TRIBUTE

I.

When my colleague Chandler Tsonda penned his piece for The Players' Tribune nearly a year ago, I never imagined I'd be following his lead. Yet, here I am. Rose, daughter of PRIME Hall of Famer Dusk, ready to bare my soul to the internet.

I can almost hear the collective groan from PRIME fans. Trust me, I know I’m not your favorite. I've gone after your darlings. Since my debut at Colossus last year, I’ve been the thorn in PRIME’s side. (Watch the replay on the Ace Network! See? I can shill with the best of them.)

Colossus 2023. That day, everything changed -- it feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at the same time. I swore I’d never step into this word -- and on that day, I did.

I must address why I’m doing this before we move on. This next part is going to surprise people and it’s something I’ve kept to myself for far too long. But there’s no point in sharing this story if I’m not going to be honest, so here it is: My father, the legendary Dusk, passed away from brain cancer ten months ago.

Yeah. I know that's a bombshell. Trust me, I'm still reeling from it.

For ten months, I've carried this secret, this crushing weight. I haven't told a soul - not even Lindsay Troy. (Sorry, Lindsay. I know I’ll get a phone call the second this goes live.) The truth is, I've been running from it. Facing it meant accepting it happened. Even now, I'm not sure I am. But here we are.

We’ll circle back to it later, but you need that context for now. It’s crucial to understand why I’m writing this.

Growing up as Dusk's daughter, most assumed wrestling was in my blood. But I ran from it as fast as I could. I buried myself in law books and a life in courtrooms, not steel cages and suplexes. I sprinted through high school and college and graduated early to escape the wrestling world. I wanted a life far from my father’s legacy.

Looking back, I was running from more than just wrestling. I was running from grief. From the loss of my mother when I was just a kid. From the feeling that I didn’t fit into my dad's world of larger-than-life characters. When you're a teenage girl, all you want is your father's love, and while I'm sure I had it, not having my mother around made me rebel against him harder than he deserved.

Which makes the question ‘why’ even more perplexing considering everything. Something pulled me down this path, and I still don’t fully comprehend it.

In the months leading up to Colossus, I trained harder than I’d ever trained for anything—harder than I’d trained for my law degree, even. I had my dad’s genetics and his instincts, but in PRIME, that’s just the price of admission. It doesn’t get you very far.

New Orleans was set to be the stage for my first match, and being on a platform as grand as Colossus felt surreal. Then, my life was turned upside down again. My father was gone—just days before my match.

It all started after Culture Shock 2023. Phil Atken and Hank showed up, using my father's skull as a punching bag. Dad was out for days, suffering from his first-ever concussion. It led to a doctor's visit, revealing a mass on his brain. Was it because of what Hank and Atken did? Probably not. But that doesn't stop the fury I feel every time I see Cecilworth Farthington in catering.

Dad hid his diagnosis from me. I didn’t find out about it until just before Colossus 2022. (Seriously, what is it with Colossus and life-altering events for me?) I only learned about it because I was looking for something in his office. Was this why he was retiring? I'll never know. I didn’t get the chance to ask.

Because just days after his retirement match, my world shattered again. My husband died in a car crash - a crash that nearly claimed my daughter's life, too.

So, let's recap: Dad? Dead. Mom? Dead. Husband? Dead. Daughter? Still alive, thank God.

Sorry -- I didn’t mean to turn this in a ‘feel sorry for me’ party. Just, when I started, I found myself unable to stop. This grief, this anger -- it’s been bottled up inside for so long.

But let me shift gears. One memory shines bright: the last time I saw my father genuinely alive in the ring, filled with hope and that fighter's spirit that made him a legend.

Picture this: September 9th, 2022. Las Vegas. ReVival 15. It was supposed to be his last ReVival match, but right beforehand, he found out that if he won, he’d earn a Universal Title shot. One last hurrah. And standing in his way?

Cancer Jiles.

II.

The locker room air was thick with anticipation as Rose watched her father lace his boots. His Beetlejuice-esque tights contrasted sharply with the somber mood that had clung to him since his concussion. Today, though, there was a glimmer in his eyes she hadn’t seen in months.

"So," her voice cut through the silence. "Cancer Jiles."

Dusk looked up, wry smile playing at his lips. "Cancer Jiles," he echoed.

"He's a cockroach, Dad. He'll do anything to win. And I’m certain the eGG Bandits will lurk, ready to strike."

