Jisdom

The most important thing any competitor could do when the Squad Goals teams were announced was to call dibs on Joe Fontaine. FLAMBERGE secured these dibs immediately.

It was certainly a relief to FLAMBO and he could sense that this may have been a bit of a relief to Joe as well, who would otherwise have been torn into splitting his attention across three different groups - even worse, two groups who are actually fighting each other at Culture Shock.

Which, oh no, oh dear, oh god oh man oh god oh man…the Glue Princes are going to fight twice in two nights. Disaster.

Professional wrestling is chock full of extremely delicate balances, balances all too easy to tip as the egos and the personalities balloon in size. It’s absolutely bad enough that FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth have been booked to put it all on the line in pursuit of the Universal Championship in night one’s main event, but horror of horrors, they’ve been curse-booked, doomed, and/or hexed into fighting two times in the span of 24 hours after nearly three years of a tense yet effective peace.

What a completely unavoidable event. What a truly heartbreaking outcome for the boys, who certainly would have loved to fight on the same team-

Bzzt.

FLAMBERGE’s phone lit up.

Bzzt.

An immediate follow-up to whatever the first notification was. He withdraws his phone from his pocket and reads.

Bzzt.

Jolf Joe you called dibs right? it was on jabber, it probably counts

Jolf Joe weird that cee dub didn’t pick you, i thought he had the first pick

Jolf Joe idk let’s get pizza in a sewer

The dead-eyed stare that lingered in the air for an audience of none after reading those texts…

Enough to send a shiver down the spine.

Bzzt.

Joe dropped a location pin somewhere in Mexico City. FLAMBO knew better than to ask “how” or “why” questions, as these have never not ever been useful for JoeBERGE. He just knew it was time to go.

…

—--

It is very interesting how this team shook out.

At first, I was sure it was a joke. A Whoresman, a Glue Boi, Vae Victis, and an only recently emancipated Red Army alum? No. No reason to fight together, no reason to put this neck on the line for any of these chucklefucks.

But then I started to take a look at the broader landscape, and I realized - it is not just us. ALL of these teams are full of chaos. ALL of these teams have teammates who would normally be at each other’s throats instead of shoulder to shoulder.

Rob Williams did not have to pick me at all - and even as I promise every captain on the roster that failing to choose me first is an unforgivable mistake that will absolutely come back to bite you on both cheeks of your whole asses, if Rob had passed, I would have understood.

Rob and I could stand touching noses for a week at a time and never see eye to eye.

But he made it clear with all of his picks - he wants to win this fucking fight he has been forced into leading.

Kerry Kuroyama is an absolute killer. If he wasn’t up against Literally The Best Wrestler Alive in Cecilworth Farthington, he would have easily won PRIME Wrestler of the Year in 2025.

Bryan Dawkins is a maniac on the run of his life, holding the Intense Title and confronting Ivan Stanislav with pay-per-view stakes. Sounds awfully familiar.

And Rob - say what you will about him, and I have, and I will probably continue to do so until he is one day ground into glue that can be used by the whoresmen of the next generation - he is a credentialed man who hates to lose.

What Rob proved when he put this team together is that he is willing to overlook the past, personal vendettas, and pride if it means assembling a Death Star of a Squad, first and foremost with me as the cornerstone, the greatest and most accomplished team wrestler in PRIME.

The man who clinched victory in WarGames, the former tag team champion, the man who has only lost one team-based match in his entire career and only due to the unseemly combination of cowardice and a non-wrestling stipulation in the form of Rose’s Red Army in a Dumpster Match - this is a man who is an obvious 1/1 in any draftable pool…

I could go on.

…and I will - the man who took out the Red Army AND THEN took out Ivan Stanislav on the next show?? The man whose team defeated Kerry Kuroyama’s team as recently as this January? The man who is coming closer and closer and closer to collecting every single neck that exists on the PRIME roster??

…ahem.

But, again, I would get it if Rob had passed. There is plenty of bad blood there.

There is something to be learned there, I think. A powerful lesson in humility and in appreciating the value of commodities.

The four of us each bring something different to the table. A unique weapon in the arsenal.

I, for one, am very much aware of the effect I have on my colleagues. I come across as standoffish at best, openly hostile at worst. Nearly unreadable in either case.

I internalize a lot. Some of it is on purpose, some of it is just…me.

