IVAN STANISLAV

We’ve been here before. 

Two separate flags. 

One of the Soviet Union. Another of the Russian Federation. 

Two united Russians. 

Both ready for war. 

Ivan Stanislav stands in his ring gear with Alexei Ruslan, in his brown overcoat and hat, at his side. It’s your standard, old school type promo that these two Russians just love to give. 

They don’t have a lot of time, so Ruslan, with a grin on his face, explodes vocally while Stanislav scowls wordlessly. 

Alexei Ruslan: And here we are, PRIME! The time of reckoning is at hand!! Yes! I can barely contain myself!! The main event….

A technician off to the side interrupts him. 

Technician: Um, your match is not the main event. 

Both Russians double-take off camera for an awkward moment, and then burst into angry, berating yells. 

Ivan Stanislav: What is it you are saying?!

Alexei Ruslan: Not the main event, hogwash!!

Ivan Stanislav: Typical PRIME employee, not knowing anything!

Alexei Ruslan: Did Troy put you up to this? 

Ivan Stanislav: What is your name? I demand to know your name!!

The poor technician says something but is drowned out by the two Russians, who look back at the camera. There may be a barely audible sob off camera. 

Alexei Ruslan: You think the main event is Brandon Youngblood and Tyler Adrian Best? Give me a break!

Stanislav laughs. 

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!! Those two fools could not snap my suspenders!

Alexei Ruslan: But you know what we’re going to snap, Praporshchik?

Ivan grins. 

Ivan Stanislav: We will be snapping the hopes and dreams of those pretenders trying to get shot at Universal Title in Main Event tonight! Then whether it be Best or Youngblood, we shall bring Universal Title to Russia! Let us go Alexei. 

Ruslan leaves first and harasses the tech off camera while Stanislav turns his head and the camera moves closer to him…

Alexei Ruslan: You had better stop trying to grow a brain!

…and The Russian Bear then looks at the camera. 

Ivan Stanislav: You know, if I am going to be fined for things I do not do? I had might as well make all these fines worth my while, eh?

He snatches the camera and lifts it high overhead. Skyward, we see Ruslan berating the tech at a crooked angle, and one of the rare views of Stanislav from overhead. 

Ivan Stanislav: Time is up, PRIME. DYAAHAA–

The camera is obliterated, as if the feed. 

PAXTON RAY

Paxton Ray snarls at the camera.

Paxton Ray: I don’t like any a’y’all freaks. Y’all don’t like me. And after the last year I know I got a big target on my back, ‘specially from some of the goodie-goods. 

Paxton smiles.

Paxton Ray: But I like that. I like havin’ a target. I like when people want a piece’a me. ‘Cause title shots? They’re cool. Pride an’ glory? Not bad. But the meat of it all? Steppin’ inside a’that ring and just fuckin’ wailing on each other? That’s what I live for. Make no mistake, I’m tryin’ to beat every one a’y’all, but even if it ain’t my name called at the end?

Paxton gets closer to the camera, his nostrils flaring.

Paxton Ray: Y’all are gonna suffer. 

JARED SYKES

Darkness.

“Sometimes, when I’m very, very lucky…”

The image on the screen is black and white, overlayed with static and visual artifacts, like the kind of image you’d get from an old CRT television.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) Things go my way.

The scene is of the aftermath of the Tag Team championship match at Culture Shock, where Eminence retained their titles in a hellacious two-out-of-three falls match against the Winds of Change.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) And others? Not so much.

The image switches to the following night. Having outlasted thirty-six other wrestlers, Sykes is finally thrown over the top rope to the arena floor by the eventual winner.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) I could try and tell you all the ways that this could go.

Shots of the five other men in the Turmoil match flash across the screen in turn.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) The good…

Nate Colton does the unimaginable and pulls the massive Balaam off his feet in the Colton Clutch Suplex.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) …and the bad.

Ivan Stanislav lifts Rezin over his head at the edge of the balcony and heaves him into the air with no regard for the consequences.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) But I can’t see the future, and there are some things none of us can predict.

Paxton Ray throws Jonathan Rhine into the air for the first of what will be seven Lafayette Lullabies. Fortunately, the rest are not shown. Neither is the move that took Rhine’s legs away.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) Sometimes, the bad guys win.

Cancer Jiles stands with the Universal Championship after a brutal, bloody war with Julian Bathory only weeks removed from the two of them ending Phil Atken’s PRIME career.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) But not always. Sometimes, we get our happy ending.

