Our Thang

“I’m SPEECHLESS, boys! ABSOLUTELY SPEECHLESS!”

Deep in the bowels of the Xcel Energy Arena, Erik Black was anything but.

He paced the length of the locker room in a triumphant march, crowing, cackling, and carelessly shaking his fists overhead.

“You were nothing short of PHENOMENAL out there! TOP NOTCH! FIRST RATE! The very DEFINITION of ELITE! Give it ALL the STARS!! All those other teams were AMATEURS compared to you! INCLUDING those arrogant nepo babies! ‘Heirs to the THRONE’?! HA! More like HAIRS on my TUSHY!! Good GAWD, did either of you see the LOOK on LINDSAY’S FACE?!”

Zack Daymon and Leo Burnett had no words to spare for the raving lunatic in white.

To the recent winners of the Milo Flynn Cup, so deeply entrenched in savoring their moment of glory, he was barely a ghost.

In calm, reverent silence, they stood and stared in awe at the newly won trophy standing brilliantly on the bench between them. Their bodies, testaments to their wills of determination and persistence, hung heavy with the soreness that naturally comes after four matches across two nights of events, featuring some of the very best tag teams the world had to offer.

They exchanged glances, both understanding exactly what this accomplishment meant to them as a team that had dedicated themselves to five hard years of grinding through the ranks.

And what it meant to them as individuals.

For Zack, the son of a wrestler, it meant the end of the constant comparisons to his father and restoring the dignity of his family name. For Leo, a product of the one of the many statistical tragedies that plagued the Southside, it meant a long-awaited freedom from the guilt of his past, and a metamorphosis into something he only ever dreamed of becoming.

The mythical brass ring had been grabbed.

And the Rain City Ronin knew it was only the beginning of things to come.

“I seriously hope someone got a pic! Anyway, boys, I know you’re all excited and emotional right now, but I need you to SETTLE DOWN and LISTEN UP! Right now, we are the cusp of GREAT THINGS! With YOUR TALENT and MY CONNECTIONS, we are POISED to FINALLY USURP the THRONE of PRIME! Our MUTUAL ENEMIES in VAE VICTIS will FALL, and when they’re GONE, WE will be THERE to pick up the CROWN!!”

Daymon and Burnett stared dubiously at the man in white as he wore a grin too large and too forced to feel in any way natural or authentic.

“That is my GUARANTEE to you, boys! My VOW! My PROMISE!! NOTHING can stop us now! Events are ALREADY set into motion! And with your VICTORY tonight, I can assure you that NOTHING on GAWD’S GREEN EARTH is going to INTERRUPT OUR PLAN!!”

One week later…

“PLANS have CHANGED, boys!”

The morning after Ascension’s second night, an ivory white stretch limousine sat parked along a curb in downtown Indianapolis.

With the rear door hanging open, Black threw a set of suitcases stuffed with cash into the back seat.

“But THAT’S OKAY! Because moments of CRISIS only lend way to NEW AVENUES of OPPORTUNITY! When life hands you LEMONS, you just BURY THOSE LEMONS and RUN AWAY SCREAMING! Just keep GOING FORWARD and NEVER LOOK BACK! That’s been my MOTTO all through life, and it’s NEVER FAILED ME ONCE!”

Daymon and Burnett stood nearby on the sidewalk, watching their supposed benefactor packing up the limo like he was a monorail salesman trying to skip town. They listened to his frantic explanation in hushed, pensive reticence.

“Mind you, this isn’t to suggest I’m not EXTREMELY PEE-OH’D about this whole situation…”

In the nearby lot, the charred remains of the destroyed KABAL skyscraper continued to smolder and burn throughout uneven piles of scorched wood, blackened brick, and melted steel.

The building was thankfully empty as it steadily burned to the ground over the past 48 hours. Despite it being a complete loss, emergency crews were still on the scene that morning, hard at work putting out the lingering embers. The more seasoned firefighters would go on to say that they’d never seen a building burn quite so fast in all their years.

“Stupid Evansville Colton… all he had to do was lay there and let me ZAP is HAWG, but instead, he destroys my home! And your FATHER, Zack! After everything I DID for him! Not only did he BETRAY ME by selling company secrets, but he utterly FAILED to get the FIRE SUPPRESSION SYSTEM WORKING! I swear, you can’t put your TRUST in ANYONE anymore! But you boys still TRUST ME… RIGHT?!”

Leo squinted in uncertainty. Zack scrunched his nose in doubt.