He nodded, meeting her gaze. "I know. It’s the same shit I’ve seen for thirty years now."

Rose hesitated. "This was supposed to be your next-to-last match. And Troy dangles a title shot as bait?"

Dusk stood, stretching. For a moment, Rose glimpsed the legend he’d always been. Then he was just her dad again, looking both determined and vulnerable.

"She’s no fool," he said softly. "It’s a long shot, but it’s my last chance to go out on top -- to capture something I’ve chased most of my career."

Hope. It was what had been missing from his eyes, and Rose realized she’d been missing it too. As she stared at him, she saw the toll of a life ravaged by injury and exertion. Could he win against someone like Jiles - younger, with the wind at his back, a cockroach?

Yet, his smile widened as he locked eyes with her. He squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve got one last fight left in me.” Then he winked.

Rose felt a lump in her throat. This was her dad—not the distant, somber man she'd been seeing lately, but the fighter she'd grown up admiring.

“Well then,” she managed a smile. “Let’s get you to the Argyle.”

Walking through the corridors, the crowd’s roar grew louder. Dusk’s stride had an extra spring. Near the curtain, they spotted The Anglo Luchador.

"Sorry about that, buddy," Craig offered as he wrapped his arms around his old friend. Tom shook his head.

“Ready for one last ride, old friend?” he asked warmly.

Dusk grinned, clasping his hand. "As ready as I'll ever be. Want to walk to Argyle with me?"

Rose felt grateful seeing her father supported as Tom nodded. She squeezed his hand. "Good luck out there, Dad."

He nodded, focus settling over his features. "Thanks, Rosie. Watch this old man work."

As The Anglo Luchador led Dusk towards the curtain, Rose caught his eye and nodded appreciatively. He returned it with a slight tilt of his head. She turned to leave, her heart a tangle of emotions.

Suddenly, Brandon Youngblood brushed past her, moving purposefully towards Dusk. He clapped a hand on Dusk's shoulder, sharing some last-minute encouragement.

Rose paused, watching the scene. A smile tugged at her lips as she saw her father surrounded by his peers, ready for what could be his final big match. As she turned to walk away, she felt a mix of pride, hope, and a twinge of something else—a premonition she couldn't quite shake.

III.

Reflecting on that match between my father and Cancer Jiles, anger surges through me. It played out just as I’d feared – true to for, Jiles sprayed mist into my father's eyes, stealing the victory and Dad’s last real shot at glory.

Jiles went on to capture the Universal Title at UltraViolence, while my father was offered a "true" farewell tour. The injustice still gnaws at me. Even now, sharing a locker room with The Anglo Luchador and Brandon Youngblood, I feel rage bubbling up. They were there. They could have stepped in. But they didn't.

I've turned my fury toward them both in the ring—with mixed results. But now, I face the man who took my father's hope—Cancer Jiles himself.

I know what I'm up against. Jiles is still a cockroach, determined to win at any cost. But he's different now - a wounded animal coming off a loss for the Universal Title at UltraViolence. He probably thinks I'm easy prey.

Jiles doesn’t understand that I’m not just fighting for myself. I'm fighting with purpose, carrying my father’s legacy. So, Cancer, be warned: fighting to preserve what you have is one thing—fighting for what you've lost? That's a whole different beast.

You might think you’re the top dog in PRIME, but you’re just a stepping stone towards someone worth my attention.

As I wrap this up, I think about everything I wish I’d said. So, Dad, if you’re reading this:

I’m sorry for being such a pain. I never understood your sacrifices or the strength it took to raise me while doing what you loved. I'm sorry for not dealing with your death head-on, for hiding it from everyone, including myself. It was easier to pretend, to keep running. But I'm done running now.

I hope I can make you proud, Dad. I'll never forget your most important lesson: Fight Through It All. That's what I'm doing now—fighting through grief, anger, and uncertainty, fighting for your legacy and my own place in this world you loved so much.

To everyone in PRIME – fans, fellow wrestlers, even you, Cancer Jiles – know this: Rose isn't just a name. It's a promise to honor my father’s legacy and carve out my path.

I dedicate this match to you, Dad. To our past fights, our victories, and the battles still to come. I may not have asked for this legacy, but I will live up to it.

Fight Through It All. I will, Dad.

I promise.

IV.

Rose leaned back in her chair, exhaling while the silence surrounded her, before moving the mouse to the ‘Send’ button.

