadium. 

All but one.

Matt Mills is waiting for The Russian Bear near the door. Stanislav all but ignores Mills as he grabs the door and pulls it open, walking right past Mills as he ducks to fit through the doorway. Matt follows. He’s not about to let this slide.  

Matt Mills: Praporshchik Stanislav! Can I please have a word?

Stanislav doesn’t miss a beat as he walks through the interior parking area and deeper into the bowels of the venue. He doesn’t bother to look at Mills. 

Ivan Stanislav: What is it? 

Matt Mills: How are you feeling about your match tonight against Hayes Hanlon and the Universal Champion Rezin?

Ivan Stanislav: Good. 

Mills frowns inwardly at the lack of a real answer, but he’s not one to give up so easily. As Stanislav pushes through another door and passes several production crates with sound equipment, Mills tries once more. 

Matt Mills: Illuminating. And what is your strategy for the match itself?

Stanislav still does not look at Mills and rounds a corner, past the cafeteria as he trudges along. 

Ivan Stanislav: Classified.

Mills sighs through his nose and continues on.

Matt Mills: How is Alexei Ruslan? I see he’s not with you, as was reported. 

As Ivan moves past the entrance to the boiler room and further down a hall, he finally stops, turns, and looks down at Mills. 

Ivan Stanislav: My dear comrade is on the mend, Matvei. Though he is, understandably, sorely missed. 

Matt sees this as his opportunity. He’s stopped Ivan. Also, Ivan isn’t yelling or destroying anything. He’s not tearing the foundation out from under the AT&T Stadium. This is good. He has his attention. Things are on the up and up. Go for the jugular. 

Matt Mills: If you could say something to Alexei right now, what would it be?

Stanislav’s mouth turns downward in thought and he stares into the camera. 

Ivan Stanislav: Get well soon, my friend. I bring great treasure home with me to the Motherland. You can bet on it. 

Mills smiles to himself, since he is the first interviewer to even get this far with Stanislav, and follows up with another. 

Matt Mills: You have had a long and storied career that has spanned longer than some PRIME talent have been alive. How much does this match rank against the backdrop of such history? 

Ivan inhales slowly as he considers the question and he blinks. His expression is of grim focus. 

Ivan Stanislav: There may not be many more opportunities to save PRIME from itself. Therefore, this match is of significant importance, Matvei. Despite the naysayers and the resistance and despite the jokesters and the clowns, I endure. Despite Lindsay Troy and her machinations, I will succeed. I will show PRIME, tonight, what they have wrought with the inclusion of The Russian Bear into their ranks. PWA-01 was the start. They should have seen it then. I am the leader of PRIME. Not Hanlon. Not Rezin. Not Youngblood or Sykes. Not the Luchador or any other fool who would dare consider such a title. It is I and I alone. This match is, easily, one of the top three in my career. I will not squander this opportunity. 

Matt Mills: And if you are victorious?

Ivan smiles to himself. 

Ivan Stanislav: It is not a matter of if, but rather a matter of when, Matt. I will not be defeated. Not tonight. Not in a cell when my opponents have nowhere to hide. I made it abundantly clear on October 7, 2022. A Red Declaration was made. PRIME’s time was up. I haven’t been stopped. I haven’t even slowed. Hanlon’s tainted “victory” at UltraViolence did more damage to PRIME than good. It harmed their reputation as a “fair” organization, and it did nothing but encourage me to annihilate every rogue element under that banner. 

Ivan pauses for a moment. He grips the waist of his black pants and pulls them up a bit, which forces his suspenders to bunch around his shoulders. He grins. 

Ivan Stanislav: But when I win? A new dawn for PRIME. A Red Dawn, if you will. No organization has been the same once Ivan Stanislav has stood at the apex. And PRIME will be no different. I will finish what I started nearly twenty years ago. Just you watch. 

Mills nods his head as he lifts his microphone closer to Ivan’s mouth. He’s over a foot shorter than Stanislav, so he cups his elbow with his off hand for support as he continues to hold the mic aloft. 

Matt Mills: And if you lose?

Ivan shifts his large jaw left and right as the question seems to irritate him. 

Ivan Stanislav: Failure is not an option. Only under extreme chicanery could I possibly lose this match, and that is near impossibility. 

Ivan squares himself more to the camera and shakes his head. 

Ivan Stanislav: No more yelling. No more screaming. Ivan Stanislav worked to get where he is. He defeated every individual in his way, from Warstein, through America, all the way past former Champion Cancer Jiles. In just a few months, I have vanquished current and former champions alike who were, supposedly, at the top of the heap. Now they are broken and floundering at the bottom. Rezin and Hayes Hanlon will be the same. Tonight is the night of vindication for Ivan Sergeiovich Stanislav, and the dawn of a new chapter. 

The uncharacteristically calm Stanislav nods down at Mills. 

Ivan Stanislav: Just you watch and decide to either fall in line, or fall by the wayside. Join the ranks of The Red Army as you all should have at the beginning… or be trampled underfoot. Do svidanya.

With that, The Russian Bear turns and trudges down the hallway while whistling the tune of the Russian/Soviet Anthem to himself, for once, alone.