“RIGHT! Of COURSE! Even after I sold my stake in the school back to Kurry without telling either of you, you STILL showed me TRUST! Because you KNOW that he and his Vae Victis CRONIES are OBVIOUSLY conspiring to STEAL IT out from under you! And of course, you UNDERSTOOD that I ONLY made that decision because I had a crazy, unstable PSYCHOBERRY threatening to take a BAT to my BABY-MAKER! ANYONE would be up to making a few CONCESSIONS in that position! Hell, I even let them take the DEATH RAY!”

Now he turned to them, forcing a grin that looked about as genuine as the golden brown swoop of hair extensions combed over his obviously bald pate.

“Again, you have to TRUST ME here! Necessary SACRIFICES need to be made to keep ourselves afloat! I know to a pair of young and untenured MINDS like YOURS, this may seem like a CATASTROPHIC DEFEAT… but I assure the both of you, this is merely an INCONVENIENCE! A tiny, barely noticeable SPEEDBUMP in our grand journey to the TOP! I could build a HUNDRED more buildings like this! A THOUSAND, even! But the truth is, the Kuroyama And Black Athletic Legion has BETTER business endeavors to seek than to dabble with those utter LOSERS in PRIME! That’s what they are! Repulsive, absurd, indulgent, INDIGNANT, INFANTILE, IRASCIBLE LOSERS! As far as I’m concerned, they can get FUCKED--”

Black gasped in shock, slapping a hand over his mouth the moment he realized what he had let slip through.

Not since his rehabilitation from that horrid “Rezin” persona had he debased himself by speaking a profanity.

“Boys… forgive my… hideous use of that language. All this smoke, and these charred, blackened remains, it’s… it’s all very triggering for me.”

A wind blew through the streets of Indianapolis, and Black shuddered.

Was there a distant void calling?

“The truth is, boys, I did a little bit of soul searching last night, and realized that our way out of this is by pursuing a HIGHER calling! See…”

Beaming with pride, Black pulled out a small golden crucifix, previously hidden behind the lapels of his ivory blazer.

“I’m officially REVEREND BLACK now!”

Palms pressed together, “Reverend” Black’s head tilted skyward.

“YES! It’s TRUE! The LOARD GAWD UP HIGH has SHOWN ME THE LIGHT and GIVEN ME THE ANSWER! And the ANSWER is… why burn DOLLARS for PENNIES in a worthless little clownshow like ‘pRiMe’ when we could POUNCE upon the most OVERLOOKED source of PROFIT in the WORLD right now! The ONE THING that EVERYONE wants: PEACE of MIND!”

Daymon and Burnett responded only by staring back at the newly proclaimed man of God with cold, silent reproach.

It was the only reaction that felt appropriate.

Black, meanwhile, pointed to the limo’s waiting open door.

“And that’s JUST what we’re going to give them… in CLASSIC WRESTLING! Now, let’s MAKE TRACKS here, boys! We should probably GET OUT OF HERE before the FIRE INSPECTOR starts asking questions.”

After a moment’s deliberation, the Ronin looked to one another, nodded in agreement, and went to work.

“HEY, WAIT!! WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?!”

Grabbing him from either side, Zack and Leo methodically picked the man in white off his feet…

“HANG ON!! WAIT!! LET’S TALK HERE!!”

…and unceremoniously torpedoed him into the back of the limo.

“AAHH!!”

Daymon obligingly slammed the door shut. Burnett slapped the roof twice, signaling the driver that it was time to go.

As the limo pulled away, the tinted rear window dropped. Black’s confused face appeared, calling after them as the vehicle merged into traffic and disappeared.

“WAS IT SOMETHING I SAID?!”

Another week later…

“I hate saying I told you so…”

As soon as he said the words, the slightest smirk appeared on the face of Kerry Kuroyama.

“Well, okay… I might enjoy it juuust a little bit. I mean, I did warn you about what you were getting into. But hey, now you know for yourselves. Working with that dipshit is career suicide.”

Neither Zack nor Leo said anything to argue the point.

They already knew it was more fact than opinion.

They stood with the Five Star Champion of PRIME in the practice ring of the school, back home in Seattle.

Technically, their school now, after Kerry and RIA’s strong-arm tactics with the esteemed Mr. Black some weeks ago.

“But hey… nothing lost, and nothing gained. Except, maybe, for an important life lesson. All just a part of growing up. The good thing is that you managed to cut your ties without owing a single shred of your success to that asshole. Your accomplishments? You own all of them. That cup? You guys earned it. You didn’t need him to realize your potential. You were already living it yourselves.”

Again, they said nothing.

What point was there in arguing against the obvious?