Something made her pause.

Her eyes drifted to the folder icon labeled 'Drafts' in the corner of her screen. She noticed a file she didn't remember creating. Curiosity piqued, she clicked on it.

The document opened, revealing a portion of the article — addressed to Jiles. Scanning the words, a chill ran down her spine.

This was her writing, unmistakably so, but she had no recollection of penning these words.

V.

Lights.

Camera.

VENGEANCE~!

Balancing on the edge of righteous fury and raw rage, I peer over the edge of sanity, ready for it to consume me. On my face is a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. In my hand, a photo of my father. Around my neck, the suffocating weight of a legacy I never asked for, but can never escape.

"Cancer Jiles."

The name slips from my mouth, dripping with disdain. The truth is, I’m going to enjoy this more than I probably should. Cancer is like a cockroach, somehow surviving where he shouldn't. Despite his treachery, his cheating, and his ego, he’s managed to claw his way to success. Even if that success is as hollow as the victories he stole.

"The FORMER Universal Champion."

I nod, mockingly proud.

"The Egotistical Bandit."

Still mocking. Always mocking. This fraction of a human who only got to where he's at from stepping on better men than him -- like my father.

"The Coward."

On the tip of my tongue, I want to say that the only thing bigger than Cancer's ego is the hole where his soul should be. I hold my tongue. Not because I'm above petty insults. I'm not.

That same pettiness that Cancer thinks is his bread and butter.

"Loser."

My smile fades just like Cancer is fading into irrelevancy.

"Piece. Of. Shit."

Ha. Got em.

"I guess it's time to do this, huh Cancer?"

Funeral march.

"You and me. Me and you. One on one. Mano a Womano."

Take his phrase and twist it on him. Ain't that a bitch?

"ReVival."

Not Coolosus. Never Coolosus.

"Salt Lake City."

The opposite of everything Cool.

"Not Main Event."

The dagger. I thought to tell Lindsay to make it the opening match. He would’ve cried.

"Daughter and Destroyer."

I've been watching him, practicing for this moment. In the back of my mind, I wanted him to know what it felt like.

"I think fate has it out for you. It's determined to laugh in your face. Maybe you got the Fred Dick version of fate. I don't think you can fuck it like Fred did. At least not satisfactorily. Which, you know, is not like Fred setting a high bar. And yet, you still wouldn't manage to clear it. Not your first time, right?"

Destiny.

Not the stripper.

Or your carefully crafted delusions.

"This feels perfect. You just lost against Coral for the Universal Title. Coral, the very opposite of every fiber of your being. In case you missed it, I won at UltraViolence. When I think about your loss, I get a tad excited."

Honest.

Scout's honor. A tiny bit.

"This might be your last moment under the sun, Cancer. Win or lose, this might be the moment when everyone marks the start of your downfall. Well, that and when Coral took the Bandits away from you."

Coral is THE leader now.

"I'll be able to put that on my resume. Towards the bottom of it. Maybe. Probably not. Kids will be like... Cancer who?"

The truth hurts, doesn't it?

Trip and fall in the Epcot lagoon and maybe they will remember you.

"Let me let you in on something -- you're not talented enough to have made it as far as you have. Conniving? Desperate? Embarrassing? Sure. Talented and Cancer don't go together, though. You've coasted by on the backs of others, and well, Coral exposed you for the fraud you are. Even made you turn in your tracksuit. Sad day."

I snort.

"And to think, you could even be embarrassed more at ReVival."

As if those T-Shades aren't embarrassing enough.

The truth is, Cancer isn't listening to this, reading this, or any of those things. His ego is shattered -- in pieces. He's emasculated. You can't even see Cancer behind Coral's forehead because of how far back he has to stand now.

"Still, I might as well finish what I started, seeing as how we made it this far. So, while you're clutching your tattered tracksuit, tears straining to escape from the sealed-off tear ducts from the years of Botox, I'll get a few more things off my chest."

Nice seeing you mercy, welcome aboard reality check.

"First, let's clarify: you should've apologized when I showed up. It would have been best if you had come up to me and groveled at my feet. I never asked for it, but you definitely should have. Maybe, just maybe, I would've given you a pass. Perhaps you were mesmerized by Coral's forehead or something."

A beat.

"We'll chalk that up as a mistake of yours. One of many. The list is long."

If only he had an ounce of humility. Or knew how to read. Those things would come in handy.

