UNIVERSAL TITLE HELL IN A CELL: REZIN (C) VS. HAYES HANLON VS. IVAN STANISLAV

Vince Howard is not in the ring, nor should he be. That’s because it’s about to be ground zero for Hell on Earth. Standing by the timekeeper’s table, the herald of everything PRIME makes his announcement.

Vince Howard: Ladies and gentlemen… The following contest, scheduled for one fall… is the CELL MATCH FOR THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP!

The cell – which has been hanging over the ring all night – slowly lowers as though it’s the most impractical and hateful shroud ever constructed in the history of mankind. Soon, the cell hits the floor with a gentle clang, which is the last thing that this cell will ever do in its existence that could possibly be described as “gentle.” Technicians swarm it to ensure that it’s stable.

It’s time. 

The lights turn crimson as a matching flag emerges on the PRIMEview. When the opening chord of the Soviet National Anthem erupts through the sound system, a yellow hammer and sickle whirl into the center of the flag and CLANG together to form the Flag of the Soviet Union. 

Nick Stuart: Here we go!

Richard Parker: Comrade!

Vince Howard: Introducing first, from Arkhangelsk, Russia and representing The Red Army! He stands 7’1” tall and weighs in at 400 lbs. The Russian Bear! IVAAAAANNNN STAAAAAANISSLAAAAVVVVV!!!

The crowd immediately turns sour as the enormous Ivan Stanislav emerges from backstage. He raises his massive arms over his head and bellows angrily at the crowd, who gives it back to him with just as much fervor. Stanislav looks confident, if not a bit off balance as, indeed, he is alone. There is no Alexei Ruslan. 

Nick Stuart: This is one of the rare times Alexei Ruslan will not be with The Russian Bear. We got reports of a terrible food allergy that sidelined the otherwise constant member of Ivan Stanislav’s entourage. 

Richard Parker: I’m thinking it’s some sort of a conspiracy, but Propper-chik Stanislav will no doubt be victorious!

Nick Stuart: If you’re going to kiss Ivan’s ass, you should at least know how to pronounce his military title. 

As Stanislav begins his slow walk towards the imposing Cell, the flag on the PRIMEview fades away and plays old footage of a much younger, beardless Stanislav in PCW. Stanislav is seen tossing such luminaries as Tyler Nelson, Clyde, Jeremy “Krayzie” Howard, and Alan Kriegman to and fro, before finally yeeting The Monster Known as Meanstreak in The Red Scare and holding the PCW World Championship aloft. Images switch to his time in OSW as a now bearded, and slightly grayer Stanislav annihilates the likes of The White Mexican, Ed Novak, Trashcan Man, Howard Porter, and even PRIME Hall of Famer Hessian, before finally standing with the OSW World Championship high over head. 

Ivan takes his time, basking in the glorious national anthem while simultaneously pointing at the crowd and jawing at them. He stands near the doorway of the cell, which is ominously open, and places his hands on his hips. He bypasses the door and checks the cell itself, testing the size of the links relative to his fingers. He grips the wall and exerts pressure on it, this way and that, and tests its weight. 

Nick Stuart: Stanislav checking the construction of the cell, you think, Richard?

Richard Parker: He thinks of everything, this guy. He considers everything. It has to be doubly so without Ruslan here!

Stanislav walks slowly around the cell as he inspects it, pointing at Nick and Richard and bellowing at them. 

Ivan Stanislav: I will be Universal Champion, the two of you watch!

He stares at Nick Stuart. 

Ivan Stanislav: I will be listening to this broadcast later, Stuart. Keep that in mind!

He then walks past towards the door. 

Richard Parker: Yeah, no trash talking Ivan, Nick. I don’t wanna deal with the fallout again. 

Nick Stuart: Trust me, neither do I, but I’m not gonna be intimidated by him. 

Richard Parker: That’s cool. I’m fine being intimidated by him. 

Stanislav finally makes it to the door and swings it open. He squeezes himself in, having to duck and shift slightly to the side to fit. As he climbs into the ring, The Russian Bear roars once more as the Soviet Anthem suddenly cuts out and the lights return to normal. Stanislav looks annoyed and surprised by this, and he first looks to Nick and Richard with anger in his eyes, before the PRIMEview switches to none other than Alexei Ruslan, who sits behind a desk in an office. 

Ruslan’s face looks drawn and his skin is pale. He looks tired, but there is fire behind his eyes. He smiles still as he, presumably, sees Ivan in the ring. 

Alexei Ruslan: Praporshchik Stanislav! It saddens me that I cannot be there in person this evening, on the eve of one of the greatest nights of your career!

Stanislav blinks, and he looks slightly overcome as he sees his friend on the screen. Ruslan too, offers a friendly if somewhat saddened smile from afar. 

Alexei Ruslan: Comrade! I salute you on this evening of victory. You know all that must be done, and there is no alternative other than victory! I am proud of you. Russia’s sons and daughters are proud of you! Destroy Rezin and vanquish Hayes Hanlon! Show the world that no tainted victory from UltraViolence will overshadow your greatness! Forward, always to victory! I will see you soon, dear friend!

With tears in his eyes, the subdued Ruslan offers a salute, and Stanislav reciprocates. The PRIMEview cuts off as Ivan stomps around the ring, his eyes downcast as he processes this. He grabs the top rope and pulls it incredibly far as he stretches it, turns, and waits for his opponents. 

“WHEN MY BACK’S TO THE WAAAALLLLL!!!”

I!!!

WILL!!!

CON!!!

QUER!!!

Ivan sneers as “Daggers” by We Came as Romans punches everyone in Arlington directly in the fucking face with an assault of a noise. The PRIME*View bursts and shudders, planets and stars erupting in space, akin to the exploding white flash bulbs throughout the arena in the seats and in the rafters. 

And within the wall of white light at the top of the entry, the silhouette of the Former Champ. The eGG Beater. The Comeback Kid.

The Event Horizon.

Vince Howard: Next! From West Linn, Oregon! Standing six-feet, three inches tall and weighing in at two-hundred and sixty-one pounds! A former Five-Star Champion! The former Universal Champion! The Event Horizon!

Dark eyes stare through the cage and into the ring, right into the very soul of the Russian Bear, and a determined frown hides underneath the ‘stache.

Vince Howard: HAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYESSSSSSSSS-

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Vince Howard: -HAAAAAAAANNNNNLLLLOOOOONNNNNNN!!!!!!!

The music breaks down, and Home Run Hayes begins to march. The Hanlon faithful are on the verge of turning AT&T Stadium into a mosh pit, but Hayes keeps his eyes trained forward.

Nick Richard: The greatest challenge of this young man’s career awaits him inside that cage, Richard! New territory for the former Champ!

Richard Parker: I try to keep my betting to FanDuel, Nick, but when it comes to Hanlon’s chances tonight, I fold. Talented as he is, he’s never spent any time in the hardcore corner of our sport. Propper-chik Stanislav speaks the language well, and Rezin? Hell, he’s the posterboy.

Nick Richard: A hard point to argue. But Hammerin’ Hanlon has proven time and time again that what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in determination. It was enough to take him to the mountain top this past December. He’ll have to leave everything inside that cell tonight, but if I know the young man like I think I do, he will.

The music thunders as Hayes reaches the bottom of the ramp, he pulls his eyes away from Ivan and looks up at the steel construction. With one deep breath into his wide chest, he steps forward through the door and climbs into the ring. Upon standing, he sets his eyes back to the Russian Bear, and holds tight to shared deathglare as the music and lights roar and burn.

Just one left. The champion. The anti-champion, that is.

A colossal shadow seems to fall over AT&T Stadium as the lights fade in a sweeping motion from one arena to the other. Ominous air raid sirens herald an oncoming terror from the skies.

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

wwwWWWOOOOOOMMMmmm…

The PRIMEview flickers to life, and becomes a shining silver rectangle cutting through the all-encompassing void. Through this window in the audience can see a nondescript black and white view of a cloudy horizon beyond a vast and barren plain. Meanwhile, an angelic voice lilts over the PA along to a haunting dirge played by calliope organ.

In Heaven… everything is fine!
In Heaven… everything is fine!
In Heaven… everything is fine!
You’ve got your good things, and I’ve got mine!