The fact that the 2025 Flynn Cup rested on a shelf on the school’s designated “Wall of Fame” was proof enough of their potential.

“The important thing is that we are finally back on track. This place finally belongs to us, and only us. Dojo Cascadia. Our dream.”

Zack and Leo exchanged puzzled expressions.

Here they were, standing in the very place where they had tirelessly poured hours of their personal time across the past six months to get things operational and build up a small, close-knit class of a dozen or so prospects. And then here was Kerry, standing before them with a third of the school now in his name, throwing around the words “we” and “us” and “our” like he was a regular Red Army member.

As if he hadn’t spent the past half year off on his own, training with his compatriots in Vae Victis.

“...are you doing the ‘no talking’ bit again?”

The Ronin stared back at the Emerald Apex in sullen silence

Of course they weren't doing any“bit”. In truth, they were patiently waiting for him to shut up and get out of the ring so they could use it for practice drills.

“Is this about the ReVival match? Look, I told you, I was just as surprised as you guys when I heard about it.”

It was hardly a surprise to the pair of Daymon and Burnett.

Of course they knew their victory at the Flynn Cup was not entirely a popular one.

And soon, the realization eventually set in that they had become marked men to every team in the industry with an eye for status and greatness.

It was no surprise at all that the Pink and Blue Pancake Brigade of Lindsay Troy and Henry Keyes would be the ones to take the first shot.

“I really hope you two realize what’s facing you when you step into that ring…”

Of course they knew.

No words needed to be wasted telling him that.

The Kraken, Keyes. The reigning FIST of DEFIANCE, with ambitions as deep and a heart as merciless as the sea itself.

The Queen, Troy. The Legend herself. Feared as she was beloved. An angry, raging Mama Bear, coming to Kaz the Cub’s rescue.

Former tag team champions of DEFIANCE. Former Flynn Cup winners.

Yet, for all the things they were formerly, the Rain City Ronin were currently.

The real question was, did Kerry’s friends know what they were facing?

“As you know, I have no horse in this race, cause that’d be a conflict of interest. I’m just hoping the four of you have a good, clean match, and whatever happens in the end, you at least use this opportunity to show those PRIME fans that you guys are the real deal.”

He can see by the looks on their faces that neither one is especially confident in that.

“I know you guys have your issues… but honestly, look at your situation. You’re champs. You won the fucking Flynn Cup. You’re ‘on top’, as they say. So what’s holding onto a grudge worth to you? What do you have to gain from that?”

Again, they said nothing.

Looking to one another, they realized neither one had anything in the way of an answer.

It was the only answer Kerry needed to know he had hit on something.

“LT and Henry are Plastics. And the Plastics are… the Plastics. It just is what it is. I mean, if the Burn Book had never left Regina George’s room, all their secrets and gossip would have never gotten out, and nobody would’ve been personally hurt or otherwise affected. Life would’ve moved on, and those kids would have been none the wiser.”

Almost as soon as he said it, Kerry quickly reconsidered his stance.

“I mean, okay, sure, it eventually led to all the individual cliques to get over their collective shit and be more forthcoming with each other. And… I guess there’s that whole overlooked thing about the coach actively preying upon underage girls. Unveiling that secret was actually a good thing, in retrospect. Shit, they really tried to play that for laughs, didn’t they? That movie really has not aged well. They also say the ‘R’ word a few times. Anyway, the point I’m getting to here is… don’t be like Janis Ian. Got it?”

Again, the Ronin responded with prolonged silence.

Very, very confused silence.

“Think here… Janis Ian is hardly the moral compass she makes herself out to be. You look at her actions, and you’ll realize she’s just as toxic and spiteful as the people she irrationally hates. Maybe even moreso. Consider the fact that she actively manipulates a new student -- unacquainted with the social norms of the American school system, I might add -- into spying on the Plastics simply for the purpose of ‘taking them down’, or whatever. By traumatizing them through clandestine acts of humiliation and bullying. And for what? Because the Plastics like to entertain themselves with a light bit of punching down on a few uglies? Like, c’mon, it’s highschool. Four years of your life, and you’re done. Go to class, get good grades, graduate, and fuck off to community college with your artsy-fartsy lifestyle. It doesn’t have to be that complicated. So don’t be Janis Ian. Know who you really want to be?”

Still, they said nothing.

Their only reactions were a pair of Drew Scanlon blinks of mild astonishment.

