Color Theory

🍍 🌈 ⛈️ 🍍

The cool night air smells like gasoline and burnt fiberglass. The combo creates this strange, kind of intoxicating fume…yeah yeah, I know it’s probably bad for me. I let the gasoline-and-glass air fill my lungs, thinking poison is the only thing honest enough to match the night.

Pieces of the van are still scattered across the asphalt — a cracked fake eye here, a busted tooth there. The kind of souvenirs that don’t fit on a shelf. What you didn’t see was the continued all-out assault on the van after I reached safety. I lean against the trunk of my car and watch smoke curl from a half-crushed cigarette, the ember glowing like a warning light. I’m not sure when I started smoking. One day, it seemed like a cigarette just materialized in my hand…I guess I’ve been trying to use them to take the edge off ever since.

I don’t think it’s working.

I keep doing it anyway.

When I close my eyes, I can still hear the echo of that engine, the sound of the tires when I tore out of the garage. It should’ve felt like victory.

It didn’t.

Somewhere, Max Kael is probably laughing. Somewhere, Kai is still gone. And somewhere, my kid is asking why the TV keeps showing his dad doing everything but trying to find his mother. Fuck, if Nico only knew.

You’ve got assholes like our dear Universal Champion out here claiming I’m not trying to find Kai. Look, mother fucker…do you think I wanted to join The Red Army?

It’s not like I had a line of people waiting to help Bryan Dawkins solve his problems. Hell, last time I asked anyone on the roster for help before I faced FLAMBERGE, all I heard were crickets. So I had to turn to someone. Someone with the resources to find a person, right?

You know, like an army.

My phone buzzes.

Ivan.

“Comrade,” I answer.

He preaches about momentum. About power. Specifically, the power of family. Kind of ironic, no? The whole reason I decided to abandon my morals and side with one of the most dangerous and dubious men to ever step foot in a squared circle. And he’s talking about family. As if I mean anything to him. If I did, I’d probably have Kai back already.

I let him go on - mostly out of self preservation, because there will come a point where I’ll need his help - without offering much commentary. Puffs of smoke keep me company as I listen to the bear’s snarls disappear into the night.

Eventually he’s heard himself talk enough and thanks me for my contribution to The Red Army’s efforts for the night. We hang up without another word.

Speaking of tonight…I just told the world it was a declaration of war.

A warning like one that a world leader would put out when their country had been wronged by another. A warning that wasn’t just a warning, but also a promise. A promise to find Kai, no matter the cost.

What I didn’t say was that I’m not sure who the hell the enemy is anymore.

They booked me against RIA. Ha…typical Lindsay. Using Vae Victus to try to needle The Red Army. There was a time when I would’ve been the one being used to do the needling. Tsonda, Rayne and I were called into that duty on more than one occasion years ago.

Things are different now…

When you look at RIA’s match history, you expect another monster—another mirror of all the noise I keep dragging around. Instead, the screen explodes in color. Every time she faces the darkness - be it Sage Pontiff or Fred Dick - the explosion of light that is RIA finds a way to cut through. Like a big, bright neon little engine that could.

I mean…look at the hell that Fred put her through. There aren’t many people on this earth that have the fortitude, much less the ability, to come out on the other side of that in one piece. But that’s just what RIA does, isn’t it? She not only persists, but she rises.

Every. Single. Time.

Hot-pink lights, sky-blue gear, glitter in motion. Violent splashes of color. Emphasis on the violence part.

It’s never really mattered that she’s a part of Vae Victus. That’s just a perk of being friends with the boss. The fans were going to pull for her no matter what.

During her matches, the crowd doesn’t chant like they want blood; they sing like she’s already the victor. I remember what that was like. Sometimes I wonder if I miss it…

She bursts with color and life.

I’m grayscale and death.

She smiles after impact, laughs between bruises, keeps standing even when her knees look like they want to quit.

How in the hell are you supposed to hate that? I’m still trying to figure that out.

Again, my thoughts are interrupted by the buzzing of the phone.

This time, it’s that same number that I haven’t bothered to add into my contacts. A call from the man…err, boy…who I almost killed back in March. And yet, he still calls.