The sky splits apart in a flash of light, and we get a glimpse of HEAVEN… in the form of fifty megatons of thermonuclear fire exploding in an instant. Pillars of pyroclastic ash rise off the earth and disappear into the cloudline. It’s 1961, and Tsar Bomba just wiped a nondescript chunk of the Motherland off the map.

In Heaven… everything is fine!
In Heaven… everything is fine!
In Heaven… everything is fine!
You’ve got your good things, and you’ve got mine!

The test footage of the most powerful nuclear weapon ever created slowly fades into a view of Planet Earth. No longer a pale blue dot shining through the black infinity. Now just an ashen gray tomb of uninhabitable, radioactive rock, drifting endlessly through the coldness of open space.

In Heaven… everything… is… fine!

Death’s sweet lullaby fades into a cacophony of droning terror. Gaia’s black oceans begin to bleed over. Inky liquid drips down the surface of a planet… drips off the PRIMEview screen, through an impressive visual effect. The dripping intensifies into a black cascade within seconds, with the sludge pooling itself onto the stage.

Intense ethereal whooshing becomes buzzing guitar feedback. A moment later, the intro to “I Have A Prepare Statement” by Whores. riffs over the arena’s sound system, sending shockwaves across the whole state of Texas with every thump of the bass.

An ARM suddenly rises out of the pitch… soon joined by a second! They find a base, pushing a tar-soaked head and torso up through the surface through a trap door beneath the pool of sludge. Slowly and agonizingly the figure crawls out of the black filth and rises up to its full height, a specter standing amidst billowing smoke and flashing strobes. It’s only when two wide, extremely bloodshot eyes flash open that we finally recognize who it is.

The Escape Artist. The Goat Bastard. Ol’ Dopesmoker himself.

And, just to make it less confusing for the people tuning in to PRIME for the first time to catch this Pay Per View spectacle, the screen displays five letters scrawled in white across black.

R E Z I N

Looking like a sludge-soaked devil that had crawled its way out of the unclean asshole of hell, the Universal ANTI-Champion extends his arms out to his side to show the world the only Messiah they need for this Good Friday…

KA-BOOM!!!

A WALL OF FIRE erupts across the back end of the stage, silhouetting the crooked and blackened form of Goat Bastard against a blazing hellscape.

LET’S SEE HOW LOW I CAN GOOOOOO!
I’M GONNA SINK THIS SHIP! DOWN! DOWN! DOOOWWWN!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNOOOOOOWS!
STAND BACK! WATCH ME DROWN! DROWN! DROOOWWWN!!

At his side, he clutches an equally slimy sack that came up with him from the VOID below. Inside, we can see the outline of the Universal Title, its gleam still stubbornly being hidden from the world at large. The man holding it hostage plucks a superheroic-sized joint into his mouth and lights it up.

I’VE SEEN ALL I WANNA BE NOW!
I’VE LISTEN TO THE LIES!
LORD I’M READY TO TAKE MY PLACE
SMEARED OUT AGAINST THE SKY!!

Taking his first drag, he wanders to one side of the stage and stares intensely into the sea of screaming fans. His only emotion is intense fury as he soaks in the reaction. Whether the PRIMEates love him or hate him doesn’t seem to matter… only that for the first time in his life, he is being SEEN. After a beat, he goes to the other side of the stage to keep the other side of the arena from feeling left out.

UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN LANGUAGE!
UNSEEN BY PRYING EYES!
SAIL OUT INTO THE DARKNESS
I’M FINALLY ALIIIIIIVE!!

Rezin’s infernal glare finally finds the ring… the CELL surrounding it… and the two challengers standing within it, staring down the Universal ANTI-Champion with conviction. His lips curl back into a hungry grin, forming a horrendous visage of eyes and teeth peering out from the black pitch that covers him, and he moves toward the head of the rampway.

Vince Howard: Their opponent… making his way down to the ring… from the Inverted Crossroads of America in Indianapolis, Indiana… weighing in at two-hundred and five pounds… 

LET’S SEE HOW LOW I CAN GOOOOOO!
I’M GONNA SINK THIS SHIP! DOWN! DOWN! DOOOWWWN!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNOOOOOOWS!
STAND BACK! WATCH ME DROWN! DROWN! DROOOWWWN!!

His descent down the rampway is slow and methodical, his expression spastically flipping from murderous glee to inflammatory rage every few seconds. With every step, he’s flanked by twin trails of FLAMES that steadily keep up with him, giving the appearance of a man who leaves nothing but ruin in his wake. The sack, and the championship belt within it, is dragged listlessly at his side. He looks more like a man going somewhere to dispose of a corpse rather than a champion looking to defend the greatest title in the sport to date.

Vince Howard: THE ESCAPE ARTIST! THE GOAT BASTARD! THE SELF-PROCLAIMED HERALD OF THE A-PUNK-ALYPSE… AND THE UNIVERSAL ANTI-CHAMPION! 

HEADING HOME, I HEAR THEY MISSED ME
WHERE CITY LIGHTS JUST CAN’T SEE!
FAR AWAY FROM EVERYTHING!
I’M GONE! I’M FREEEEE!!

Rezin reaches ringside in one piece, breaking a year-long tradition of slipping and falling on his ass during his every Pay Per View entrance. He walks a slow and patient circle around the cell, eyeing the structure with a mix of suspicion, paranoia, and quiet determination. 

Vince Howard: THIS! IS! REZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN!

UNTOUCHED BY HUMAN LANGUAGE!
UNSEEN BY PRYING EYES!
SAIL OUT INTO THE DARKNESS
I’M FINALLY ALIIIIIIVE!!

When he completes the circuit and ends up at the cell door, an official holds it open for him. The ref’s expression is visibly nervous, and he promptly bails from his post when Rezin glares at him for a moment and lurches in his direction. Holding the door open for himself, the Goat Bastard gazes up to the top of the cell looming over him. Taking one last breath, he slings the sack over his shoulder and enters, slamming the door shut behind him.

YOU DON’T WANNA TOUCH MY SKIN! YOU CAN SEE THAT I’M UNCLEAN!
YES, I KNOW THEY LOVE A WINNER! YES, I KNOW I CAN BE SO MEAN!

Rezin circles the ring again, this time staring down his two opponents waiting for him inside. Hanlon has the look of fierce determination, eager to take back what was taken from him. Stanislav is a towering Soviet statue of patience, with only his face giving away his feelings of revulsion. Tremoring with electric energy that is as incalculable as it is unstable, Rezin slowly scales the steps, and keeps climbing until he reaches the top rope.

I NEVER LEARNED THE LANGUAGE! FOREVER AN AMPUTEE!
FLOAT OUT INTO THE WATER! I SINK! I’M GONE!
I’M FREEEEE!!

Lackadaisically sitting on the top rope, the grinning, pitch-covered Goat Bastard spends a beat gazing deep into the sea of screaming fans. He takes one final drag off the spliff, now burned down to a nub, and pitches the roach before rising to his full height and performing a picture-perfect MOONSAULT into the center of the ring.

KA-BOOOM!!

Pyros explode in sequence over the roof of the cell the moment the Universal ANTI-Champion sticks the landing, and pirouettes with his arms outstretched into a Jesus Christ pose and his head tilted back to unleash a primal scream of PUNK ROCK intensity!

LET’S SEE HOW LOW I CAN GOOOOOO!
I’M GONNA SINK THIS SHIP! DOWN! DOWN! DOOOWWWN!
EVERYONE ALREADY KNOOOOOOWS!
STAND BACK! WATCH ME DROWN! DROWN! DROOOWWWN!!

As the music dies down, Rezin paces around erratically in his third of the ring. When official Elvis Nixon reaches for the Universal Title, the Escape Artist swats him away. Instead, he upturns the sack, and the Universal Championship falls onto the canvas.

Within its burlap confines, the prestigious championship belt has thankfully avoided the same black ooze bath as its carrier. Now it sits in the very center of the ring, amid the three men who will be fighting for it. 

Rezin, Hayes, and Ivan look amongst each other with equal amounts of intensity, with everything at stake at their feet, in an image that looks like it was torn straight out of a Sergio Leone western. The capacity crowd builds itself into a long and sustained roar that shakes the entire stadium. After several long, tense moments, Nixon finally creeps in to claim the belt. 

As Nixon hands the belt off to the timekeeper by the door, the three gladiators competing over PRIME’s greatest prize stand casting glances at each other. 