But every team needs that factor. Every team needs a cerebral monster who can beat the shit out of you with a stick.

This is not a team I need to lead, this is not a team where I need to lean into the emotional.

This is a team of absolute mutants that needs an actual Glue guy.

Someone who has been there before, someone capable of seeing the bigger picture, someone capable of pivoting strategies when it turns out Danny Christie has learned more than how to throw a punch, or when Big John Pepper learns to -

- hang on. That can’t be right.

John Pepper beat Mustache?

THE Mustache?

…shit. Shit shit shit.

And their fourth - just Coral Avalon? Just that fucking Arthurian goliath?

Fuck me.

I need Joe.

…

—--

FLAMBERGE found the “sewer”, which was less “actual sewer” and more “publicly accessible underground Metro station”, which was absolutely a plus given the relative shit ratios.

Joe was there, wrapped in a dingy purple robe with a cloth belt tied around his waist. There was an open box of cheese pizza, and Joe was dabbing over top of it as FLAMBO approached.

FLAMBERGE: Holy chalupa, Joe…

Joe didn’t know how to respond to this and kept dabbing until FLAMBERGE built up the courage to take a slice. The cheese pull was absolutely out of this world.

Once his best friend in the whole world had a slice, Joe Fontaine allowed himself to stop dabbing and grab a slice of his own. Hard to call this a private meeting, what with the trains coming through at regular intervals and riders hopping on and off all the time, but at least it was underground and at least there was pizza.

Silence, apart from chewing. FLAMBO knew there would be Joe Wisdom (aka Jisdom) in his near future, and he knew that this sort of brilliance could not be rushed or forced.

A few times, Joe seemed like he was ready to begin talking, only to take another enormous bite…but honestly? Worse ways to spend an evening than splitting a pizza with your bud in a Mexican subway station.

FLAMBERGE: …..sooo

Joe Fontaine: Yep. Already on it, already got it.

They nodded, and Joe reached into an inside pocket, pulling out four bandanas: one each of purple, blue, red, and orange.

FLAMBERGE: ……….sooooooo

Joe Fontaine: Listen - true Jisdom is knowing when not to learn. I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know. I certainly don’t need to know what this is all going to do with you and C-Dub.

FLAMBO accepts the four scraps of colorful cloth and stuffs them in a jacket pocket before grabbing another pizza slice. God almighty, the cheese pull is just as immaculate the second time. The Frenchman is happily all in on this slice until this time, it’s Joe sitting around awkwardly.

Joe Fontaine: ……………..sooooooooooooo

FLAMBERGE: So thank you, Joe. You do not need to get involved at Culture Shock. Please. I genuinely mean it. I plan for Cecilworth and I to work ourselves out on Friday, so that by the time Saturday rolls around, it will all be good clean fun and water under the bridge, d’accord?

Joe went to reach for another slice - somehow, the pull is even more satisfying now than it’s ever been.

Joe Fontaine: So what you’re saying is

FLAMBERGE: Ouais, so what I am saying is, dibs on you, cheer for me with your heart, do not fret about Cecilworth and Hayes, everything is going to be fine. Glue friends stick together, non?

Joe then shared some true Jisdom.

It’s possible that everything won’t be fine.

FLAMBERGE and Cecilworth Farthington, two of PRIME’s most stalwart allies, are going to fight each other twice.

Six other people will be there, sure, but…

Nobody’s getting psychological scarring if Cecilworth Farthington and Bryan Dawkins trade blows. Or FLAMBERGE and Danny Christie.

The Kerry Kuroyamas of the world will tell you that it’s absolutely possible for friends to square up with each other and have a May The Best Man Win mentality, but that’s only because he’s never had his heart truly broken or his back truly stabbed.

FLAMBERGE - cerebral, lethal FLAMBERGE - he understands the weight of these moments. And Joe understands FLAMBERGE.

Which is why it’s so, so important to convey in this rare moment as the Splinter to FLAMBO’s Donatello, that by choosing not to know everything as he approaches Culture Shock, he frees himself from at least a few anxious burdens.

Maybe it will be fine. Maybe it won’t. Maybe FLAMBERGE will be Universal Champion by the time Squad Goals happens, maybe three members of Team Williams will have gold around their waists. Maybe none will.

Right now, there’s pizza, and there’s a friend.

Right now, there’s peace, and there’s calm.

