The chaos of the Culture Shock Battle Royal continues airing on television screens backstage in the AT&T center. All PRIME staff and support have their eyes glued to the televisions—creating a quiet environment backstage. Everyone’s focused on making sure the night is magical for the fans. All except REAL LOVE® Darin Zion’s…
Zion’s had a rough night after getting eliminated seventh by Brandon Youngblood. An ice pack rests on his damaged back. He’s saunter around backstage slowly, navigating using the walls as a crutch. Every footstep causes Zion to yelp out in excruciating pain. His face winces each time trying to move back to the LOVE CONVOY’S® special locker room.
As he turns towards the monitors, Zion sinks towards the ground. His eyes glued to the screen. An intense gaze of focus makes his eyes widen when his archrival Brandon Youngblood appears on the screen as one of the final four. Zion can feel his blood boiling, his stomach turning, and his veins popping out of his forehead. His fists shake with the feeling of growing bitterness in his soul.
HE COST JONATHAN-CHRISTOPHER HALL THE UNIVERSAL TITLE.
Zion failed his mission in protecting the LOVE CONVOY’S® assets. He fell short on the promise he made to his BESTEST FRIEND IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD—Vickie Hall. He cracks his neck a couple times to release any tension from the pain caused from his elimination.
Zion bites down hard on his lip—keeping his inner most thoughts closed off from the rest of the world about Brandon. He wants to cuss out like a sailor, he wants to blast insults, he craves nothing more than slandering Youngblood’s name. But what good would that do now after PRIME officials sent TOUGH LOVE® back to the locker room—keeping their restraining orders intact against the LOVE CONVOY.
With each passing strike from Youngblood’s fists—it makes Zion want leap from the ground. It makes him want to emerge from the back, getting revenge against the cold-hearted wrestler who caused him pain. As Tyler Best hoists Youngblood up—Zion leaps off the ground, flinging his fist up in celebration.
Darin Zion: YEEEEEEEEESSSS! OOOOOOOOWWWW!
It’s the first time in Zion’s life he’s ever rooted for a Best. All those pent-up frustrations he’s had with their family and their stupid Alliances—gone. All REAL LOVE wishes for is someone….ANYONE to eliminate the Youngblood problem.
Pain surges through Zion’s legs as he falls back down to the floor. Lying back flat towards the ground, he hears Nick Stuart and Richard Parker hyping up the TY-BREAKER. A smile cracks his face before it fades away to shock. Zion’s ears perk up when Youngblood stuns Best with a boot to the face. Zion crosses his fingers.
Zion’s hands fold together while he prays under his breath.
Darin Zion: Please God! Let TAB finish that bastard off.
Nick Stuart: And there were three! TAB with a phenomenal elimination of Youngblood…
Darin Zion: FUUUUUUUUCK YES! FUUUUUUUCK YES! FUCK Brandon Youngblood! Fuck him, fuck his family. Fuck anyone, anything, any animal that associates with him. FUCK ‘EM ALL! I hope that sick son of a bitch rots in hell.
As REAL LOVE® scoops himself off the mat—he notices everyone in the backstage area giving him a glare. A simple shrug of his shoulders displays Zion’s feelings towards their disdain.
Darin Zion: I meant every word of it too. I don’t care what any of you think worthless hacks think. Brandon Youngblood is Love’s Public Enemy #1. He’s pure hatred! He is ruining this company and sport.
Zion’s face grimaces while he uses his left shoulder to rest against the wall. He moseys out of the scene, clinching his back and groaning while he’s heading back to his locker room, celebrating this momentous occasion.
TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAAAAAP! TAAAAAP! TAAAAAP!
The sounds of hard keyboard strokes reverberate through the tin walls of the PRETTY PINK EXPRESS®. The bus is on its way to the Paycom Area in Oklahoma City. The flat, uninteresting trees and grass fly by like green blurs in the distance. Jonathan-Christopher Hall’s taking a nap while TCG’s piloting the bus. It’s a perfectly quiet Sunday afternoon. The sun is brightly beaming throughout the pink, red, and white fuzzy walls surrounding the Convoy members.
But Darin Zion’s not interested in rest right now. He’s still seething, flashing back towards his tragic elimination at Youngblood’s hands. The wounds of his moment of weakness still scar his love-filled soul. Instead of the warm-tingly feeling burning through his body—his heart feels a slight ounce colder, almost hardened since that day. It’s almost like he’s empty inside after everyone of the Convoy members came up short.