In one corner is the indomitable Russian. Unconquerable. Unstoppable. Even in his sixth decade of life, he remains every bit the juggernaut that he was in his prime. No pun intended. With only one exception, he’s beaten back everything including Father Time to get to this moment. In his eyes, this was a matter of course. Just a few minutes of work, and PRIME Wrestling would truly, finally have a worthy champion. Though his greatest ally is nowhere to be seen, he has the heart and support of the entire Russian nation behind him… Ivan Stanislav is ready to ascend to the greatness he believes he’s always deserved.

In another corner is the former champion. Young. Hungry. Vengeful. Just four months ago, he’d ascended the mountaintop. He had become the champion. The eGG Beater. The man who ended the reign of terror of Cancer Jiles and prevented the nomenclatural felony of Culture Shock becoming COOLture Shock. The only blemish on the record of that indomitable Russian. Yet, no sooner had he made it to the mountain’s summit did an old enemy throw him right back down. In that moment, he’d learned that it’s harder to stay atop the mountain than it is to ascend it. But tonight, Hayes Hanlon has the chance to retake the summit and remind everyone that he deserves to be there. For keeps.

And finally, the last corner… the current champion. Chaos Incarnate. Anarchist. Punk Rock. No one ever believed he could ever be Universal champion. No one thought that he could do the unthinkable and take a second championship from the waist of Hayes Hanlon. No one except him. He feasts on those who can never predict him, and believe me when I say that this man is the essence of unpredictability. He’s also covered in grunge. And while he does not give one iota of a fuck about being the “best in the world” or any of the prestige that comes from being the champion other than getting more fights, make no mistake about this either: Rezin plans to stay exactly the same piece of shit he is walking into this prison that means to contain him as he would be in walking out of it – the Universal Champion.

Elvis Nixon has a tall task ahead of him keeping order here.

But nonetheless, he calls for the bell.

DING DING

Nick Stuart: AND WE’RE OFF!

Hayes Hanlon and Rezin don’t agree on anything. They are so diametrically opposed that if Hanlon were to ask for milk in his coffee, Rezin would demand that his own coffee be blacker than the void itself. Not that we’ll debate what their coffee choices really are or even if they drink coffee to begin with, but the point is that they normally wouldn’t agree on anything. They would be contrarian just to spite the other.

Yet, there is one thing they did agree on. Something that even these two bitter enemies, whose enmity dates all the way back to last year’s Culture Shock, could work together on.

And that something is three simple words: FUCK IVAN STANISLAV.

Both Hanlon and Rezin make a beeline for Ivan the moment the bell rings. Now, Ivan is used to this sort of thing. It’s not easy being the biggest and strongest there is. He doesn’t even exercise. Actually, that’s not true. He has this thing about 2x4s that’s out of this world. But even he isn’t anticipating the champion and the other challenger to come for him immediately.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon and Rezin! Working together to attack Ivan Stanislav!

Richard Parker: Hanlon and Rezin! Living together! Mass hysteria!

Hanlon slams his shoulder into the mighty Russian, shoving him into the corner in the process. Rezin takes a running leap, his foot landing on the second rope and allowing him to leap onto Stanislav to rain down blows on the big man. As Rezin is mounting Ivan in the corner, Hanlon is trying to kick Ivan down to size with mighty boots in the corner.

None of this lasts.

With one mighty paw, the Russian Bear shoves Rezin off of him. Rezin goes flying backwards like he’s been thrown from a horse, lands on his back in the center of the ring, and then rolls into a dazed crouch on the other side of the ring. Hanlon keeps stomping, but Ivan grabs him by the head with both hands and switches place. A hand goes over Hanlon’s arm, and before the mustachioed beater of eGGs can do anything, he’s thrown. It happens so fast that fans can only gasp.

Into Rezin.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav throws Hanlon into Rezin!

That’s a two-hundred and sixty pound man being yeeted into Rezin like a trash bag. Rezin is knocked over like a bowling pin, and Hanlon nearly falls out of the ring from sheer momentum. He’s only saved by the painful grace of the bottom rope, which he manages to grab onto before he tumbles to the floor.

Ivan roars as he stands in front of the carnage he’s wrought, the fans booing in its wake. He only hesitates for a moment to wipe his hand against the side of his pants,

Richard Parker: This man is a monster! He is a monster built efficiently out of Russian scrap metal and hate and some timely lightning!

The first to his feet, somehow, is Rezin. The Universal Champion all but stumbles into the waiting, welcoming arms of the Russian Bear. Ivan cares about as much about Rezin’s physical well-being as an elephant might care about an ant. He lifts Rezin up into the air by the throat and doesn’t even bother which direction he goes flying when sends him crashing to the mat.

Stanislav is already marching towards Hanlon. The fans shout and boo and try to encourage their hero as he stands up on the apron, still dazed. Stanislav grabs him by the throat and lifts him up, just as he’d done with Rezin. Dangerously, Stanislav seems much more interested in dumping Hanlon down on the floor, which might been an impact with career-altering implications.

Ivan Stanislav is playing for keeps. Actually, no, “playing” is not the right verb at all. He is here for war.

Nick Stuart: Stanislav… Stanislav is trying to chokeslam Hanlon off of the apron and to the floor!

Hanlon doesn’t allow it.

He kicks his feet. He slams an elbow against the side of Stanislav’s head. A second one staggers Stanislav, causing Hanlon to drop and land on his feet on the apron. Hanlon grasps Stanislav’s head and falls to the floor, clotheslining Stanislav’s throat across the ropes.

Rezin, being Rezilient, is already back up after the earlier careless chokeslam from Ivan. It would take a little bit more than being hurled at the ground mercilessly by one’s throat to put down the Universal champion. If cockroaches can survive a nuclear blast, then so can Rezin. 

Rezin runs and lands a dropkick to Stanislav, knocking him into the corner but not knocking him down.

Richard Parker: You know, here’s a thought about Rezin and his Void that’ll really make you think. If you put your dick in everything, you also pick your dick in nothing.

Nick Stuart: Richard.

With that wonderful thought from Richard Parker out of the way – seriously, what’s wrong with that dude? Is he okay? – Rezin runs at Ivan and lands a high dropkick into his face. The Russian Bear takes the kick, but doesn’t go down. Rezin flies over the top rope, but grabs onto it and lands on his feet. Without a moment of wasted motion, Rezin leaps again and hits Stanislav with a massive enzuigiri from the apron. Even Stanislav’s bulk can’t do much about taking two straight kicks to the head, and he staggers out from the corner in a daze.

Hayes Hanlon slides back into the ring.

This is war.

This has been a war since the day Ivan Stanislav set foot in PRIME Wrestling. Entire arenas have become battlefields. They built a cell just to keep the damage contained. Hayes Hanlon knows that, just as he knows that he’s the one most adept at fighting this war out of any man in PRIME. So when Ivan whirls around to deal with the gnat that just kicked him in the face, he walks right into Hanlon.

This is war.

And war requires the big guns.

Nick Stuart: FLASH POINT FROM HANLON!

It comes out of nowhere. Because that’s the purpose of the sitout jawbreaker across Hanlon’s shoulder. Ivan’s eyes go glassy, because even the indomitable Russian can’t handle something so sudden. Hanlon’s not even on his feet before Rezin sneaks in behind him. He grabs the former champion by the rim of the tights and hurls him through the ropes.

Rezin doesn’t hesitate.

He can’t.

He needs the fuck out of this cell yesterday, and if the easiest way to do that is to pin someone, then so be it.

But even Rezin knows that a single Flash Point wouldn’t beat Ivan. He turns to his safest haven. His comfort zone. The only place as good as that next high. Because for him, it is the next high. Rezin jumps onto the second rope. Then the top rope. And then he’s home.

Nick Stuart: REZINSAULT!

Rezin is legendary for his moonsaults. His Rezinsaults, if you will. You would never believe that a man known for his anarchy and chaos could fly as majestically as he could, his beard floating with splendor. The impact is undeniable. He got all of this one. 

He goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Rezin: FUNGAAHGH!

That, uh… noise Rezin just made is his startled reaction to the way Ivan Stanislav kicks out. He doesn’t just kick out, he hurls Rezin bodily into the air. Rezin goes as high as Elvis Nixon is tall and nearly lands on his face some distance away. The Universal Champion crawls away, bug-eyed. A Flash Point and a Rezinsault, and Ivan’s not done at all?