“You want to be like Kevin, the team captain of the Mathletes. Do the Plastics see him as a nerd? Sure. But does it ever look like he gives a shit? Hell no. When the Winter Talent Show rolls around, K.G and the Power of Three are up there on the stage, laying down rhymes and busting grooves. Cringy, yes, but unmistakably self-confident. Because Kevin is above the drama. He competes for grades instead of social hierarchy. He doesn’t give a shit who wins the crown at the Spring Fling, because’s too busy trying to win medals. Just like you guys.”

Kuroyama gestured to the Flynn Cup perched high upon the wall.

“As for me? I’m a Plastic and a Mathlete. The perfect combination of beauty and brains. Basically, I’m Cady Heron.”

Their silence could no longer be held.

Reacting to their clown-assedly false statement, Daymon and Burnett threw their heads back and unleashed uncontrollable fits of boisterous laughter.

Kerry stared at them in stunned confusion.

“What, you don’t think so?”

They answered with more laughter, and Kuroyama’s face flushed with a sudden realization.

“...I’m Karen Smith, aren’t I?”

More laughter.

If the shoe fits, they seemed to be saying.

Though his ass cheeks sometimes tingled whenever it rained, this probably had less to do with a latent ability to predict the weather, and more to do with the fact that Ami had a habit of getting antsy whenever she couldn’t go outside.

Zack and Leo continued laughing at him as they left the ring, leaving him there to stew on it.

“Oh, shut up…”

Yet another week later…

Zack knocked twice on the apartment door.

“Hang on!” replied a muffled voice from the other side.

Moments later, the lock clicked, and it slowly came open.

“Ah, fuck…”

At the sight of his son standing on his doorstep, Rocko Daymon deflated on the spot.

Not knowing what brought him there (but having a damn good idea), he shamefully stepped off to the side. His son allowed himself in, taking in the small studio apartment.

The furnishings were light. The elder Daymon’s belongings were held only to a few cardboard boxes that still hadn’t been unpacked since the move back to Seattle.

It had been three years since the two of them had seen each other, let alone spoken. After so much of his life had been haunted with his father’s recurring relapses and sudden disappearances, Zack had convinced himself after the last one that he would never again let the old man back into his life.

Yet, here he was.

All because his dipshit cousin put the fool idea in his head that nothing was to be gained by holding a grudge.

A small card table stood in the center of the apartment’s cramped kitchen. Zack took a seat at one end. His father fell into one across from him.

The seconds passed.

The silence was awkward. And tense. And heavy.

Before long, Zack’s mouth came open, and spoke the words he had been waiting three years to say.

“I’m ready to talk…”

Present Day…

We’re here.

The obligatory promo part, where our protagonists say a few lasting words to their esteemed opponents.

Except Zack Daymon and Leo Burnett sternly sit before us in folding chairs, staring intently at the camera and saying absolutely nothing.

Because they don’t need words to get their message across to us. The look of fire, thunder, and hunger in their eyes is all that needs to be said.

All a part of their creed.

“Shut up, and wrestle.”

The marriage of silence and violence. A play on that age old proverb of actions speaking louder than words.

And the recent actions of the Rain City Ronin have spoken volumes.

We can see their success with our own eyes. Between them stands the Flynn Cup. Draped over their shoulders are the Tag Team Championships of DEFIANCE.

We can hear the hype with our own ears. Word spreads fast, telling the story of the dark horse team of upstarts that everyone overlooked, until they were the only ones left standing.

The math doesn’t lie.

They don’t need to tell us they’re the young lions standing at the top of today’s wrestling food chain. They prove it every time they step through the ropes.

And at ReVival 76, we know they’ll prove it again.

We know that the Queen and the Kraken will likely have plenty to say about them. And we know they will not say a single goddamn word back.

Because we know that nothing said will have a difference on what goes down in that ring.

We know that when the time comes, they will fearlessly walk into Her Majesty’s royal court of PRIME, before a hostile Tampa crowd, and represent themselves as the very best the world of wrestling has to offer.

We know they won’t fall short of what’s expected of them.

And we know that regardless of their opponents’ overconfidence and empty bravado, they will hurt the Besties.

Not out of malice. Not out of jealousy.

Simply because they’re the team that’s been kicking all the ass lately, and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t continue the trend.

They stand at the pinnacle of all wrestling, hungry for even more glory, and the opportunity to walk into another company and put two shit-talking legends on their backs is an opportunity they can’t afford to pass over.

Daymon and Burnett continue to stare at us. Intense. Daring.

DEFIANT.

It’s clear that whether it be positive or negative, the Rain City Ronin don’t care what anyone in PRIME has to say about them.

In the end, they know they’ll leave everyone speechless.

“Don’t let the haters stop you from doing your thang.”

-Kevin Gnapoor