"Just saying."

No use crying over spilled milk.

"Second -- you can throw your overused ego into the trash. Start a bonfire and toss that shit in there. Let it burn; watch the embers as your career dies off. Not the one from actually earning anything, but the one that Doozer and Dean and Gamble (why couldn't his name have started with a D?) stroked for you. The one that you delusionally think is secure because you have Hessian watching your back.

Delusional, that's the word that goes with Cancer. Desperate Has-Been, too.

"I don't know if you know this, but in your PRIME contract, they prepare you accommodations when you no longer positively impact the bottom line. It's under Clause I, for irrelevancy. I've already taken the steps to set that up for you. No thanks needed."

Dickweed.

"This day was always coming for you, Cancer. Not just the eGG Bandits laughing at you to your face now, but the moment when I was coming to collect for my father."

Unless you missed it, Cancer, I hate you. I hate your face. I hate your shades. I hate your tracksuit. I hate that you came into PRIME and defiled the company my father poured his life into. The reckoning is coming for you.

So start praying.

"I want you to know that I will take great joy in humiliating you in front of Salt Lake City. I look forward to you stumbling out of the Delta Center, broken and rejected. Your newly minted blazer shredded to strips. Gamble and Dean walking by you and looking through you like you’re Doozer. Hessian not stooping down to look you in the eyes. Your former family."

For the family. I wonder if you'll get visitation rights. Or if they'll be like, 'eh, fuck Daddy, we like new Daddy better'. They're going to ask Coral to walk them down the aisle at their weddings.

Time to face your sins, Cancer. Hubris has arrived and I imagine it's too late for you to change.

"Tell me, Cancer, when you lose, what's next? Match at Colossus? Fat chance."

A roll of the eyes.

"No, you'll have to beg even to be a curtain-jerker. That streak of main event matches will fade into nothing -- as if anyone but you gave a fuck about that made-up stat. The Bandits will have a reunion twenty years from now and won't be able even to remember your name. They'll remember ReVival 57, though. The night when Cancer was pantsed for the whole world to see."

Well, maybe not pantsed. I'm more of a 'twist the knife' type of girl.

"I hope you've enjoyed your... career... if you want to call it that. Not sure how you show off the accolades. 'This is the time I low-blowed someone. This is when Bobby Dean ate an entire Philly Cheesesteak and made Nate Colton queasy, so I rolled him up for the victory'. I'm not coming for a title; I'm coming for revenge."

Retribution for the match against my father. Justice for the fact we've had to watch you on our screens for nearly three years.

"Hope you make your amends, Jiles"

A smile creeps across my face.

"But even that won't be enough."

Pucker.

Middle Finger.

Fuck Off.

VI.

Rose’s eyes widened as she read the words on the screen -- words she didn’t remember writing. Each sentence pulsed with a darkness she couldn’t reconcile, filled with venom and hate. Each passing word unsettled her, not just for the content, but for the gap in her memory.

A chill snaked down her spine, the weight of the emotions hitting her like a cold wave. Her finger clicked the delete button. The words vanished, erasing the evidence of a cancerous side of herself she wasn’t ready to confront.

Rose slumped back into her chair. The harsh red glow of her desk clock pierced through the room—3:17 AM. The digits seemed accusatory, a reminder of how long she’d been trapped in this waking nightmare. Her muscles ached as she finally stood, crossing to her nightstand to grab her phone. Her fingers moved instinctively, scrolling through her contacts. Who could possibly understand the madness she was drowning in?

Without fully thinking, she typed a message: 'Need your help. You'll be at the Vegas show, oui?' She hit send before doubt could creep in, tossing the phone onto her bed.

A primal chill raced down her spine as she turned back toward her desk. The hairs on her neck stood at attention, every nerve screaming a silent alarm. In that moment, Rose knew with bone-deep certainty that she was no longer alone.

In one fluid motion, she whirled around, muscles coiled for combat. Her breath froze in her lungs as she found herself mere inches from a face that haunted her nightmares—one she never imagined invading the sanctuary of her home.

The sinister shadow behind Ivan Stanislav’s throne stood before her. With him, a mountain of menace cloaked her, much like the brown overcoat around his shoulders.

Bile froze in her throat. To have him so close, in her house, near her child. Her hand began to move towards anything she could use as a weapon.

“My condolences for your loss.”

Her eyes narrowed.

At Alexei Ruslan.