Nick Stuart: A kickout! I can’t believe it!

Richard Parker: What do they feed the people in Russia!?

Nick Stuart: Sawdust and spite, apparently!

Rezin looks around wildly. Destruction is the instruction. He knows he needs to pull out all of the stops. Because who better to put an end to this war than the runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb?

The champ rolls to the outside, opposite from where he’d thrown Hanlon before trying to steal the win from him. He rips up the ring apron and starts gathering the tools of war as Ivan starts to return to his feet.

A steel chair. The humble spear of the professional wrestler, simple and standard yet tried and true. He gets two of those, because what’s better than one than two? Actually, fuck that. Let’s get two more, just to be safe. Four chairs should be more than enough to kill every motherfucker in the room. Or the cell. You know what I mean.

Rezin slides in chasing after one of the chairs he brings into the ring, and prepares to tee off on Stanislav with it as he’s getting to his feet. He swings at Ivan with everything he has, so it makes everything a little more comical than usual when the only thing that hits Ivan are a pair of palms to the chest.

Rezin stops, pausing briefly to stare at his hands as though he’s perplexed as to what became of his steel chair. He briefly glances at Ivan, who’s still not completely aware of what’s going on judging from the frequent shakes of his head, getting all of the cobwebs out. No. He doesn’t have a steel chair embedded in him. Then he turns around and sees his nemesis. Holding his steel chair.

Well. Shit.

Nick Stuart: Rezin’s caught between a rock and a hard place!

Richard Parker: That rock looks more like a mountain!

Rezin recognizes his situation, closes his eyes, and swings his fists. One for Hanlon, then he turns and lands one on Ivan. He lands a second fist on Hanlon, then turns and…

…Ivan grabs him by the throat and throws him to Hell.

Rezin: RalsjFFcKUg!!!

CRASH!

That’s the sound Rezin makes when he’s being launched by the Living Russian Space Program. He’s thrown over the top rope and lands hard against the steel cage surrounding the ring. Rezin almost lingers there for a few moments, as though he’s cartoon character having been smashed flat into a wall. Then he peels off and falls to the ground several feet below him, landing in a heap.

Nick Stuart: DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN!

Richard Parker: Ew, I still see Rezindue all over the cage…

Hanlon drops the chair and slugs away at Ivan almost the moment Rezin is thrown out of the ring. Ivan takes the hard punches, and seems to be rocked by them, but he doesn’t go down. Hanlon recognizes that he needs something else, so he turns and runs into the ropes. A jumping shoulder tackle bounces off of Ivan, and Hanlon manages to land on his feet and run into the perpendicular ropes to do it again. A second one staggers the big Russian, and while Hanlon lands in a stumble, he’s able to run into the ropes a third time. 

Hanlon sees the lariat coming for his head a second before it would’ve made contact. He knows that if this connects, it could be the end of him. He ducks mere moments before the blow could decapitate him. 

Ivan put his whole body into that lariat. All 7’1”, 400 pounds of it. Momentum is a tricky mistress when you’re that big. If a man the size of a refrigerator starts running… don’t try to catch it. Just let it sort itself out. That’s what Hayes Hanlon does. His defiance of this causes Ivan to fall into the ropes, and when Ivan bounces back, Hayes actually lifts him up.

BOOM!

Nick Stuart: Six hundred pounds of human being just crashed to the mat with that Samoan drop!

Richard Parker: I can’t believe Hanlon can do that to Ivan Stanislav!

Hanlon rolls into the cover on the big Russian.

ONE!

TWO!

NO!

Much like with Rezin, Ivan’s kickout is thunderous. Hanlon goes up into the air and lands on all fours a few feet from Ivan’s body. It’s not as powerful as what happened with Rezin, though. Hanlon knows Ivan is weakening. Hanlon knows that Ivan’s only a few moments from the end.

There’s a fly in that ointment, though.

His name is Rezin, and he looks like he said the words “I don’t know” at a black metal episode of You Can’t Do That On Television. The Goat Bastard slides into the ring behind Hanlon as Hanlon is getting set to try and land the Epoch on the big Russian. He’s already superficially bleeding along his shoulders from impacting the cage earlier. 

Hanlon realizes that something is amiss, that something is wrong in the air in Dallas. He turns around, and Rezin uncoils like a viper.

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HO—NO!

Hanlon has experienced this particular move numerous times in PRIME. He’s ready for it, as though he’s seen the movement of this move in his mind’s eye a hundred times before inky blackness. Hanlon parries the kick with a flexed arm, throwing Rezin off and turning him around. Hanlon snatches him up by the waist.

A German suplex follows, but Rezin is cat-like and lands on his feet behind Hanlon. A dropkick soon follows, and Hanlon tumbles out to the floor. Rezin pops up, smiling a sick grin. He’s completely unaware of the seven foot tall Russian looming behind him until he turns and sees him. Ivan charges like a freight train, intent on running Rezin over like roadkill. Rezin, at the last moment, ducks out of the way.

Hanlon isn’t so lucky.

CRASH!

Nick Stuart: Stanislav runs Hanlon right into the cell wall!

Richard Parker: Hanlon’s almost as much of a smear as Rezin was earlier!

Well, except that Hanlon wasn’t covered in gunge before he entered the cell, anyway. Ivan stares down at the fallen form of the Event Horizon, content that he’s down and out, and that leaves him in the ring with Rezin. Now, Ivan’s had a field day throwing Rezin around like a ragdoll. Rezin has barely been able to muster much against the Russian.

But Rezin’s not playing. He’s here for war, too. And when you’re at war, you do whatever it takes to win.

For example… boot, meet balls. 

OHHHHHH!

Even the mighty Ivan Stanislav can’t shrug off a kick to the balls from the Goat Bastard, who kicked him below the belt like he’s a punter for the Dallas Cowboys. Screams of sympathy pain come from the male members of the crowd. Stanislav drops to his knees in anguish.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KICK!

Rezin’s spinning heel kick usually heralds the end. It did for Hayes Hanlon two months ago, when Rezin first became Universal Champion. But Ivan Stanislav is not most men. He doesn’t go down from the kick. He stays upright. Rezin sees this.

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: ANOTHER ONE!

Richard Parker: This is not cool for Mother Russia!

Stanislav finally falls to the canvas. Rezin does not even chance the idea of Stanislav getting to his feet, the idea of hitting Into The Void on the titan of Arkhangelsk is but a pipe dream. Instead, he falls on top of Ivan.

ONE!

TWO!

HANLON!

Nick Stuart: Hanlon breaks it up!

Richard Parker: Mother Russia thanks you, Hayes Hanlon! 

Hanlon immediately stomps on Ivan’s head.

Richard Parker: Wait. No, I don’t think she does.

Rezin stands, but rather than pick a fight with Hanlon, he stares at him. Bug-eyed. Thoughts are clearly going through the Escape Artist’s mind as Rezin and Hanlon stare daggers at one another. Rezin is a man who chases his own highs, and thus might not be much of a long-term planner. But in the short-term? The man knows how to get the things he needs.

Right now, he needs Ivan Stanislav the fuck out of his life.

And he knows the best way to do that would be to enlist the help of the man whose championship he took. Twice. He knows that the only way he gets out of this cell alive is to team up with Hayes Hanlon to get rid of Ivan now. It’s tough to make out what the two are saying to each other at this moment, but both he and Hanlon argue back and forth about it.

That gives Ivan time to get to his feet.

Ivan has a small cut over his eye from the second Cloven Hoof Kick. Yet apart from that one blemish, he remains undaunted. Invincible. The Second World Juggernaut. The Russian Bear moves to destroy the champion and ex-champion in one fell swoop.

Instead, both Hanlon and Rezin duck under the tree trunks that functioned as Stanislav’s arms. The two younger competitors are quicker to spring to action. Rezin hits a dropkick to Ivan’s leg, hobbling him long enough for Hanlon to knock Ivan down with a shoulder tackle.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon and Rezin… working together again!

Richard Parker: Mass hysteria! I mean, listen to this place!

Hanlon’s the one directing traffic. He pulls Ivan up and latches in a front facelock. After a moment’s pause, Rezin joins him. It takes some doing, but many hands make light work and the pair deliver a ring-shaking double snap suplex to Ivan Stanislav!

BOOM!

Referee Elvis Nixon actually bounces upon impact, but he’s cat-like and remains on his feet. 