I’ve yet to answer. Surely this is the man child trying to act like everything’s okay, that this is just some kind of game that Max is playing and that at the end of this, Max will get bored and return Kai to us like a child whose new toys bore him shortly after Christmas day.

How could The Herald be so fucking stupid? This isn’t a game. At least, not one I’m willing to play. I just told Max that the games were over - when he’s done playing, I’ll be ready.

Of course, we know it probably won’t come down to that…if I want the games to stop, Max Kael needs to be stomped out. Exterminated. Exited from this earthly plane.

I let the call go to voicemail - there’s nothing he could say to make me pick the phone up. He’ll leave a message, he always does.

Kai used to say the world needed more color.

I told her gray matched everything.

Now I’m thinking black is more my shade.

The smoke from my cigarette curls upward, and for a second it almost looks neon pink in the streetlight.

🍍 🌈 ⛈️ 🍍

They say RIA’s been through it—injuries, relapses, losing streaks, comebacks that never should’ve worked but somehow did. God damn if RIA isn’t the most resilient worker in this business. She walks out to the ring wrapped in neon and noise like a one-woman rebellion against despair. She feeds from the crowd’s energy and it seems like they’ve got an endless supply for the Rainbow Death Doll.

The Red Army laughs at her.

Ivan calls her “a distraction for children.”

He doesn’t get it. Those kids. The ones who have nothing else to cheer for - you know the ones - and latch onto the energy that RIA brings with her everywhere she goes. Those are the same kids who bought thousands of plush pineapples when I was Bang!ing in Japan for all those years. Those are the same kids who would show up every night with orange and aqua sunglasses and BRUH t-shirts.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a kid wearing an Ivan Stanislav t-shirt.

RIA is what it looks like when you climb out of the hole instead of digging deeper.

She’s the coal miner who gets trapped underground and is saved by the community around her. I just keep asking for shovels hoping I’ll hit the other side of the earth.

The Herald would probably say something stupid like I should ask her for yoga tips. To help with rebounding, you know?

I’d tell him to shut up, but he’d keep talking, mouth full of donut crumbs, saying she reminds him of Kai—“all sunshine and second chances.”

I’d probably laugh, but it’d be hollow. Herald wouldn’t know how right he is.

You see it in every match with the Psychoberry. She takes a knee to the jaw, goes down hard, pops up smiling through the blood. The crowd roars because they know pain doesn’t scare her anymore. In fact, the pain and suffering is the fuel that causes her fire to burn hotter and brighter.

Me? Pain’s the only language I still speak. And every day, it feels like I’m choking on the smoke from someone else’s fire. Getting snuffed out, second by second, while someone else’s fire burns brightly.

She fights like somebody who forgave herself.

I fight like somebody still waiting on permission.

I keep having flashbacks to when Nico was a toddler. Back before I went AWOL on my family to chase this dream I’m still chasing today.

She was teaching him how to paint. Within thirty seconds, the attempt to have him use brushes was deemed futile - this was now a finger painting exercise. Moments later, our walls loosely resembled Jackson Pollock’s finest artwork.

At the time, I was pissed. I had a security deposit hanging over my head, you know? Meanwhile, Nico and Kai both laughed - they were having a blast.

But there was paint everywhere. I thought it was chaos. They made that chaos beautiful. The chaos I made…well, it was anything but.

The more I think about RIA, the more I hate that I respect her. Like I said before, how could you not? It’d be easier if she was just another villain, another reason to swing. Ivan can make up all the excuses he wants - nobody, including me, can call RIA a bad person. I’d love to say that the people have a reason to root against her. To convince them that she’s a bad person and that I’m the victim that deserves support.

But she’s not. And I don’t.

She’s proof that maybe all this hurt could still mean something if you stop letting it define you. She’s proof that you can absolutely go through hell and come out on the other side smiling, emerging as a better person than you were when you started to fight.

Easier said than done.

I catch my reflection in a mirror across the room—tired eyes, a quickly graying five o’clock shadow, a soldier in the wrong war. A far cry from the man I was twelve months ago.