Hayes Hanlon holds that same championship in his hands in the final moments of Colossus. It’s what he dreamed of as a child, and now it’s his and his alone.

Jared Sykes: (voiceover) So how does this story end?

Color begins to bleed into the black and white. The static lifts. The rounded corners of the image flatten into something more modern.

Our narrator sits alone on a folding chair in a dark room. His head is tipped down, and a few strands of pink hair hang loose in front of his face. And as the camera moves in closer his eyes snap up so that they’re staring straight ahead.

Darkness.

CANCER JILES

Jump to an extreme close up of Cancer Jiles’ T-shades. 

Then, after a slow pan out, there he is, The Greek God of COOL, Cancer Jiles himself. He’s dressed for battle and his hair is an immaculate oil slick. Also noticeable in the shot is Bobby Dean standing face first in the corner, the fact you can actually see Lunchbox Larry, and an emaciated Abe Lipshitz scratching the skin off of his arm.

Cancer Jiles: Greetings, PETCRUMB PARK. Hello, PRIMEates watching from home. Good day, my loyal brothers, sisters, and cardboarders of the shell. It is I, the only Greek God in all of professional wrestling. Please, get your cartons and popcorn ready because TropiCOOL Turmoil is almost upon us!

A wide, confident, arrogant, toothy grin.

So basically how Jiles normally smiles.

Cancer Jiles: That means in just a few short moments it’s going to be MY turn to take a trip around the bases. It’s going to be MY turn to be the bullet in the game of Russian Roulette. It’s going to be MY turn to finally get back to where I belong.

Lots of thumb jabbing accompanied those prior MYs.

Let the peacocking begin.

Cancer Jiles: I can only hope all of you are as excited as I am to say goodbye CURTAIN JERK, and welcome back MAIN EVENT.

A scared whimper escapes from Bobby Dean. 

Cancer Jiles: Bandits, out.

NATE COLTON

“Tonight is about more than wrestling. More than championships.”

“Tonight, from first bell to last, is about the soul of PRIME.”

The video fades in, showing the face–and of course, the jacket–of Nate Colton. The Next Diamond’s face is set in a look of determination. It’s a far cry from his normal pre-match overexcitement.

Nate Colton: I thought I knew what I was getting when I signed on here. I thought I knew what PRIME meant. To me, it meant taking on the best wrestlers in the world, and finding out whether or not I belonged to be among them. But the last few months have shown me how wrong I was.

His face turns sour as he reflects on all the egregious acts that have taken place lately. Acts that have gone beyond the pale…and that he, like so many others, has been powerless to stop.

Nate Colton: How many shows have to end with the mat covered in blood? Multiple wrestlers going to the hospital? Somebody threatening a man’s family, for Christ’s sake?!

His face is turning red, and his shouts are getting louder. We’re used to seeing passion out of the Next Diamond, but not like this.

Nate Colton: Seems like half the people on the roster now just want to drag this place into the sewers. Things go on like this, and the name of PRIME won’t mean a damn thing; it’ll be just another garbage federation where dreams go to die…unless.

Finally, he pauses. He takes a breath. He tries to get himself back on the rails.

Nate Colton: Unless someone finally draws that line in the sand. Unless they tell this pack of psychopaths, “No more.” Unless they take a stand against the people who are more than happy to destroy everything just so they can feel important for a little while.

And finally, he holds out his arms, presenting himself for the viewing audience.

Nate Colton: Well…here I am. 

Hey, the way he’s standing even prominently displays his name on the front of his jacket. That’s solid branding; Alexa Van Horn would be proud. But that’s not what this is about.

Nate Colton: I’m drawing that line. I’m saying those words. I’m taking that stand…and I’m not the only one. Jared, Hayes, Tom, Coral, Brandon…and so many others who may not know they’re in the fight yet. Because we know that PRIME–our PRIME–is worth fighting for. And that fight starts now.

All right, kid. Wrap it up.

Nate Colton: So first things first. Clean house in the Tropical Turmoil match. Make sure that whoever comes out on top is worthy of being the Universal Champion. I can live with it being Jared Sykes or Hayes Hanlon, but I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it’s me. Then? Then it’s time to make sure every last one of these gutless bastards knows that the next time they try to cross the line, someone’s gonna be there to stop them. And if you wanna know who that is…

A snarl. A clenched fist. A catchphrase.

Nate Colton: Say my name.