Nick Stuart: Double suplex by Hanlon and Rezin!

Richard Parker: Impossible!

Both Hanlon and Rezin go into the cover, and soon Ivan would be defeated and everything would be great and everyone’s gonna get in the ring and lift up the two of them and throw them up and down in celebrat—

…Oh, wait. That’s not how any of this works. Nixon informs both men that he’s not counting that pin. There has to be one victor and one Universal champion, after all.

Hanlon and Rezin get up off of Ivan and stare daggers at one another. No. This all started with the two of them. Not just on ReVival 22, but at last year’s Culture Shock. For a moment, it seems like they’re about to come to blows.

And then Ivan sits up.

Both Hanlon and Rezin see this, and they both simultaneously say what we’re all thinking right about now.

Fuck.

The two set aside their differences one more time. This is a problem that would destroy them both if left unattended, after all. Rezin kicks Ivan in the head several times with a series of low thrust kicks. All the while, Hanlon has chosen to go up to the top rope. As Rezin lands the fifth straight kick, he finally brings the giant down flat on the canvas.

And that gives Hanlon the opportunity to do something he so rarely does: fly.

Nick Stuart: TOP ROPE ELBOW DROP FROM HANLON!

Almost the moment after Hanlon makes impact on Stanislav, Rezin leaps into action! By grabbing Hanlon and tossing him out of the ring so he can cover Ivan himself!

Nick Stuart: NO! REZIN’S GONNA STEAL ONE!

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Ivan’s kickout doesn’t have the mustard that his previous ones did, which is to say that Rezin was only pushed off by a couple of feet instead of a couple of yards. Rezin has his hands in whatever’s left of his hair in disbelief. He’s further in disbelief when Hanlon slides back into the ring, eyes bulging at Rezin over his sudden but inevitable betrayal.

Rezin slowly stands up, recognizing his situation. There is a very pissed off ex-Universal champion in front of him, and a soon-to-be pissed off Russian already recovering by his feet. The Escape Artist sees Hanlon take a step forward, and his fight-or-flight instinct kicks in… which is to say that Rezin flees.

Richard Parker: What is this guy doing?

Rezin slides out of the ring and makes a dash towards the door built into the side of the cage. He wails upon realizing that the thing is padlocked shut with a thick chain, and when he looks over his shoulder to see Hanlon approaching him, he turns and runs in the direction that would take him to the commentary table.

Nick Stuart: Rezin has nowhere to go! That’s the whole point of the cell!

Rezin leads Hanlon into a chase around the ring, but almost trips and stumbles over the steel steps as he rounds a corner. Hanlon flies over it and catches Rezin by the hair. And then begins the punishment, because Hanlon slams Rezin back-first into the cage wall. Then he slams Rezin’s head against the ring apron. Then back into the cage wall. Head against the apron. Back against the wall. It happens another time. And another. And… oh, what the heck? One more time!

Hanlon lets go, and Rezin collapses to the floor like a marionette with its puppet strings cut. Hanlon roars and the crowd responds in kind. Their hero, Home Run Hayes, is just moments away from reclaiming what had been taken from him. He rolls Rezin back into the ring, and th—

CRASH!

OHHHHHHH!!!

There is a terrible sound that accompanies the crash. It’s the sound of a chain link fence being bent out of shape as a large human body crashes into it at full force. That human body belongs to one Hayes Hanlon, and it’d been launched like a cannon by an even larger human body – Ivan Stanislav’s. Hanlon hits the cage face first and rips it open.

Suddenly, there’s an opening in the cage, but Rezin doesn’t know about it on account of having his brains scrambled by Hanlon just moments ago. The only one who stands tall is Ivan Stanislav. Indomitable, as always.

Nick Stuart: Jesus Christ! Right out here in front of us, Hayes Hanlon’s body just broke through the cell wall!

Richard Parker: Get a doctor out here! Get a priest! GET A SPATULA!

Ivan stares down at the broken body of Hayes Hanlon. All he has to do is pull him from that wreckage and pin him, and he would be the Universal champion. Just as he deserves, as PRIME deserves, and as Mother Russia deserves. 

He has a problem, though. Two problems, actually.

The first? Rezin is Rezilient. He has to be. He wouldn’t have won the Universal Championship if he isn’t. He certainly wouldn’t still be standing if he isn’t. And that brings us to the second problem, which is that Rezin certainly wouldn’t be ready with a steel chair if he isn’t.

SMACK!

The chair hits Ivan across the back, swung hard enough to break the top part of the chair off. Ivan reacts to it like he’s been doused with cold water, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, rage covers every inch of his face as he turns to confront his attacker. To Rezin’s credit, he doesn’t hesitate to swing again. 

SMACK!

Nick Stuart: OH, GOD!

Stuart’s horrified cry is because Rezin smashes Ivan directly on the head. The chair opens up upon impact, wedging Ivan’s head within it and giving him the appearance that the chair is now a new Russian accessory that you can buy at all participating Russian PRIMEporiums. Yes, Russia has their own. Don’t tell Anna.

There’s a brief pause as Ivan still stands with the chair around his head.

And then he lariats Rezin nearly out of his fucking boots.

OHHHHHHH!

Rezin flips, somersaults, and somehow lands on his face from the impact. Ivan falls to one knee, the chair still wrapped around his neck. He’s exhausted. Father Time is starting to collect his due from the hexagenarian. Even the indomitable Ivan Stanislav can’t endure as much as he once could. Not here. Not in this cell. 

Nick Stuart: Rezin is down! But Ivan can’t capitalize!

Richard Parker: He needs to take that chair off of his neck! That’s not a cool accessory to have, Praporshchik!

He turns to find Hayes Hanlon.

Hanlon’s bloodied from his face-first meeting into the fence wall. He looks like he’s barely able to stand. But the former Universal champion has something in his hands that causes Ivan’s eyes to go wide.

Remember, Rezin brought four chairs with him. And there is number two in the hands of Home Run Hayes.

For a moment, Hanlon hesitates. This isn’t something he’d do, normally. If it were up to him, he’d do this with just his two hands. This is different, though. This is fucking war. 

So, Ivan might as well be a softball. Or, rather, the chair around his neck.

SMAAACK!

OHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: HANLON JUST SMASHED THAT CHAIR INTO THE CHAIR WRAPPED AROUND IVAN’S NECK!

Not even Ivan can take this. He’s down, the chair still wrapped around his neck. Fans go crazy, with some in the crowd even singing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”. Hanlon dunks the chair down on the canvas with mustard, then immediately drops to his knees and makes the cover on Stanislav.

It’s over.

ONE!

TWO!

…

…

Wait. What happened to three?

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Well, you see, Elvis Nixon’s no longer there. And that’s a problem, because you need a referee to put an end to these sorts of things. Hanlon has a look of confusion on his bloodied face, until he sees the reason he isn’t in the exclusive club of two-time Universal champions.

That reason is Alexei Ruslan.

Nick Stuart: He’s here!? Alexei Ruslan is here!? What the hell!?

Richard Parker: Oh, blessed Hoyt, it’s a miracle! He is healed!

Nick Stuart: This is a sham! He wasn’t sick at all! How did he get in the cell!?

Richard Parker: Didn’t I just say it’s a miracle? Actually, no, Propper-chik Stanislav’s an atheist and probably doesn’t believe in Hoyt… you know what? I got this. This is just the power of superior Russian genetics!

Nick Stuart: You’re from New Mexico!

Alexei slides into the ring, his collapsible baton already in hand. Hanlon tries to get up before Alexei can reach him, but he’s spent. He can barely get his hands up to defend himself before Alexei hits him over the head with the thing.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

God, the crowd hates this.

Richard Parker: A heroic effort from Alexei Ruslan to stand here by Propper-chik Stanislav’s side despite suffering from such severe food poisoning! Truly, a Russian hero! Give him all of the Lenin awards!

Nick Stuart: I should’ve known! I should’ve known that snake would be hiding in the grass! Was he hiding underneath the ring this whole time!?