At ReVival 77, RIA’s walking in with all the colors of the rainbow on her side.

I’m walking in with ghosts who thrive in the darkness.

🍍 🌈 ⛈️ 🍍

The hallway before the curtain buzzes with the heartbeat of the crowd. We’re in the leadup to the biggest show of the year. I should be excited. I should be enjoying the best time of year in PRIME. But every pulse of the bass feels like it’s trying to shake loose whatever’s left of me.

I tape my wrists slower than usual. The white cloth looks too clean, so I tear it from my skin and replace it with black. That feels more honest. No color here.

RIA’s entrance hits first—music bright and fast, crowd already chanting that ridiculous “RATATATA.” I peek at the monitor beside me. She’s twirling, bleeding color into every inch of the ring. For a moment, even the steel looks less cold. We all know she’s got the full support of every person who bought a ticket for tonight. Instead of this being one on one, it’s gonna feel like I’m taking on 18,000 people…plus RIA.

Ivan’s voice rattles inside my skull: Crush her. Show them that technicolor bullshit means nothing. Show her why The Red Army is to be feared.

But I’m not here for Ivan. I’m not here for The Red Army.

Not tonight.

RIA’s been broken and has come back brighter. Stronger. Better than ever.

I’ve been broken and just stayed here. I’m not getting better. If anything, every day that passes without Kai with us arguably makes me get a little bit worse. That’s the difference. That’s the test.

Bright color. Positivity. Proof that you can indeed get up and keep fighting when the fight has taken what you thought was everything from you.

Versus…

Black. Darkness. Suffocating reinforcement that no matter what happens, it’s not going to get better and the only chance you have is to keep swinging, hoping that one of those punches is gonna land you the big knockout. Some might call that desperation.

I call that hope.

I breathe deep, counting each inhale like it might anchor me to earth.

Somewhere, maybe Kai’s still watching. Hell, knowing Max, she’s probably holed up in one of these locker rooms around here. There’s a part of me who wants to abandon all of this shit and burst through every door in this place, desperately looking for the mother of my child.

But I can’t. I know Max isn’t that stupid.

I touch the curtain, staring into the void

“Keep your hands steady,” I whisper to myself as my hands refuse to listen, trembling like the leaves that have changed colors and are threatening to leave the safety of their branches.

The cue light flashes.

The Soviet National Anthem blares through the speakers. 18,000 groan in unison, knowing that a traitor is about to step out and into the spotlight.

I pause. Maybe I can’t do this. Maybe the color is just too much. The darkness is much more comfortable.

I remember the finger painting. The explosion of color across the apartment. The explosion of joy that it brought my son. The tears of happiness that filled Kai’s eyes as she watched her son living life to its fullest. And over in the corner, his father, too preoccupied by his own anger, ignoring everything else around him. Focused on his own goals and aspirations.

Tears fill my eyes now. Fifteen years of regret, all hitting in the span of fifteen seconds. I try to wipe my eyes with the tape on my wrists, using the black tape to hide the tears. How fitting - using the darkness to make it all go away.

Snap out of it, Bryan. You have a job to do.

I can’t let RIA drag me into a firefight of instinct. If I lose my head tonight, I’ll lose the only thing that might still save me—my ability to think when I meet Max. This isn’t about proving I can hit harder. It’s about proving I can hold myself together. If Nico sees me choke on anger, that’s the lesson he’ll take home—so I have to be better than my worst impulses.

Work the clinch, sap her momentum, avoid the reckless scraps that she wants.

Deep breath.

I step forward.

Through the smoke.

18,000 enemies boo mercilessly.

The arena bursts into light—crimson and gold.

For the first time in months, I don’t feel drowned by it. Instead, I feel the flame ignite in my chest. The warmth radiates into my limbs as my body comes alive, shaking the cobwebs from my head and tears from my eyes. There’s nothing in this universe that can stop me tonight.

Nick Stuart might call this a match between a rainbow and a storm.

Maybe he’s right.

But that’s the thing about storms - they end. Tonight I’ll make sure I survive it.