Sure, deep in his heart—Darin knew 2B1 still reigned as the 4EVA PRIME Tag Team Champions. Darin still held the newly christened 4EVA PRIME ALIAS Championship. And his best friend overcame the odds to claim the 4EVA PRIME BATTLE ROYAL Championship at Culture Shock too! THE LOVE CONVOY® got the sickest, thiccest gainz any PRIME stable ever accomplished. These were things to sing and sick love song to share with the roster.
However, it still all felt empty to Zion. All these accolades appeared to him like participation trophies lacking any sort of meaning. Worse of all, Youngblood upstaged every one of his friends and a new fire fueled him—a dark, maroon, satanic one began caking over his heart.
This naysayer Brandon Youngblood needs to find love, and Darin Zion has now made it his personal mission to help Mr. Youngblood find it. Searching high and low over the internet—Zion hit the custom shop of Hustler Hollywood in the OKC area. He spent all Sunday designing custom blow-up doll with the gorgeous face of Vickie Hall. This would certainly help Mr. Youngblood relive all that pent up aggression in his cold, dark, hardened heart.
50 Vickie Hall blow up dolls are locked and loaded, ready to go straight to Brandon’s house. All REAL LOVE® needs to hit is the glowing green BUY NOW button on the website…
Vickie Hall: What in God’s green earth are you doing, Zion?!
Darin leaps up from the red-leather computer chair, trying to use his body as a shield to cover the screen. Both he and Vickie bob to and fro for a moment before she shoves him out of the way. Her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees the artwork Zion’s created.
SMAAAAACK! SMAAAACK! SMAAAAACK!
Vickie Hall: DAR-BEAR! SWEET D! Why in our good God’s name would you do this?
REAL LOVE plops on the couch near him and sulks for a few moments, crossing his arms against his chest. He lets out an audible sigh while Vickie continues to chastise him.
Vickie Hall: You know I’m a happily married woman. And you want that PIG to do unmentionable things with a caricature of ME?! That’s gross and disgusting! How dare you!
Zion’s hand rests over the ugly, red welt across his face while he lays against the couch, cowering. As Vickie goes for another swing, Zion’s arm goes up to block her. He struggles for a moment, but he stops to plea with the frustrated Mrs. Hall.
Darin Zion: STAAAAAP! I get it. I had a moment of weakness Vickie. My humblest of apologies my dear—I didn’t mean to hurt you. But…
Zion’s eyes turn away from Vickie—eying out into the wilderness. He’s struggling to find words for all his emotions. He’s turned into a blithering train wreck.
Darin Zion: I—I—I—-UGH!
One swift punch to the bus wall resounds catching the rest of the LOVE CONVOY’s attention. Zion’s tugging and pulling his hair, letting out primal screams and grunts. He leaps straight off the couch and stomps his foot against the ground.
Darin Zion: I can’t shake this God Damned emptiness I’ve felt since Culture Shock. When Brandon sent me sailing across the ropes. I haven’t felt the same.
Vickie Hall: Zion—you haven’t lost a single match in forever. You’re a double champion—soon to be a Triple Champion with the #LoveStillDominatesChampionship. We’re at the top of our games—no one could ever stop the power of love. Don’t let that one ugly tatted biker freak kill all that mom…
Darin Zion: NOOO! That’s just it, Vickie. I can’t let that go. I let the entire Convoy down when I could have stopped Suplex Daddy. The formerly #2 Ranked HOW wrestler could EASILY toppled PRIME’S #2. I’ve been on a God damn tear every where I’ve been this year. Yet I get tossed first. I could have easily shown Youngblood the power of love. Yet I became so helpless and worthless. Now his nasty vile HATRED is poisoning me. He’s corrupting me, Vickie. I’m becoming some hate-filled zombie.
The gasps of all three LOVE CONVOY® member echo throughout the bus. The tension causes Jonathan-Christopher Hall to leap straight out of his seat. Making a beeline for his best friend, he wraps his arms tight around Zion, trying to encourage him.
Jonathan-Christopher Hall: You don’t mean that, Sweet D. You’ve got the biggest heart out of any one of us.
Tristian-Crispin Gladhappy: MAY THE POWER OF LOVE COMPEL YOU! MAY THE POWER OF LOVE COMPEL YOU, ZION!