As Nick Stuart wails at the unfairness of all of this, Ruslan’s baton strikes Hanlon down a second time. All the while, Ivan is slowly trying to recover against the ropes. He’s back on his feet just in time to see a spaghetti-legged Rezin recovering from the lariat. Rezin charges at Ivan, and ducks underneath the resulting clothesline. He jumps onto the second rope and goes for the springboard cutter…

…only for Ruslan to smash him in the side of the head with the baton as soon as he sets his feet to jump backwards. Rezin still completes the jump, but it’s like his body is on auto-pilot. He flies right into Ivan’s waiting arms, who fluidly completes a German (Russian?) suplex on the Universal champion! 

Nick Stuart: This is a disgrace! Alexei shouldn’t be out here!

Richard Parker: There’s no disqualifications in a Cell match, Nick! You know this! Even if Nixon were still in the ring, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about this!

Speaking of Nixon, he’s still down on the outside after Ruslan ripped him from the ring, the spill he’d taken had been quite nasty. He’s unable to do much about what’s going on right now.

It also means that Ivan and Alexei have no way to actually win the match for Mother Russia.

Ivan picks up Rezin like a toddler, and tosses him into the corner. Rezin’s legs go flying up into the air and he lands in a seated position. Then it’s Ruslan’s turn to pound on the Universal champion, using his baton to batter him. One baton shot opens up a cut along Rezin’s eyebrow, causing a steady trickle of blood to start flowing from the Goat Bastard’s skull.

Nick Stuart: This is a travesty! This is a mockery of PRIME!

Richard Parker: Do you want Ivan to come over here about what you’re saying, again? I don’t think this cell can actually come between you and him, you know.

Meanwhile, Ivan is tackled at the waist by Hanlon, but Ivan stands his ground and deadlocks Hayes with a side headlock. With a roar, Ivan tosses Hanlon away with something resembling a giant swing done by headlock. Ivan stalks after the former champion after that, cornering him and simply ramming his body into Hanlon’s several times in a row.

While this is happening, Ruslan reaches into his overcoat and pulls out a set of handcuffs. For the Russians, this war has always been about Hayes Hanlon. No Rezins allowed. As Rezin lies in the corner bleeding, Ruslan slaps the cuffs on Rezin’s left wrist and connects it to the bottom rope. Rezin goes wide-eyed the moment he regains enough sense to realize that he’s been trapped. 

Nick Stuart: And now Rezin’s handcuffed to the bottom rope!

Richard Parker: That’s been a long time coming. Think of all of the big crime this guy has done since he walked into PRIME! Alexei’s just making a citizen’s arrest! Uh, a Russian citizen’s arrest, mind you. It counts!

Nick Stuart: How many Universal champions lose their titles because someone handcuffed them to the top rope in the middle of a match!?

Richard Parker: Uh, one. Right now. Duh.

Ruslan backs off, dangling the keys in front of Rezin, laughing. With a casual toss, he throws it far outside of the ring, as far away from Rezin as possible. Then he looks down at his hands and notices how much Rezindue is on him, so he wipes his hands on the sides of his pants as he turns to assist Ivan again.

Noticing the remaining two chairs in the corner, Ruslan picks both of them up and takes them to the center of the ring, and sets them both up next to each other, the seats facing one another. After a moment to think about it, he switches the chairs around, the steel backs of the chairs forming a significant spike. There’s gasps of horror when Ivan pulls Hanlon to the center of the ring with the chairs behind him. There’s no preamble. There’s no Iron Curtain. He’s going straight for the Red Scare. If he hits this on Hanlon, it would be a career-threatening impact and possibly a life-threatening one. Not that Ivan cares. 

Because this is war.

But if this is war, then Hayes Hanlon isn’t about to go down without a fight. He blocks the Red Scare, hooking his leg around Ivan’s. Ivan’s strength might have overcome this simple counter if he hadn’t been so thoroughly weakened by all of the action in the contest. Hanlon grasps Ivan’s wrist holding his head, and starts to power his way out of the front facelock.

Naturally, Alexei moves to stop him.

He grabs hold of Hayes, trying to slow him down and remove whatever leverage he’s using to actually overpower the weakened Stanislav. But Hayes still gets out of the front facelock, and he lands a big right hand to Stanislav that manages to stagger him. He shakes off Ruslan, and then pelts him with a right hand that sends his hat flying off his head and puts him on the ground.

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: Hayes Hanlon is fighting back! Somehow!

It doesn’t last.

Ivan lurches forward and buries most of his knee and thigh into Hanlon’s gut, which elevates Hanlon off of the ground a full two feet into the air before he crashes down to the mat. Ivan hesitates, still dazed from the right hand, before he picks up Hayes and…

CRASH!

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: SPINEBUSTER FROM HANLON!

The fucking ring just shook. The two steel chairs set up to murder Hanlon fall over. Even the cell that surrounds it rattles a bit, as over six hundred pounds of human being crashes to the mat. Hanlon hooks the leg. But there still isn’t a referee… until Elvis Nixon slides into the ring to make the count two seconds late!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—ALEXEI!

Ruslan comes flying into the scene and breaks up the pin, peppering Hanlon with right hands the entire time. Nixon recognizes that Ruslan’s not supposed to be there, but his words for him are ignored. In Alexei’s mind, a referee’s only job is to count a pinfall for Ivan and hand him the championship he should’ve been handed well before this entire mess happened.

Nick Stuart: Dammit! Hanlon almost had that won, but that damn snake just came out of nowhere to keep him from pinning Ivan!

Something is going on with the Rezin side of things. Rezin is now on the outside of the ring, with the only part of him visible to the hard camera being his left arm. He’s looking for something underneath the ring.

Inside the ring, Alexei is still pounding away on Hanlon, but Hanlon is already surging to his feet. Ruslan is discovering that his blows aren’t really having as much effect on Hanlon now with the big man from Oregon running purely on adrenaline. Finally, he lands one big punch to Hanlon’s jaw, and Hanlon’s only reaction is for his head and eyes to snap directly upon Alexei. His eyebrows are raised, and the blood on his face only highlights just how furious he looks.

Two hands go to Alexei’s throat. For a moment, it looks like he’s about to launch him for the Epoch. However, it doesn’t happen, because Alexei knees him between the goal posts. Hanlon lets go, clutching his manhood and falling to his knees.

Nick Stuart: Someone do something about Alexei out here!

Richard Parker: But there’s no disqualifications in a cell!

Alexei smiles, and goes to lend a hand to Ivan in getting the Russian Bear back to his feet. The huge spinebuster had taken a lot out of Stanislav, and he is slow to get to his feet. Once he’s certain that Ivan’s going to get to his feet, Alexei turns and starts kicking Hanlon out of the ring. Hanlon is rolled close to the broken part of the cell where his body hit earlier, but he grabs Alexei’s boot on one last kick and starts to rise. Alexei’s eyes fill with panic, and he hurriedly tries to grab a weapon from within his coat.

Too slow.

RAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!

A bone-crunching lariat from Hammerin’ Hanlon rocks Alexei and drops him to the ground. And things are even once again… for maybe a few seconds, anyway.

Ivan picks up one of the unfolded steel chairs, and without any care at all about folding it and making it an even less dangerous projectile, he hurls it at Hanlon’s head. 

CRACK!

Nick Stuart: GOOD GOD!

Richard Parker: ¡Ay Hoyt mío!

The flat of the chair impacts Hanlon and then bounces off of his head, over the top rope, and into one of the more intact the cell walls behind him. The leg gets caught against the chain link and hangs there precariously. Hanlon slumps against the top rope, and Ivan doesn’t hesitate. He steps over the top rope and to the outside, and grabs hold of Hanlon. 

There’s gasps of horror as Ivan’s intentions become clear.

Including from the announce team who realize that they’re technically in the path of what’s about to come.

Nick Stuart: Move! MOVE!

Richard Parker: AUUUGH!

There’s a cacophony of sound. Let us regale you with some of them.

CRAAASH!

OHHHHHHHHH!!!

HOLY SHIT!

DYAAHAAHAA!!!

Let’s go in reverse order to explain these sounds: Ivan’s signature laughter as he stands on the apron, admiring his handiwork. The crowd’s later reaction to the aforementioned handiwork. The crowd’s initial reaction to the aforementioned handiwork. Hayes Hanlon being launched as though by trebuchet into the broken cage wall with Ivan’s deadly Red Scare, his body’s weight causing it to collapse outward on top of the commentary table where Nick and Richard had been sitting before they realized that they needed to get the fuck out of there. 