If we live so much of our lives in the anxious future, we will miss the present.

Joe Fontaine: ………..so don’t. Way?

The Frenchman smiles.

FLAMBERGE: Ouais.

…

—--

Time passed. Nights, as it turned out, were getting easier and easier to blur together as FLAMBERGE gradually embraced Mexico City nightlife as a full-on accessory to an identity as a would-be megastar.

This night, however, he wasn’t slated to blast off against the warmest body he could find, no no. Tonight was work talk.

Tonight, Kerry Kuroyama wanted to grab a drink.

Of course this stuck-up Leonardo-ass goober went to TripAdvisor to look at venue ratings instead of doing what FLAMBO’s done over the past two months, which is immersing himself into the good, the great, and the somewhat-shady nooks and crannies that are the night life here. But, to Kerry’s credit, this club was clean, it was sleek, and even if it was mostly a whisky bar, there was something FLAMBERGE could tolerate ordering.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

Jolf Joe he took you where?

Jolf Joe ten to one the servers all look like mexican kat denningses

FLAMBO stifled a laugh as he casually looked around the venue before beginning work on a text response.

Kerry Kuroyama: Apparently, this place was the home to the founder of the Mexican communist party.

As awesome an anecdote as that may have been, it didn’t pull FLAMBERGE’s attention. He finished his response to Joe.

Bzzt.

Jolf Joe fifty to one ami is pissed he’s here with you instead of her

That one drew an authentic chortle out of the Neck Collector, and he instinctively looked up - Kerry looked pretty surrius.

“Alright,” FLAMBERGE thought to himself, “this guy is a boring drinker. Maybe he doesn’t get where we are.”

He began looking around for whatever quasi-goth Latina server might have pulled Kerry’s fancy to see about a fresh round and a fresh topic of discussion, when Kerry fired his shot across the bow.

Kerry Kuroyama: So listen…I know this ‘Squad Goals’ thing isn’t exactly your top priority…

He left a pause, as if FLAMBERGE owed a response to this half-thought; meanwhile, the Frenchman could swear he might have locked eyes with someone who could bring over some liquor as Kerry continued.

Kerry Kuroyama: But I want you to know that Rob, Bryan, and myself are dedicated to winning this thing, and all three of us have your back… so long as we know you have ours.

“Yawn,” thought FLAMBERGE. Yawn and harumph. Yes, of course, they’re all going to fight together. Yes, of course, everyone wants to win, if for no other reason than winning a fight is almost always better for your health than losing a fight. Was Kerry Kuroyama out here trying to Big League him? Here? Now?

He was sure the server saw him this time. He held up two fingers, pointed to his table, and mouthed “blanco.” The server nodded.

And then, FLAMBO was snapped into place

Kerry Kuroyama threw down the real gauntlet. The real intention behind having FLAMBERGE’s back at Culture Shock.

As undeniable as his 2025 was and as absolutely teed up Kerry Kuroyama is to become a future Universal Champion, this is a man who knows he must continuously build every inch of credibility he can until the powers that be find the right time to pull the trigger and launch him into the main event stratosphere.

And so yeah - Kerry’s got FLAMBERGE’s back, and Rob’s, and Bryan’s. He’s got it because for him, the next stop is the Universal Championship, no matter which Glue Prince holds the gold after night one.

“Alright, king, pop off if you think you can,” thought FLAMBERGE as he stared unblinkingly at this absolutely brazen, yet undeniably convincing, Pacific Blitzkrieg.

Kerry Kuroyama: Either way, I’m fighting a war. And trust me, I’m prepared for it. But so far as Night Two goes? Whether you’re with the belt, or without it…

Two shot glasses of blanco tequila appeared in front of the seated wrestlers. Each grabbed one silently, eyes locked, not even looking at the glasses. Kerry smiled.

Kerry Kuroyama: ...you can call me your comrade. Ay de los vencidos, y bendiciones para el futuro.

Kerry raised his glass. Almost on instinct, FLAMBERGE felt compelled to lift his own.

FLAMBERGE: Blessings to the future, Kerry…

Kuroyama downed his shot with aplomb with FLAMBERGE looking on, grinning before slowly taking a sip.

Bzzt.

FLAMBO looked back at his phone.

Jolf Joe a hundred to one he tells you he wants the uni then he pees his pants

Kerry happened to stand up at that moment. FLAMBERGE flashed a practiced instantaneous glance downstairs, then began typing a response.