Vickie Hall: Yeah! You took all the time in the world to save my wonderful hubby, Jonathan-Christopher. You pulled him out of the abyss of loneliness.
Zion’s sink to the ground while he shakes his head. He couples his hands together, swaying back and forth, trying to surrender that dark feeling to all the encouragement surrounding him. Unfortunately, it’s to no avail. A dark, heavy cloud, surrounds Zion’s thoughts. For the first time ever, a frown appears on his face.
Darin Zion: No! He’s gotten to me, guys. I want…no I CRAAAAAAVE revenge. I want his blood all over my hands. He embarrassed me in front of the whole world on national television. I MUST make him find love some way or somehow. It doesn’t matter the means, even if it’s wrong. I must help make Brandon Youngblood see the error of his ways. I’ve gotta do my part to warm his chaotic heart—any means necessary. His vary existence is a plague to our cause.
The weight grows within the room while Vickie and JCH both wrap their arms around Zion, hoping to cleanse the hatred out of his heart. A tear falls from Zion’s eyes as he struggles to hug his friends back.
Darin Zion: At ReViVal this week—no excuses. It ain’t REAL LOVE® comin’ out. It’s TOUGH LOVE®. And like it or not…he’s gonna knock any skulls in his way until he climbs his way up the rankings. Until I have Youngblood’s blood on my hands—I won’t stop until I rectify what he’s done to us….to you guys…the friends I LOOOOOOVE.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHAAAAAAAACK!
Darin Zion isn’t holding back any of his strikes. The black and yellow Gold’s Gym bag flies across the room. Every punch and kick hits with more force than the last. The pupils in his eyes dilate, his nostrils flare, and his gasps grow deeper. Zion throws all his weight into each strike, channeling his newfound rage and hatred.
With one swift, and powerful clothesline—TOUGH LOVE® knocks the punching bag off its hinges. An ugly, sick smile forms on his face. As he wipes the sweat off his face—a faint, stern clap is heard in the background.
Zion turns to find a familiar face from his past behind him. He nods in approval, rubbing his cold black leather gloves together. Zion approaches his friend, leaning in for a hug. However, this mysterious person moves out of the way, extending his hand up towards Zion’s chest. He makes a motion, slitting his throat with his thumb—signaling to finish the job.
Zion obliges the request, throwing more stiff punches straight into his target. More fury builds up in Zion while he continues to train. Zion locks over his shoulder to his old friend—caged fighter kingpin Jarome Owens.
Both men had their intense battles throughout the years including a minor war in the Indiana-based promotion PWX. However, both men had a mutual respect. Even if they’ve had their feuds over money, territory, or petty matters—Zion knew he needed someone with a cold-heart to channel his rage and frustrations to send a message to the PRIME roster.
As Zion gazes on, Jarome nods almost demanding his friend rip the lifeless sack into shreds. Hobbling over with his cane, he lectures Zion.
Jarome Owens: You think Tony Gamble or Sage Pontiff will ease up on you? It’s a triple-threat. It’s every man for themselves out there. They’ll stop at nothing to keep you from realizing your destiny.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Jarome Owens: They want a piece of him too. They’ll stop at nothing to ascend to the top of the rankings in PRIME to take what you want.
Zion grunts while he responds to his mentor.
Darin Zion: I…won’t…let…them…I won’t be denied….
Hoisting the bag over his shoulders, Zion nails a sick-looking suplex, dropping the bag on it’s flat, circular top. He proceeds to whip his body around—nailing a roundhouse kick to the bag.
Jarome Owens: PERFECT! Make them FEEL THE LOVE. SHOW THEM YOUR VERSION OF LOVE. Don’t let them deny your greatness. They want to EXPLOIT it as a weakness. Turn it into a strength.
Zion rushes the bag with all his force, nailing his signature TOUGH LOVE headlock driver. Kipping up from the mat, he walks over to Jarome, a stoic look plastered on his face.
Darin Zion: I plan on it, JO. Every person standing in that ring with me—they’re a threat. I’ll neutralize every last one of them until I earn my spot in Youngblood’s court. Every last opponent’s blood will be on my hands. It’s time to show PRIME who I really am. It’s time to show them what love means. Love hurts and those two rag dolls LT gave me this week. They’re the first examples. I will bring them to their knees and they—just like BY—will no longer deny the power of love.
Jarome pats Zion on his back, leaving this weaponized LOVE MACHINE ready to destroy anything in his path at ReViVal.