Hayes Hanlon lies in a crumpled heap on top of what’s left of that panel of the cage. Ivan leaves the safety of the ring to peel Hanlon up off of the cage, lifting him up as though picking up a small child. When Ivan rolls him back into the ring, he covers Hayes… and Alexei immediately puts himself on top of Ivan!

ONE!

Is this destiny?

TWO!

Is this finally the culmination of everything that Ivan and Alexei had been seeking?

THRE-ZINSAULT!

OHHHHHHHH!!!

It isn’t.

The Goat Bastard comes flying off of the ropes with a picture perfect Rezinsault, landing on top of both Russians and breaking up the pin.

Nick Stuart: Are… are we on!?

Richard Parker: Holy sweet Hoyt, my whole life flashed before my eyes…

Nick Stuart: How the hell did Rezin uncuff himself?

Richard Parker: Wait… the bottom rope… the bottom rope is off!

Indeed, during the entire confusion where Ivan had been launching Hayes to his doom, Rezin had found the toolbox underneath the ring and had undone the bottom rope. Ivan and Alexei, in the heat of the moment, when they thought their victory had been assured… never even paid it a second glance.

Alexei’s the first to his feet. He’s been battered. He’s taken more than a few shots in this contest, and Ivan has taken so much damage that even he is slow to recover. Rezin is wobbly, legs like spaghetti. But he has something in his hand for Alexei: the handcuff still latched to his wrist. It’s all he needs to put Alexei’s lights out.

OOOOOOHHHH!!

Alexei’s lights look dim after Rezin punches him with the other half of the handcuff in his hand, but Rezin makes it a point to hold Alexei up for a few more seconds. He looks down at Ivan. He wants the Russian Bear to watch what’s about to happen.

Nick Stuart: CLOVEN HOOF KICK!

Richard Parker: Oh no! He just pressed Alexei’s off switch!

Alexei falls down like a broken toy. His night is done.

Ivan picks himself up from the ground and comes for Rezin. The titanic Russian moves in on the Universal Champion with every intent to tear him in half. Longways, if he had his say. 

Rezin knows two things. The first is that Ivan at his full height wouldn’t be able to take the deadly weapon that is his Cloven Hoof Kick to the chin, the same way it’s worked on Hayes Hanlon on multiple occasions. The second is that there’s more than a few ways to bring the juggernaut to his knees. Rezin rolls past Ivan, and picks up the other chair. He snaps it closed and when Ivan turns to face Rezin, the Goat Bastard strikes.

CRACK!

And he takes Ivan’s leg out from under him with the chair. It’s less the home run swing that Ivan experienced from Hayes Hanlon earlier in the contest, and more like a golf swing. Ivan goes down, clutching his knees, yelling in agony. Rezin brings the chair down on the Russian, who manages to protect his head with his arms, and the Goat Bastard continues to swing the thing down on Ivan until the chair loses both the top part of it and even the seat.

Here’s a sampling of the sounds you may hear from that: CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! GRAAARGH! CRACK! CRACK!

With Ivan beaten down, Rezin goes for the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

FUNGAHHH!

That’s the frustrated sound Rezin makes when Ivan kicks out. Thinking quickly, Rezin crawls over to the still-downed Hanlon and covers him as well.

ONE!

TWO!

GRAAABFBFBFFFF!

As it turns out, Hanlon’s had far too much time to cover from the Red Scare. The Universal Champion rips at his hair, but sees Ivan is already recovering behind him. He has to do something to take him down. Anything. So, Rezin goes to the outside, and manages to climb up to the top rope despite the lack of a bottom rope. Ivan is to his knees just as Rezin leaps.

OHHHHHHHHHH!!!

It’s a thing of beauty trapped within a crust punk. Rezin performs a shooting star, flying towards Ivan with the cat-like agility that you wouldn’t expect from the Universal Champion. For a moment, Ivan seems to have caught him out of the skies. However, Rezin’s legs are still in motion when that happens, and he grasps Ivan’s head before he continues into a thunderous DDT! 

Nick Stuart: A SHOOTING STAR DDT FROM REZIN!

Richard Parker: IMPOSSIBLE!

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

There is, however, a problem.

A lot of Ivan’s weight still landed on top of Rezin, and Ivan has a prodigious amount of that. As such, while Ivan is down… so is Rezin, the wind knocked out of him from the sheer inertia. Thinking about the consequences of what you do before you do it? That ain’t fuckin’ punk rock.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon is down! Rezin is down! Ivan is down! Even Alexei is down! Who is going to come out on top in this insane match!?

Richard Parker: I don’t know!

It takes Rezin too long to roll Ivan over, given the amount of dead weight involved. But once he mercifully does, he drapes an arm over Ivan’s chest and makes the cover.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-HANLON!

Nick Stuart: I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HAYES HANLON IS STILL IN THIS THING!

Richard Parker: HOW!?

Rezin looks up dazed, and sees Hayes on all fours next to Ivan and himself. And he sees red. Time and time again, Hayes Hanlon remains a thorn in his side. Nevermind the fact that he’s as much of a thorn in Hanlon’s side, that’s not important. What is important to Rezin is that he has to take down Hanlon and secure his place as the ANTI-CHAMPION.

Rezin crawls until he finds the last of the intact steel chairs, the one that Hanlon had tossed down earlier. He brings it down on Hanlon’s back.

CRACK!

Then a second time.

CRACK!

Hanlon writhes in pain as Rezin places the bent chair on top of Hanlon’s chest and goes to the corner. This would be the end. And what a fitting end it would be! To vanquish Hayes Hanlon for a third straight time, and to do so in the most punk rock manner possible.

He jumps up to the second rope. Then to the top rope. And there, as he’s done so many times, Rezin flies majestically.

His landing is not so majestic.

Nick Stuart: REZINSAULT… MISSES! ONTO THE CHAIR!

Rezin bounces off the steel chair, instantly regretting his life decisions. Hanlon has moved out of the way, leaving only the chair behind for Rezin to land on. Hanlon slowly gets back up, but he’s ready. His arms are in the air, and he’s gathering energy. When Rezin gets to his feet, Hanlon shoves him into the ropes.

There’s just one problem with setting up the Epoch like this.

The ropes haven’t been in a good state since Rezin had to break them to get himself free. So when Rezin flies into the ropes… the remaining ropes give way, and Rezin spills out to the floor like your weird uncle might spill out from his porch after one too many Miller Lites. Hi, George.

And so, Rezin escapes the Epoch, once again.

Hanlon collapses to one knee. He’s spent. All of his energy would’ve gone into that Epoch, but Rezin – being Rezin – spoiled things in his own unique way. 

Nick Stuart: LOOK OUT!

Ivan Stanislav is risen. The moment Hanlon turns, he’s run over by Ivan like roadkill with a huge body block. Then he grabs Hanlon and pulls him to the edge of the ring. There’s no more ropes. It’s hard to keep your footing here with all of the ropes on the ground. Still. Ivan Stanislav has to be rid of Hayes Hanlon. So he picks up Home Run Hayes by the throat…

…and chokeslams him to hell.

OHHHHHHHH!!!

Nick Stuart: OH MY GOD! IVAN STANISLAV JUST CHOKESLAMMED HANLON FROM THE RING TO THE FLOOR!

Richard Parker: That’s it, he’s dead. D-E-D, dead. Cause of death: Ivan Stanislav.

Ivan raises his arms into the air and laughs.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!!

Like that.

It’s going to be over soon. All Ivan has to do is get Hanlon back into the ring, and it will be over. Great Mother Russia would sing his name. But as Ivan drops his arms and basks in the inevitability of his victory, one fly in the ointment remains.

CRACK!

A steel chair to the back, courtesy of Rezin.

Nick Stuart: Rezin just hit Ivan with that steel chair!

Richard Parker: And Ivan doesn’t give a crap!

Ivan turns around, nonplussed.

Rezin gawks at the indomitable Russian, who takes a step towards him. Rezin realizes that he’s all but poked the Russian bear, and looks around for a means of escape. He sees it. It’d been opened up by Ivan himself just minutes ago into the match. 

In the heat of the moment, Ivan forgets about Hanlon and starts stalking Rezin. Rezin jumps from the ring apron to the collapsed section of the cell, and he’s out. 

He’s out of the goddamn cell that’s meant to keep him there.

Richard Parker: Oh no! He’s loose! The Goat Bastard is loose!

Nick Stuart: This isn’t good… he’s right out here in front of us, Richard!