FLAMBERGE Almost

…

—--

If Rob is the rude violent one,

And Kerry is the noble would-be leader,

And Bryan’s back to being an elite vibes guy,

There was one thing left for FLAMBERGE to do to fully encapsulate his role as this team’s deeply cerebral anchor;

Donatello does machines.

FLAMBERGE thought and thought, for literal minutes and minutes, on how he could fulfill this crucial core component of his role’s identity.

Then it came to him.

He’d need to work with the Jolfsmith.

(The Jolfsmith is also Joe Fontaine, for whom, once again, FLAMBERGE had thankfully called dibs)

(It should be mentioned once again, Joe Fontaine’s Splinter services have become exclusive to team Williams)

(His glorious, glorious services)

The Jolfsmith is a master of his craft, and over time he has engineered some of professional wrestling’s most lethal and feared weapons, including (if we check notes carefully) a chair that looks slightly different than other chairs, and also that one with a brick strapped to the headrest (jesus, Hayes.)

This team was going to need something special, and FLAMBERGE took the time to come up with the highly detailed, deeply thought-out, and not-at-all dubious loadout that came to pass.

For Rob, two Jais, which are jolf sais, which are a pair of miniature chairs that can easily be wielded with one hand a piece and might actually stab someone he were to sharpen the tops.

For Bryan, the Junchucks - two steel chairs bound together by a steel chain that could be whipped around at incredible speed.

For Kerry, two Jatanas, which are just two plain steel chairs. The Jolfsmith figured that Kerry wasn’t the sort of silly egg that would be into complicated weaponry, instead preferring clean grappling and powerful throwing maneuvers to actually slashing at people with swords - all of which was his loss, of course.

And for FLAMBERGE - well, for FLAMBERGE, the Jolfsmith essentially slung a bundle of kendo sticks into the jolf bag, along with a lighter. The thought was that a Bo staff is not very different from a kendo stick which FLAMBERGE is already very accustomed to using, so why not just, like, let him go haywire with them?

Only the finest craftsmanship from the Jolfsmith. Machine-molded, weighted, graded*. *citation needed “Ouais,” FLAMBERGE thought. “These will do nicely.”

And while it did occur to him as he left the burning forge of the Jolfsmith that it wasn’t explicitly clear that any Squad Goals match would allow weapons, he knew in his heart that sometimes, it’s about the gesture.

Team Williams was going to have a locked-in FLAMBERGE.

Whether he gets to freely swing some burning lumber into the likes of John Pepper or Danny Christie, whether he finds himself locking swords with the first neck he ever collected in Coral Avalon, or heaven forbid the events of night one leave more to be resolved and he finds himself in yet another fight over the very soul of Glue, wrestling, and bizarre sensibilities themselves against Cecilworth Farthington…

Ahh, oui, oui. FLAMBERGE never intends to lose a fight, and he certainly doesn’t intend to lose this one.

…

FLAMBERGE turned back.

There was one last thing he needed from the Jolfsmith. An old friend, something he personally designed long ago.

The chair with the headrest bent at a sharp 90-degree angle. The Sand Wedje.

Yeah.

He’d save that Sand Wedje for something big.

…

—--

FLAMBERGE woke up the next morning, bleary-eyed and alone in his hotel bed. The amount of sun peering through the curtains suggests that it’s well into the day by now.

He looked over at his phone. It already had a message for him.

Jolf Joe really not psyched to dab over the body of c-dub - can you make sure it’s coral? never got to kill that guy

FLAMBERGE snorted to himself, and with his late night/late morning that followed a long series of late nights and late mornings, this snort turned into a gross rumbling cough. After he cleared it out, he got to typing.

FLAMBERGE …..deal

He sat the phone back down, then stared at the wall across from him. He sighed heavily.

Just a small ask. Just a minor enormously tall order.

But hey.

He called dibs.

And when dibs are involved, who was FLAMBO to deny the Jisdom he so aggressively pursued?

He looked over at the foot of his bed. The four bandanas were all there.

He grabbed the purple one and stuffed it into his back pocket. The rest, he threw in his bag.

Bzzt.

He looked one last time.

Jolf Joe jisdom may not be forever, but neither is pizza

FLAMBERGE stared at his phone for the rest of the morning.

There was so much he still needed to learn.