You know who else is out there with you, Richard? Ivan. The big Russian has followed Rezin out to the announce table, climbing over the fencing that now covers the table. 

Now, you might think based on prior events that Rezin’s already getting the fuck out of the building. And indeed, he’s at the timekeeper’s table picking up the burlap sack that contains the Universal championship. Maybe that would’ve been true two weeks ago. Yet… he stops. He remembers what’d been chanted at him just two weeks ago when he was about to give up the Universal championship and walk out of ReVival 25.

He turns and wallops Ivan across the face with the belt. Ivan falls onto his back, on top of the fencing that itself is on top of the announce table. He doesn’t move. Rezin could’ve fled, lived up to his title of “Escape Artist”. No one would have been able to catch him. He could take the title and make a break for it, and who would stop him? 

But that ain’t punk rock, is it?

Richard Parker: What… what is he doing!?

Instead, Rezin drops the burlap sack holding the championship and grabs hold of a section of the cell that hasn’t been broken yet. He hesitates. This, he knows, has the potential to go incredibly poorly. But thinking about the consequences of the things he does ain’t punk rock, so he begins to climb up.

Nick Stuart: He’s climbing the cage! REZIN IS CLIMBING UP!

Richard Parker: This maniac!

Every once in a while, as Rezin makes his ascent, he checks over his shoulder to see if Ivan is still there. He’s exhausted. He’s taken a lot of punishment. He still has handcuffs on his left wrist, and he has to take care to not accidentally cuff himself to the cage. 

It isn’t until Rezin is nearly at the top of the cell that he notices something terrible is happening: Ivan is back up. Rezin’s best-laid plans that he definitely didn’t decide to do on a whim just now are going up in dope smoke. 

Ivan stares up at Rezin as Rezin stares down at him, mid-climb. After that briefest of moments, Ivan starts climbing up after Rezin.

Nick Stuart: I don’t know if this cell is meant to have Ivan Stanislav climbing it, but he’s on his way after Rezin!

Richard Parker: Imagine how far Rezin would go if Ivan were to yeet him off of the cage. I’m just saying.

Rezin makes indescribable noises as he realizes that the Russian Bear is climbing up after him. Despite age and gravity forming a formidable tag team against him, Ivan is already halfway up the cage by the time Rezin pulls himself up to the roof of the cage.

Nick Stuart: This is insanity! Rezin is actually on the roof of the cage! The damn roof! 

Richard Parker: What, does he have a goddamn jet pack up there!? There’s only one way he’s getting down with Ivan coming after him, and there isn’t a mosh pit in the world that’s going to catch him!

It’s only now that Rezin realizes he might have made a little mistake. Within the ring, he had many avenues of attack against Ivan Stanislav. It’s a place more familiar to Rezin than any home he’d ever had. The top of the cell isn’t that. It’s as alien and as foreign to Rezin as a swank penthouse, or that fancy haute couture place with the suits that cost as much as a decent car. 

He does the only thing he can do.

He meets Ivan at the top of the cage and tries to punch him back down before he can climb up.

Nick Stuart: We really shouldn’t be here.

Richard Parker: NOPE! I don’t want to be at ground zero of the Tunguska Event in Dallas!

Rezin’s punches only seem to serve to piss Ivan off even more than he already is. With one meaty paw, he punches Rezin hard enough to send him flying backwards into a dangerous roll along the chain-linked roof of the cell. This gives Ivan enough room to complete his ascent to the top of the cell. 

Even at the top of this massive structure, Ivan Stanislav looms large. It’s because of his size and weight that he has to step carefully around the top of the cell, lest he falls through. Despite this, he’s able to stalk Rezin all the way to the center of the cage, where…

OHHHHHHH!!!

…he gets kicked square in the motherland.

Nick Stuart: A low blow! A low blow from Rezin!

Richard Parker: Even Ivan’s got to feel that one!

Rezin’s wobbly, but Ivan is down to one knee. He looks down in the ring, where referee Elvis Nixon is checking on the conditions of both Hanlon and Ruslan. And an idea forms in his head, consequences be damned. If he does what he’s about to do, there’s a good chance that the cell would come down and both of them would get sent straight to hell in the process. 

He hooks Ivan’s head.

For Rezin, it’d be a fitting way to bring this sordid tale to an end. In ink. Black as the VOID.

Nick Stuart: No way…

Richard Parker: Oh, fuck.

There’s horrified sounds of anticipation as Rezin takes a leap into the air.

Into. The. VO—

No. Ivan blocks it. He has Rezin held aloft, mid-flip. Rezin shakes his head, disbelieving, as Ivan adjusts his footing… and throws Rezin forward.

Rezin: OHGAWDARRRRRGH!

CRASH!

…

CRAAAAAAASH!

The crowd is deafening.

So is the sound of the ring’s demise.

That first crash is Rezin falling through the cell. The panel opens up underneath him and the void underneath it swallows him right up. It’s the second crash that really puts an exclamation mark on everything. Rezin hits the canvas hard enough to crater it. The ring buckles, and then partially collapses. Elvis Nixon goes flying out of the ring in shock and surprise. Alexei Ruslan is conscious just long enough to get flung out of the ring and onto the floor, like the projectile of the world’s least practical catapult. 

There’s only one man standing after all of this.

Ivan Stanislav looks down at his handiwork for only a few fleeting moments, satisfied at the destruction he has wrought. Then he looks up at the roof of the stadium, and bellows one of the greatest of his laughs yet.

Ivan Stanislav: DYAAHAAHAA!!!

All he has to do is get down, and his victory would be assured. He turns to the edge of the cage and starts to climb down.

He only just gets started down the cage when he sees a nightmare unfold before him.

RAHHHHHH!!!

Ivan’s eyes go wide. 

Because Hayes Hanlon is crawling over to what’s left of Rezin.

Nick Stuart: Hanlon… HANLON’S GOT AN ARM OVER REZIN!

Richard Parker: NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!

Elvis Nixon, who’d been tossed from the collapsing ring just moments ago, is able to see Hanlon on top of Rezin from the floor. Ivan realizes that time is of the essence, if he doesn’t get down the cage sooner then everything he’s worked for would be lost.

Yet his body won’t go faster than it is, because Father Time is undefeated.

Nixon is able to get back into the broken ring, and administer the count.

ONE!

In his rush, Ivan drops down to the floor, but his legs give out underneath him the moment he hits the floor.

TWO!

He can’t make it.

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

Pandemonium.

Jubilation.

The long waking nightmare is finally over.

Vince Howard: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE WINNER OF THIS MATCH…….. AND NEWWWWWWWWWWWWW PRIME UNIVERSAL CHAMPION! HAAAAAAAAYYYYYYEEEEEESSSSSS HAAAAAAAAANNNNNNLOOOOOOOONNNNNNN!!!!!!

Nick Stuart: I DON’T BELIEVE IT!

Richard Parker: NO! COMRADE… Comrade…

Nick Stuart: HAYES HANLON HAS SURVIVED THE CELL! HAYES HANLON IS THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION ONCE AGAIN!

Hayes Hanlon can barely even get to one knee, and he seems barely even aware of his surroundings. But when Elvis gives him the grimy burlap sack that contains the Universal championship, Hayes knows he’s done it.

The Universal championship looks like it’s seen better days, like it’s finally being liberated after 56 days of captivity by a deranged prison warden. It’s covered in cruft and grime and whatever else Rezin’s probably inflicted upon it. Yet, in the hands of the new champion, it looks like it’s received a new lease on life. A new chance to shine brilliantly once again.

Richard Parker: That damn Rezin… even in defeat, he knows how to stick it to people.

Nick Stuart: Folks, we have a new champion! Ivan Stanislav and, if he’s even able to stand after all of this, Rezin will be in the Culture Shock Battle Royal tomorrow night!

The camera cuts to Ivan Stanislav, sitting against the wall of the cell, beside himself with grief. He had it. He had it. All he can do is stare at his knees, cursing them. Cursing age itself. Over his shoulder in the shot behind him, is the scene of Hayes Hanlon barely able to raise his arms in triumph… title belt in hand.

Richard Parker: I wouldn’t want to be anyone in that match standing in the way of Ivan after what just happened.

Nick Stuart: For Richard Parker, I’m Nick Stuart… good night, everyone!

The war is over. 

For now. 

FADE.

TO.

BLACK.